What a Difference 1104 Days Make

Day 1104.

Now I have entered year 4.

The anniversary of Luke’s death came and went.

There are new badges, there was a floral arrangement reflecting the garlands that surrounded Luke as he was cremated, atop which we placed votive candles lit from a central column candle made by Adam from the stubs of all the candles we light each night.

I worked and I worked, to make that set up stunning, driven by the notion, once more, that if I get everything just perfect - Luke would come back.

But he didn’t.

Going through the motions to mark Luke’s death, a day to remember him and to honor him, I felt him less this year. With each celebration of him, I feel only a heavy numbness.

As I reflect on past years, I note that the agony of his loss is less overwhelming, warm in the comfort of our friends and his, I wonder what it would feel like to not mark that day with such grandeur. What would it be like to sit here alone, just us three.?

I can’t imagine.

I can’t bear to think that it would ever be just another day.

Each year, less people can make it, more people cry off and his friends are fewer.

They have other things in their lives now and that is how it should be. But for me, the loss will never be filled.

I have learned to function around my grief. 

I can walk, talk, drive and remember most of my passwords.

I cry less.

I spend less time staring at images of Luke, but it feels like I have worn them out. Like the smell of him in his clothes, the Lukeness is all used up.

The greatest delight of all was that one of my nieces found another gem - new seconds of gold- videos of Luke playing beer pong with his brother and cousins right here in the spot where I now sit.

I am startled by how much I have forgotten about how he was in motion. He’s dragging on a cigarette, dancing, talking and joking - all at once.

I replay the video over and over, drinking in the forgotten feeling of what it was like to be with him, how he could do so many things at once, always in motion, always interacting.

New images of Luke feel like he just walked into the room. Who knew that 18 seconds of recovered Snapchat could bring so much joy?

And there it is - the difference 3 years, gallons of tears, hours and hours of good therapy and somatic trauma therapy can make. Those 18 seconds played over and over and over, no longer bring me to my knees in agonizing sobbing, but instead, they lift me up to feel the joy that was to be in Luke’s presence.

Does it feel disloyal to function without him?

Yes, sometimes.

The survivor’s guilt has been so strong. The complicated dance of being so attached to my deep grief, as if it is all I have left of him as if my pain is an homage to my love for him.

At Luke’s LA funeral a friend sang Make me Feel your Love.

She sang in her full brilliance for emotion and soulfulness, her voice soaring and cracking as she fought her tears for our lost boy.

As I rose to stand with her, our hands clasped, our foreheads touching to giver her strength - the lyrics somehow switched their meaning from singing to Luke, to singing to me.

I haven’t been able to listen to this song since, but recently it has found its way to me over and over.

The first time it brought my body to a freeze, even before I realized what I was hearing. The next time it caught me as I was working on the flowers for Luke’s yahrzeit and my tears rolled for the pain of my loss as I felt the magnitude of that moment and my loss.

But the lyrics reminded me that my friend would indeed go to the end of this Earth to reverse this tragedy, but in the absence of that miracle she and all my friends and family would wrap me in love - and they have.

Today I listened to it in a new light.

I heard it as if I was singing. As if they were my words. My words to Luke and then to George, my living son. I felt an overwhelming love for both my boys.

My fight to save Luke is lost.

But my fight to keep George safe and loved is still alive.

It alternates as I think about my deep love for both my boys as if I sing each line to each of them in turn.

To help George continue to be whole and happy despite his tragic loss.

My overwhelming love for him rises up and ‘there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do’, to make him feel my love. Emotions raw and visceral.

‘The winds of change are blowing wild and free, You ain’t seen nothing like me’, is now a call to right the wrongs in this world and be better than previously imaginable, to honor Luke’s name by helping others.

To rise up and lead, by example, that a life in the loss of Luke, can still be beautiful.

To make the world a better place.