walkingman

A year ago my nephew died from a combination of drugs and alcohol. This past weekend I had to relive the horror of that tragedy as I gathered with my brother, sister-in-law, other family members, and friends to celebrate this life which was taken from us too soon and in such a wasted way. His future looked so bright and he had so much to live for. On the outside he seemed to have the perfect life but maybe that was the problem. Everyone had this perfect life planned out for him and it was not the life Joe wanted or the expectations that he could live up to. He was a great kid/man. Joe was funny, witty, kindhearted, always willing to help out, but also a private person. He was a leader, a volunteer but also someone who did not seek the limelight. I think his parents pushed him too hard and that is why he rebelled and pushed back hard against their rules and discipline. Yet he loved them very much and did not want to disappoint them. This dichotomy caused him internal discord and lots of sadness. One of my nieces summed it up best by saying that he just wanted peace. I hope he has his peace now. I miss him dearly every day. My sons are still dealing with his loss and have not come to grips with his death. Sometimes I will hear a loud thundering car roar up the street in front of my house and I think for a minute that he is dropping by for a quick visit. But then reality returns and I know that it is not him. I then squeeze my sons a little harder and am thankful that they are alive and with me. The weather was perfect on Saturday and his gravesite looked wonderful. His marker looked radiant in the bright sunshine. Yet it was so hard to believe that Joe was dead and gone one year while we, the parents, aunts and uncles, the old folks, were alive and remembering his life. That is just not the way it is supposed to be. Graves and funerals should be for the old, but my brother and I know too well that they are also for our young sons. They make us old but they also make us human and feeling and loving.