Limitations

Yesterday was the 20th anniversary of the San Francisco earthquake that stopped Game 3 of the World Series in it's tracks. Colby had just turned four and I was working a second job as a stringer for the Nashville Banner, Nashville's daily afternoon newspaper that folded a few years later. It was a great part-time gig because I could set my interviews around my day job and Colby's activities, and I could take Colby with me on most of my interviews.

That afternoon we were at the fire station in Kingston Springs, Tennessee. I was interviewing the fire chief for a story and Colby had chosen to watch the baseball game in the lounge rather than sit in one of the fire trucks. As I've mentioned before, Colby and his grandma loved playing ball together and he was watching as intently as a four-year-old can, so he could call his grandma when we got home to talk about the game. When the earthquake hit he came running to the office and pulled me into the lounge. The station was quickly changed to CNN and, as we did not have cable, this was the first time I remember watching what has since become a news giant.

I experienced many other exciting firsts with Colby. Sleeping in a cave, eating sushi, skateboarding, and catching bugs are just a few. Not all of the firsts were positive, but good or bad, I remember each of them well. I am very sad that Colby and I will not have any other firsts together, but in going through his writings today I am reminded how unhappy he was, how tough life was for him.

It is selfish, I think, for me to want the one person I loved more than life itself to endure a life filled with anguish and sorrow and pain. I don't believe Colby chose to go, to leave us here on Earth, but I do think once he landed on the other side that he was glad he is no longer here. There, he is free of the many limitations his body, his brain, put on him. I need to remember that. To hold onto that thought when I miss him so badly that it hurts. For to love someone is to let them go. And Colby, I do love you.