Grief blurs reality. It's just so big, sometimes I can't see behind or beyond grief. Tuesday morning the grief fog must have lifted enough for me to see something about Aaron's life. I'm clearly a visual and simplistic person. A simple line, a time-line, cleared the haze. This is what I drew and what I saw:
_____________________ ___________
Sixteen years of being a typical boy - 6 Mo.of chaos - 17 Mo. Safe Recovery & Peace
The line is not to scale. It's the best I can do in a pinch. The six months were a short time with a gigantic impact.
As a Froshman in High School Aaron ran varsity track. His first meet was an indoor event in Oshkosh. Aaron qualifed for the finals by placing in his heat. Standing at the finish line were Kathy, Dave, and Amanda Greening, Patrick, Cathy, and me. Aaron ran well in a fast race. At six feet tall, he did not have the control of his limbs that he would have a year later, but there was an awkward grace of hurdler-to-be apparent. Going over the last hurdle, Aaron caught his foot on the hurdle and stumbled. I hurt for him at that instant. Never one to sulk about his athletic results, Aaron scrambled to cross the finish line. His hand might have touched the ground, I don't remember. Aaron scored points for his team with that effort.
In the track race and in life Aaron sprinted, hurdled, stumbled, regained his balance, and finished with his head up. Determination. Grace. Strength. Responsibility.
Sixteen years and seventeen months are not overshadowed by six months. What had felt like a lifetime of conflict is in its proper perspective for me for the first time.
Peace tonight.
Tom
Thursday, August 31, 2006
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