Slippers or Crocs

Two Years Ago

David is well enough that Jim and I take a trip to San Francisco to visit his niece, Carla, and husband, Daniel. We get out of Boston just ahead of a snow storm and return before the next one. February broke a record as the snowiest month on record: 64.8 inches.

2017

A week ago, in sacrament meeting, a young married man gave a talk. He described himself as “almost 28”. I struggled, dully and unsuccessfully, with the arithmetic. Afterwards, at home, I finally worked it out: David was 27, “almost 28”. My inability to do this simple math was disconcerting, but not surprising. This young man will probably make it to 28. David never did.

Last night I went to a Compassionate Friends meeting in Concord. Once a month, a husband-wife facilitator team meets with whoever comes through the door, seeking solace as a bereaved parent. It’s a club no one wants to join.

I first attended in August, just before the first anniversary of David’s death. It was profoundly comforting. Last night was my fifth meeting. In January's meeting, I described my rough start to the New Year; this month I’ve been calmer. And, not feeling desperate to talk, what did I get from attending? A time and place set aside for talking about David and listening to other parents talk of their lost children. They want to hear my story, and I theirs.

Our family book group selection this month included listening to an audiobook, narrated by the author, David Rakoff, entirely in rhyming couplets. He describes the daily life of a young man, Clifford, who is dying:

And so the concern with the trivial issues:
Slippers nearby and the proximate tissues

When Matt, in our conference call discussion, mentioned David's experience, I was surprised that I hadn’t consciously thought of my son while listening to this chapter. David, who rated nurses on whether or not they carelessly kicked his beloved crocs under the bed and thus out of his reach. He was obsessive about having his crocs nearby, just as Clifford became about his slippers.

The description of a young man dying was just too close to make the conscious connection and let it all the way in.