It seems impossible that it has been three years since we have seen Kevin. Sometimes for me the ache seems worse than ever, and yet most of the time I don't have sorrow because I know it isn't eternal. I remember the day that I found out. I will never forget the shock and the overwhelming despair that came over me. Forever burned into my mind is the memory of that morning. The way my room looked, the sounds, the smells, the feelings - like they are frozen, rendered immovable by the sadness of that moment. Having to tell Uncle M and Aunt T and then send police to find Aunt R and Uncle S on their family camping trip was not easy, but by far the hardest thing for me about that day was having to tell dad. Mom and dad didn't have functional cell phones at that point in time and because mom was rushing down to be with Aunt L and her children she had left a message at a weigh station, where dad was sure to get it because he was driving a truck from Texas for the church farm. Dad called and I told him. I remember him insisting "NO! It's Grandpa R!" It still makes me hurt to remember having to force the response, "No dad, it's Kevin."
Walking in
to the church and seeing the family all gathered was hard too. I remember holding on to mom and bawling like a child looking for comfort - something to make everything be okay again. Seeing Aunt L and N and K and knowing was an unbelievable loss it was for them and how much harder it was going to be when the shock started to wear off. Seeing the coffin in front and knowing that I would not get another Kevin
hug in this life. Singing "The Dance" (Aunt K saved me on that one in a major way) with Aunt K. I remember finally getting to up the courage to look down at someone in the audience and I picked Aunt J because she is a rock - and when I saw her crying I nearly couldn't go on. After the funeral when the pall bearers started to put the coffin in the car I remember N running over and saying, "Where are you taking my dad? Is someone going to be with him so he isn't lonely?" Loss sure hurts.
The beauty of the day came in the innocence of the children whose resilience is enviable. They just loved being with cousins. I think we all wished for a little of that freedom from pain that comes with a single digit age!
When we went back to mom and dad's (well, Grandpa and Grandma's if I stay in my current style of writing), and all of dad's brothers and sisters had brought things, and cleaned and so much love and desire to help was felt, I started to feel some hope for life again. Just 10 days earlier we had been in this exact same place celebrating the life of Grandma Honey and now, incomprehensibly, here we were mourning the loss of Kevin. I don't know why this sticks out, but I remember eating the soup Uncle John had made and looking around at our family and finally feeling like maybe things would be okay again - some day.
Walking in
to the church and seeing the family all gathered was hard too. I remember holding on to mom and bawling like a child looking for comfort - something to make everything be okay again. Seeing Aunt L and N and K and knowing was an unbelievable loss it was for them and how much harder it was going to be when the shock started to wear off. Seeing the coffin in front and knowing that I would not get another Kevin
hug in this life. Singing "The Dance" (Aunt K saved me on that one in a major way) with Aunt K. I remember finally getting to up the courage to look down at someone in the audience and I picked Aunt J because she is a rock - and when I saw her crying I nearly couldn't go on. After the funeral when the pall bearers started to put the coffin in the car I remember N running over and saying, "Where are you taking my dad? Is someone going to be with him so he isn't lonely?" Loss sure hurts.The beauty of the day came in the innocence of the children whose resilience is enviable. They just loved being with cousins. I think we all wished for a little of that freedom from pain that comes with a single digit age!
When we went back to mom and dad's (well, Grandpa and Grandma's if I stay in my current style of writing), and all of dad's brothers and sisters had brought things, and cleaned and so much love and desire to help was felt, I started to feel some hope for life again. Just 10 days earlier we had been in this exact same place celebrating the life of Grandma Honey and now, incomprehensibly, here we were mourning the loss of Kevin. I don't know why this sticks out, but I remember eating the soup Uncle John had made and looking around at our family and finally feeling like maybe things would be okay again - some day.
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