Memorials

The knock came on the door on a Saturday at dinner time. Everything about that short, horrendously life altering couple of minutes is forever etched in my mind, and it is as painful in a memory as it was in the reality. This was the day, February 26, 2005, that my life was changed forever by two men in green uniforms and solemn expressions. I am using the pronoun “I“ as this is about a mother’s loss, a primal pain that mirrors that pain of child birth, but unlike birth, the agony does not abate in a matter of hours, or days, but lasts for the rest of a mother’s life. Andy's father and brothers feel a great pain, as well, but I cannot speak for them here.

Andy “Ace” Nowacki was my youngest child and held a special place in my heart, a place that only the youngest can occupy when he is joyous, caring, compassionate and an imp, all rolled into one handsome human with bright blue eyes and a brilliant smile. He was the one  left at home when his older brothers went off to school and,  having been a mother for a while, knew that this precious time was to be savored; we hiked, we picnicked, we rode bikes, we read books and watched Bert&Ernie on Sesame Street. It was a time that the other two could not share as they were not ‘the youngest’. Andy and I retained that special bond into his adult life.

Andy is in my thoughts every day. We just had the Cleveland Police Memorial weekend, an event that Andy loved . We are now approaching Memorial Day, a time for remembrance. It is a difficult month for those who have lost their loved ones but it is also a time to resurrect the good memories and hold them close. 

Andy's cat, Elvis, is now rubbing his fuzzy head on the side of the computer. Do you think he knows that I am writing about our Ace?

"There is nothing to be unhappy about" - Andy "Ace" Nowacki