300 Days

300 Days……………………………………………


I remember the first time I had to leave Brandi & Mason to go work out of town.  I wasn’t working that far away, I made trips home on the weekends.  But those 5 days and nights away from them almost killed me.  I knew I couldn’t go any longer than that without seeing Mason.  5 days away from him was painful.  300 days away from him is hell.

A lot has happened in the last 300 days.  All kinds of national tragedies have our country in an uproar.  Yet, we all still go on taking it day by day.

His little sister is a year older.  She is growing up so fast, I wish he could be here with her.

Brandi is pregnant, so God willing, we’ll have another addition to the family this September.  The first person who tells me that this baby is to “replace” Mason, I’m going to unload on them.

Just the other day, on a message board I was posting on, I was discussing just how angry I was/am with the death of Mason.  It’s really unimaginable.  I really can’t put it in to words.

That night, I got a reply to a message I had sent on facebook shortly after Mason had passed.  On Mason’s memorial page from the funeral home, the following message was placed:

My son and Mason were classmates this year. We just learned of the heartbreaking news. I had to pull my son out this week for homeschooling due to harassment from other children. Only Mason was different he says. When no other boy would sit with him at lunch or talk to him Mason was always there. Thank you Mason for being a wonderful friend to my son! God bless your family”

I was so proud of Mason for that.  I am proud of Mason for that.

I located the person who sent made that comment on facebook and sent them a message thanking them for the kind words.  It brought tears to my eyes and a huge smile on my face.

The other night, I got a response.  She apologized for taking so long to respond, it seems facebook has an “other” inbox for messages.  I wasn’t aware of it till she told me.  Anyway, the message I had sent thanking her was placed in the “other” box and she had just found it.  She told me of a conversation relayed to her from her son that Mason had had with him.  She wanted to talk with me about it instead of just typing it up in an email or message.  She asked me to call her when I was ready.  She said it had to do with Heaven.

I gathered myself together and made the call.  She was very emotional on the phone, as was I.  Evidently, her son thought very highly of Mason and talked about him all the time.  Mason had that effect on people.  Now, I’m paraphrasing here.  I don’t remember exactly everything we talked about, but here’s the gist of it.  They were talking about death.  Since Mason had a heart transplant, it was discussed that he would not live as long as everyone else.  He, Mason, said that he knew.  He was excited to go to Heaven and get his wings.  He would become an Angel and he would look over his Momma and little sister, Isabella.

I thanked her for making contact with me.  It was good to hear so many nice things about Mason.  Needless to say, I was crying by the end of the conversation.

I, we, have had many conversations with people who think that Mason knew he was dying.  Brandi and I don’t think he knew.  As emotional of a child as Mason was, he would have been a basket case.  He’d have been a nervous wreck.  Maybe subliminally he knew.  We’ll never know.

300 days is a long time.  I hope he is up there looking down on us.  I hope that he is not worried about anything.  I hope he’ll be waiting on me at the Pearly Gates when I get there.  We’ll have a lot to catch up on.  Likely, we’ll have a lot more to discuss than 300 days………….


2 thoughts on “300 Days

  1. Kevin – It is interesting to me to reflect on where you are today compared with where I am, 712 days since Keith died. To be honest, I had to figure out the number of days it has been, and it got me thinking.
    The way I have referred to time has gone through a progression. For awhile after Keith’s death, I would tell others the number of days, much like when one has a newborn. Eventually, it became the number of months, like when one has a toddler. Last month, I told others it has been 23 months, but just as we do with our young children, I think I am passing a new milestone. In less than three weeks, I will begin to say, “It has been two years.” I have already started to do it. Quite honestly, it makes me exceptionally sad. I cannot believe it has been that long! At the same time, there is an almost odd sense of wonder – that we have made it this long without calling it quits – on marriage, on life, on breathing altogether… I am beginning to understand what it feels like to experience the final step in the grief process: Acceptance. Believe me, it still sucks! It will always be horrible. But I am finally getting to the emotional place where I realize there is absolutely nothing I can do to change what happened 712 days ago.
    Please understand, I do not write this to give anyone a timeline for his grief. Every grieving dad must walk his individual journey, and I try not to judge anyone who takes much longer – or never really gets through the process, for that matter. I simply wanted to say, “Hang in there!” Time will never heal the wound of losing a child. I am, however, experiencing what others have said (that I could not begin to grasp before). Things get better. They NEVER get easier. I still have really rotten days. I often struggle to give myself permission to feel any sense of joy or happiness.
    However long it takes, I believe you will get there – wherever THERE is 🙂
    I believe the pride you have about Mason’s impact will be something that helps you get “there.” It has helped me. Keith taught school for a year and a half and made an enormous difference in the lives of many teenagers (not an easy thing to do). We will never fully understand the legacies our sons have left. What a blessing it is when others tell us.
    Thanks for sharing.

    • Thanks Tim. I know that we will get “there”. No telling how long it will take, probably take all the time we have. I have a feeling that “there” will be the end. “There” will be when I can see him again.

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