I pull up my chair to the table, across from my mom.
“Your father called today.” She absentmindedly blurts out.
“How is he? Is he ok?”
“I’ll tell you son, I love him to pieces, but he was always an odd one. Only he could go off to war and find peace.”
We both laugh.
My father, in some respects, is a very straightforward guy. He works hard, has a sense of duty, family and honor. He’s a likable guy. A bit on the quiet side, so that’s probably where I come by it myself.
After Chaz died, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with my parents. I always thought that they seemed to get along pretty well, but having done a little research on the subject, I knew that most couples don’t survive the death of a child.
Sure, there was the occasional fight, one parent too soft, the other too hard. In the end, they both felt responsible, when the truth of the matter is neither one could really have done anything differently. As you get a little older you’re able to see your parents as people. Seeing them in this light often leads to a feeling of initial letdown, however, if you're lucky, it's followed by a comfort that their motivations are probably very similar to your own.
I guess there is often the desire to find someone to blame for the tragedies in life, whether it be God, the Devil, neighbors, or even ourselves. I just don't find this to be a very constructive use of my time.
We talk a bit about our day and I help wash and dry the dishes.
I head upstairs to my room and flip on my computer. Lying next to my mouse is my cell phone. I haven’t used it in 10 months. I still pay the bill, though. I always silently acknowledge it. It’s my last connection to my brother. On the night he died, he left me a message. I remember going to voicemail to listen to it. I stop. I just couldn’t bear to hear it that day. After that it was just one of those things. My girlfriend at the time, Jessica, knew about it.
Jessica told me that she would call the phone company to make sure that the message wasn't erased. I think it made her feel good to be able to something to make me feel a little better. After a little wrangling, they were able to save the message permanently. So long as I paid my bills, the message was there waiting for me. I didn’t know when I would be ready to hear it, but the fact that it was there gave me some comfort.
Why not get another cell phone? I don’t know, it just felt wrong. And it’s kind of nice not to be available 24/7.
I check my e-mail and there is a message from Jen, a girl I had been out with a couple of times asking me to call her.
It's 7:30 on a Tuesday night, so I pick up the phone in the kitchen and call her.
__________________
“Your father called today.” She absentmindedly blurts out.
“How is he? Is he ok?”
“I’ll tell you son, I love him to pieces, but he was always an odd one. Only he could go off to war and find peace.”
We both laugh.
My father, in some respects, is a very straightforward guy. He works hard, has a sense of duty, family and honor. He’s a likable guy. A bit on the quiet side, so that’s probably where I come by it myself.
After Chaz died, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with my parents. I always thought that they seemed to get along pretty well, but having done a little research on the subject, I knew that most couples don’t survive the death of a child.
Sure, there was the occasional fight, one parent too soft, the other too hard. In the end, they both felt responsible, when the truth of the matter is neither one could really have done anything differently. As you get a little older you’re able to see your parents as people. Seeing them in this light often leads to a feeling of initial letdown, however, if you're lucky, it's followed by a comfort that their motivations are probably very similar to your own.
I guess there is often the desire to find someone to blame for the tragedies in life, whether it be God, the Devil, neighbors, or even ourselves. I just don't find this to be a very constructive use of my time.
We talk a bit about our day and I help wash and dry the dishes.
I head upstairs to my room and flip on my computer. Lying next to my mouse is my cell phone. I haven’t used it in 10 months. I still pay the bill, though. I always silently acknowledge it. It’s my last connection to my brother. On the night he died, he left me a message. I remember going to voicemail to listen to it. I stop. I just couldn’t bear to hear it that day. After that it was just one of those things. My girlfriend at the time, Jessica, knew about it.
Jessica told me that she would call the phone company to make sure that the message wasn't erased. I think it made her feel good to be able to something to make me feel a little better. After a little wrangling, they were able to save the message permanently. So long as I paid my bills, the message was there waiting for me. I didn’t know when I would be ready to hear it, but the fact that it was there gave me some comfort.
Why not get another cell phone? I don’t know, it just felt wrong. And it’s kind of nice not to be available 24/7.
I check my e-mail and there is a message from Jen, a girl I had been out with a couple of times asking me to call her.
It's 7:30 on a Tuesday night, so I pick up the phone in the kitchen and call her.
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