Wasn’t it death that taught me to stop measuring my lifespan by length, but by width? Andrea Gibson
When people ask how many children I have, I tell them first about my daughter Molly. Twenty-eight. Living life on her own terms. Still the same force of nature she was as a little girl.
Before I share about my son Jimmy, I often pause. Not because I’m uncomfortable any longer saying that my boy is dead, but because I still can’t decide how to describe his age.
Today, Jimmy would be? is? thirty-three. Or is he forever twenty-one, frozen in time like a dragonfly in amber? I don’t really know.
Missing him has become my way of life. Still present in so many ways, Jimmy is absent in others that are often unbearable. A no-show for holidays and family gatherings, he’ll never meet my sister cousin’s great grandson or stand at the finish line cheering with me as Molly finishes a 100-mile race. Yet the passage of time has only increased my gratitude for having had him for twenty-one years instead of feeding my resentment or rage that he will never see twenty-two.
My favorite poet, Andrea Gibson, who died a few months ago just before their 50th birthday, says dying is the opposite of leaving. These days, time feels less like a continuum and more like a freeway with memories and glimpses of Jimmy’s essence and energy propelling back and forth. Long gone and here with me still. Andrea is right; Jimmy never truly left.
I used to think that life was linear with clear end goals. Keep my kids safe. Raise them to be compassionate humans. Set them free to make their own way in the world. Grow my business. Mark my achievements. Make the most of my days.
These days, life feels more like an impressionist painting. Full of light and vivid color with hints of shadow and darkness. I try to savor the sweetness, knowing all too well that it won’t last.
Jimmy taught me to love my people fiercely, even though his death is an eternal reminder they won’t always be mine. To hold fast to joy instead of worrying about when I’ll lose it. He shifted my world view. Raised my standards and lowered my barriers. Broke me in pieces and showed me that kindness is the only path to healing. It takes everything we have to compose a life without someone we didn’t want to exist without. It felt impossible to do with my brain focused on being bitter or my heart tethered only to the past.
So here I am. Still here more than a decade after Jimmy’s death, celebrating the age he should have lived to see. Wondering what he would be doing, who he would have become. Remembering how he lived and the way we who love him carry him with us still.
Happy birthday, sweet boy. May I never forget how to keep showing up with an open, loving heart, no matter how scary life gets. And on the day when mine stops beating, may I leave with a smile, knowing that you will be there to meet me there at whatever age you are meant to be.
