Half a Million

Half a Million.  Five Hundred Thousand.  500,000

Seems like alot.  I guess it just depends what it is.  I guess it’s all relative.

But, for those that are counting, like me, it’s been 500,000 minutes since Mason left us.

I have thought about him nearly every one of those minutes.  Every day, at some point in time, I will have a memory lapse.  Not that I forgot about him, but that I forgot he was gone.

And then it hits me.  Hits me like I am re-living the time we got the phone call.  Re-Living the drive to the hospital.  Re-Living the time we spent at his side in the ER.  Re-Living closing his casket.  Re-Living lowering him into the ground.

Half a Million minutes.


4 thoughts on “Half a Million

  1. Re-Living the moment I had to tell you what was happening. Re-Living it everyday…every minute. Hurting for you and for us…

  2. I keep doing that too. Getting hit with a tidal wave of shock and disbelief, almost as if it’s happening right now, and I’m unable to stop it and save him. It’s still so unreal and I still desperately wish that I could find the key to hit rewind and return to our normal life.

  3. Damn, Kevin. Now look who’s making people tear up at work!

    I remember the first moment I forgot my son was gone. I clearly told myself, “Oh! I need to call Keith to tell him about this.” It was six months after his death. Looking back at my journal entry about the experience, I am surprised by what I wrote:

    “Inevitably, the weight of any loss gives way to reality. Life continues despite the loss. The relationship with my son has outlived his death. Instead of living with constant reminders of his absence, I am beginning to feel his presence again. My faith tells me he is more alive today than when he dwelt in the shell of his body. He lives figuratively in my mind and heart, but he also lives in whatever realm is beyond this physical world. I am both glad and sad. In some respects he is not lost to me; he will never be gone. But moving beyond the pain and trauma confirms that he is gone, at least from the physical, forever.”

    What I am finding is that his presence and his absence co-exist within me. I don’t know if I have experienced another clear moment when I forgot he was gone since that incident. Re-living the trauma has lessened, gratefully. Time is both enemy and friend. I pray the pain from your re-lived moments will fade – at least until the next time.

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