On the Anniversary

                  

Autumn in the region where Daniel lived.

       This week, on November 28th, on what is this year, American Thanksgiving, you will have been gone eleven years.  I am already wondering how I will feel next year when you will have been gone for as long as you were actually on the Earth.  Having my youngest son in Heaven ahead of us does not get easier, I just get a little more graceful about it.

                     I was hospitalized last month, as you know, for a medical problem, and interestingly, I weathered it well because I knew I would not be dying as a consequence of that particular hospitalization.  I knew it because, you usually give me some hint or advance warning in dreams, as to the bumps of life, and you mentioned not a word, and so I knew that in the grand scheme, I would continue as I have been, and a month later, that has turned out to be true. Dying someday will be a complicated proposition, because I need to remain here as long as possible for grandchildren and my remaining children, and yet the prospect of seeing you, Dad, and all the animals who have passed from our farm in my lifetime, looms as an attractive eventuality. I think I scared my doctor when I rewrote my Living Will, but it was time anyway.

                     Daniel, you are still so missed, and I still remember the sound of your voice, the things you liked and disliked while you were on Earth. I know that Thanksgiving was probably your favorite holiday.  Your eldest brother and his dear wife got married, on this week several years ago, simply to give our family something to celebrate at this time of year, rather than to mourn. 

                      You are still so loved and you are remembered by everyone. I still remember what a hug from you feels like, and I think back to it fairly often. I am sending you both one of those big hugs.  Sometimes, I still hear you in my dreams.  We continue to live. We move on, while we remember.  Love to you and to my Dad, always and forever.