Keeping you live in my memories is all I have left.
I wrote to my son almost every day after he died. Each entry began with the day, then months, and eventually year since he left us. In the months, I told him how sorry I was for every mistake I made as his mother. I said how much I loved him and missed him. In the later entries, I was searching to understand why he left and to recount his life during the days and months leading up to his death. In between, I wrote conversations with him as if he would respond back to me.
I created a list of the memories I did not want to forget, as that is all I have now. Those memories flash through my mind when I close my eyes. Why did I not take more videos?
In addition to writing to him, I made a list of the memories I wanted to document, so as time passes into years, I did not forget them. I want my daughter to have these memories so she can share them with her life partner and her children someday; then, they will know her brother, their uncle.
I have adapted some of those entries into this post, reminiscent of Halloween and scary things.
Mid-October 2019. Nineteen months have gone by.
It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago; “yesterday” because my heart aches the same as the first day you were gone, and it feels like “forever” since I have heard your voice and felt your hug. It is snowing today and unseasonably cold for the second week in October. The days are noticeably shorter. A friend called last night needing a conversation with someone who could understand, I am that someone. It has been eleven months without her daughter. We have been friends for ten months. Through our conversation, we realized the day of the month of your death, and that of her daughter is one day apart. We just figured this out because we do not talk about your deaths. We talk about your lives and what we miss. We then talk about how hard it is to live without each of you.
The cold weather and leaves falling from the wind make me think about Halloween. You love Halloween – the dressing up and socialization. Her daughter does as well. She shares with me a picture of her daughter dressed up as a zombie. Beyond the scary make-up, her big blue eyes draw you in.
Your go-to costume throughout high school and college was a jailbird, you know the striped uniform that you purchased yourself. As you moved from place to place, it moved along with you.
The other costume I remember is one you had in grade school. Your dad designed and built a headless person costume. You could barely see through Dad’s overstuffed shirt as the body, which had holes for eyes so you could look out. A wooden frame sat on your shoulders that held a molded pumpkin head. He put a flashing red light inside the pumpkin head to add an additional scary effect. It was massive for your little frame. You wore Dad’s pants held up with suspenders over your shoulders and big boots. You did not complain and made it through the parade at school, walking through the halls, and trick or treating at night. That costume still sits in the corner of the attic. Historically, I would set it out near the front door as a holiday interior decoration. With you gone and your sister away at school, there is no reason to decorate.
I hope you get to celebrate the holiday in heaven. Whatever costume you choose, have it not too scary. Disney’s Frozen II is releasing to theaters soon. Is going as Sven or Olaf characters from the movie too corny? You so love the first Frozen movie and the music. I am fortunate to have several videos of you singing the original song, “Let It Go” with your friends.
I have read back through prior correspondence with you, meaning me to you; it is silent so far on your end.
My letters are emotionally hard to read again, but several are relevant to the topic of Halloween.
Two months and twenty-five days since you left us.
Last night Dad, your sister, and I watched Jurassic World. The movie came out in 2015, as a sequel to the Jurassic Park series. These days I am doing things I think you would appreciate or encourage me to do, so I am watching this movie. It is a thriller starring Chris Pratt, who also stars in the Marvel Guardians of the Galaxy movies. You are famous for the love of Marvel, and Guardians is my favorites in the Marvel series.
Watching this movie reminded me of the experience you had after seeing a scary movie. One of the three girls in your friend group likes horror movies. You had watched a movie that evening with your friends at her house. You came into our room late that night, saying you could not sleep because you kept hearing clapping hands. Your closet doors sometimes bang from the wind coming through the attic door that provides access over the porch. I grabbed a sleeping bag and your pillows, and you slept on our bedroom floor that night.
I felt needed again, able to comfort you like when you were little, coming into our room in the middle of the night, and crawling into our bed, snuggling in between Dad and me.
The movie was The Conjuring, released in 2013. I tried to watch the trailer but could not get through it as it was too scary for me: clapping hands coming from the closet in the movie while the haunted play a game of Hide and Seek. I hate scary movies.
One month and ten days since you left us.
I am a serious person but I love jokes. There is one I never got to share with you.
You have a great sense of humor. It is dry, and with a straight face, you tell one-line zingers. I, on the other hand, have no sense of humor, but one joke came to mind I wanted to share with you the next time I would see you. Friday, your sister arrived home on spring break. She and I talked about the recent Oscar-winning movies. Get Out won the best original screenplay. It is on the thriller spectrum but not quite a horror show. Tolerably frightening, but really good. The story centers around young adults, so it is set more for your generation. We then immediately went on to a different conversation where she was telling me something. In an elongated loud response, I said, “Get out,” pushing her forward on her shoulders. You know, saying it as a popular phrase in response to something unbelievable. We laughed, and I told her I was going to use that joke on you when we met for dinner on Saturday. That time never came.
Present Day
My “get out” joke was irrelevant. I still hate scary movies. We are making plans to see Frozen II, and I really miss you.
