Today, Charlie would have been 17 years old. He’d be a junior in high school. Have his driver’s license. Maybe a part-time job. Probably be on the e-sports team, or in band, or playing a sport. Definitely still making movies and art.
But I don’t know for sure. At 10, he was all possibilities. All of them gone, now.
I realized I only post here anymore on his birthday and deathiversary (what a word). I don’t really have anything more to say about my grief journey. At some point, you realize this is Just How It Is. This is your life, now. You build your life around the hole in your heart, the gaping wound in your soul and you just…go on, with the life you had fading into the distance.
You fiercely love the people you still have. It’s a delicate balance, ensuring that your kids don’t feel burdened by their brother’s loss. They were so young when It Happened–only 12 and 5–and they’ve lived most of their lives without him. The youngest really only remembers the stories and pictures, not Charlie. So you want them to celebrate Charlie’s life, but they know that it still makes Mom and Dad sad.
So sad. And angry. And guilty, and all the things. Still. Always.
I miss him.
Saying the Quiet Parts Out Loud 