Letters From a Son

In a quick turn of events, the weather switched from very cold to really warm. The snow on the ground is melting so fast that the ground has a soft white mist hovering above it. The sky is gray this morning and the wind is calm.
It’s raining somewhere east of me now and to the south, I’m told the sun is bright and warm. I imagine the sun is exactly as it was when I would take my long walks down the beach in Ft. Lauderdale. Remember?
White sand, blue water, palm trees, andme (your son) walking up and down the shore, wishing I could be different with you, or you were different with me.
I wished we could go back to the way things were or the way things are supposed to be. Yet as I go along in this crazy world, or should I say, as I grow up in this crazy world, I learn that life has its own way of happening. More and more, I realize life happens without stopping to ask if we agree with it or not, which means, there really is no way things “Are supposed to be.” There is no other way but this way; the way they are now.

I’m not sure how this happened, but the year is almost finished. It’s not easy this year. The holidays were always a tough time for us. It used to be that I would always make sure to check on you around now.
This is the time of year when Pop died. And here it is—another year and this one seems a bit more real to me. This is the second Christmas time without you. Last year everything was so new; the loss was still so surreal to me. And now that time has settled in, now that my mind caught up to the process, now that I can’t reach out to call anymore, the feelings I have are very real to me.

I think the strangest part of my life is the rush I was in to grow up. I used to tell you, “I’m not a little kid anymore,” and now that this is true; I wish there was a way to go back and be a kid again.

I stood outside this morning and waited for a good few minutes before leaving for work. I wanted to look around for just a little bit longer. Everything was so peaceful. The gray sky, the mist hovering over the melting snow, and droplets of water falling from the thawing black branches on the empty trees. It was beautiful—but like a lot of beautiful things—there was a little pain to the beauty. I suppose there was pain because the weather was my feelings embodied as a scene.

It’s strange. I used to feel bad when I would call you around this time of year. I never liked to hear the sadness in your voice and sometimes, I guess I would delay my phone calls a bit. I would put them off because I didn’t want to deal with them. And here we are now. I would give anything to be able to call you but there’s no way for me to get through.

At least now, I know where you are. At least now, I know the pain is gone and more importantly, at least now, I know you’re where you’ve always wanted to be. You’re next to Pop and that gives me comfort.

I wish I could hear from you both. I wish you could see where I am now. More than anything, I wish you could stay the weekend, wake up around sunrise like I do, and sit out on the deck behind the house. I think you would like the view. I know you would.
If you were here, I know you would take a seat with a cup of coffee and a cigarette. If you were here, I know what you would say. I know what you would ask me too.
You would ask how often I came out here just to look at the sky and see the mountains. And if you were here, I would tell you that I do it every day because this is where I go when I need to talk to you.

I have friends that tell me you can see these things. They say you can see the view, the mountains behind the house, the sky and everything around me. A piece of me feels that you can see it too. I have friends that tell me you’re proud of me, and well, I guess just not the same if it doesn’t come from your mouth. I guess this is one of the things I miss the most—your encouragement.

There is something I’ve been thinking about. You used to tell me that dying is a part of living. And when someone we love dies, we don’t weep for them; we weep for ourselves. To be honest with you, I’m not sure I truly understood the meaning of this until you left.

I miss you Mom. And It hurts sometimes.

Anyway . . .
I think I’m going to take a break from this rushing to grow up stuff. I don’t like it very much. No one plays fair and hardly anybody wants to play at all. The world is too serious this way. I think I’ll take my toys elsewhere. Maybe I can find new people to play with.

I have to go now Mom. And don’t worry. The warm front isn’t going to last very long, so I promise to dress warm. I promise to wash my hands before I sit at the table and I promise to write you again soon.

But before I close, just one more thing

I’ve been thinking about taking another crack at sending a few things to that publisher down south. It’s been a while since I sent anything out. I’m not sure if I’m ready yet. But maybe it’s time

You think?


I love you Mom

Your son




2 thoughts on “Letters From a Son

  1. We all have those thoughts this time of year. For you, it’s still new. I remember my mother telling me, she hated the song at New Year’s Eve, because it reminded her of those who passed. I guess that’s what New Year resolutions are for, to re-new our promises. You especially, should try to get your writing published.Good luck in the New Year !

  2. Thank you, Ben.
    My mom passed last February, and I – big sister, mom, aunt, niece – had to be strong for everybody. As the holidays approached, my reserve of strength cracked, and I so understood the words you have shared here, today. Thank you for the “comfort” ….

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