Dearest Ben...
So I thought I was finished the book and wondered if our communication had come to an end because I ... finished the book. The anniversary of your death came and went without so much as a whisper because I was embroiled in the recovery from surgery gone amok...
...I'm not finished. I'll never be finished because I will never forget you... or put you aside. I want to. I want the grief to be at an end, to close the chapter, put the book on the shelf as Kegerreis wisely advised. It is not possible.
It is not possible because you lived. It is not possible because I have work to do in your honor -- in our honor, in the name that we chose at birth and will die with the same. Then we will enter into the next phase of learning. I wonder who you will be next. I wonder if I have already seen your eyes sparkling back at me, your mouth formed in a infant's hello. Or if you trotted past me wearing fur... it is possible!
I'm writing to tell you I haven't forgotten. I'm writing to tell you that our work is not over and I need you. I'm writing to tell you that I love you with all my heart and my life isn't the same without you in it -- so here you are, selfishly snatched from Heaven's embrace to walk the ghostly plane with your obsessive mother. Perhaps I am lingering, holding on to the wisps of your comet light. I shall be grateful for it, anyway... for having had you at all.
With much love...
Mom
14 years ago
