Dear Kelly,                                                                                                                                            November 23, 2009

I was going to name you Connor but decided on Kelly, another good Irish name… gosh that was 31 years ago…wow…now we are thinking about baby names again. We had named your sister Meagan, who is now due to have her second child at any moment.

You left us, my son, when that veil between our worlds separated briefly and you stepped through. December 1^st is always a grim reminder of that calendar day. It is approaching fast, like fierce storm clouds gathering on the far horizon; a dog howling deep down and fearful of a storm he can only sense; I feel an uneasiness within my soul; a bone itch I cannot scratch.

When the November winds blow hard and scatter the summer’s debris into the steel gray dulling skies I remember you. When the pure white hoar frost covers the ground in the brilliant white of angel wings I think about you. When the branches of every tree, every shrub every twig glisten with frozen drops of early dew I think about you. When the wood fire smoke from a cozy home far off in the distance drifts enchantingly into my chilled nostrils, I think about you.

When I hear distant gunfire far off beyond the woods, and I imagine so many deer running and geese flying for their lives and I think about you. When I see that wild turkey on the side of the road I think about you. When I smell pumpkin pie cooking in the kitchen I think about you. When I see those first couple of snowflakes appearing like a few small feathers on the wind I think of you. For most of November you were dying, my son, and when the annual return of autumn’s portents are on the wind, I again feel that bone itch that I cannot scratch and I think about you.

Those last days of November were your last days on earth; while we lived them I did not think of them that way; only that each minute was today. I surely knew that you were going to die but hopefully we had more weeks or more months before we would say goodbye. We had food stacked up, friends, family and doctors on call and we had rented movies stacked to the ceiling.

I know you were in lots of pain, but you did always tell us how you were feeling. Occasionally we would go for walks, looking like two  ancient old men holding on to each other coming back late from the country pub. It was hard and painful for you but we did it, the autumn air seemed to calm your anxious soul and I could hold you tightly and bury my nose in your scruffy hair, a memory that is still intoxicating to my soul. Everything about November brings memories of you.

My heart still aches missing your embrace, but am so grateful for your many signs and visits you have gifted to us through these many years. I have been told by a psychic you are coming back to our family as this baby about to be born to your sister. If that is true and even possible at all, I rejoice in that miracle, if you are not back as this child, and only the guardian angel of our grandchild I rejoice in that miracle, if you are just a messenger with the good news of that baby that is too bless our lives, I rejoice in that miracle.  If this means we will no longer get signs from you, I am thankful for ones we have received and I rejoice in those miracles.

This Thanksgiving I rejoice in the miracle that is you.  I know before you left us in spirit, you and your mother created a code word so you could get back to us. I know you have used it many times to lift our spirits through the years, but I think never as significant as this year.  The word you chose and now the world knows, was “turkey”. Thank you, Kelly, for being such a good son. I will be your dad for eternity.

I love you,

Dad

To my readers: Now this November my daughter is about ready to birth, to bring another gift from God to grace this planet earth. I find myself waiting with joy, fear, trepidation, excitement yet with an inner feeling of an anticipation and angst I cannot describe. The parallel of waiting for my child to die and enter a whole new sphere of existence and that of my grandchild who is doing the same I guess may be “the meaning in life” we all search for. That little soul within my daughter’s womb is frightened of the unknown but yet anxious to get there. I am sure that is how my son Kelly felt; fearful to leave all he has known but curious to go to the light that gently called his name.

Laughter and tears are shed when a child is born, laughter and tears also usher us out when we are gone.  The meaning in life simply one transition waiting for the next transition. In between we dance.

Peace Love and Light
Mitch