August 31, 2007
Will
Today, August 31, is the birthday of my son Will who died in January 2001 at the early age of 43. He was never so sophisticated as his parents and siblings supposed he might have been, even should have been, but he was probably more himself than I have ever been or will be. I didn’t know that then, and it’s taken all these years since for maturity to catch up enough with me even to suspect it now.
One of my more poignant memories of him would be the times he would phone me long distance and always say when I answered, “This is your son.” There were two others, and we all sounded a lot alike, but he would know that I would know that he wanted me to know. I always felt it a judgment call in which I would come up wanting.
We both suffered the family malady of generations past and present, not alone, but more severely it seemed than any of the rest. There were times when it would eat us alive and brief times when it didn’t, but it always lurked just off stage, obscenely patient. With him, it finally won. With me, it yet remains and reminds one day at a time… “This is your son.”
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