Last night, I went to a 50th class reunion for my grammar school!! Class reunions by nature, I think, evoke all kinds of anxiety, beginning with is anyone going to recognize anyone! And, lots of us didn't recognize each other at first. (we did have nametags). Once past that however, it is an amazing experience to go back in time, and reconnect with our youth and all those who were part of it. We have all traveled a long road since then, yet for this one night, we were all together again, sharing memories and laughing at all the innocence and angst of our youth.
For me, and perhaps there were others who had similar situations, I knew I was walking into a situation where I would be asked more than once about my family, and "how many children do you have?".
Such a simple question for most people.
Such a quandary for me.
I am able to talk about Erik now easily and happily, and in fact am always grateful for an opportunity to mention him, so the question is not a problem for me. The problem is that I feel badly because I know that when people ask about my children, they are expecting a "normal" answer..."I have one child, three, five children", etc. They are not expecting me to say, "Well, I had two sons, but I lost one..." and then trail off because I immediately need to respond to their reaction, and usually end up assuring them that it's okay they asked, that I'm okay, and please don't feel bad. I decided a long time ago, that even though there are times when it would be easier to say I have one son, that I was not going to pretend that Erik didn't exist and not mention him. In most one-on-one situations, I now have this down pat, but I have to admit, in such a festive and party atmosphere, it is hard to out of the blue clobber someone with the information that you had a child that died. No one doesn't think this is the most tragic of situations. No one can imagine it happening to themselves. So when it arises at this point, I always become the "consoler" rather than the "consolee".
One of my themes of this blog is that things always take you by surprise in the road to recovery, and no matter how much you think you've mended, or learned how to handle a specific situation, there is always that bolt of lightning you didn't expect. So, sure enough, after negotiating through the first half of the evening, and mentioning Erik a few times as I had expected to, I had my lightning bolt over the salad at the buffet! I was standing across a nice man who had been a classmate, not realizing he had lived in our community when my boys were growing up. He did not ask me a generic question about my kids, but instead began telling me how well he remembered Erik playing basketball, watching him, what a good player he was...and so on. As he spoke, I was so warmed by the fondness in his voice, as I often talk about Erik and his high school basketball career, and how it was his joy in life. But also in that split second as he was talking, I had a moment of panic in thinking of what to say to him. How do I tell this man who is being so kind sharing a great memory of my child, that this memory is now just that, only a memory, and this wonderful young man is gone? How do you say that to someone with salad tongs in your hand? It becomes a moment of being a little surreal, and boy I was tempted to not say anything. But out of respect to Erik, instead I told him in as supportive a way as possible, that I was so happy that he remembered my son, but that we had lost him a few years ago. And then I felt so bad, because this poor man, who was simply chatting and getting his salad, looked so stunned, and almost as if he might cry, and I wondered for a moment if I shouldn't have said anything.
Maybe others would choose not to say anything. And that's okay. Maybe that's the better thing to do. I don't know. But in my heart, Erik was here, and now he's gone. It was part of his legacy that his life was short. And so I will continue to mention his life and his death. I do it for him. It is attention I don't really care to have, I would rather Erik was still here...and I could have told this man that he is teaching his son how to play basketball. But I can't.
The most important thing is, and I sent this person an e-mail telling him so, that this is actually a joyous moment for me. Someone talking about Erik and especially remembering him on the basketball court. So while I am sorry I had to "shock" him for a moment with what I said, I sincerely thank him for remembering my son. And it doesn't matter that it's been over four years now. In fact, the more time goes on, the more grateful I am for any excuse to remember him, and even better, to know someone else is remembering him.
For that's what we have now, is memories, and what a great surprise for me, that someone I hadn't realized knew him, remembers him in such a great way. So I want to say to this classmate, Joe, thank-you for your words and kindness, and never for a moment feel bad that you brought my son up...over the salad bar. It was a great thing!
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