Eschatology

Four years ago today our lives as we knew them ended. Raising children, we worried about them when they were sick, when they were hurt, when they were late coming home, but the nameless dread of being a parent is so much more than I would ever have imagined. I learned that through long, terrifying hours at Lahey, after the horrific site of my car wrapped around a tree, the roof and doors peeled back so that the Lexington Fire crew could extract Nicholas, Frank and Paul. So many dreams ended that night, so much new reality was born. The falcon cannot hear the falconer.

Palimpsest

Nick's friends: This is a random post and a work in progress - it's been I while, and I thought it would be good to do a post on some of Nick's friends, now that he lives mostly in my and their memories. Why now? I suppose because many things come together - Nick's birthday, Mothers' day, Sara's graduation, the anniversary of Alex's graduation and of Bowdoin graduation, and Angie's graduation, each a writing and rewriting of life changes and memory onto a particular, glorious time of year. So, in no particular order: Will - should be finishing up his Fullbright year in Colombia! Will's semester abroad in Chile, parts of which are recorded in http://gringogigante.blogspot.com/, was memorable for many things, including the strongest earthquake since 1960 (not Will's doing). Sara - graduating! I am so happy - this was a tough thing to do. Sara wrote a piece for Newsweek, one year out: http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2008/12/05/remembering-the-perfect-boy.html. Frank - law school, Science Olympiad, front seat. Paul - graduated, back seat. Steve - Maine 3 - any one I have missed above - you guys have been great! Danny, John, Will, Shosh, Sophie, Zoe, Linda, Bobby, Angie, Ping. An amazing group. You write the next chapters.

Christmas 2010

Christmas is here again. I thought as Elizabeth and I were wrapping presents how perfect life was, and we did not know it. Sometimes it feels like the space between us and Nicholas is thinner, somehow. I think about how excited he and Alex would get about Christmas, the delicious tension between believing in Santa and trying to lift up our bed to see if there might be presents hidden there. Must close, as it's late. That's all for now.

My big boy

This is Nicholas at two and a half, sitting on the stairs at our house on Irving Street, outside Davis Square in Somerville. It was summer, and Nick is holding drumsticks. He had a toy drum set (borrowed from Alex, I think) which he loved to bang on. Some of you will recognize the drumsticks as chopsticks - but you also may remember that chopsticks make fine drumsticks. He's wearing his favorite red striped shirt - red was always his favorite color, from the time he was little.

In my mind's eye, this smile and those dancing eyes are Nick at every age. So many smiles.

It is three years today since Nick's death.

Nicholas links

http://orient.bowdoin.edu/orient/article.php?date=2007-11-30§ion=1&id=1

King of Terrors

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
Rev. Henry Scott Holland, on the death of Edward VII, 1910

It was such an ordinary day. Tuesday the 20th of November, 2007. Nicholas came home from Bowdoin for Thanksgiving, on the bus. He arrived at South Station just before noon. I was working at 185 Kneeland Street, across Atlantic Avenue from the station, and Nick walked over to see me. He was carrying a duffle bag of clothes and his messenger bag, crammed as usual with books, his laptop, iPod, and so on. He had called from the bus, and we had agreed we would meet at the office and then go home together. He came up to my office on the seventh floor, we said hello to a few people, then left. I had arranged to take the afternoon off, and the following day. We were both hungry. I suggested we walk up to Chacarero, on Province Street, and get a sandwich before heading home. It was cold, and the walk was a hike - it might have been smarter to get on the subway at South Station. The restaurant was quiet. We ate our sandwiches, chatted a bit with Juan, and then walked up to Park Street. I called Elizabeth to say we were catching the train. We were pretty loaded down, between my briefcase and Nick's stuff. The station was filling up with students heading home, but the ride out to Alewife wasn't crowded. We talked a bit about how the term was going. Nick was feeling good about it - Organic Chem and French were hard, but he thought he could stick with them. We talked about Abby and the cats. Ordinary conversation. We picked up the car at Alewife and drove home. I can't remember what we did when we got home. So wonderfully ordinary.

Nicholas, you are never out of mind.

We love you,

Dad

Surprise finds

Memory is funny. Things lie half forgotten, only to spring to life again unexpectedly. I was searching through old photos last week, and came across this one.
This was December 2002, at a Central Artery children's holiday party (a Santa-centered holiday, obviously). The organizers had asked for volunteers, and I talked Nick into coming in to help. This was Christmas of his eight grade - he was 12. We had the usual crowd of small children - this was the year before the opening of I-93, so the project was still in full swing, with lots of field offices, in addition to the staff at the 185 Kneeland Street building.
Nick agreed - we figured he'd be wrapping presents or serving cake and juice. Bill Edwards, who ran the project controls group for the Artery, was Santa (I never did find out why Bill did this, but he did it for years and was an outstanding Santa). Somewhere in the course of the morning, someone asked Nick if he would help Bill - be Santa's elf, and Nick must have said yes.
I liked this photo because it captures Nick's gentleness, particularly with children. He continued to play the elf for several more years, and I think was the elf the last year the project held a party - probably 2005.