January Seventeen

Coping with the tragic loss of my son

My Son, always smiling, always happy, in my dreams.

Time fascinates me. Time can blur memories dimensionally as we try to remember moments in life that we deem insignificant. Those moments just meld together, making it hard to pinpoint dates, or even years, as to when that event happened. As time marches forward, the farther away the events once occurred, we even question whether those events in our lives happened at all. Yet, some moments no matter how far distant in the past remain frozen permanently in our minds recorded image with exacting specificity — right down to the day, hour, and minute.

Selfishly, we take time for granted. We seldom appreciate time we spend with others, our family or individual moments. For the most part, the big blur that comes with time is how the majority of us live our day to day routines. We wake up, we go about our workday or daily tasks, we agonize over the clock, watching, waiting for time to pass so we can go home and relax or do something else. It becomes a repeating cycle. The more insignificant we memorialize the day, the larger this blob of time becomes the big blur clogging up space in our head. Other days, some monumental event occurs that we earmark with extreme granularity, — to the day, hour and minute. This method of cataloging our life is also what shapes us over time. It becomes a blueprint, a roadmap we follow, a guide.