Note from Linda: This isn’t the essay I had planned on returning to my blog with, but since life has a way of pointing me in other directions, I am going to throw caution to the wind and follow life’s lead by publishing the following letter I penned earlier this morning to my son, Dylan.
This letter had been intended for my recently created Instagram account, @deardylan_lovemom, an account I am using to explore my grief journey through a series of letters I have been writing to Dylan since he died. Its intent is help others on their grief journey as I continue on mine. Unfortunately, the letter ended up being too long for the Instagram platform so I hopped on over here.
Currently, I am revamping the blog so you will notice some parts and features of the original blog template missing. Revamping the blog is a slow and steady process of transformation, much like my healing journey. While I didn’t stop writing these past two years, I did stop publishing. I just didn’t have it in me. Now, I have mounds of notes to go through and stacks of papers to edit, but I am getting there. Now onto my letter …
Diary entry: 07/30/21
All week I have been struggling about how I would acknowledge today, the four year anniversary of your death. I swear I heard you say matter-of-factly in the early hours of this morning, “Remember that I lived, Mother, not that I died.” Thank you for the nudge.
Today I will Sit and Remember
Today I will sit and remember your big heart, your gentle soul, and your imaginative mind. Remember your Little Tykes tractor and how you truly believed you were cutting hay?
Today I will sit and remember that time you asked for another bowl of “arse cream.” Oh, the challenges of the English language when you’re only two years old.
Today I will sit and remember that time you broke your older brother’s jaw with a perfectly landed right kick. I’m sure it was an accident.
Today I will sit and remember your bright smile, your cheeky grin, quick wit, and hearty laugh which saved you on many, many occasions.
Today I will sit and remember how you always made sure none of your friends ever felt left out. Kindness does matter.
Today I will sit and remember that day you decided to leave your shyness behind and became larger than life itself. Appearing on stage in high school wearing only your briefs, well, * ahem * …..
Today I will sit and remember all the coffee stains you left in your wake, and all the T1D blood testing strips that never quite made it into the trash can. In the freezer?? Really??
Today I will sit and remember how your stinky smelly rotten socks burned the back of my throat, and how your stinky smelly rotten farts were a close second. #momofboys
Today I will sit and remember your fierce determination as well as your defiance that sometimes got in your way. Remember that 2 a.m. call from Constable So-and-So from the Killaloe detachment of the OPP? That sure was fun.
Today I will sit and remember your hard work ethic, your ability to rise above any challenge, and your willingness to help anyone without expecting a thing in return. Your heart was always the biggest part of you.
Today I will sit and remember that day you attached the big set of bull horns to the grill of your Plymouth Reliant, called it Buffalo Bill, and drove that sucker everywhere. Remember the Van-gina and the Lumi-sine?
Today I will sit and remember that time, while I was out grocery shopping, you emptied all of my kitchen cupboards, purged them of stuff I didn’t even know I had, AND then turned to me when I came home, asking with the tenacity of a prosecutorial attorney, “How many f***ing mugs does one family need?” Apparently not 30.
Today I will sit and remember that time you called me “Oldilocks” and I didn’t know whether to high five you for your cleverness or cuff you up the side of your head despite it. I’m glad I went with the high five.
Today I will sit and remember your crazy t-shirt collection, all purchased at your favourite store, Value Village. I do hope there is a Value Village in heaven.
Today I will sit and remember that time I warned you to watch your language after working on construction for only two months to which you replied, “They’re only words, Mother. They’re just f***ing words.” What I would give now to hear a perfectly delivered eff bomb.
Today I will sit and remember that, while you didn’t let many people in, those you did, you loved with all your heart.
Today I will sit and remember all the times you said, “Common sense should be renamed rare sense, Mother, because nobody has it anymore.” Believe me, it’s even rarer during a pandemic.
Today I will remember our last Christmas together when you and your brother reminisced about the times each of you had been arrested, arrests I knew nothing about. Merry Christmas, Ma!
Today I will sit and remember how you made this world a brighter and better place in your 28 years than most people do during their entire lifetime.
Dylan, you are the song in my heart, the fire in my soul, and the torment of my mind.
Today, I will sit and remember.
PS: The f***ing mugs are out of control again #sorrynotsorry
Keep writing, please! You have a gift that is meant to be shared.
I seem to have something in my eyes, they won’t stop watering…lol. I’ve been waiting all day for our daily “touching base”. This is your day to reflect and reflect you did….again, your brilliant way with words! I just want you to know how special you are my friend and your willingness to share your grief will help so many other Momma Bears (and Dads) more than you will ever know. Love you ❤️
Some people’s story is just meant to be shared. I hear the healing in your voice, Linda, thank you for sharing Dylan with us. I feel like I’m getting to know him.
This is lovely! So glad to see you’re back — I have been thinking about you and hoping you were doing well. Thank you for sharing with us all.
“Arse cream!” I love it!!! Hugs and much love!