In Notes to Heaven

Daniel,

           This Autumn it will have been twelve years since you departed from Earth.   You might think that the memories and the specifics of that day have muddied over time, but they haven't. I can recall them in the sharp visceral detail in which they occurred.  Although that moment is preserved in time, the bathroom in which you collapsed and died has changed.  The shower curtain is different. It shows ancient ships. I think you would like it. The room has been redecorated somewhat and I plan to paint the room this year.  This leaves me with thoughts of other things I should do.

            You are no longer 12 1/2 as you were at your departure. Twelve years later if you were on Earth you would be 24 years old.  As you know, a couple of times I have paid for an age progression of your photos, and haven't been awfully satisfied as they just don't look like you.  Recently, one of my friends who has a son two years younger than you would be, had a college graduation. His smile and the way he carried himself reminded me so much of you. He looked like you.  I decided that I don't need to get any more photographs age progressed because I would recognize you no matter what age you were.  Most of the time I am joyous about the achievements of your friends and of the young adult children of my own friends, but once in a while, it smarts.

             As you know, your room has been redecorated but we have pretty much kept most of your things, as much as remembrances for family and siblings as much as possible. By watching your DVDs in your room, we recall the moments in which we watched them with you, and somehow we are just that much closer.  I have been thinking lately that a good deal of fairly new and expensive clothing is sitting in your closet. I kept some of it to remember you, and sometimes to open the closet and sniff some of those clothes. As I look through some of the cotton summer shirts I am reminded of times we spent together and places we went and so I had no desire to give them away. I still have a pair of your fairly new Merrell shoes which somehow fit me as well. I have worn them on and off around the house for years, as somehow I have felt closer to you. Either that or I have felt your laughing at me all the way from Heaven.   But it's time. This has been a very difficult year for many families, and some of your things are needed by people who are still tied to Earth and have earthly needs.  And so, I must begin to pass things of yours to people who need or would care for them.  Your nephew already has his eyes on some of your things. Your niece is a little small but I am thinking that it won't be long before she wants some of the things you had. Don't worry. I will keep some remembrances, and I will let you guide me, if you wish.

         I am still doing everything I promised you, the day you were called. I am still doing my best. It is hard sometimes and sometimes I am sad, but the price we pay for loving this much is that when one of us departs, it hurts.  I love you, and I am so proud to be your mom, wherever you are,  be it on Earth or in Heaven.

Daniel's Overnight Appendectomy

           

Daniel's ward had light green walls and all brown blankets and room accents, a bit like hospital design by Target.

                    I had a strange dream last night.  I dreamed that Daniel was still alive, and, at age twenty-four, was still in college getting a PhD in one of the obscure aspects of computers. We had been notified that he was in the hospital and had just had an emergency appendectomy. When I got the call, I was simply pleased to hear that he was alive. Both my husband and I, and my daughter were driving in separate cars to come to see him.  My husband and I arrived at the hospital first.  The hospital was very full, and had taken a room that had intended to be a double room and had arranged the beds so that four people, all males of about the same age were in beds in the same room. It looked as if Target had decorated the room which had light green walls and brown room accents. It turned out that all of the patients in the room were about the same age, and all of them enjoyed computers and gaming. They had named themselves the "Nerd Ward".


                  Daniel seemed to be progressing nicely and it appeared that he might have found some new friends as a result of this hospitalization. The hospital was not entirely unfamiliar to me although I recognized that things there were running in an unfamiliar manner. Although no one mentioned COVID-19, I suppose that could have explained some of the things I saw there, and why staff seemed in such short supply.  Daniel's surgeon told me that he needed two units of packed cells and a couple of injections afterward, and that he could be discharged later that day. The problem was they didn't have the staff to do that.  However, if I wanted to administer the blood and give the injections, then the physician would complete the discharge orders and we could take him home.  This was strange because it's very unusual to need two units of packed cells following an appendectomy, even an emergency one. Still, I agreed so that we could take him home.


                    I don't know why I had this dream. I know that Daniel passed from this Earth twelve years ago now. I know that I miss him and wish I could see him at what would now be age twenty-four. I do wonder what he would be doing now. I also know that his siblings miss him very much, especially my daughter.  Sometimes I think that when Daniel died, the right time line was damaged, and that we have continued life in one that is not the correct one.   Still, it's strange to be dealing with challenges and life as if he is still here.   Still, it was good to see Daniel, in good health, successful, happy, even if he was temporarily in a hospital under admittedly strange circumstances. Maybe my own mind creates circumstances where I can see him and convey that we have never stopped loving him and caring.


                    I love you Daniel. I miss you, and I always will.