Generations

I go through one of Colby's drawers this afternoon. As I sort through this catch-all of life I realize that I can't believe Colby will never come home again. Ever. I can't believe that he won't show up at the door with a pile of laundry, that when the phone rings it will never be Colby who is calling. At this moment, I can't believe he has really and truly passed on.

I've had moments like this before, and I have been told they will come again. It is my body's way of insulating me from the truth when the truth is so horrible that I can't deal with it. These temporary reprieves from the truth are good. I can't think of never seeing my son's smiling face again, so my mind blocks that reality for a moment, or a few hours, or maybe a day, until enough healing, rest, and nutrition allow me to process one more piece of this nightmare.

While I am busy not dealing with reality I find baseball cards, collectible stamps, foreign coins and other groups of things Colby collected at one time or another. A good number of the cards were mine when I was small. I will keep these, for now, but I wonder about keeping anything, as I now have no one to pass Colby's treasures, our family treasures, on to. My grandfather's retirement watch, my great-grandparents' wedding photo, my mother's Marine uniform, my grandmother's china. There is no one to hand these things down to and I feel as if I've let my ancestors down. After me, there will be no one to remember them. No one to pass family stories along to, no one to remember their history.

That thought makes Colby's passing real again and the pain of his loss washes over me like a tidal wave. I am devastated once again, for me, for him, for his friends, and for all the people he might have met, might have shared a smile with, might have helped in some small way. My baby boy really is gone. I sigh and put the collectibles in a drawer. I'll look at them more closely another day. Maybe on that day, I will be processing reality a little better than today.