Going back a ways now…
It’s too painful to repost all my early writing from other sites here. If you’re interested, you can see how we got through those early weeks after losing Owen, by going to: http://myspace.com/tiredrooster13. That site is set to private because we had some unpleasant intrusions from people who can’t possibly get it, so you would have to request “friend” status.
I’m not exactly the typical demographic for myspace, but through that site, have found some wonderful friends of Owen’s. I’m very grateful for that, and that they continue to write, even though some of them only knew him for a few months. He made quite an impact.
Just to catch you up, however, I last saw Owen on Monday, May 28, 2007, after picking him up from work at our local movie theater. He immediately got on the computer, which is what he did most nights. Around 11:30 pm, he said “Goodnight, Mom, I love you. I’ll be up for a while.” I answered, “‘Night Oh-bert, I love you, too.” Owen’s first name was Emmitt, but we had always called him Owen, since there have been 5 Emmitt’s in my family. I had lots of nicknames for him, even though he was 20. I tried my hardest to always call him Owen around friends. He forgave me for having a hard time letting go of thinking of him as my baby (most of the time, anyway).
I was working out of town the next day, and yelled up the stairs around 12:15 pm on Tuesday, before I headed south. I yelled for him several times, but he didn’t answer. Because he slept late most days, due to having a mostly nighttime schedule, I wasn’t worried. Something did catch me, though, on my way down our front stairs, and I thought, hmmm…maybe I should go check on him. I didn’t, and I’ll always torture myself for not running back to see him, see if there was something different about him that day. Looking back over his entire lifetime, I could torture myself about lots of things - the big things, the little things, the forgotten things.
Instead, although I can’t turn off the why’s and the should have’s, I’m focusing on the good things, the great things, the funny things, the odd things, the precious things, and any other thing that helps me remember what an incredible gift we all had in knowing Owen Riley.
As much as I want to write for hours at a time, I find grief has a rather devastating physical manifestation, as well as the obvious emotional part, which can go to such depths, that I often refer to it as “the black pit” – quite the same as others refer to hell. So, I’m off for now.