May 7th has come again

Dearest Jason,

 

I want overs.  Do you remember how, when we played Goofy Golf, you always gave me “overs” without me asking, because, “it is humanly impossible for ANYONE to be this bad, Mom.  Do it again.”   I want overs for the last nine years.  (and yes, much to your golfer brother’s chagrin, I WAS that bad).

 

Another Cinco de Mayo has passed without you.  I celebrated.  I will always celebrate Cinco de Mayo for you.  But, it just isn’t the same.  It feels all wrong, Cinco de Mayo and no you.  Wronger even than Christmas.   I want overs.  I want you to be here for all the Cinco de Mayo’s.  I want you to ask me why your Momritas don’t taste like mine.  See, there’s that one small ingredient I forgot to tell you about…. I want to laugh about Shannon asking when Cinco de Mayo is.   I want you to try to explain to Grandpapa for the 9,342 time why Cinco de Mayo has been your favorite holiday your entire life, and I want him to answer you in seven languages because you’ve frustrated him to the point that he’s forgotten English.  And then, when you were older, I want to see who can drink the most shots.  You’ll probably win.  I was 3 doubles and out.  Sorry.  Overs.

 

Someone was wearing Polo one night this week.  That has got to be the worst smelling cologne a man can wear.  You loved it.  One Christmas you got six bottles.  I want overs.  I want to tell you that you smell really, really bad again, while you tell me that the cheerleaders appear to disagree.    I want to hide the Polo…. and I want to know how you always found it.  Obviously your “seeking” skills outdid my “hiding” skills.  And yes, I still put things in a “safe place” so I won’t “lose” them.  And yes, I still forget where I put them.  I need you here to find them for me.

 

I want to debate the merits of Protein powder with you.  You were into it long before me.  Now I want to argue about why mine is better than yours.  I want you to tell me I take the wrong supplements at the wrong time.  I want to eat tuna sushi with you (because there was no way I was eating raw fish.  How things have changed.  I’m  vegetarian now, as you were.).  I want to run with you.  And I want you to correct my running style.  Please.   Most times, when I see people running (did you know we now have a running trail?  So the WPAP van can’t run over you), I critique their running style.  And lots of times, I see a tall lanky man, and speed up, hoping it’s you.  It never is.  I want to go to Australia and Ireland,  and see all the “stuff”.  Never understood the Ireland thing… your “father” maybe?  Red hair didn’t make him Irish. But you wanted to go.  And I want to take you.   And dive the Reef.  Mike still wants to certify me.  I can’t.  You aren’t here to dive with, and I HATE water over my head.  But I was going to do it, for you.    I want to hike the Appalachian Trail (and I will carry my OWN pack, thankyouverymuch.  I am NOT your overweight out of shape “father” or “uncle”.)  I want to get in the car and just drive until we feel like stopping (a bonus would be your baby bro saying we were lost…. he always thought we were lost).  We’ll spend the next hurricane at home, and go to the beach and watch the waves.  Sorry, but those “Mom” instincts are pretty strong.  I’d have stayed.  You had to go.  I couldn’t risk you or your brother.  And yes, I remember how angry you were, and how you rolled your eyes.  Yes, you were right.  Happy?  I said it.  Overs.  But the “just in case supplies” I sent you to Wal-Mart for were priceless.  I really had no idea they made that many kinds of chips.

 

I want to go to Shipwreck.  My version of going to Shipwreck:  lots of sunscreen, a refreshing adult beverage, floating on the Lazy River.  Your version of Shipwreck:  dragging me to the top of really high, fast slides and making me ride them down.  Sticking a rope in my hand and swinging over the Pirate Ship.  Pushing and pulling me to the top of Tree Top Drop, putting me in this pitch black cylinder, pushing me down… to a long fall into cold deep water, straight down.  We’ll do it your way.  I’ve not been in 10 years.  I remember your boss telling me that you and your bro were the best lifeguards EVER.  That’s what you did.  Save lives.  Overs.

 

If I’ve learned anything this past year, it is that words cause pain.  I still hear the words Jessup said to me.  Cruel words.  Let me let you in on a secret.  I did NOT ask to walk this path.  I don’t want to be any of the words people call me.  But I WILL be who you believed I am.  I owe it to you.  And anyone who doesn’t understand has my permission to go fly a kite.  Because I’m glad they don’t understand.  I never want anyone else to understand.

 

There aren’t words to tell you how much I miss you.  That 20 mile walk I do every year?  I want to be oblivious to it.  I want to be like most people.  “It can’t happen in MY family.”  I want you to still be ten feet tall and bulletproof.  How did you lose that?  I promise that, when I see you again, I’m gonna kick your butt.  Spanking wasn’t in my vocabulary…. but you need to be spanked.  You said that I didn’t want to know what happened to you.  But I do.  I want to know.  I just know there wasn’t anything I couldn’t fix.  Yes, I told you that you had to take responsibility for what you’d done.  I still believe that.  But I had lots of strings to pull, and I’d have done it, if I’d only known.

 

My J, I miss you.  More than there are words.  Kenny Chesney sings about who you’d be today.  I know who you’d have been.  A lifesaver.  A healer.  It’s what you always were.  But, my dream for you was to coach.  It was your dream, too.  You just thought you had to be who your “father” thought you should be.  You loved football and track.  You always tried to make everyone better.    I’d like to believe that you would have been like Mike Rohan and Chris Patterson…. volunteering to coach.  You’d have been amazing.  I’ll never forget how much you taught as a runner/football player.  10 feet tall and bulletproof.  A torn rotator cuff.  You didn’t understand why no one would let you play.  And then there is that season you ran on that broken hip… did you ever tell anyone?  You know what I wonder?  Who I’d be today.  Who I’d be if you were still here.  Different, for sure.

 

I love you J.  To the ends of the universe and back again.  I miss you.  I need you.  The past nine years have changed me.  Some of the changes have been good, some not so good.  I just know that I need you, you and your bro.  Because if you had never left, he wouldn’t have, either.  You know he did everything you did.

 

With much love, longing and pain,

 

Your little Mother

 

Friends, what are you waiting for?  You’re “too busy” to call a friend, to have lunch, to meet for drinks.  What happens if tomorrow they aren’t here?  Will you still be too busy?  A guy on a bike died on Back Beach today.  My prayer is that those he loved knew he loved them, and that he knew they loved him…. and that he hadn’t been “too busy”.

 

Stop.  Now.  Take your kid to lunch at Red Robin and let them have all the fries and Freckled Lemonade they want.  Where’s the harm?  And the memories it brings…. beyond priceless.  When they grow up, your kids aren’t going to remember how spotlessly clean your house was.  They’re going to remember YOU.

 

That person you need to apologize to?  Apologize.  You’ll feel better for it… and so will they.  So what if they fubared?  I’ll tell you another secret.  Nobody is perfect.  We all screw up.  Say I’m sorry and more FORWARD.

 

Monday I am going to the cemetery and leaving 3 feet of hair on J’s grave.  We’d agreed that I’d cut my mop when he graduated Med school.  I think he’s graduated.  And the birds will make wonderful nests from it.  Nine years ago Monday, I begged them not to put him in the ground.  Pleaded,  I need to see my son.  The pain, it never goes away.  I met a pretty terrific man who, hearing of my children’s deaths, said, “that’s just wrong.”  First time anyone has said that.  I need my boys.  And I have to tell you, Rick, at J’s funeral, was amazing.   So why did he die, too?

 

Everyone thinks I should be “over it”.  I have a suggestion.  Cut off an essential body part.  Or pick a child to no longer be here.  Unthinkable?  Yeah, it is.  But, as John Cougar Mellencamp says…. life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone.

 

My prayer to my Higher Power today is that you LIVE YOUR LIFE. 

 

Walk good, be blessed, and remember that I love you.  If that love isn’t returned…. okay.  I can live with it.  But remember that there are many different kinds of love, and that I LOVE YOU.  Walk good and be blessed. 

 

Run with the wind, my baby boy.  That wind out of nowhere?  I know it’s you, running by.  I love you, I miss you, and I REALLY wish you were here.

  

Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom
https://www.theovernight.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=10013449
 Life isn’t the party I’d hoped for, but I’ll dance anyway, because my sons believed I would.