A few weeks ago, the Husband suggested I might add a page to the site about Evan, by way of explanation or memorial, so that readers don’t just go from July 20 and my musings about BlogHer to the abrupt notice of Evan’s death. It’s in me, somewhere, this post or memorial–there’s an epilogue in the book that explains the events, and a goodbye column over at Literary Mama–but I have yet to find a way to bring those narratives into this space.
Over the years, the blog became so much about Evan, his quotidian successes and challenges. When he died, I was left bereft not just of him but of those stories. To write a memorial is to say, finally, that those stories won’t be here ever again. Last night, in the quiet, the words came to me, “It’s like touching the air.” I understand why people want to see ghosts, or reach out to feel if the figments they sense are truly there. I do this with his photos, reach for them and wish there were something tangible–living, breathing–below the glass.
As writers we have words to make something from nothing. I have memories, and pictures, objects that belonged to my son. But future stories are gone. It’s like touching the air.
Comments 19
It may be like touching air – a beautiful phrase, by the way – but it’s certainly not nothing.
I think of you often & hope you are well.
xo
Posted 01 Apr 2009 at 8:07 am ¶Thank you for posting this, and for the link. I have long wondered what actually took Evan from you, but never wanted to ask. You have had an incredible journey, and I am in awe of you and your composure every day.
Posted 01 Apr 2009 at 9:00 am ¶So poignant! “It’s like touching the air.”
But he’s very much alive in your heart, and that is real, oh so very real.
What a blessed boy to have you for his mom.
Posted 01 Apr 2009 at 9:26 am ¶I read this and know it is true. You have captured it. I also think of you and Evan often as I try to go about living with my son and his additional needs. Thank you for writing.
Posted 01 Apr 2009 at 9:27 am ¶Tangible, living, breathing…so very hard I know. Yet, if it’s like touching the air, I can only imagine that air is thick with the fragrance of memory and the light and shadows of his smile, his eyes. His essence is all there. Always will be. xo
Posted 01 Apr 2009 at 9:42 am ¶Hugs to you, my friend. Beautiful post.
Posted 01 Apr 2009 at 10:24 am ¶beautiful.
Posted 01 Apr 2009 at 12:25 pm ¶Oh, Vicki…
Posted 01 Apr 2009 at 12:46 pm ¶I usually click quickly away from things that I think will bring me to tears. But not your writing- I read and re-read and cry and cry. Thank you again for sharing Evan with us.
Posted 01 Apr 2009 at 4:05 pm ¶Vicki, what a beautiful image – touching the air. I wish I could think of a more eloquent way to say that you have touched my heart, but that’s exactly what your writing does.
Posted 02 Apr 2009 at 12:02 am ¶Oh Vicki,
What an apt way to describe the the missing of a person. Ghosts of all kinds surround us.
Posted 02 Apr 2009 at 4:03 pm ¶always here to read, whatever you feel like writing, whenever you feel like writing it.
xo
Posted 02 Apr 2009 at 4:35 pm ¶I am new to your page and hadn’t realized that Evan had passed away. I’m glad you posted this. Your expressions of your grief are painful to read, because you write so straight from your heart to mine.
Posted 03 Apr 2009 at 8:23 am ¶I went and read your column at LIterary Mama. My daughter Lola is 7. I ….find myself wanting to say something but feeling speechless. From one mother to another, many blessings and love.
Posted 03 Apr 2009 at 8:26 am ¶This is a beautiful, poignant post.
Posted 05 Apr 2009 at 7:59 am ¶“In truth, no ending is ever complete, no goodbye sufficient”. Oh, so well put and yet under stated.
Posted 05 Apr 2009 at 5:59 pm ¶Hi Vicki
That image is so right. Thanks for sharing this. Thinking of you.
Grace
Posted 06 Apr 2009 at 9:38 am ¶so beautiful. touching the air. all around us yet impossible to hold. isn’t that evan?
Posted 06 Apr 2009 at 11:33 am ¶Wow. You got it.
Posted 06 Apr 2009 at 9:01 pm ¶Post a Comment