I miss hearing him say, “Daddy.” There are no sweeter words that a Dad can hear.
I have not written as much lately for a number of reasons. It has nothing to do with the fact that Weston has not been on my mind constantly. It has to do with the fact that I have a hard time expressing my thoughts at times. I have several drafts of writings that I have not posted. It is so difficult to put into words my thoughts and feelings at times. Some of the things I think about my situation, about God, and about life – I am not sure I believe and once something is published online – it seems to become truth. So in some ways I try to be selective about blurting out any old thing that comes to mind. If I did that, most of you would think that I should be taken to a hospital and checked for mental problems. Well, not really. That may be too extreme.
I saw a child yesterday who reminded me of Weston. Most kids do not remind me of him. But every now and again, I see one that does and I find myself staring at them, soaking up their every sound and every move. I always hope their parents don’t glance over and catch me staring. I’m sure it is quite creepy. Then, if they knew I was comparing their child to my deceased son, they would really think I was creepy. And perhaps they would be correct to think so. But, yesterday, I enjoyed watching this child. His personality and many of his expressions were similar to Weston.
The best way to describe our pain is that of a great void. Weston was a special boy, with a unique personality. We grew so close to him while he was here. He relied on us for everything, and we relied on him for so much too. Now that he’s gone, we have to sit in silence and reflect on why things are silent. Our home has an unwelcome calm and quiet about it now-a-days.
“So, do you have kids?“ Blank stare for a moment, as I try to find a way to answer.
“You look tired.” False grin as I laugh it off, inside thinking about why I look tired.
“Is everything ok?” In the words of Weston: “nope.”
Somewhere within, I am finding pleasure in my work as I teach those with whom I work about theatre, but more importantly about life and love. Respect of others. Dignity. Trust. Influence. I can influence.
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I love the look on Weston’s face in this photo. I can imagine your return look and the warmth and love.
I love this picture. What a loving and tender look Weston is giving you. A picture really does say a thousand words. This picture is beautiful.
May God Bless you and continue to carry and comfort you.
Hi! You have so many amazing pictures of Weston. Its wonderful to see all sides of him. And they were all good. I also love what you said here. Sharing your truth, even when its not the most convenient thing for someone to hear gives so much more love to the world, I think. It gives permission for people to be so much more real. No, you are never going to be okay in the way you were a short 14 months ago. But yes, you can still influence, in a way truely unique and beautiful. Still praying and sending our love, and occasionally our tears.
Me