Slipping Into the Future

Little is really known about the present. We know the moment is here and gone before time can be captured and its present held for scrutiny. Why is the present so elusive?

May 9, 2005 I stood on what I thought was firm ground. My determination was to live in the present, not regretting the past and not fearing the future. At 5:05 PM that day I took a call from Aaron on my cell phone. I was getting out of my car for an appointment when the phone rang. Aaron was on the phone telling me he had gotten a job. I don't remember my response. We chatted briefly. We said goodbye and I exited the car and walked to the present. Aaron and I would never talk again. If I could live in the present, I would live in the presence of that phone conversation and never hang up.

On May 10, 2005 my phone rang again. I thought it was Aaron. The caller was the deputy coroner. If I could live in the present, I would live in the presence of that phone call and never answer.

Firm ground of '05 was actually no more than pea gravel. When the ground gave away I was face down in mud, and blood, and tears. I may never have been closer to God or further from all that is not and does not matter, and yet I could not stay in that present.

It's 9:13 PM on May 9, 2010 and time is slipping into the future of the present May 10, 12:17 PM. I'm tired. My head is buzzing. Grief waited for me to arrive back at this moment. It's always here. I can see it at a distance once the corner into spring is turned. Grief has the patience of a book. Grief sits at the sign posts of memories in time, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded over a knee, head back, gazing into the distance; just waiting. The phone doesn't ring today, but it will ring on the 10th of May and I don't want that phone answered. Call somebody else... please.

The Last Gift

The gift to commemorate his 18th birthday was a twenty dollar bill. Maybe two.  Memories of gifts of money are as vague as the gift itself.  On his birthday Aaron gave me a gift and it's as precious today as it was then.  Peace. Aaron gave me peace.

With a fresh baked cake half eaten, Aaron sat in his truck and offered to share. The cake was baked by Liz, a classmate. As if a gift from a girl could be as simple as that, just a gift, just a friend, just because she cared, just because he cared. "Are you sure she's not your girlfriend?" "Yes. She's a friend. Friends do those things, Dad." "Why isn't she your girlfriend?" "Because she's not Mrs. Right." "And you're MR. Right?" "Yes I Am." An arrogant attitude could be disguised as confidence, but a healthy sense of self worth comes out in a person's eyes.  I saw character in Aaron's face and eyes. He had nothing to hide and I knew what I was missing in me.

Two days later I had the opportunity to reciprocate Aaron's gift. The opportunity was taken and I consider that my greatest accomplishment of my life. I told Aaron everything I admire about him, everything I have witnessed in his growth. For the first time, I acknowledged that I got it. My hypocrisy was what caused much of our conflict. I was trying to force an image of a personal reputation and my character was flawed. The reputation was phony and the character was apparent. In Aaron his character was unquestionable and he was letting go of his reputation. Aaron was so far down the road and I then knew there was much leg work to do for me.

Patrick is 19 now. Letting him know that I admire his humility and character is a simple pleasure of mine. Adult conversations with Aaron were cut short by my failure to acknowledge his maturity when he was 17 and then terminated by death just as I wised up. Patrick has the wisdom that comes from walking the roads less traveled and from keeping a clear and open mind. Aaron's gift to us is consequential. He helped me be the Dad I need to be when he and Patrick need me most. Aaron gave PT insight which Patrick has used to be the son I need him to be when I need him most.

Those are gifts that last.