This last year to year and a half has been hard, which is why I've stepped a little away from the writing. My son has needed more of me, and I didn't want to air his business. I haven't even asked my husband what he thought about whether or not I should write about his stuff. I just don't. One day, that can be his story to tell. It's getting better though, so there's that.
This may be our last First. It's been six years since Connor peacefully slipped away while we all slept. Six years since my husband had to come tell me that he was dead. Six years since I woke up believing my family was here with me, only to find out minutes later that we were no longer a family of 5. Since we called the police, and had to tell our 7 and 4 year olds that their brother had died. Since we had to call our sisters and brothers and moms and dads and friends and tell them this. And it was a Saturday, just like this year. That's our last First. A day completely empty of the normal get-up-and-go. In many ways, I'm glad it was a Saturday because it meant that everyone we had to call was in a different headspace - it wasn't rush hour and people weren't at the workplace. Most of them were home, or alone where they were. They were able to gather themselves and then come gather with us. We had so very many people come to us that day. People who came and took the boys so we could handle the business of a police interview and a trip to the hospital. People who brought food and drinks. People who just came and sat and accepted that at one minute we were laughing and then the next crying and then again laughing and then sometimes, asleep.
It feels like it has gone so fast, and that time has dragged almost immeasurably.
Today, we'll go to an early basketball game and cheer on our youngest. But beyond that, we may not really do much except be here, and we invite you to come be here with us as well. We'll light the candle in his lantern given to us by dear friends, and put up photos of him, and hang out and be as kind to each other as our slightly-less-bruised hearts can be.
Just don't bring lasagne. We're still not ready to eat that again after 6 years ago.
