Eight Years

As the date, February 26th, approaches,time seems to slow down for me. Pictures of Andy are freeze-framed in my brain. For the first time in eight years I actively think of, and use the word death and Andy at that same time. For me, linking Ace, my wonderful son, so full of life, with death was a paradox, impossible.

Coming to terms with Ace's physical presence being gone is still not a completed process for me; I have his name in my phone, his email address on my computer. When I am in need of reassurance, I look at his name and it is like touching a fuzzy blanket. The same for his 80's clothes and uniforms still in the "guest" bedroom. I can open the closet and see the polyester pants or his Grand River Police uniform and there he is, standing in front of me telling me a hilarious story!Those are moments of joy tempered with the pain of knowing that the voice and laughter are in my head.

People are right when they say  that grief eases with time.  The painful bursts of grief become less frequent and intense; the memories bring smiles more often than tears now. But as the anniversary of his casualty date approaches, the memories become more vivid and stories that I have forgotten bubble to the surface. I was remembering his time as a police officer and the story he told me when he came home after working the night shift. Ace was driving along in his patrol car when he saw two women stumbling along the sidewalk, very apparently inebriated. Ace pulled over, got out of the car and asked the ladies if he could be of assistance. They told him that they knew that they should not drive so decided to walk home. Ace asked where home was. They responded, "Grafton". For those of you unfamiliar with our area, Grand River to Grafton is a about sixty miles away! Andy asked the ladies to get in the back seat of the cruiser and they headed back to the bar from whence they came. You see, being Ace, he did not want to lock them up for the night and he could not let them walk around in their drunken state so he had a plan. He went into the bar and asked for volunteers to drive the women home. One by one, the potential chauffeurs were administered a breathalizer by Ace until he found someone who was capable and sober!

I welcome the memories, the stories Andy told. I invite the memories in.I look at pictures of Ace and they all make me happy. It is the unsuspecting flashes of Ace that can still cause the painful stabbing of grief. I will forget and see Ace as a car passes with a young driver with shiny sunglasses or the back of a  police officer walking with a certain swagger. I suspect that this search  will never go away as there is always going to be this small part of me that believes my son is still coming home.

I look forward to seeing his Marine and Police brothers next weekend as we all will be remembering Ace mostly with laughter, but there will also be some tears. Ace was an important part of our lives and I am so thankful that so many continue to remember and keep his spirit, his presence alive.

"There is nothing to be unhappy about."~ Ace

Love,
Ace's Mom