My first born of two sons died nine years ago. It was the day after Easter Sunday and the month prior to his 18th birthday.
Without warning and within moments our lives were unequivocally altered. We were pummeled to our knees, bloodied and broken by the happenstances of life.
He died within 20 feet of his father and I… horrific images permanently seared into our eyelids. In those moments an incompleteness, a piercing emptiness so vast was born.
But the universe is infinite and although it was the apocalypse for us, Earth did not see it that way. She continued to spin upon her axis forcing us to survive the blackest of nights and endure an immense number of colorless days. She prodded us forward. While fully engulfed in our distinct desolation we woke each morning and trudged through each day until eventually the rebuilding of our world, from dust, began.
I cannot give you a date nor even a definite number of years that it took for the rebuilding to begin, I can only be honest and tell you that I made a promise to Larry the morning after his death. When every fiber of my being begged for me to follow him, I spoke out loud and directly to his spirit and I promised him that no matter how deeply it cut, I would not give up. I promised him that I would never give up and I would hold on tight to whatever would get me to the next moment. And that’s what I did.
I held on from moment to moment for the longest of time until one day I realized that I had held on for months. Those months turned to years and through keeping my promise to Larry, I found that the foundation of our world was again standing upright. The colors, though not as vivid as they once were, returned and the nights were no longer so pitch.
Yes, Earth has continued to spin for nine years now and the gruesome wounds, venomously protected and tenaciously cared for, are no longer visible on the surface…
I have not been blessed with many dreams of Larry. The second one, not long after his death, was of him calling me on my cell phone. He called me to tell me that he was ready to come home and he wanted me to come get him. I will never forget the dream or how I felt upon waking from it.
“Can you come get me, Mom? I wanna come home now.”
I dreamt of him last night… He was young in my dream, maybe 11 or 12 and we became separated. I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t bring him home. I was desperately searching for him to the point of panic… I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t bring him home.
I woke to find that the bandage had loosened and the stitches broke free. Fissures all at once ruptured and again the life poured out.
And like so many times before, the rebuilding begins yet again.
In loving memory of Larry Brown