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Means to Me

I wrote this at work and I had to just end it because it kept making me want to cry. I don't know where it came from, but it just came out. I was thinking about how much I love my son and how much I feel like I'm some terrible sort of father and don't get to spend enough time with him and I turned that minor depression into absolute grief and this came out.

I lost my son today.

I lost him to recklessness and stupidity and no amount of tears and grief will bring him back.

No amount of revenge will make me feel better.

All I can do is remember what made him special. All I can do is remember how much I loved him and how much we tried to brighten each others days.

He was five years old and I never spent enough time with him. Do you ever think you spend enough time with your children? I don’t know. I never felt like I did. I’ve been working full time since he was born, so I’ve naturally spent more time at work than with him since he’s been born. Quantifying that idea in my head makes me want to cry.

Did he feel loved enough? I don’t know. I don’t know if a child can ever feel or be loved enough. I think of the smile on his face and want to hug him, bring him close to me, cheek to cheek. I yearn to feel the softness of his embrace one more time. I want to give him a kiss and tell him I love him.

I could never imagine how bad this would hurt. How could I? No one anticipates to feel the loss of one so young. No one can predict a tragedy so horrible, and that’s why I wish that I would have taken more time to be with him. To fill his days with as much love and attention as I should have.

God.

He had an amazing sense of humor for a child. When he was two and half or so... The mid-point in his life... Jesus... When he was two and a half and potty training there was a Saturday morning I remember. I had slept in. When I got up, I went to the bathroom, like most people do, to find the toilet full. There was no toilet paper to be seen either, so he hadn’t wiped himself. I flushed the toilet and went to the other room where I told my wife, “Guess who didn’t wipe himself or flush the toilet?”

Before she could reply, my son popped up from behind the couch and shrugged, saying as adorably as possible, “I didn’t wash my hands either!”

I miss him.

I’ll always miss him. How could I not? He spent five years changing and shaping my life. I tried my hardest to shape his, but I’ll never know what kind of a man he’d grow up to be. It makes me want to cry thinking of all the things he’ll miss out on. A first kiss, driving a car, having kids as adorable as he was.

As hard as it is on me, it’s even harder on his little sister.

She’s four and spent more time with him than anyone and she keeps asking where her brother is.

I don’t know how to tell her.

When he started pre-school and she was still too young to go, she would cry and cry and cry when they were separated. And afterwards, he would always ask why she couldn’t come with him.

When he would come home, she would run to him and hug him, shouting his name.

She’s only four, but I wonder if she’ll ever be completely whole again.

There’s so much more I want to say, but I can’t. I want him back and I can’t have him.

The hurt is too much.

I just wish I could tell him I love him one last time and explain to him how much he means to me... Meant to me...

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