Remains

Pain remains a constant companion even though it politely takes a back seat every now and then to let Joy drop in when your brother calls me or I’m face-timing with your nephew Nate.

Laughter remains the best medicine and God has graciously given me many opportunities to laugh and smile especially when I’m with those who know me so well.

Autumn remains my favorite time of year, even though you won’t be hanging out in your Eno or hiking   trails with friends, snapping shots here and there to share with me later.

Friendship remains, and I know your group misses you every day.  You brought so much to your relationships.  You would probably be a little surprised to see how much you really impacted people you encountered in your short life. 

Twisted metal remains behind the shed, what’s left of your pride and joy.  I am choosing to keep it for a time to just reminisce, reminding me how wrong and unnecessary it was for your life to end this way.  It’s my motivation to push for change. 

Etched golden sunflowers remain the first thing I see when I look at the cold grey urn that holds your gritty ashes, sitting in the center of the mantel.  You would think it was perfect, knowing how much I love sunflowers. 

November 9 remains the day you were born, and you would have been turning 23.  You were moving in the right direction at with all this adulting and real life.  You had goals and dreams for the future, but pieces of yourself keep popping up in videos or written notes and journals that prove you were sure this world wasn’t your home, and all of this was temporary. 

July 23 remains one of my favorite memories of you.  Eating lunch together at a Mexican restaurant and listening to a wild story about a girl named Shelia, watching your eyes light up as you were telling me about your plan for selling your car and how impressed you were with your credit score.  There was always much laughter between you and me.  You endured my musings about life, you were encouraging me to handle my business better and wanted nothing more than me to thrive and be my best self.  The last picture I have of you is you walking me to the car, opening my door, standing there in that bold fuchsia and navy colored golf shirt wearing those faded khaki cargo shorts, sporting your favorite pair of Chocos and ball cap while we discussed that epic beard and whether it needed trimming.  I hugged you and you said, “I love you.”  You always said it every time we parted ways.

July 23 remains the worst day of my life.  That firm knock the door and seeing the trooper and coroner and just shouting, “Is my baby dead?” as if you were two years old again.  I will never forget collapsing in the rocking chair on the porch and screaming louder than I ever have, “God, I trust you!  Why have you forsaken me?” The trooper trying to explain about the “accident.”

Mornings between 3 and 5 a.m. remain the hardest for me, awaking with you on my mind, memories flooding in while tears trickle down my face. 

God remains faithful.

You remain my son.