Tuesday, August 11, 2009


I stay busy today. Too busy to think, yet memories of my son flood into my brain anyway. I remember the first time he slid down the driveway on a sled. He was two and terrified, even though I was on the sled with him. He quickly got past his fear and learned to love to sled and snowboard in Minnesota in the winter. I remember his first day of kindergarten, and how he grabbed onto my thigh and wouldn't let me leave the classroom. I remember his first sentence. Colby was 15 months old and tried to push a log at the edge of the yard. "It no go," he said to me. I explained the log was too big and we found a much smaller log to push. His first bike ride took place when he was four. He taught himself to ride a neighbor child's discarded two-wheeled bike around the driveway one weekend. I remember the first gifts he asked for for Christmas. It was the Christmas he was three and he wanted a choo choo train and a drum. He got both. I remember his first movie, his first trip to McDonald's, his first step when he was way too young at six months, his first word at eight months.

I remember it all, and while the memories are bittersweet, I think how sad it would be not to have them. Tomorrow, as I head to Colby's Celebration of Life, I will go with the attitude that this IS a celebration. Those who knew Colby are all richer for knowing him, and we should celebrate that. We should remember with fondness the wonderful times we shared and rejoice that when our time comes, we will see him again.

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