Half a year, a lifetime, an eternity
Owen’s body was found half a year ago, a lifetime, an eternity. I still have moments when I think he’ll walk in the front door with stories of his day, and plans for tomorrow. I guess I’ll always have those moments. It’s not that hard to close my eyes, see his face, hear his voice, and wonder what’s next. Until I open my eyes. Even then sometimes, I might be in a store or a restaurant where we spent time, and I’ll see someone that reminds me of him, or times when he was with a bunch of us going about our daily routines. It’s hard to hold myself together when this happens. It’s hard to hold myself together when it doesn’t.
Right now is an especially sad time. Owen loved the holidays. He loved shopping for presents, and picking out things he wanted, in the hopes I would remember when it came time for me to buy his presents. He loved getting presents. He loved giving them.
We love our stories, real and imagined; our myths; and our histories. With every story, myth, and slice of history, we recall the good and the bad times. With every memory, comes the visions of our lost futures together as a family. None of us can figure out how to plan for the holidays. It just doesn’t seem right without him.
Nat and I drove north to work on Dave’s mom’s house yesterday. For a few hours in the car, just the two of us, we talked about our current lives and our plans for our futures, and remembered our old ones. All the while, though neither of us said it out loud, we kept thinking…and Owen should be with us, remembering, and filling in the blanks, offering his versions of our stories, myths, and histories.
Today, when Nat and I made the trip to In-N-Out to pick up lunch for everyone working at the house, we talked about the special symbols that are constant reminders of our life with Owen. His favorites numbers. His favorite foods. His favorite movies. His favorite music.
Owen loved the story of Atlantis, and like so many other stories, was unconcerned with whether it was myth or history. Nat and he both loved the way bands of the 60′s used to start or end songs with recited poetry. We don’t hear it much nowdays. It didn’t seem odd then, and it didn’t seem odd to them listening to these old songs, that my generation would combine the spoken word with lyrics and music. Nat reminded me that Owen loved Donovan’s song, Atlantis…and why. I haven’t been able to think of much else since then. Perhaps if I share it, I can sleep. Perhaps, if I can sleep, I won’t worry tomorrow about how to spend the holidays. Perhaps, if I won’t worry about how to spend the holidays, I won’t worry about eternity.
Song for the night: Atlantis, Donovan (again, writing from a remote location, the video may not play, so just click on the link directly below and go directly to YouTube, thanks)
http://youtube.com/watch?v=iCSUfTEcWow&feature=related
My Grandmother died exactly eighteen months ago today, and yet tonight I felt an urge to call her on the telephone. I half-turned to the phone on the end table. I wanted to tell her about something cool my son. Then it hit me yet again. She’s dead. I can’t call her.
I’ve heard that one of the biggest parts of grieving is actually a yearning for the lost loved one and that this yearning can come over people suddenly and overwhelmingly. Yes. I feel that way, at least.
I guess we just keep on going and hang in there.