Always Have Memories

The consolation prize for losing a son or daughter is the memories. They come in a variety of facsimiles of life. Pictures, videos, writings, movie reels in our minds to name a few. There is a memory trigger I'd like to know a name for; it's the one where you see a person doing an activity your child once did well and your heart aches and your eyes burn.

I returned from a visit to Antigo where I spent time with family. The young kids have some features similar, naturally, to Aaron and Patrick. Facial expressions, eyes, eyebrows, ears, body language, voice inflections, skinned knees, hands, everything reminds me of my son. I see memories in all of the kids. Some make me smile or touch a tender nerve and burn my eyes.

Water skiing is something I never accomplished. Aaron's uncle Paul did. He grew up skiing and passed his interest and ability on to his children and in-laws who cared to learn. Aaron jumped at the offer as a little boy. Aaron was one of the first of the kids to be introduced to water skiing by Uncle Paul. Somebody else showed him tubing. Aaron had the right ingredients to become a good skier--a desire for excitement, no fear, strength and balance, and a good coach in his uncle. I watched him progress. Incapable of getting out of the water myself, I was proud to see my son learn to drop a ski and glide around the lake looking strong and confident on one ski. Any fall was attributed to driver error (me) never operator error (Aaron) "Dad, you slowed down too much...Dad you went to fast! Didn't you see me signal?"

Aaron's cousin Alex is a teenager now. He was 11 when Aaron died. He was nine the last time they attacked the lake together. They didn't just swim, or ski, or tube. Alex and Aaron created turmoil in the lake. Alex has grown into a strong young man and a terrific skier. Last evening I rode in the boat watching Alex.... and seeing Aaron. My heart beat hollow thumps seeing one boy where there could be two. Seeing Alex do what Aaron would want to, my eyes welled with tears behind my sunglasses.

Today I came home after three days of enjoying the neices and nephews and remembering.
The kids are special and I enjoyed them all. The memories are special and they all hurt.