Dear Wil ...

 Dear Wil …

It will be nine long years on Wednesday. The last we spoke was nine long years, July 11^th, when you called to wish mom and me a happy anniversary. Nine years ago, you had called on a Friday. We laughed because you weren’t sure which day was our anniversary, and you explained you were never good with dates. I knew that. So did mom and Hannah and Emily. Hannah had mentioned to us you would call her when some birthday or anniversary popped up just so you could get the right day. 

Nine long years ago …

I think back to your call often, if only to remember your voice, your smile and your laugh. That memory has always warmed my heart. Especially your laugh and your goofiness. Your playfulness.

You were excited to tell us about the new job you were to begin. You called it your dream job. A fashion photographer for a large online company. Your first job with a salary and benefits. You couldn’t wait. Mom and I were so proud of you. You struggled as many young people do coming out of college. Sometimes it’s difficult to find your ground and master your step in life, but on that Monday, you were to begin. You had conquered a small mountain and begin a new life. So proud of you, Wil.

You and Maria had just moved to Chicago. A new apartment, a new place to establish your roots. You and Maria had even talked about having children. I have to admit, I looked forward to being “Grandpa” and mom looked forward to being “Grandma.” We knew it would be a while before you and Maria settled, but getting that job, your dream job, was a first big step.

Maria spent that weekend with her sister and her family in Madison. You stayed home to finish a photo project. In hindsight, I wish you would have gone with Maria. It wouldn’t be nine long years before we heard your voice, your laugh. But that happens. Not blaming you at all, Wil. You were being responsible and finishing a project.

That day, you worked on your project. You took a break for a walk to get lunch and do some shopping for your apartment. On your way back, our lives changed. Nine long years ago.

I think back to the phone call. Mom and I were asleep in a hotel, and we thought someone had made a mistake and called the wrong room. After all, it was 12:38 am. Mistakes happen at that hour. In retrospect, mistakes happen at 3:30 pm on a street on a warm summer day. On July 12^th. 

I have many, many regrets, Wil. I very much wish I would have been a better father for you. I’ll admit, I think I’m a better father now with Hannah and Emily. At least, I think I am, but Hannah and Em would know better. But you were our first, and I didn’t have a map or a guidebook to follow. I did my best, but never measured up- at least, in my mind.   

I think we both did our best. You as son, and me as dad. Still, I feel I came up short. 

What I wish most of all was that I was with you that afternoon walking along the street on that warm day, on July 12^th. Perhaps the day would have ended differently. Who knows? It could have been me instead of you, and honestly, I would have accepted that. You shouldn’t have been alone. 

What I wouldn’t give for one more laugh with you, one more conversation with you. One more time to tell you I loved you and how very proud I was … am … of you. What a wonderful son and brother you were. 

I think back to that day and the court appearances that followed, the trials, seeing the photos, hearing the facts, the details, witnessing the cold, callousness of the three involved. But what I remember most about that time, that day, was not the blood on the street or the shopping bags containing the items for your apartment. No. What I remember, what has been seared in my brain and carved in my soul, was the picture of one of your flip-flops on the sidewalk. That photo still haunts me. 

It didn’t have to be, Wil. You know that. I know that. Mom, and Hannah, and Emily know that. Everyone knows that. A shitty decision by a fifteen-year-old holding a gun, whose idea it was to “take care of business” as it was stated in court. To “go wet his shirt” the fifteen-year-old was told. Cold. Callous. 

You were only walking along the street, minding your own business.

The bullet was meant for someone else. You became his shield so he could get away. Using another human being, my son, shield. 

What hurts me is that I wasn’t there for you. I wasn’t there with you. You were alone. Dads are supposed to protect their sons and daughters. I had no way of knowing, Wil. I’m sorry. You were alone.

I wonder what went through your mind as you lay on the cement sidewalk. I wonder what your last thoughts were. Were you thinking about Maria? The project you were working on? Hannah or Emily? Mom and me? Your new job that was to begin on Monday? I can imagine you smiling at those thoughts. I want to believe you were smiling at those thoughts. Happy for a moment, before everything changed. Everything. 

Wil, I came across a song that could be our song. James Blunt wrote it for his father. His father had cancer, and James wrote this song for him. I would sing it for you, Wil, but I wouldn’t get through the first line or two. No way. I would try, but I would fail miserably. Perhaps fail as I did that Saturday, July 12, 2014, when I wasn’t with you. 

Here are the lyrics for you. We’d have to tweak them to make it fit us, you and me. But you get the meaning, I’m sure. At the end of the lyrics, I attached the link to his music video. I think you’ll like it. James’s heart is in it, just as mine would be. How could it not? 

The song is titled, Monsters. A good title. Blunt says it much better than I could, though it matches what my heart feels.

[Verse 1]
Oh, before they turn off all the lights
I won’t read you your wrongs or your rights
The time has gone
I’ll tell you goodnight, close the door
Tell you “I love you” once more
The time has gone, so here it is

[Chorus]
I’m not your son, you’re not my father
We’re just two grown men saying goodbye
No need to forgive, no need to forget
I know your mistakes and you know mine
And while you’re sleeping, I’ll try to make you proud
So, daddy, won’t you just close your eyes?
Don’t be afraid, it’s my turn
To chase the monsters away

[Verse 2]
Oh, well I’ll read a story to you
Only difference is this one is true
The time has gone
I folded your clothes on the chair
I hope you sleep well, don’t be scared
The time has gone, so here it is

[Chorus]
I’m not your son, you’re not my father
We’re just two grown men saying goodbye
No need to forgive, no need to forget
I know your mistakes and you know mine
And while you’re sleeping, I’ll try to make you proud
So, daddy, won’t you just close your eyes?
Don’t be afraid, it’s my turn
To chase the monsters away

[Bridge]
Sleep a lifetime
Yes and breathe a last word
You can feel my hand on your own
I will be the last one so I’ll leave a light on
Let there be no darkness in your heart

[Chorus]
But I’m not your son, you’re not my father
We’re just two grown men saying goodbye
No need to forgive, no need to forget
I know your mistakes and you know mine
And while you’re sleeping, I’ll try to make you proud
So, daddy, won’t you just close your eyes?
Don’t be afraid, it’s my turn
To chase the monsters away

The music video for Monsters by James Blunt, who wrote this for his father, Charles, who lay on his deathbed as he battled cancer. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DTFbGcnl0po

I’ll close now, Wil. It’s the best I could do for you. You know I think of you often and not just at this time of year. Not just on July 12^th. Always and forever. 

Please know I did the best I could to be your dad, your father. And we both know that wasn’t good enough. Til we meet again. Love you, Wil. Always and forever.

Dad 

Something to think about … 

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

 Photos by Joshua J. Cotton and Timothy Dykes and Unsplash.