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For Adam

I lost my son in a car accident the night of my birthday four years ago. I constantly wonder how he's doing and what's he's up to "on the other side." I miss him so much. I write this blog for him.

Adam, I am getting old now. But you will never have a chance to get old or to travel with me on the aging journey. I want to share this experience with you and show you things I learned. You were always such a seeker; I know you would have loved talking about the enlightenment inherent in this time of life.

As I age, I see more of who you really were - no, really are!, things I missed in the everyday frenzy of family life in the early days. Now, in my mind's eye, you shine with spirit, energy, and loving kindness as you always did, not to mention the amazing athletic and culinary gifts you brought with you. I know you have continued giving them in the new world and that one day we will have that conversation about what we both did in the years in between.

Strangely, as I age, you stay the same because the passage of time stopped for you April 17, 2009. That's only because you move in another dimension now; time works differently that side. But I feel our two arcs moving steadily toward each other so that one day the circle of our love will be restored. Then neither aging nor death, neither time nor loss can separate us, and our love shines like twin stars in the night sky. And strangely, I suddenly have vision of you as an old man and us sitting on the porch laughing at the disguise of age that we can take off any time. Such fun. In old age, the membrane separating the living and the "dead" thins to near transparency; we grow closer and anticipate the time we have together again.

Age softens but does not erase the pain of your night journey, but it puts it in a larger perspective, in a timeless one, one in which our relationship continues to grow as we laugh and dream together. Thank you, Adam, for being my son and my friend. Hey, let's find Chip and play baseball. We'll let him win.

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