Small Moments

The loneliest I feel in a day, the most pain I feel is always when I’m alone in the morning at my desk in the study. Perhaps it’s because it is the rare time our house is actually quiet but perhaps because it was at this time that David and I spent so much time together. In a big family the moments of interaction with each child can be small so they tend to be small moments, the daily interactions that fill our days.

I have always been the first to rise in our house, usually between 5 and 5:30. I’ll grab a cup of coffee or tea and sit down to catch up on news or get a bit of work done before the crew starts getting up for the day. But, David was always next. The sound of David coming down the stairs was distinct to say the least; a heavy “thud” together with the creaking of the hand rails. I would look up and smile and say “good morning David!” He would say “hi” with a slight smile and usually walk to the kitchen to get some water before plopping himself on the couch for a rare opportunity to watch his “stupid” shows uninterrupted.

“What do you have planned today?”…”Does Frank have any work for you today?”…”Can you take Alex to football practice?”…”Are you and Nathan going to the movies tonight?” These were all questions I asked in some form on a regular basis throughout the day. “David go take a shower you smell like a trashcan” was one comment that would make the always happy David frown.

Even in the years that David was away in Colorado or Wisconsin we talked to him daily and he never felt far. He would call to give us gas price updates or snow fall amounts or to tell us what place of interest he was visiting that weekend. He was forever calling his mother to go over his finances or to ask me advice on how to cook up something he remembered me making. The anticipation of a trip home was not as wonderful as the moment he walked in the door (ok filled the door) usually with some Malta in one arm and a gun case in the other. The first thing he always did regardless was look for AJ and say “Hi Silly!” as AJ ran into his open arms.

With David it was truly the small moments that meant so much. Like how he would ask his mother out for lunch every week (he always paid) or he’d eagerly show me some new gadget he’d bought or asking me to give him a haircut. If you asked him to drive somewhere the answer was always “ok” no matter what, even if you got a big sigh or some light hearted complaint. It was how he always wore shorts even in the winter, how he walked on the outside of his shoes or how he always tugged at his t-shirts. How he recorded every dorky science fiction show on t.v. and watched “24” as if the world would stop if he didn’t.

But it was David’s shy smile that said it all. With that smile no matter how I was feeling I felt better. When David smiled the world was right. In the daily grind just seeing David sitting in his familiar spots at the computer or on the couch or at the dining room table with a glue gun made me feel grounded. Now I am reminded of his absence everywhere I look.

Now the mornings are mostly lonely as I am left with my thoughts. Sometimes in the quiet of the early hours I’ll look to the stairs and pretend I see him coming down and say “good morning David!” out loud because I don’t want there to be a last time I say it. I don’t want him to fade away from my memory in even the smallest way. I want him to be in my heart like he never left. I visit his grave nearly every day and talk to him but it’s not the same. Seven months without David, seven months of tears, seven months of loss and today feels like the first.