Living with Loss

February 14th is a day most people associate with love, Valentines Day.  Filled with flowers, candy, teddy bears, little red hearts and chocolate. This year, it's a little different for me.  I reflect back upon this day in history. In 1946, my grandfather died on February 14th.  My father was with him and as a 17 year old boy, had to call his mother and sisters to tell them about the unexpected and fatal heart attack. This year, our second together as a couple without our only child began as a non-descript, uneventful day.  No gifts, no candy or little sweet teddy bears; just the two of us. Around 9:30 the evening of this February 14th, I received a text.  My first cousin's daughter had a baby boy.  The following morning I received a call.  My elderly cousin had died around 9:30 the previous night. While I grieve the death of my elderly cousin, I rejoice at the birth of the new child. His name is Wyatt, after my son....

For months I tried to busy myself with different things...watercolor, pottery, writing, poetry, gardening, stained glass, counseling sessions, support groups, blogging. Suffice it to say, I spent a good chunk of change to keep myself in the world of the living.  I'll consider it an investment in life, my life.  Not that I wanted to make that investment, but it kept me alive over the last year. Now, it seems I'm suspended in the loop of time.  There is no driving force to compel me to go do anything...instead, I'd rather rest. I want to stop, look around and take it all in. Unfortunately for me, that rest is complicated by the memories it allows to surface. It's one of the reasons why I did so much...some of my memories are haunting, dangerous, treacherous waters. Memories are the door to a host of complicated emotions, they give knowledge about why I am where I am.  Memories are one of those things to which I've developed a love-hate relationship. However...

I wasn't much into celebrating my birthday, what was the purpose, I'm just another year older, or as one person put it, another year closer to being reunited with my child. Jim's birthday was however a big one, you know ending in "5" or "0" and it deserved celebration. Not only because it was a big birthday, but because he is a wonderful and kindhearted man and we decided Wyatt would want a celebration. We had a wonderful party, friends from all segments of our lives shared in the joy of the day.  We ate, drank, chatted, took photographs, hugged, cried and laughed. The day was filled with life, love and friendship and we relished every moment. Then the door closed. The people were gone.  We sat together and quickly realized without words how very alone we were; how Wyatt's absence from this day, this celebration, cut into our very souls. He should be here. We yearn for him. We cherish the person he was and the man he was becoming. We want him in our ...