I begin to write my memories down, to keep them safe.

It is my most sincere pleasure to be your mother.  I think we go together like beer and chips.  See, another mother may have said peanut butter and jelly, but not yours.  You were special from the beginning.  You were born only when you were ready, not a minute earlier.  And don’t ask me what you were doing the whole time, but apparently it involved working on an alternative language, because when you started talking, the words you used were harder to pronounce than the words you were replacing and they somehow made even better sense.  You were happy, goofy, bright and beautiful.  It would seem that you grew into the man who was father to the child, still doing things in your own way and only when ready, not a minute earlier, still happy, goofy, bright and beautiful.  How I miss you.  You were always so full of energy and life that you found it hard to sit still. Pacing was more suited to you.  It may have made some people nervous, but not me.  I knew that shortly you’d come out with a pronouncement that would most likely stir the pot that is our family, get us talking, possibly arguing, definitely thinking.  We all have strong opinions and they were honed around the dinner table and the fireplace.  I think you kids have always known you could say anything, think anything, be anything, and as long as you were happy you had our blessings.  We now have a gap, a hole that exists in our family both physically and spiritually.

We will always be one short at the dinner table.                                                                           We will always feel the absence of your presence.                                                                       We will never be the same.

“Watch your way then, as a cautious traveler;  and don’t be gazing at that mountain or river in the distance, and saying ‘How shall I ever get over them?’ but keep to the present little inch that is before you, and accomplish that in the little moment that belongs to it.  The mountain and the river can only be passed in the same way;  and, when you come to them, you will come to the light and strength that belong to them. ” – M.A. Kelty