Haiti

Today I learn that during the 2009 holidays a group of men in recovery gather clothes and in Colby's name distribute them to the homeless under Nashville's Jefferson Street Bridge. The men are from Grandpa's House, a Nashville-based nonprofit recovery support facility that Colby would have entered in Fall 2009.

I am overcome, truly overcome, with gratitude that these men would honor Colby and his memory in a way that would have meant so much to Colby. Colby felt deeply for those who live with life's unfairness, life's sadness, for those who work so much harder than the rest of us just to survive. As a group, these men from Grandpa's House are doing what Colby wanted to, but could not.

Colby wanted to make life better for those who had it rough. When he was twelve, he'd take his guitar, his harmonica, and a couple of extra soft drinks to the park to play for the homeless. When I asked him why he wanted to do that, he said, "Because no one else will. Because they are human beings who enjoy music all the more because they rarely get to hear it played. Because they are human and deserve the respect I can give them." This, from a boy of twelve.

Colby and the men from Grandpa's House remind us that a little compassion, a little help, can make all the difference. They remind us that those who are in need cannot pull themselves up by their bootstraps if they have no boots. That a little can go a very, very long way.

That said, I know Colby would be so very proud if you took a minute to text HAITI to 90999. This will make a $10 donation to the Red Cross relief effort there and will be added to your next cell phone bill. I did and I could feel Colby smile as I did.

Guilt

I wake this morning to extreme guilt. I am back to playing "what if." Throughout Colby's life I thought God gave him to me because I was the only mother in the world who could deal with his troubles. Now I feel that I failed Colby and Godd so very, very badly. They both must be so disappointed in me. I failed the most important test in the world. Parenting. I should have fought harder, tried harder, done more, found the one person who could help him, said something to him that would have made a difference, moved to a different town, sent him to a different school, talked to him more. I should have told him how awesome he was more often. But in looking back to those times I don't know how I could have done more. Still, I think I am dumb as a rock to have so failed my child that he died.

To counter-act my guilt I find myself now trying to be perfect. Where before I would put a cup on the counter, now I place it just so. Deliberately. Perfectly. If I fold an item of clothing I have to fold it perfectly. It might take me three minutes to get it right, but I can't put it away until it is perfect. I realize this is not normal. Or maybe, in my circumstances, it is. If I have order and perfection around me, I think, I can get through this. I can cope. I can stop crying. I won't feel so damned guilty.

This guilt comes after several days of belief that Colby's death was meant to be. That we all have a prescribed period of time to be here in Earth and this was all the time Colby had. That there was a reason for this. That his life and death mattered in the big scheme of things. But today, it all seems so unfair. For him, for me and for his grandma.