The Rolodex card

Dear Mom,

It's been a while since I wrote. However, not a day has gone by that my thoughts haven't been with you.

Routine, at times, rescues me from my despair at your departure. The daily demands that I've had to meet have been enough of a distraction that I haven't been tortured by the reality that you're physically gone from this world.

I begin to get the notion that I'm moving on. Acceptance begins to sink in.

There are things that happen, however, which drag me back to the starting point of loss.

It was probably a week and a half ago now, that my Jessica came into the room with a Rolodex card that had your name and phone number on it. I was sitting at the computer doing my work.

She showed the obsolete card to me, and I commented, "Yeah, we won't need that one anymore, will we?"

She then replied, "I put her number in my computer."

Puzzled, I asked, "Why? Do you think you're going to give her a call?"

Her answer was a sharp knife which pierced deep into my innermost soul. "No," she replied. "I thought that way I could always keep her close to my heart."

I was speechless. I didn't say anything. I just sat there, pretending to work, trying not to let my emotions show. But the tears began to form in my eyes and spill out onto my face.

Jessica said nothing more. Apparently thinking she'd upset me, she left the room.

I got up from my computer and began to pace the floor. I was openly weeping now. It floored me that I had been heavily absorbed in my task, only to be torn from the cocoon of the blissful illusion that I was healing.

Reality had paid me another painful visit. Unannounced, it arrived in the form of my ten year old little daughter, who — without realizing it at the time — had laid her soul bare. In that moment of truth, she had opened her raw, aching heart, to expose her own afflictive suffering.

It was all that I could stand. I was overwhelmed, emotionally.

For the next several days, through many melancholy moments, I have reflected upon that incident.

I remember in the days after your departure, how Jessica had stood at your casket and held your lifeless hand. She had put her hands all over your face. When no one else was around, she stood at your side, speaking to you softly. When someone approached, expecting to see her crying, she'd turn around with a big smile on her face as if someone had told her a joke.

Then, later, when she was no longer around you, she'd weep bitterly.

I remember hearing for the first time from Michelle that you had spoken to her. She said that you had told Jessica, "I hope everyone is doing okay. I'm sorry I can't be with you and the family, but heaven is great, and I'm very happy."

I couldn't imagine Jessica making something like that up. Even so, when I got her alone, I asked her about it with a veiled threat. The family was all abuzz about this potential connection. Even though I knew it wasn't in her nature to do so, I wanted to make sure that she knew that we wouldn't tolerate falsifications or embellishments of the truth.

Without hesitation, she insisted "I'm not making it up, Dad. Grandma Janet talks to me in my dreams."

The communications continued for a while after we returned to Michigan. She then say that she saw you as an angel, but you didn't speak. Eventually, the messages and appearances ceased.

Yesterday, I was again in my study when Hannah told me that she had been awakened by a female voice, calling her name. Suspecting that it might be you, I asked her who it sounded like. She matter-of-factly stated that it sounded like one of two people. Either it was her friend from school — she gave them name of the girl — or it was her Grandma Janet. She said that she had awakened and asked "who's calling me?" But said there was no further reply.

I smiled. Though I couldn't be sure, I had a strong suspicion that it was indeed you. For I, myself, had been awakened by a voice calling me. More than once, I had felt a hand upon my shoulder, only to turn and no one was there. Or was there someone there?

There are individuals in this world who so touch the lives of those around them, it is difficult to fathom their departure. You are one of those people, Mom. Of all the people I have ever known, I don't believe there ever walked the earth a more generous, loving, and wonderful person than you.

It has been a blessing to share my first 34 years with you on this earth. And, with a lump in my throat, I assert that I look forward to seeing you again when my work on earth is done.

Until then, my hope is that I can fulfill God's plan for my life. And it is my earnest hope that, in doing so, I'll make you proud.

Your tender compassion and firm guidance have given me the tools to make it possible.

Until that blessed morning, when our great reunion will come, I'll never forget you.

Love, your son,

Darren