Please give the world something better than that.
I sure don't wanna be all preachy, because, God knows, I am SO full of fault. I am as imperfect and complain-y as it gets. Falling flat on my face each and every day, forced to scoop myself up and start all over again tomorrow, trying to be a better person each step of the way. I still fail miserably... And I moan, which is quite the luxury.
If you think you're having a bad day, imagine this.
Imagine this day - August 28th - forever being the day your son died.
That's what this day is for my aunt, who also happens to be one of my best friends. She spends this day remembering the call she got 9 years ago. She thinks of the vague memory of that middle-of-the-night phone call. Something about Tyson... a car crash... get to the hospital quickly. She does fully recall hyperventilating all the way there.
The news was grave, and when the doctor told her that he did not make it, she didn't want to make it. There was a police officer in the room, and she says she remembers -for a split second- eyeing his gun. Then she started hysterically screaming (as all mothers would at a moment like that) until the nurse gave her something that made her, she says, "limp and tingly." That was the moment she began a lifetime of grieving the absolute worst loss.
Tyson wearing our Papa's hat
This day is hardest. On most other days, she chooses to remember Tyson's amazingly beautiful presence. His infectious smile. His eternal optimism. His precious face that will always be 19-years old. She focuses on her belief that God had a bigger and better plan for him, rather than focusing on the pain that he is gone, the space that he left behind, the nagging question of "why him?" There is certainly not a day in her life that this loss doesn't pierce her fragile heart. She has every reason to be dark, to find the negative, to complain and moan... But she chooses not to do that.
Tyson, on the other hand, doesn't have the luxury to complain about his life. He is gone. (He wouldn't have b*&ched too much anyway!) He left behind a space so large in our family that you can almost touch it. An emptiness so vast that it nearly ate up many of us. I, for one, miss his gentle spirit and his willingness to love so quickly, openly and easily. I wish I could be more like that. I miss him.
And I complained about it today.
But then I remembered what someone I love once told me: "Dawn, choose gratitude-no matter what is going on --and there will always be something going on for all of us. Choose gratitude anyway."
Tyson's baby picture
Showing his love for Superman
High School photo
Tyson's Air Force photo
With our Papa Gene on the go-cart at our family's ranch