Daniel's Sixteenth Christmas Letter

                                                     Image by Nightingale Craftery

    Daniel,

                  If this letter finds its way to you, then it has been sixteen years since you suddenly passed, the day after Thanksgiving in the year that we here on Earth know as 2008.  So many things have happened here on Earth since then, that although I miss you terribly, I also have come to find a certain amount of relief that you aren't here on Earth to have grown up with economic uncertainly, medical system corruption, political corruption, and to try to earn and living, navigate a marriage and raise a family here in this era.   It's hard to imagine that since your departure I have gone from thinking that your passing is a 100% terrible thing, to perhaps a benefit to you, as you were spared many of the difficult if not terrible things that happened in the world afterward.

                As you know, thirty plus hours after what should have been an ordinary influenza vaccine, your brother Matthew passed, only a week later than you, fourteen years after your passing.  As brave as I was when you departed, I have not found the same grace for the loss of a second son.  I had less reserve, and I have not bounced back in the same manner. I am also not as fine a person as you knew then.  I battle bitterness now.  I used to be the "better person" who would conjure the situation and circumstance that would help those who are lonely to get out in the world again.  I don't do that anymore, and I don't fill the silences in conversation with others as I used to.  I don't have the reserve, and I have become accustomed to the silence.

                Please know that I still love you and Matthew, and my Dad who is there with you, with all the love I ever have, but that my energy has dipped, the result of too many Earthly sorrows and losses.

                 Please know that you are loved wider than the ocean and deeper than the seas, and that this will never change.  Please know, I write this letter here to you, rather than sticking a copy in your Christmas stocking, which incidentally, is up at the mantle with the others, just as it always has been.  How do you like the Wedgwood medallions on the mantle, as Jefferson had them at Monticello ?   I'll have to see you again to have that particular question answered.   Merry Christmas !

 

Memories of the Music Cafe

 

                                      Daniel and Mom, in about 2007, a year before his passing
 

 

                Some years ago, our rural county had a music cafe where people could sit, have lunch or dinner, a drink or a snack, and could watch performers on a small stage across the room.  In the back there were multiple rooms where the owner could give music lessons. The food was quite good and it was a great place to go especially of you didn't wish to drive too far on a Fall or Winter evening.  In this era, Stephanie and Adam were in college, but each week, usually when I took Matthew and Daniel to the library, in the evening we would stop off in the music cafe.

               The owner was a singer, songwriter, guitarist, and performer in his own right, and found that founding the music cafe was a way that he could earn a living doing what he loved, while still being at home at night with his wife and young children.  Eventually, the challenges of music lessons, running the restaurant and cafe, and scheduling the acts and weekly activities became overwhelming, and the founder sold his business to a trail of other restaurants, that never seemed to capture our interest the way the original one had.

               Today, almost fifteen years after Daniel's passing, and almost two after Matthew's passing, Nik and I made a rare stop at the county's Dunkin' Donuts.  It was a cold day, and we thought a couple of donuts and some warm drinks would hit the spot.   A man ahead of us was ordering something similar.  I recognized him almost immediately as the founder of the music cafe.  For some reason, he remembered me also.   I told him how much we missed the cafe, and asked him what he and his family were doing now.  He is still giving music lessons, mostly guitar.  He was shocked to hear that both Daniel and Matthew have now died.  He had missed hearing this about either of them. He looked sad when I told him.  I told him because the music cafe had been some of the very best memories I'd had with Daniel and Matthew.  Even when there wasn't an act playing there, we could watch the wide screen television with country music acts performing while having dinner.  It had been a regular weekly habit for us and we had thoroughly enjoyed it.

              Make sure you make as many memories with your children as possible whenever you can.

 

 

 

 

A Birthday That's Never Forgotten

 

 

                                         This is a picture of how Daniel might look at 28.

 

 

 

                 Tomorrow would have been Daniel's twenty-eighth birthday had he remained here on Earth rather than departed sixteen years ago, of presumed sudden arrhythmic death syndrome at age 12 1/2.  Immediate CPR did no good in this instance, and when the sheriff brought the AED, too much time had elapsed.

           On these birthdays I always take a moment to think about what he might be doing had he remained, and how we might have celebrated this day.   Instead, I still man the fort, or the farm as it is, and try to find ways to keep sane, now missing two beloved sons from Earth, both Daniel and Matthew.

                 I still think of you an awful lot and I remember your conversations and thoughts you had.  Gosh Daniel, you were so intelligent and so wise.  No wonder God needed to call you home.

 

                This year, I am going to try to celebrate your life differently than with grieving.   Perhaps rather than being sad, and after sixteen years, I can simply celebrate your life and your time spent here on both the day of your birth, and on the day of your passing.  Lets see how that goes.

 

                 In any event, I am one day closer to seeing you again.  It's a fact I keep tucked in my pocket, a bit like a secret gift, but try not to talk too much about because it upsets the other members of the family.

 

 

                                                          Daniel departed Earth at 12 1/2

 

 

                 Happy Birthday, Daniel.    I love you wider than the oceans and deeper than the seas.

 

    Yes, I can hear you, but I doubt you could possibly "love me more" than I love you.