We were told by those knowing and walking this path before us, that this could be an outcome, could be the way many may behave. We are just too painful for many to contemplate; their own fragile lives a primary concern, as it should be, and as such, can have no interference from our plight. It will be this way for some time and because of it, relationships may fail and ties will inevitably be severed, as we move to different paths and timelines. It can be no other way I guess. This is too devastating an event and the repercussions will be many and long lasting. My close friends have been there for me when needed, as has my family. They have rallied to our cause; have pitched in where needed and comforted when able. Many things will change and we will do our best to salvage what can be.

Dear Son,

Your mother wonders whether you are being delayed in going to your ultimate destination by our constant pleas for help and strength. I know it may be a burden on you to every moment feel our prayers and hear our tears as we struggle to comprehend what has happened. I know it may seem that we are forever asking for some intersession on our behalf or that we need just one more sign that you are ok so that we may somehow feel we can carry on without you. I wish I could tell you son, that our pleas for help will end soon and that we will finally, pick ourselves up and carry on. I cannot. We have a long way to go and much left to endure before that will ever be the case. I don’t know that we are any closer now to finding a path to follow, a road to set out on.

I know you will never leave us and as long as we need you to be here by our sides, you will stay. You have never failed us son, and as each day passes, we find more and more people whose lives you affected so positively. It is astonishing, the lives you touched in your short 18 years here and our pride at your accomplishments is beyond measure. It is cliché, but so true, that you did in your short time here, have more impact on more people than most do in a lifetime.

And yet with all that said, we are devastated that you are not here-that we did not have more time with you, more experiences to share, more moments to cherish, more of your love making us happy and fulfilling our lives. Maybe we are selfish that we want more after all you gave us. And if that is so, well………, I can live with that notion.

Feb 27^th Sunday

Dear Son,

It’s another rainy Sunday and I’m sitting here in the now too familiar spare bedroom looking out the window, thinking about you. It’s been a very lonely weekend, with some troublesome small incidents that made Friday night even harder to take than it normally has become.  The things that happened are over now but at the time, I felt so bad that you had to see your family fracturing slightly over the strain of your death.

Dealing with our loss of you is some days more than we can bear emotionally and sometimes the strain and anxiety of constantly being heartbroken can make tempers flare and small transgressions or misunderstandings magnified.  However, we are past that and I promised you at the time these events happened that I would try harder to be more understanding and patient. We cannot look to you for answers to our problems, I realize that now and it has been unfair of us to expect you to heal us. We have to find our own way out of this and we will.

I wanted to tell you that last week as I was looking through the glove box of my van I spied a disposable camera that has been sitting there for several months. I have seen it every time I go digging through the mess that is that lower large tray near the floor of the van and had not once, considered it may be yours. We have had so many of those damn things constantly sitting around the house half used or completely used up and no one worries about getting them developed. So, this was no different for all the times I had seen it there and if I ever did think about it, I just assumed it was another of your mothers cameras that she had forgotten about.

For some reason though, that day, it struck me that it might be your camera. Now I had no reason to believe that, it just came to me, as so many things have recently. I brought it into the house, gave it to your mother, and asked her about it. She didn’t know but took it to get developed anyway.

A few days ago, I came home, she was in the kitchen puttering around, and she pointed to this envelope on the counter. As soon as I saw it, I recognized it was a package of pictures. I asked if they were from the camera and she said, “That was your son’s camera.” I asked her, “Do I want to look at them?” She replied, “They’re his spring break pictures from Colorado.” with a rather somber voice.

“You’re kidding?” I asked astonished. “That camera has been in my van for months, how’d it get in there?”  “Who knows?” she said, “They are mostly of the guys, there’s a few of him.”

I couldn’t look at them at the time son, I have to adjust to any new pics that show up as they are painful to look at, especially if they are current pictures. So, today I posted your spring break pictures on your website and started a new gallery because there were so many of them. Nick has told me he may have a few more so I thought I would just separate them in case he has more. The pictures were pretty good, mostly of you guys partying and drinking!!! Like I didn’t know!! Your mom and I wish you had taken some of you guys snowboarding as you were so happy when you came back because you had done so well.

Josie seems to be doing well and will have her first FULL week of school coming up. Your mom and I will also brave our work again this coming week. I have worked  about 18 days straight as John has been on vacation. He will be back tomorrow and he and I will restart the new business projects. Your website will also be getting an upgrade later this coming week, making it a little more professional looking and organizing it a bit more to make it easier to navigate. I checked the stats last night and we will have as many visits this month and maybe more than we did in January. That made me feel good because it means your friends and family has not forgotten you and are still checking in.

Christopher, we miss you so much and it will be so hard to try to get back to a regular schedule. The things we do mean little right now, we are simply operating by memory but we have practicalities of life that must be fulfilled. We have been lonely this last week, with little contact from the “outside world”, the house quiet, each of us alone in our thoughts of you. I still don’t know how we are to carry on, I have no plan, no course of action, just the instinct that we must. I pray for you all the time as does your mom and you are never out of our thoughts. We love you son and our hearts hurt still at your absence. Please look over us and help us get better.  All my love, dad

Mar.3^rd

I think we are now entering the hardest part of our family saga. Things have never seemed so bleak as now or I think rather, things are somehow harder, the events that happened going on 11 weeks ago, impacting us in a very different way. I can’t really put my finger on the change or why we are feeling the way we are. We are now, more alone, more isolated that before. The circumstances and reasons for this are many, I think, but I am not really even sure about that.

‘I juts got back from lunch, something I never do, but John and I have been busy all morning and a customer who brought his small son in with him, suddenly made me feel so sad that I had to leave for a bit. I have never tolerated small children, their constant question asking , getting under foot, and in this warehouse environment, with a lot of noise and clutter, and having to move quickly to take care of business, made the tolerance of him much less. And of course, as when I professed not to like cats, the kid gravitated towards me, and wouldn’t let me be as was the case when I would go to someone’s cat filled house, and the damn things would land in my lap uninvited.

John as always, understood and said, “ hey man, why don’t you get out of here for a while.” So I did. Went down to the Chip Shot, a local bar and grill I have been to several times before. One of those places where the old retired men flirt with the 50 something bar maid, teasing her and generally making fools of themselves. A couple of margaritas later and I am back at the warehouse trying to finish up for the day.

I miss Christopher so much lately; he is always on my mind. The grief never leaves but the waves that used to devastate me are shorter in duration now, but more unpredictable in their coming. I woke up this morning and immediately after getting a glass of water and looking out the back door, was bowled over and went back to bed, where Kay was still sleeping. It has been about 18 days straight of work, trying hard to get back into some routine, but for no good reason other than knowing we have to. It means nothing; I operate as before by memory, doing what is so familiar.

I pray as never before, saying the rosary every time I go to see him, hoping somehow, some good comes of it. A few weeks back I wrote that there had been no sign of God, and to this date, I cannot say I am wrong. I think that is why in some part, I feel so alone. Kay and I are together and have banded ourselves against the elements. We are one, working to put our lives back to some recognizable form. There is none of course. Nothing is familiar and no one, no one, has any idea what is happening to us. Many are ready we can tell, for us to just get back to normal, to resume as before. But that will never happen.

We will not be able to oblige those that wish things were as before. The shoes we are walking in are known only to those who have walked this path. Anyone else is just guessing, and guessing badly. There are still moments I can not believe we are in this situation, moments when the reality of our lives as they are, cannot be fathomed. They are brief moments, but when they hit us, it is a cruel, hard lesson to relearn.

Surprisingly or perhaps not, Chris’ close band of friends constantly stays in touch with us either by email or call. Nick wrote a beautiful story of Chris a few days ago and I posted it on the site. He made me realize one of the things I have to try myself to capture: that of Chris’ quiet confidence and humility. I have not been able to write much lately of Chris, as work has taken so much time, but I plan to try mightily, to get something written by the weekend.

Oh yes, another weekend is upon us. Something we dread, the Friday nights. Hard to imagine that Friday was the one day of the week, Kay and I looked forward to after 60 hr plus weeks, when we could unwind, the kids safe and sound, getting out on the town for a bit to talk and reconnect. Now we barely leave the house and the noisy jumble of the places we went before are now so enervating, we can barely stand to be in them.

So we will try to go on, Kay and I looking after Josie and our son’s memory; trying to find someway to reenter life and then trying to make it matter. We are alone; no one else can really do anything for us. It’s up to us now as others move back to the comfort and safely of what is familiar, leaving us to find our way. It is the way it has to be. He have been given no choice in the matter, no permit to tag along in someone else’s wake. We will do as best we can. We will take care of Chris.

Mar 7^th Monday

We enter our second full work week of our “new reality” which is life after Chris. Caranne as been going to school now for 4 weeks I think, it may be  three, but this is her second full week also. It is not at all easy, and many days it has been close to impossible as the emotion and energy expended saps us completely by days end. Since evenings are the hardest time anyway, the lack of energy makes staying up till 10 pm problematic. By 6 or so, we just want to go lay in bed and stay there but there are things to do, chores and other matters to attend to, so we force ourselves to keep stroking, to will ourselves to take one more step in an effort to finish out the day properly.

The last few weekends have been some of the hardest since Chris died. The reality of being alone with no one to help, no one to help the time pass, no one to take our minds temporarily off our lives, makes the hours pass slowly. You look outside the window as life goes on, and that really is the hardest thing to take. The realization that for most that knew our son, their grieving period is over; they are moving beyond those horrible early weeks, the pain for them already a distant memory. Their life situations require them to move past us, to continue on the journey their lives were already on; the brief stop they allowed for our tragedy now over. For some, the stop was longer as they may have been more intimately involved in our lives or Chris’ life, but they too move on to where they were headed, while we still sit immobile, unable to join them.

For our family, we have no destination, or place to go. The journey our happy family was on has been forever interrupted and whatever plans and events were to occur have been scrapped permanently. We still sit on the sidelines as we continue to grieve for our son. He is never out of our minds from the time we wake to the time we can finally lay our heads down on the pillow and thank God that we have made it another day.

This process will be ongoing as we struggle daily to deal with our new reality. We are making small forays into the outside world, aside from work. Kay and I have gone out to eat a few times and we have survived though it is always muted. Kay and Josie make occasionally trips to the store or mall, Caranne providing the impetus. Mary Kay is enduring work, though it is extremely hard on her mentally and at the end of the day the look in her tired, sad eyes is heartbreaking. My work continues with help from my friends. I have hired another part-time worker to take the load off John so he and I can refocus on the new business project started many weeks ago. I should have worked on some of those matters over the weekend but had no energy to do so.

We had a productive Saturday starting with taking the cats to the vet at 8 am. That is always a nervous chore as cats are not car friendly passengers. Nevertheless, they did okay and we were home by 9 or so.  After breakfast, we cleaned the house a bit and I contemplated some yard work, as it was very nice out but changed my mind and swept the garage out instead while Kay finally vacuumed her car and cleaned it out a bit.  Caranne spent the evening out with her friends and has been doing so a lot as she regains some independence and mobility.

Sunday morning I went to church at 7:30 as has been my practice for many weeks. I continue to pray for help and guidance. Kay did not go as she woke with a headache and had not slept well. She was up when I got home, we ate some breakfast, and then we both just kind of crashed and went back to bed. The grief gets you when you least expect it, it bowls you over and you just succumb. We went to bed and watched a movie while we lay there thinking of our lives and of Chris. We rose again about noon and tried vainly to make something of the rest of the day.

We have been preparing to clean out Chris’ room; a project that we know will be painful and hard emotionally. In anticipation of that, we went to look for new carpeting on Saturday and will finalize that purchase soon, so we may begin. Once we got up Sunday, I started taking the bigger items out of his room to clear the clutter and prepare to eventually move everything out so the carpet layers can do their work quickly, without delay. The house will be cluttered for some time as we work to empty the room. Places will have to be found temporarily for all of his belongings and furniture. So much is in there, so much of his life he leaves behind in boxes and drawers, all will have to be gone through, and that will be where the pain resides as we handle and gaze at all that was his.

In anticipation of redoing his room, I had our neighbor, Gordon, make a beautiful wall mounted wood and glass case to hold all the small valuables and keepsakes. It’s large, about 4’ by 4’, and wonderfully finished with large glass doors and small drawers and two thick glass shelves. He outfitted it with high intensity lighting in the top so you can see what is displayed. This will hold the most valued mementos of Chris’, small-cherished items we want forever to hold dear. That will be all we have left of him in the physical sense. Our memories truly will have to get us though and we have so much pain and hurt left to go. Getting past another day is a small triumph and will be so for months to come.

Much has happened over the last few weeks but work has prevented me from writing, as has my emotional state. I intend to be caught up on my writing for Chris’ page and feel badly that I have not devoted the time necessary for people to read more about his wonderful life and personality. I have to try harder to be more productive. The website will be getting a facelife of sorts soon. A business associate introduced me to a woman who does website design. she has offered to help at a greatly reduced rate, to spruce up the site and add some features to it. A young man that works for her his helping me and he should begin this week to modify the site. I think it will be very good and should be a better place for my son’s memory and his friends and family to visit.

Mar.10^th  thurs. evening

 Dearest Son,

It has been a long day, a very long day. I didn’t sleep well last night, waking up about 1:30 and then tossing the rest of the night. The day was not much better as I thought of you the entire day and was so lonely and sad. The last few weeks have been difficult as we try to mainstream back into some semblance of normalcy. These days are long and slow and energy and momentum is hard to maintain. I do okay until about noon and then I have to stop and take a break, getting out of the warehouse for a bit to collect myself.

I feel so badly that I haven’t been able to write much lately as the work load takes most of the strength and mental energy I have available. By the time I get home it is all I can do to make it till 8 pm. Your mom has been working very hard and she too comes home looking so tired and drained. Tonight is no exception, the dreary look in her eyes tells easily her fatigue and sadness.

We have been trying hard though bud, to find some way to carry on but no one can know how difficult it is. I was sitting downstairs before coming up here to write this short letter to you and again, I start thinking how unimaginable this is, and of how this can’t be happening to us. How can my first-born be gone?  It was not supposed to be this way and even now almost 3 months later, the mind still refuses at times, to accept our situation.

I have started writing for you again and making some progress finally after over a week of making no progress. We plan to take some time off next week, as it is Caranne’s spring break. One of the first milestones reached- the spring break. We will not be jetting off to some warn destination to kick back and play. No, we will sit right here and ponder our lives and what to do. We will try to find a few things for Josie to do, may be some day trip or something easy, but we will not venture far from you or this house.  There is so much more I could tell you son, and I will write again soon. For now, I am too tired and need to rest as another Friday is approaching and you know all too well, how that day is for us all. I love you so much buggy, take care of us if you can and look over your sister. We all miss you so much son,   love,  dad

Mar.11^th Fri. morning

Dear Son,

The written words are the hardest to bear; your thoughts put to paper in the quiet, when you were by yourself, contemplating your life and the things that mattered to you. I have found some of these recently, in small spiral notebooks, your private moments when no one was around. Whether they were daydreams or aspirations, the reading of them is hard and breaks my heart for reasons I cannot fathom. I think what scares me is the knowing these will not be the last. As we venture through your belongings, I am certain more will surface; more of your private quiet moments when you were deep in thought of your life and your friends.

Aubry has brought some to me and to this date, I have not summoned the courage to read them. I know not what they contain, the letters written to her about many things in your life; events happening perhaps or musings you had. That she gave them to your mother and I mean more than she can imagine. I cried as I handled them, unable to stop the tears as I looked through the envelopes to your all too familiar handwriting. I could not at the time, bear the thought of what they said, even though she assured me they were nothing to fear. My tears brought her own as she imagined she had caused me pain. She had not. The only pain was my breaking heart as the very thought of you in the middle of the night, writing your most private thoughts somehow made me sad, as it does now.

I wish son, I could explain why your written word makes me feel this way. But it is one of the things that scares me the most; that I would find something put to paper by you, that would somehow injure me or worse, reveal some hidden fear you had that you felt you could not share with us. You always were open and honest with us, and that fear is not likely to be justified. Still, the thought of you being in pain or fearing something and not letting me help, makes me sad.

Julie sent with you many of your writings, and hers I imagine. I did not ask her about them and we have not spoken of it since. The metal box meant much to her and those letters and thoughts, again, your private, intimate feelings, will always be at your side, known only to you and her.

Another Friday is upon us son, again it will be long and difficult, and evening will bring as it always does, the welcome of sleep. For a grieving parent, these weekly events are a hurtle, not to be understood by many, ones they would not want to experience. The longing and the pain do not go away; the anxiety and constant emotional upheaval seldom leave. Our thoughts are always of what we have lost, what we will never get back, and how we will never be the same.

As this Friday begins, we will as always, ponder our lot, try to imagine how we will ever be well and how our lives will ever be joyful again. Mostly though, we will think of you son, of how we miss you and love you, of how we can never feel you hug us again or tell us you love us. We will always think of you as the most wonderful of sons, perfect in everyway, a gift taken from us, one that will never be returned until we too, leave this place. I cannot wait son, to see you again.   Love, dad

Mar. 13^th

This is the first post I’ve made in some time. Have been very busy working and time and energy has been short. The time I have had has been devoted to Chris, writing to him and working on his page. Things have been very difficult these last several weeks as we try to get back to work and get caranne reestablished into school life.  Physically she is doing very well and there are several entries in my journal that I have not shared because of her need for privacy during this time. However, she has been going to school for almost 4 weeks now and is trying to get caught up with homework.

Kay and I continue to struggle with Chris’ death and the aftermath. The pain is a constant and the reminders of our loss are many and often. Nothing can be observed or experienced without somehow triggering a memory- he was so many places and did so many things, it is hard to do or go anywhere without some reminder of his life with us. We went to mass this morning as we have been doing for some time now and we stopped to pick up some groceries afterwards. While walking the aisles, we realized how many food items alone, we would no longer be buying. Most things were purchased for him, as he was the only one who ate regularly. I walked up and down the store looking for something to buy but always it was the same thing: no need for it anymore. No cereal, no pizza rolls, no instant oatmeal: those things and many others are items of the past.

The emptiness of our lives continues to haunt us as we try to find a way to recover and move on. We realize now more than ever, how much of an impact he had in our everyday activities and of how much we relied on him; maybe too much. Our son did so much for the three of us both in a physical sense and more importantly, emotionally. We all needed him for something and I wonder now if we placed too much burden on his psyche by demanding so much of his time and energy?  He never said no and maybe that was a problem- I don’t know.

The grief is more manageable than before but still as unexpected when it hits. The worst part I think now is the longing for him. I had been struggling to find the right word for how we are feeling and I think longing is that word.  We miss his so much and at the worst times, it is the longing; the very real physical need to see and hold him that is the hardest on us. We know we cannot be soothed or given relief from that feeling and that is what makes it worse.

We continue to visit him daily, our need of that time is vital. With all the work we have been enduring, for me, by 3 or 4 in the afternoon, I am mentally drained and visiting him somehow, rejuvenates me; makes me able to finish the day. Evenings are still the hardest part of the day, between 5 to 7 or so. For some reason, when dusk and early evening comes, the feelings of melancholy and anxiety become intense.  For most bereaved parents, bedtime is a welcome relief; it is certainly for us. To know we have weathered the storm one more time, one more day under our belts, is relieving.

Kay I think is exhausted, her workload has been hard and she comes home so tired and lonely for her son. We have so many things still to do: write thank you letters, finish our taxes, much work around the house that I had been planning for some time. I will somehow, have to find the energy to get some of these things started. Chris’ room is still undone but we are making some small progress. We have to finalize the carpet purchase and then we will be ready to start in earnest. It is not a task we are looking forward to and we know how painful it will be. We are essentially, still in an arrested state, with little if any, real progress made.

We have seen and been in contact with many of his friends, they have been wonderful in that regard. They seem to understand better than most, how to handle us and what we need. They have been such a large part of our lives that it should come as no surprise. I think they are still having trouble carrying on too and maybe that is why we are able to interact so well together. We need them and they need us. We email regularly, they stop to see us, and more importantly, continue to go see Chris whenever they are in town. It means so much to us for them to do that simple thing. I have no idea if anyone else goes there and I guess it’s not that important. That they do is.

The website is still getting a lot of traffic and I continue to post pictures and write when I can. We will be updating the graphics and some of the functions of it soon. The designer was to start this past week but was caught up in his regular work, so will begin later this coming week. February actually received more traffic than in January, and that was welcoming and comforting news.

The upcoming week will be a hard one to endure: three months. It seems impossible and there are still times our minds try to tell us this cannot be happening. I don’t know if that will ever change. The date falls on St. Pats day, one of my favorite holidays, one we would normally celebrate all day. I don’t know what we will do, if anything. We discussed it earlier and made no firm plans. Caranne is on spring break now and we have only a few plans for activities for her.

We know only that we must somehow pick up and carry on. We have to rebuild our lives so that caranne can again have a chance to be happy. Each day is a endurance run, each hour seems like two, and Fridays are always hard. We stay together and we pray for Chris and ourselves. We think of him always and still we wonder how we have come to this. We will never be the same. We have so much to do and so little energy and will power. I hope we can make it.

Mar. 17^th St. Patricks Day

My dearest son,

Today is here and I wish it were not so. Three months since your death, to the god forsaken day, a day I have been dreading all this week. The week has been hard, full of emotion and pain, sadness and fear. It is worse that this day is nice, sunny and warm, as if somehow, things are better. They are not. The last month has been one of the hardest for us. Your mom and I have taken the last few days of the week off in anticipation of this event and for your sister’s spring break, such as it is. We have contemplated repeatedly, the things we might be doing this week, with you here, and always it is the same: enjoying life.

I know writing these things must bring you some pain, that you should know and see how lonely and messy our lives have become without you. I keep telling myself we will be okay and that somehow we will weather this storm and find a way to continue. I keep telling you every time I go to see you, not to worry, that I will be alright and that I will carry this family to a better day. Some days I do believe it, but many days I know I am lying to myself; that I have no idea what is to come, how we are to respond. The truth is, we have no idea what we are doing, no idea or plan in mind, only the faint knowledge that we do have to go on and that we do have to find some direction in which to set.

We continue to pray, in the hopes God will give us some reprieve, some answers, some damn help. I cannot say that now, three months out, we have gotten any response. I haven’t given up asking, but I turn more cynical by the day, that any knowledge will be imparted to us. I will, lacking any other alternatives, keep at it, praying and asking for some help, some faith, something to give us a little more strength. I don’t know if it will help but I have no other to turn to.

We went to see you this morning, before doing anything else as your mother and I were struck with emotion before the day had hardly started. We sat with you and cried, she especially was so heartbroken on this day. We as always asked why and wondered aloud how this could come to pass. We ask the same questions daily, knowing full well, no answers will be given.

So many memories these last few days have lingered, thoughts of happier days. It seems clear now to me at least, that we will not be happy for a long time. I have resigned myself to that fact and I think your mother is coming to the same conclusion. I some days think we will never be happy again, that all our days of joy, left with you, never to return. It is a brutal assessment of our lives, but it is at this time, a true measure of the way things are.

Nothing can be done for us and we are truly alone, the three of us, with only your memory to bind us together. Your mom and I marriage wise, are probably stronger than we have ever been, my duty to her and your sister, clear. You need not worry about the strain of your death pulling us apart. That will not happen. We will be together now and in the future, steadfast in our love and longing of you, committed to your sister.         

Caranne has plans for the day and evening and we will make sure she has a good time. We will try to enjoy a few moments of the holiday and as has become our tradition, toast to you, our beloved son. We will remember today, all the past spring breaks we have taken: San Diego, Phoenix, San Antonio, the islands, all the places the four of us enjoyed as a small-united family. We will remember your smile, your love, your big strong hands and shoulders, your big bear hugs and warm kisses. We will remember your soothing voice and your excited screams, your wonderful stories and tall tales. We will remember your joyous moments, your proud accomplishments and your love of life. All these things we will remember today Christopher, all of these and more, more moments jammed into eighteen years than most have in a lifetime.

We will remember everything son, nothing will be forgotten. Your family is here, for you. We will take care of you, your memory, your undying love. We will miss you today son, and we will cry. Buggy……. We miss you so much.  Love, your  hurting family

Mar. 19^th sat.

Today I found the one thing I had feared lost forever; Chris’ favorite black ADIO baseball cap- the one he is wearing in many of the pictures posted to the galleries. I had privately mourned its loss, feared he had been wearing the night of the accident, and assumed it too was a casualty of that horrible night. I had wanted to ask Kay about it but did not want to upset her, as I knew she would think the same thing; that it had been discarded along with his clothes. We have lost so much already and one more reminder would have been too much to ask of her.

I have been fretting about it for many weeks, hoping against hope that somehow he was not wearing it and that it was just misplaced or was with one of his friends as so many of his personal belongings are; exchanges made of necessity during times of rush and confusion, with the intent of always retrieving them later.

Today, after spending St. Pat’s day in the Sheraton on the Plaza, we got busy in earnest, cleaning out his room to make way for new carpeting. We have been fearing the task, knowing how much heartache it would bring, but this find was something so welcome, so heartwarming and at the same time, heartbreaking, it made the chore easier, more productive and gave us strength to keep at it. It was a gift from Chris.

As I was moving all the belongings from his room to the cedar closet, all items we brought home from school that day, personal toiletry, electronics, video games- all the things that were in his dorm room, I found a milk crate that had some cordless phone parts in it, and there it was! Sitting among the phone and some other items was the familiar black cap, sweat stained and worn, the smell of his perspiration permeating it. I was immediately brought to tears, ran down the stairs, and handed it to Kay, who understood why I was presenting it to her. She too broke down and held it to her heart, comforted by its feel. Its hard to imagine this one item meaning so much to us, we have so many other things of his, but for some reason, this simple black hat in some ways is a healing object; a thing to be cherished.

Today his room is almost empty and we have gone through all the bookshelves, drawers and cubbyholes, everywhere he had stuffed his treasures and trash- things needed, many that were not. Magazines, brochures, instructions to various things, cd’s, books, toys, knickknacks, everything that at one time or another, was handled by him. Many items were very old and dusty and had been long since forgotten, casually tossed aside instead of in the trash, as was his habit. It was easy to see what was valuable and what was fodder.

What we have not attempted broaching and will not soon is his closet. That is a much larger project, one that will take many days to sift through; for that we have time. For now, I would say, we are in a better frame of mind as this task, so painful to contemplate, has brought with it some small joy and as such, leaves us feeling perhaps, a little more peaceful and relieved, that we have in a small way, organized and cataloged this bit of his life.

Now today, Sunday, we are both wondering if we hurried too much in cleaning out the room. I was looking at the chore as something positive, a work of love for Christopher and his memory. Mary Kay wondered if we had rushed when no hurry was needed. I don’t know. We are so unclear about so many things during this time. The simplest of tasks requires so much mental energy just to contemplate let alone put into concrete action. Chores that would be done almost without thought now require us to fret and ponder for days sometimes, before arriving at any firm decision.

I awoke feeling today like we are arriving at some point of closure; as if the cleaning of the room signifies the beginning of the end of our mourning. It was a temporary fleeting thought, but one that now sits with me, causing me to wonder if that is really what is happening.

The past month has been so difficult to endure- the pain and hurt seeming to increase instead of receding. Maybe we have been preparing ourselves for saying goodbye; readying ourselves for the new life we know we must eventually start. Maybe that is why the pain has been as intense as we purge ourselves of what hurt is left.

I know I have been telling Chris that its time for me to get on with all the things I have been putting off since his death. All the home projects, including his room, demanding I begin. I have forced myself mentally to contemplate and make preliminary plans for all those tasks left unstarted, knowing I just have to do them. Its possible by forcing myself to face all the things I have to do, I have caused this unnecessary anxiety and false perception that we are somehow arriving at an ending of this phase of our grief. I just don’t know.

I do think that this entire week has had repercussions that we had not intended. By leaving the house on Thursday and staying in the hotel on the Plaza as part of Caranne’s spring break treat, we entered new territory. We have not left the house since Chris’ death and the fact that we left for an entire night, staying in a hotel, was a huge paradigm shift.  That act alone was a monumental move, one I had not even really pondered before doing it. It forced us to be away from home and act as though we were on a vacation of sorts and as such, engaged in activities we had grown unaccustomed to: going to dinner, partying with strangers, being in crowded noisy places.

For a time that day, we did enjoy ourselves and tried to carry on as though it was another holiday. Chris was never from our minds and we toasted him every time we ordered a drink, as has been our new custom. We did for brief periods, engage ourselves in the celebratory atmosphere and for those times we were back to normal to a certain degree.

We are far from normal and we have no illusions about that fact.  The daily visits of grief remind us all to fiercely that we are a long way from healed. I don’t want Chris to see us so sad though and I try to focus on the good things of his life and of jobs that lie ahead. I have to keep busy with all the chores and tasks demanded. I have to make sure my son is proud of the way I am taking care of things; as I tried to teach him to do. I cannot be a hypocrite; I now have to learn the lessons my son did and more importantly, have to learn how to act on them as he did his entire life.

Fri. Mar. 25^th

Dear Son,

Well, another Friday is upon us, another reminder of our loss, a weekly occurrence. The week has been long and I am wrapping up the day here at the warehouse and wanted to tell you how much we have been thinking of you lately. We always do, but this past month has been especially difficult for both your mother and I. Barely a minute goes by when you are not on our minds and in our hearts. I just stopped by a bar and grill close to the warehouse to have a drink before returning here to finish the day and write you this letter.

I was thinking the other day about your “Uncle” John R., my closest oldest friend and thought about how he used to help me in the early days of my business, late at night, putting fish shipments away. It was the first year actually, and we always worked late at night. The shipments from overseas would clear customs in Chicago or LA and it would be late before they arrived here in Kansas City. He was a hobbyist back then and worked next door at Aquascience as the plant manager. He wanted to learn about fish and offered to work with me for free in exchange for teaching him about fish.

I had the warehouse in Lenexa and we would arrive from the airport about 11 pm and work until 2 in the morning or so. Many times your mother would bring you in to watch us. You were but a toddler then, perhaps 2 or so and could barely walk. John would always fret about how we let you suck on the fish bags and play with them, concerned that they might harbor some unknown germs from Asia. We never worried about such things and let you have the run of the warehouse, constantly getting into things while we worked into the night, cutting fish out of the bags and into Styrofoam boxes to acclimate them.

It was a long time ago and even with my poor memory, I remember the nights clearly. We were so young then, your mother and I and we knew nothing about raising a child. But we so loved you and you brought so much joy into our new lives. I also remember Saturday and Sunday afternoons when we would drive the Camaro to the warehouse to check up on things, making sure everything was still running. Something always seemed to go wrong after I would leave on Fridays and we would spent the first hour or two sweeping water out of the warehouse from some leak that had developed. You would just run around the parking lot getting into things and exploring, while I cleaned up and your mother kept watch over you.

John loved you like the son he never had and when I last spoke to him, he was devastated at your death. He cried with me over the phone as I talked about you and lamented our loss. We have not spoken in several weeks and like so many; he knows not what to do for us. Perhaps I will call him this weekend and see how he is doing.

I started working on your room and have been sanding and restaining the woodwork that is badly scratched. I will take my time and refinish the doors and moldings before recarpeting, making sure it all looks nice.

Julie’s sister Leslie, left a very nice entry in the guestbook the other day and when I read it, it made me cry. You meant so much Christopher, to so many people, I wonder if you ever really understood that. Ryan came by the other night to see us and I ran into devin at the mausoleum the other day. It seems as though all your friends had nothing to do during their spring breaks this year. Nick came by a week ago and he too had just been hanging around the town during his break. It makes us both sad to think of what you would be doing this week and I cant help thinking that if you had been here, no one would be wanting for something to do. You would have provided all the activity and impetus for making something happen.

I was told by Devin and Nick, that Nathan ended up going to Hawaii to see his mom. I was so shocked to hear that as he said nothing about it in all the emails he had been sending the week prior. I hope he has a good time and he certainly deserves the break. He more than anyone of your friends, I think, has been having the toughest time dealing with your death. We worry about him and want him to get better as we do all your friends. We haven’t seen Jules for a week or two but I understand she may have gone to New York to spend some time with her sister. I hope she too has a little break and can enjoy herself.

I’ll go see you here in a bit as soon as I finish this letter to you. I miss you so much and we have so far to go. I posted another story for you son on your page and plan on writing some more. Your birthday is fast approaching in April and we wonder how we will feel and what we will do. Many firsts will present themselves this year and none of them will be good. We can only pray for some help and continue to think of you. I hope you are happy and that you do not get discouraged at our situation. We will be okay, he have no choice. We will work hard to get better. I hope somehow, you can guide us a little and maybe give us some clues on how to carry on without you. We will pray for you son and love you. Take care of yourself…. Love dad

Easter Sunday March 27^th

Christopher,

Your mom and I sit here this morning with you on Easter, our first without you. We are sad and as always, mourn for you and our loss. It’s been a hard long month and days like this will be many. We know all too well we must endure more like this. The pain will subside slowly we are told, and that in time the hurt we feel will be more bearable, easier to manage. I don’t know. I have gotten so used to it: as if as old friend, I cannot discard. I need my pain, what would I do without it?

Would I somehow be better without it? Would life suddenly spring back, filling me with lost joy? Would somehow all that has transpired be erased, wiped away from our memories?

Your mom and sister have fixed up your site with an Easter basket, lilies and a new bunny for you. They also have a picture from a past Easter of you and Josie holding your baskets, posing at the front door.

I know although you indulged your mom’s need for pomp and festivities at holidays such as this, feigning excitement at the contrived Easter egg hunt, you will miss the silliness of walking the yard, pretending to look for all the goodies she would hide around the yard, showing mock surprise when you would “find” your basket.

You were always a good sport though and always showed thanks and gratitude for her efforts. Many a year I would sit in the bedroom as she fussed over making your baskets just right, making sure all the right candies and gifts she bought were put just so in the overstuffed baskets. For you and Caranne, Easter was like another Christmas with not just candy to enjoy, but also always some larger gift that was unexpected.

We have now son, only those memories to hold to our hearts. We dyed no eggs this year, but you and Caranne have a basket as always. Yours will forever be a different basket, filled with our love and our grief to start with, and hopefully sometime down the long road that lies ahead, filled with only those most cherished of memories and enough love to last you until we too make our way back to your arms.

Pray for us as we pray for you son, and have a Happy Easter!

Love, Your family

Easter Sunday March 27^th

Tomorrow is Easter, the first of many holidays we will have to learn to endure, without our precious son. Still now, we ask ourselves why we have been chosen to live the hell we are in. As I sit here at Chris’ mausoleum and look at all the wonderful pictures of him, I am saddened and so angry that my boy was taken from me.

Although it is difficult to look at this from anything but our extremely jaundiced perspective, we try to keep in mind that our faith tells us your loved ones are taken for reasons unknown to us. God has not to date, given me any hope that an answer will come. The fact is, if he is helping at all, it is in a way that is unseen and unfelt to me.

I am no more cynical or shaken in my faith than a month ago, nor am I making any great strides in understanding and tempering my view that God has, if not abandoned us, left us on the proverbial dark roadside, to find our way back alone.

I just keep telling myself that we have to honor Chris’ sacrifice, and find a way to make our way out of this, to make things better for Caranne, and in the process, maybe find a way for Kay and me to begin to heal this seemingly mortal wound.

It must be possible; many others have traveled this path before us and lived again. So many- too many. Dr. Marty has told us unimaginable numbers of friends and patients she has and has known that have too, endured the painful journey we have just begun.

It is the cruelest of events to be sure, and no one can possibly know the pain and anguish we are in. If someone reading this thinks they have answers for us or thinks somehow we are weak or lamenting our cause too long, then they are surely the most arrogant and conceited of persons, and completely unable to in the slightest manner, have any empathy or compassion.

Only those that have made this journey can begin to comprehend the magnitude and scope of this tragedy. That it consumes and ravages your heart and mind, devastates your spirit and brings grief unknown is only the beginning. The unknown to outsiders and unfortunately to us also, is the extent our lives have been altered and destroyed. There will only be vestiges of what we once had with only small recognizable bits of our former lives remaining.

The fear that accompanies this unknown is hard to contemplate. Each day we wake, drag ourselves from the comfort and security of our bed, and breath deep and try again to make it through the day. We have no idea what direction we are going in, no clue as to if we are on the right road, and really, no help in making our way. We never know what is over the next hill and more importantly, in our shell-shocked state, have no idea if there is another calamity awaiting us. That is living in fear.

March 29^th

Dearest Son,

The weekend was long and difficult and Easter was but a shell of what it used to be for us. We had no large feast, no spiral sliced ham you used to devour, Caranne made no special dessert or relish tray as she normally would. No, it was very different indeed- how could it be otherwise?

We three rose early and went to Easter mass at our old church on 74^th st, by the house where you were raised as a baby. None of us were up to enduring the pomp of a full blown Easter service. As it was, we were subjected to the most depressing of Easter homilies that could have been, and I guess as has been our luck these past 3 months, the dreary priest delivering it, chose a story of a 19 year old young son, traveling Asia and being killed and of how distraught his mother was. How’s that for an uplifting Easter sermon?

Your mom and I looked at each other and just shook our heads in disbelief but also in a resigned, knowing way, understood that we will not be let off the mat from the powers that be and that we will have to endure many of these unintended insults on our emotions.

I could see the pain and discomfort in your mother as she held her ground and fought off the urge to get up and leave, the priest seemingly wanting to hurt us longer, continued to repeatedly preach about the young man being killed, the anguish his mother felt, in a circle that never moved beyond that fact. Or at least it seemed so.

His point was eventually made, which was that it was a case of mistaken identity and that the young man thought dead, as was Jesus, seemed to rise from the dead. How we wish it were so for you son.

That will not be our fortune though, no matter how much we pray or try to make ourselves believe we are in a long nightmare which must eventually end, and with its conclusion, your return to our arms. That we are in a nightmare is true enough, but it is one that will never end; you will always be gone from this point on.

We spent the day, your mother and I, working in the yard, clearing winter’s debris, mowing, raking the last of fall’s leaves, preparing the yard for spring’s eventual return. The pond was readied for the koi’s reintroduction to their outdoor summer home. We prepare for spring and the hot summer that will follow, but it means nothing to us and we drew no satisfaction at the day’s work, only another chore crossed off the long list. Our reward after the long day of labor was a car drive on the sunny day to the other side of the state line to quench our thirst with a much deserved beer, but not before thinking of our precious “scooter”, and toasting to our wish for your happiness.

We retired to the bedroom to watch the last basketball game of the day, one of the few moments your mom seems to enjoy, but were interrupted when your friends came for a much needed visit. Nick, Brandson, and Julie, all together made a welcoming end to a long day.

Their visit was something we both needed, we realized later, their presence much more comforting and enjoyable that has been previously, especially for your mom. They stayed longer than usual and she laughed and talked and it felt good to see her warmed by their company. I could go on about all that was said, but I know you were right there with us, sharing their love and warmth and also the hints of pain that would creep out from sad smiles. Julie especially was a little melancholy; the tears in her eyes would well when Nick was reminiscing. She tried to smile though and we were comforted that she was there.

We miss them when they are away and although it is still difficult to see them for too long a time, it is starting, I feel, to become a more comforting thing, not as painful. They are trying son, all of them, to find their way without you. Like us, some days are easier, some are painful, but all are lonely. We must carry on without you son, we have no other options. We miss you so much, all of us wish somehow we could turn back the hands of time and long for your smile. We all Christopher, love you so much.

Love, mom and dad

April 1^st.

I listened to John Mayer this morning driving into work and every lyric reminds me so much of Christopher. It’s one of the few times I have been able to play the CD and I still to this day cannot listen to the Clarity CD. It is still too painful a memory and as much as I love that CD, the songs will have to wait until I am better.

This will be a long hard day for me. The week has been difficult for Kay and she has been struggling immensely since last Sunday, Easter. She is exhausted by the workload she is bearing at this time due to many projects that are occurring for her. She has been working her usual 10 hour days and by the time she goes to see Chris, she is already mentally spent and those minutes she spends with him take what little of her is left. I do what I can, but I can only make her as comfortable as she will allow. I expect nothing of her in regards to my needs as her emotional state is paramount.

I try to do what is expected of me and Chris would expect no less. I know it doesn’t even occur to him that I may not be able to shoulder this burden. He expects of me, the same duty and responsibility I constantly drummed into him; how could he not? All those years of my pressing him and telling him how you have to just do certain things in life that you will get no credit for or no praise. They are just things required of men, young and old.

I have at times since his death, felt guilty that I had driven him hard; made him do things just because I felt it would make him better understand the responsibilities that are expected of men. I know Kay would get frustrated and mad at me at those times when Chris would struggle with my expectations temporarily. I think back to some of those events and the look on Chris’ face when I would crack the whip, the pain showing in his face and emotions briefly, until he accepted the burdens put upon him, and then in his usual manner, standing straight and proud and shouldering the weight . I wish now I could take some of those things back.

But those events are things of the past and memories set in stone. I cannot change what has happened and the way I did things. I have to now, do what is expected of me, by my family and more importantly, by my son. I have to learn the lessons I taught him and put them into action. I feel like a hypocrite sometimes that in his death, I am only now, realizing how I had been more of a “ do as I say, not as I do” kind of dad. I am determined to make him proud of me; to know that his dad can follow his own advice and wisdom. I have had many opportunities to show him that since his death and I hope I have. I keep reminding myself everyday when I am hurting that I have to just “do it”, and that it doesn’t matter if I get patted on the back or if I get any sympathy or nurturing from a wife who is in too much pain herself or from a daughter who has had more emotional strain put upon her than anyone deserves, especially a 14 year old. None of those things matter, doing only what I need to do matters and having Chris be proud of me.

Today, more than 3 months after our beloved son Christopher’s death, we finalize his resting place. Where he resides now was never meant to be permanent until and unless Caranne was able to and agreed that there was where he would stay. This tragedy has had far reaching complications, the most important being Josie’s severe injuries and her inability to participate not only in her brother’s funeral, but also in the decision making process.

We could not go forward with any permanent decisions until she was able to be a part of them. She more than anyone has been impacted by his death, her serious injuries aside, she shared his final moments of life and as such, was incumbent on us to make sure she had a voice in those decisions. We would have been negligent and callous to determine Chris’ final resting place without her input. To be sure, opinions were given by those that went with me that day, but the final choices were mine to shoulder. So today, the man who took it upon himself to carry us in our time of desperate need again comes to our aid in helping us make sure Christopher is where he will be happy and comfortable, and where all of us can visit him at anytime, in any weather, protected from all the element’s safe and warm.

John Fronfelter was an angel sent by Chris I believe, in our most painful hours. Some may say it was fate, but I believe Chris intervened and allowed John to be the one special person who answered our call. John believes too, that events happen for a reason, and although I don’t think I will ever believe that our most loving son was taken from our arms through any divine grand plan, I do believe John was sent to us, to comfort and gently guide us through a process I pray, none of you have to endure.

That he never should have even been at that location when this tragedy occurred is documented by John himself. As the manager of the area’s many Newcomer’s, he normally would have been attending to his supervisory duties. But he was there that day, when Mike and I picked up the phone book to make the most heart wrenching of calls.

Once apprised of our situation, John took it upon himself to help us make temporary arrangements in light of Caranne lying in the hospital, Kay constantly at her side. Christopher’s spirit led him to us. His compassion and empathy soothed us and bolstered our hearts, allowing us to all think more clearly and thereby, make the most logical, practical and most importantly, compassionate decision for our son. His unbelievable understanding during those days cannot be overstated.

He made arrangements for Chris outside of normal procedures so that we could put him to rest under the difficult circumstances and to this day has allowed us to grieve for our son, unencumbered by any pressing need to make the arrangement permanent. We have known since the first month or so that the comfort we have had in visiting Chris at the mausoleum would make the decision to leave him there easier. During those brutal winter days when our hearts were breaking, being able to sit with Chris in a quiet and comfortable setting made our burden lighter.

So today, on another Friday, I will take care of my son. I miss him so much and wish desperately for another life. I have many people to tend to, my family and his friends, all having to this day, much difficulty in learning to make peace with Chris’ passing. All of us struggle daily and many times, hourly, with the reality of our situation. Chris could not possibly have known how deeply he was loved and needed by all that knew him. He could not have known the devastation that would occur in so many lives. I am so proud of his accomplishments and the way he lived his life, with energy and love and of the integrity and honor he exemplified each day he lived. I try to take care of these people as he did. I wonder also if he knew how much we all relied on his strength and love, how much we needed him to love us and how we all needed him to care for us. Maybe we asked too much of him…. I hope not.

Monday April 4th

Dearest Son,

Your mother and I have just finished one of the longest weeks since your death. Sunday was not a pleasant day even though for the first time, it felt like spring had arrived. We have been missing you so much and are still working hard to find our way. I wish I could tell you exactly why Sunday was such a difficult day emotionally but the “why” still has me bewildered. I know I woke feeling sad after what I thought was a restful night of sleep but many times that alone is not enough to counteract our grief.

This week I fear will also be another long hard struggle as we are all anticipating your birthday on Sunday. I wish son that we could celebrate it happily and I really want to try to do something to commemorate that most special day and to make it a less somber affair. I promise that I will try to make the day as happy and joyful as is possible under the circumstances. I know it will be a very sad day for your mom and I anticipate with sadness, the pain and loneliness she undoubtedly will feel Sunday. Even now I can see the sadness in her eyes as she looks to the future, one without you ever here with her. She cried so hard Saturday night after we had gone out for a few minutes and I think the whole time we were eating and talking, she was already pondering the week to come.

These milestones will be hardest on her as they meant so much to her in past years and she has always enjoyed the planning and celebrating that goes along with these events. For me it will be muted no doubt, but I think since I mostly indulged your mom’s whims, I may feel less sad about the upcoming day. I know now I will be thinking of my little boy and how we raised him. For me now, thinking back to your younger years brings me a lot of hurt. As your mom and I went for a walk Sunday morning, she reminisced about when you were little and we would go bike riding along the trails that run through overland park. She remembered how fast you could peddle that little bike and I would always be yelling at you: “Christopher, keep on the right!”, so that you wouldn’t get run over by the oncoming cyclists. Many times you would veer off the trail and end up in the bushes, but as was your character since being small would jump up, brush yourself off, and away you would go!!

We will have many of those memories son, enough to last our short lives if we are lucky. Your mom also spoke of how happy she is that we as a family did so much with you kids. We never sat still on the weekends or evening, always trying to keep you busy with bike rides or walks or trips to museums and other places we thought would interest you. Its no wonder now that I think back to those day, that you always had to be going somewhere when you were older. Its how we raised you I realize now how could I expect you to want anything different as an older boy and young man?

We are lucky son, that we have few regrets at the life you lived and the way we raised you. Oh, we could find some events or situations that we would do differently if given the chance, but overall I think your mom would agree that we did the best we could with what we knew and the circumstances we had. We did so much as a small united family, alone, with just us for company and you experienced so many things in your short 18 years. You crammed so much into each day you lived and as Nick has so appropriately said in his wonderful stories of you: “You had no regrets.”

I read Nick’s last story of you almost daily, about your skateboarding prowess and your courage and daring and it makes me cry. I can just picture you in the car, the sun going down on a perfect evening, the orange glow radiating off of your beautiful face as you looked out the window, thinking I’m sure, of what a great life you had and dreaming of all the things you would do the next day and then the day after. You were always such a dreamer and deep thinker and I love the young man you turned out to be. I hope son, that you are happy and that I don’t make you sad when I am having a bad day. Don’t worry about me, I will be okay and will take care of your mom and sister and all your friends. I will try hard to be like you, kind and gentle. Please watch over Caranne and keep her from harm if you can.  I love you so much buggy and miss you,   dad

April 5th 

Christopher,

I have been working on your room, restaining the woodwork and the doors, fixing the dings and nick from your years of banging around your room. Its hard work emotionally and many times I have had to stop to catch my breath as the grief overwhelms me while I am in there. The comfort of your room is also a memory inducer and while I have been kneeling on the floor, sanding the baseboards, memories of your life fill my head and my heart, the pain and hurt of reliving those wonderful years is still a hurting thing. I know in time the memories we have will comfort us and bring a smile to our faces and will lighten our broken hearts but for now they are mostly a reminder of what we have lost and will never again have.

The pain doesn’t stop, it never lets me go. The pain has become a real, tangible thing, an entity that has set up shop in my heart and mind. Sometimes it rests, giving me a chance to put hands on knees and catch my breath. The pain is a marathon runner; I am a sprinter. I’ve gone the 100 yards and am ready to quit: it has run 10 miles and is just warming up. I don’t know if I can keep pace; if I will develop the stamina to keep up. How do you run a race you haven’t trained for? You can’t just go run a marathon, yet that is exactly what I am being forced to do.

I will train on the fly son, and I will keep going. I don’t want you to worry about me. I will do what is necessary to keep all of us running. I want you to take care of yourself and to be happy with your new life. I wish I could hear your voice and feel your arms around me. I am going to need it this week, we all are. I love you buggy….

April 5th

Dear Chris,

You have had a lot of company today and I have had to come back twice to see you because of all the friends that have been here. Kathleen Ferris was here when I came to visit much earlier than usual. It was heart warming to see her sitting there with you, talking to you and praying. It makes me so happy that your good friends have not forgotten you and that they think enough of you to stop and sit. It is a testament to the love you gave to others and the love they now give in return.

She told me she stops weekly and that there have been times when 3 or 4 of them would gather at the same time, sitting in front of your space. I left as I do anytime someone is visiting you because I don’t want you to miss out on their precious visits. I have the rest of my life to come see you and I would much rather come back later so that they can be with you and enjoy the time they spend talking with you, missing you. Oh son, if they could only know how much it means to us that they come by, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

John Frownfelter told me last week that he was astounded at all the visitors you have on a weekly basis. He says he’s never seen anything like it since he has worked there. So many loved you son and still to this day, miss you and wonder how this could happen to such a wonderful, loving person. So much has happened in the last few days that I want to tell you about but it will have to wait until I can get my thoughts together. Mrs. Restivo has told me many things recently about Ritchie and about you and Sam, astonishing things, and I have to take time to process them and understand what it all means. I know you are here and haven’t left us and I also know you have been busy working in ways we don’t quite understand. I have always, since the day you left us, known you wouldn’t let us down son, any of us.  We love you so much, bud,  take care  dad

April 7^th

Dearest Chris,

I wish I could remember Christopher, every detail of the day you were born. I curse my memory that I have trouble recalling all the events of that day. I remember you mom being in labor and the pain she went through during those hours. I remember it was a sunny day and the weather was warm. I remember being in the delivery room standing at your mother’s side as she bore down, her screams of pain as you slowly made your way into our lives. I remember the look of joy in her face and eyes as they handed you to her for the first time; how she kissed your ruddy cheeks and whispered quietly into your ear: “ Christopher, Christopher, my baby. “

I remember how happy we both were that you were healthy and strong, so vital and exuberant, the same way you were your entire life. From that day on, you loved each one of your precious days of life as if it were your last, determined to squeeze every ounce of joy and happiness out of every hour, not wanting to waste one minute.

Maybe you knew……….

I miss you so much son, love, dad

April 9^th

As I sat with Christopher this afternoon, I had with me a package of various pamphlets and newsletters I had been collecting and reading when I go to be with him. Compassionate Friends is a support group for parents that have lost children. We are on their mailing list by some mechanism unknown. It seems that in the exclusive fraternity we now belong to, word of our tragedy made its way to them and we have been regularly receiving the mailing.

They have been of some help to me and I wanted to post some of the poems and short quotes that have struck a chord in my heart. Reading these as I visit my son reminds me of his life and his love and of the long road the three of us have ahead. The poems are very poignant and have a lot of truth to them and in our emotional state; they are comforting and reassuring to some degree. Although in time, I may intellectually buy into all they say, for now, they allow me to ponder the possibilities of my son’s new life and of the ways he may be trying to reach us.

To say we will never be the same is to understate the obvious. To concretely sit and ponder what it actually means is an  impossibility for those that know us. We will be recognizable only in the physical sense. The three of us realize that the journey we are beginning is understood by us alone; and alone is how we will proceed.

We have and will be left behind, as others cannot wait for us to catch up. We will not heal fast enough for many and others will pass us by for fear of being dragged down by our weight.  As the laws of the African plains dictates: those that are wounded are left to their own fate. We have a member that has fallen and we cannot leave him behind. We will stay with him and comfort him and if that means we must be left, then we will stay. In time, we may catch up and be stronger, but for now, holding Chris in our hearts and being with him is all that matters.

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