Smaller Number, Larger Family

Yesterday was Christmas.  Given our smaller immediate family, (Owen in absentia), we had a good day - one that gives us hope for our futures.  We did all those things we’d planned, and some we hadn’t. 

I definitely, definitely did not plan to eat so much.  While the food was great and prepared with love, I spent much of the very late, dark hours in gastric distress.  I’m not used to eating as celebration.  I’m used to food deprivation as a component of grief.

For the most part, Dave and I treated the holiday as though it was any other…and less.  What we received, was more.  Our morning, spent with Nat, Anna, and Ruby was amazingly comfortable.  Nat and I had our moments of grieving that no one else could feel in the same sense of loss.  We shared those moments as mother and son, both feeling the enormous void created by Owen’s death.  And, we experienced the day with our family in the spirit of Christmas Present and Christmas Future.  (Thank you, Charles Dickens.)

Dave and I held tight to our plan.  We spent our morning with Nat and family, our afternoon at the movies (in honor of Owen’s last Christmas, when he worked the evening shift at the theater in Santa Rosa), and our evening with Nat’s and Owen’s father, Michael, and his longtime friend, Gary, and the boys’ Auntie Lyn (Michael’s sister, and an old friend of mine). 

Once home, I jumped into my pajamas, and let my head hit the pillow, as though I hadn’t seen one in years.  That’s how it felt.  Dave stayed up for a bit, and reflected on the day.  When he joined me, our cold feet entwined…and I knew I would get through the night, even a restless one, with the knowledge (the hope) that next year would be better, hopefully easier. 

My stomach had other intentions, and kept me waking up with each new discomfort.  And, with each new gastronomic awakening, came visions of Owen, and the thoughts, the obsession of why he is not here with us this year.  My rage added to the pain…my memories, to the anguish.

I am unlikely to ever forgive those people who were with Owen on his last night, as they know things about that night that they are not sharing.  This is unforgivable in my mind.  I’ve thought about them endlessly throughout today, those that shared their memories of Owen’s last night here with us - openly in the early hours of his disappearance; those who lied to the police; those who covered their tracks; and those who simply blurted out youthful comments unknown to them as “publicity mongering”.  I only take issue with those who know, and I wish you, well, I can’t yet say.  Someday, though…someday.

For the moment, here at the computer, as Owen so often spent his nights in reflection and research, I am in disbelief.  I’m  finding it hard to believe that the death of our son is not having an impact on the kids who saw him last.  And, I hope you (those kids of whom I write) remember.  I hope you hear Owen’s voice over and over, his last words - known only to you.  I hope you hear his voice every day of your lives.  Echo.  Echo.  Echo. 

I would like to be one of those forgiving souls who wishes you (those same kids who were with Owen) only goodness and light in your futures.  I’m not.  All the gods in all the heavens forgive me, as they, too have lost their children, and they too, felt this anger. 

Lea and I talked on the phone this afternoon.  We choked backed tears.  We talked of our physical world; our emotional pain; our need for hope; and our desire to go on.  That last part - our desire to go on?  Not so much these days.  Then we have a moment when something works…the way it always did…and we remember that we go on.  And, so we do.

We look forward to 2008.  We look forward to answers.  We look forward to the simple pleasures we had with Owen - coffee in the morning, sharing music, silliness, and conversations of great warmth and love.  We will continue these rituals in his memory, and in our collective hopes for the future of both our family, and society as a whole. 

Owen’s death - the cover-up, the lies, and the mystery - are all symptoms of a suffering society.  Owen prayed for peace.  He prayed for friends that would understand him.  And, he prayed for the common good.  Is this too much to ask for a New Year? 

I will pray for forgiveness, that I can somehow find it in my heart to truly feel it - that I can forgive those people who were there, who know what happened to Owen on his last night in Petaluma, on the planet Earth, in their presence.   I will also pray you find it in your hearts to finally come forward with the truth.

What we have found in posting stories about Owen to the larger community of the Internet, is a family of people with similar stories of loss.  They are now a part of our circle of light.  They, these unseen faces, are now a part of our story of loss and forgiveness.  They sustain me in the late hours of the night, or the early hours of the morning, and they love.  They truly love.  In them, and in my new, smaller family, I find the possibility of finding forgiveness. 

Song for the night:  Forgiveness, Don Henley

http://youtube.com/watch?v=_biJyZ9KYGk

~ by Linda on December 26, 2007.