The Box that Can’t Be Unchecked

We took our first family trip without you, sweet boy. Baby had Spring Break so we went to New York City to visit your oldest brother, Emerson. It was so quiet in the car. I kept looking in the rearview mirror, but you weren’t there.

My heart saw you signing “trip” and “time” and “work” (the YORK in NYC sounded to you like “work”). My mind perfectly pictured you dancing with your unique groove of thumbs up, head tilting from side to side as you swayed with the most gigantic, beautiful grin. The signature Wesley move.  You loved a good road trip but would often get impatient. For you, the joy was definitely in the destination and not the journey. Sweet Boy, the absence of all that was you filled the now empty space where your wheelchair once sat.

We stopped at a market off I -81 for lunch. At one point I couldn’t find Baby and went into complete panic mode, briskly walking through the entire place and even checking outside. Steve tried to calm me down reminding me Nathan is 6 foot 3 and no one could just take him. My mind is so warped from the loss of you I thought to myself someone with a gun could take him. It made no sense but neither does the world.

I found him coming out of the bathroom and threw my arms around him, crying. The world is so unsafe to me right now. That is what happens when the invisible box in our mind gets checked.

People tend to imagine worst case scenario which never really actually happens. Until it does. The very worst thing imaginable that could ever happen in my life did, sweet boy.

You died.

Once that imaginary box gets checked with permanent ink, there is a seismic shift. In that shift the architecture of all you held as absolute – everything you believed unimaginable – implodes. In the rubble knowing when to be afraid and when not to is lost. Nothing feels safe and there is nowhere to hide.

Nowhere.

In the nightmare that transposed reality, lessons shifted from imaginary and hypothetical. What I held as sacred was taken – cruelly, harshly, and without warning – leaving me empty hearted, broken, and confused. I am unshielded. Who is to say it will not happen again?

I hold to the one truly sacred thing I have that cannot be taken – my faith. That is mine alone to relinquish, and though at times I wrestle, I will not relent.

These firsts are difficult. I put on a brave face so our family can still enjoy the trip. When we got to the hotel, I went to the bathroom and sobbed. My Sweet Boy, I cry a lot in bathrooms these days.

We went out for dinner and my eyes teared up at the sight of Emerson sitting next to Nathan.

I have two boys left.

I felt gratitude and longing. Sorrow and joy. Such discordance is exhausting to my soul. Right now they are equal parts. I suppose they will coexist always but somehow, over time, become imbalanced. Prayerfully, it will not always be striking like a slap in the face but become a gentle tap on the shoulder.

Your absence at every family gathering will be there. I do not want that to change because you, sweet boy, deserve that perpetual place.

I learned to drive in NYC because of you, Sweet Boy. I used to be terrified of it but there are so few cabs and Ubers that can take a wheelchair. Not all subway stations have elevators. The only way you could fully enjoy the city was if I drove us around. You made me so brave. I am trying now to be brave without you, but it is infinitely more difficult.

We did not go to Times Square. Honestly, the main reason we ever went was because it was your favorite part of NYC. It always bewildered me how you, with your sensory processing issues, would sit in Times Square exhilarated soaking in all the chaos had to offer.

This time walking around without pushing you in your chair was unnatural. There were stores and restaurants we were able to go to this time that I hadn’t been to in years. You know, Sweet Boy, how inaccessible New York can be. It was strange to be able to enjoy something because you weren’t here.

What is a person to do with that?

Every time I go to the city I feel compelled to go visit Washington Square Park. Some of my fondest memories of a time when life was not so cruel took place there. Your brothers, Steve, and I sat in the empty fountain in the center. I told Nathan the story of when NYU was so small the entire university’s graduation took place there. The art students all jumped in the water of the then running fountain. Though security guards were placed around, the dean of Tisch walked through quietly saying “fountain” over and over encouraging us to defy authority and jump in. It was a tradition, after all. I showed them the place that used to be a cafe where I sat at the table next to Matthew Broderick. We walked past the movie theater where I spent my first night of college watching old Bugs Bunny movies.

We reminisced about Emerson’s audition at NYU and how he walked out to me standing there with giant cones of cookie dough in each hand to celebrate. It didn’t matter to me when I was standing in the long line to get them if he did well or not. He tried and that was worth a celebration.

In the late afternoon we went to Emerson’s fourth floor walkup in Brooklyn. It was another new memory that would not have been possible until the after. Steve made dinner for all of us. Your brothers sat on the couch and opened Pokemon cards. Baby slept over at Em’s apartment and said it was his favorite part of the trip. I love that out of everything we did in NYC, it was the time he spent with his brother that mattered the most.

I have exceptional young men.

Three of them.

It made my heart so happy they have each other still. Your sign for Emerson was an “E” on your heart. For Nathan it remained “Baby” because that is what I told you when I first brought him home.

“Look, here is our baby.” It stuck and we did nothing to unstick it. For that, I am grateful.

I desperately needed the reprieve from Grief. She was kind today and walked behind me allowing me to enjoy the sun, the memories, and time with your brothers and Steve. She only nudged me a couple times, until bedtime. Then she hopped right into bed with me and stole the covers.