The date doesn't usually matter. Because, of course, I think of Kyle every day. For some reason, the solitude of my car is often the place where I end up weeping for Kyle. Sometimes I talk to him there. Or I sing to him, that song I sang to him just an hour before he passed away... "...this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine..."
However, this particular date does matter. October 7th. 7:04 pm. I can't help but go back to that day. To that very moment. The painfully slow hours that came afterwards juxtaposed with the haste of the next few days, and all that had to be taken care of. I remember it acutely. Minutely. I often play the whole movie of that week in my mind. But today, of course, it is harder still.
In our house we talk a lot about Kyle (and Oldemor and Jesus...the other people Grace and Noah "know" who have died). Grace and Noah know him as their cousin, and out of nowhere they will say the most amazing and lovely things about him. Very honest and blunt things too. When our good friends' dog died recently Grace asked me a few days later, "Do you think Chewy will see Kyle in heaven?"
When it was his birthday, I tried really hard to focus on just being happy that Kyle was born. But today's emotions are much more complicated: anger, confusion, heartbreak, sorrow. There are absolutely no words to fully capture the complexity of my feelings on this day. And I know my own emotions are shallow compared to the depth of those his parents feel.
I've basically just been wallowing today. Living my life all the while - 5:30 wake up for school, Aya has had a fever all day and had to go to the doctor, Noah had to have his stitches checked, emails, carpool runs, bath time, dinner, bed time - but wallowing still. Thinking of Kyle and Christine and Kevin all the time. All the time. All the time.
Two years later and on this day for me, unlike the other days, it's like losing him all over again.
In our house, a candle was lit for Kyle again this year - and will be every year.
That little light of mine.