Saturday, August 15, 2009

Assessing the Damage

I've just returned from a trip with the girls to Kansas to visit my family. We spent several days visiting my relatives and spending time with my nieces and nephews. The kids really enjoyed one another and played endlessly together. It was really terrific to get to spend some time playing with them in the pool and hanging out together. It's been an especially extended time of it as recently my brother's family was out our way visiting as well. The older children are so much more independent than in the past and its fun to watch them play together, becoming more and more adept at sharing and not fighting.

At day's end though, my mind wanders into the empty space where Henry would be. I remind myself that it wasn't meant to be, it was never preordained to have him around for these occasions. His life was brief and had a magic all its own, vastly different in duration, but not in magnitude. Like your tongue probing the hole from a recently extracted tooth, my thoughts go to that empty space. Trying to remember how he spoke, trying to interpolate what he would look like and how he would act. He'd be five. He would be taller. Days in the sun would have put light streaks in his hair. He would have loved seeing my grandfathers collection of trucks or playing all afternoon in the pool.

When something is lost, important or not, we take stock of what is gone. Insurance adjusters do it for their livelihood. When we hurt ourselves, we immediately extend our hand to touch the injury. You get a dent in the the new car and step back to see how it affects the shine. Then we adjust our expectations and move on. Some losses are more keen than others, some expected, some not.

While I continue to remind myself that there were no promises of what would be for Henry, or for our lives with him in our family, and try to content myself with the time we shared, I'm still drawn to the empty space, feeling it, touching it, probing it, wanting to know what it would be like. There's still an awful lot of life left in which to be assessing that damage.

11 comments:

Granya and DeeDad said...

Bryan,

It so good to hear from you after a long lapse.

The same void was felt at your home yesterday with cousins and relatives playing and visiting there.

I can't write as eloquently but the void and sorrow are present wherever there are children. And it has to be endured lest we forget Henry and how significant his short life was to us all.

We miss him so - and remember his always.

Anonymous said...

praying for you
Kara

Granya and DeeDad said...

Bryan,

It so good to hear from you after a long lapse.

The same void was felt at your home yesterday with cousins and relatives playing and visiting there.

I can't write as eloquently but the void and sorrow are present wherever there are children. And it has to be endured lest we forget Henry and how significant his short life was to us all.

We miss him so - and remember him always.

Anonymous said...

Thinking of you all always!

Anonymous said...

I'm still drawn to the empty space, feeling it, touching it, probing it, wanting to know what it would be like.

It might/will be interesting to see if that 'empty space' seems to grow, remain the same, or shrink. If one could measure such a thing.

From what I read here, and from previous posts, it seems to me it is still growing, unfulfilled promise and expectations fueling that growth.


An interesting question that none of us would want to live/answer first hand. And painfully aware that you are...


Thinking of you and yours as always.


~~anon~~

Shelley Fessinger said...

Another so very poignant post. I am so very sorry for the loss of Henry's physical body in your daily lives...I know there is nothing, ever, that any of us can do ...but do know we were touched by your bright, smiling boy and continue to think of you and just want you to know that!

Anonymous said...

Bryan,

While visiting my grandsons last week, the youngest, Malcolm, just 4 in July, came into from the garden carrying a huge zucchini, with huge, bright blue eyes beneath the shock of summer blond hair. "Look how strong I am, Gwammy." I was going to grab my camera, then the image of Henry holding the zucchini not long before you realized how sick he was, came to mind. It stopped me in my tracks...

I am Jane's cousin, Deb, from So Cal, and even though we are so far away, I want you to know, I remember still the loss of Henry. I pray for you all.

Deepest regards

Deb Stevenson & Family

Anonymous said...

Deb, Henry and his zooch are such an awesome picture-such pride and joy.
Always our hero.
nk

Anonymous said...

thinking about you and your family...kara

Anonymous said...

I just wanted to let you know we are still thinking about and praying for your family.

Steph said...

Thinking about you all this morning.