The other day I tried to change the background image on my laptop. Currently displayed is a picture of Trek. When I try to change it I am fixated with a notion that if I change the image it will be like making it so Trek never existed. I know it’s not true. But it’s hard that someone who was so much a part of my life, so relevant to every action that I took, one day just isn’t there.
To say that the loss of our child is something my family and I will ever get over would be a fallacy on an immense scale. There is not one point of our day when one of the
five four of us doesn’t think about Trek and miss him. The tough thing about it is that no matter how wonderful or sad the memory, it always leads to the exact same reality: Trek isn’t here anymore, he’s gone.
I talk with Chelsea often and she always wants to know where he is or where he has gone. I don’t know where he is. Anyone who says they do is guessing or believing what someone else has told them. I’m envious of those who can do that but I cannot. No matter how you slice it my son is gone and there is no getting him back.
The other day we watched videos of Trek. I forgot that once he was a strong and healthy baby. That he laughed and babbled as if he was speaking. He shouldn’t of had to die. The fact that he did makes everything seem synthetic. Like the world around is a gigantic illusion that you can participate in as long as you don’t lose someone close to you. When you do, you know that most of the concerns or worry that burdened you were useless and did nothing to prevent or prepare you for the most difficult of things.
If you have lost someone you know what I am talking about and if you haven’t than you don’t. I am happy most of the time but aware that there is a block that will prevent me from ever being gushingly happy ever again. Without Trek how can I pretend that the sun shines as brightly or that a joke sounds as funny? The truth is I can’t and I don’t think I’m supposed to.
I feel good about every decision we made for him but saddened that we didn’t have a say in the most important decisions: For him to live or to die, to be healthy or to be sick. These decisions weren’t made by anyone, they were determined by random lines of genetic code triggered by random protein communication passed down for generations until they combined unfavorably between Chelsea and I.
Many will try to give meaning to the loss or significance to why he has passed. Please don’t. If you can do that for yourself that is wonderful, but as I said above I cannot. My son is gone and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. No amount of thought or worry would have helped in the slightest.
There is freedom in knowing that. In knowing that no matter what happens there is nothing you do can prepare you for the catastrophic experiences in life. My wife and I often listen to the Three Little Birds song by Bob Marley. When we hear it sometimes we can’t help but feel that Bob was just full of shit. But I now know that he wasn’t. The things that matter about life no measure of worry or preparation will change the outcome. Life and death, sickness and health, the things that really matter, these things are left to randomness beyond control.
In a sense I already knew that freedom and experienced a taste of it at Trek’s birth. That moment has taught me much over the past seventeen months of my life and I suspect that it will continue teaching me for the rest of my life. Right now what it teaches me is that life will be alright inasmuch as you can control, but the things that you can’t will either bring you incredible joy like Trek’s birth or unbearable sadness like his death.
Even though I know that freedom I am now burdened by something more painful and that is the absence of my son. I watch my wife and children miss him and have nothing profound to say or tangible to do that will make any of us feel better. Chelsea wants to know where he is, but I can’t conceive a way to know an answer to that question that I can believe. There is so much pain that I cannot hope to express in a blog post. Hoping that my son’s spirit is somewhere, even believing its somewhere else, even though there is a spectacular lack of evidence. It leaves me feeling hollow.
Only I do believe it. I believe that Trek is somewhere and I hope that it is better than here. I will know one day when I die, but until then I will be left in imaginative limbo and it pains me almost more than I can bear. For now, the only place for sure where I know that Trek exists is in my memories, on my computer screen, in Chelsea’s blog posts, on video’s in my hard drive, and in the minds of all who knew him. So for today, my background will stay the same because until I find otherwise I want to keep every scrap of Trek I can visceral in my mind to keep him with me as long as I can.