September 21, 2003

Dear Jamie,

Life is but a dream, sometimes a nightmare, but most of the time it just seems like a strange dream. Mom and I are going about our days, and to most of the world we probably appear to be OK. And I guess in a way, maybe we are. 

It is Sunday, and I’ve woken up pretty early. You are on my mind, so I cried a little and came up to your room/our office to spend some time with you. Sunday mornings are quiet, and I’m up before everyone else, and it’s a time when I really feel you, and the fact that you’re not in our home as you used to be. 

I can’t really understand how it is almost seventeen months since I last saw you in your body. You really are always with me in so many ways. Whether you are actually “with me”, I’m not sure, but you are always on my mind, a big part of my heart and soul and life. 

A year ago, I could not see how we could really continue on here on earth without you, but here we are. And although I wouldn’t say life is nearly as enjoyable as it was with you here, we are learning to go on. On the days when it seems we can’t, we remind ourselves that it would not honor you, or the gift of our own lives, or anything at all, to just curl up and wait to die. It’s not that it’s not tempting sometimes, either. But it turns out that it really is easier, in a way, to just keep moving. It’s not a “moving on”, as the cliché goes, or moving away from you. It’s more of a moving along with you. We attempt to keep going, at the same time learning to become closer and closer to you. Deep Sadness incorporates itself into our existence, but we do continue to exist, and even, I dare say, to live.

I promise you, son, that I will do my best to live a life that, when I come to join you, you could say, “You did well, Dad”. And I could look back over my life, and see that even in great sadness, I never forgot to love and that although your time with me was short, I didn’t lose the lessons you came to teach. I promise to do my best to fulfill that promise, “Corazon”.

Love,
Dad