Six months ago my son, Trek, died. In honor of his memory the book inspired by him, Following After Trek, is free for the day (available here). Chelsea and I have often dreamed of his story getting out to the world. He was such an incredible boy and touched so many lives. Please share this information with as many people as you can so that his story can reach the world.
Sometimes it feels strange promoting a book about my son’s life. A book that he will never read as he is gone. Tonight we watched the movie Life of Pi. At one point during the film, the main character, Pi loses his family. He sat in the rain, crying out in pain at the loss. I knew just how he felt. I wish I didn’t, but I do. I didn’t have to imagine or wonder because six months ago, my son died. I have been living in a state of loss ever since.
Chelsea made a post a few days ago about Christmas a year ago. It was before we knew that Trek was sick and going to die. We didn’t know that, for him, that Christmas would be his last. Or that it would be the only Christmas we shared with him. As I read her post, I was filled with a mixture of joy and sadness. Joy because how wonderful my family is and sadness that this Christmas will be without Trek.
I find myself feeling morose at Trek’s absence this holiday season. We are still going to have fun and spend time together as a family, but no matter what ,Trek won’t be there. And it’s not just this Christmas, he won’t be there for every Christmas for the rest of our lives. It seems silly in that Trek wont be there. That all of my sons won’t be sitting around a tree. That my baby is gone.
No matter what I do, Christmas carols don’t sound as warm. Part of me views my memories for what they are: priceless moments with my son. Sometimes the line between happy recollections gets blurred with the pain of the present. Because with each happy memory or photo is the reminder for what can never be again.
The challenge is wanting anything as bad as I wanted it before. I am a driven man, but I have to confess that after losing Trek, sometimes finding meaning is a challenge. I know what I’m supposed to feel or think. I remember my motivations and desires before his death. They are still there, but they experienced through a filter of loss that leaves me feeling hollow.
I want to have a Merry Christmas, but how merry can it be without Trek? I want to succeed in following my dreams and becoming a world renown, successful author, but how can I measure success without my whole family there to appreciate it.
Moving on is out of the question. I will never move on from the loss of my son. I would venture to guess that no one who has lost a child ever finds themselves free of that pain. If they are anything like me, they don’t want to be free of it. The pain keeps Trek alive and real. Without it, he would be like any other past acquaintance. Transformed into a distant memory, only retrievable by seeing an old photograph or by some other pneumonic trigger. I don’t what that for my son; I don’t want that for me. But I didn’t want him to die either. I suppose there are some things where what I want doesn’t matter much.
Following After Trek was part of my grieving process. It is the story of his life and combined with a dream of where I hope he is now. It would mean a great deal if you would help me share his story with the world. If you’d like to help share his story, you can do it in the following ways:
- Share the free link for Following After Trek on Facebook
- Tell your friends about Following After Trek
- Read Following After Trek
Thank you in advance to all who help. It really means a lot.
Until next time,