June 19, 2017
Dear Brian,
I just got through reading your Journal to Paxton yet
again. It breaks my heart just as much
two years and ten months later as it did that first week when we found it. Still what a Divine Gift that was.
As I read back over it the words you leave to Paxton are
like knives to my heart as you say things like you are writing these things
down so that Paxton can come back and read at any time the things that you had
to share with him; the musings and life advice. With every line I read I hear a
man that adores his wife and child; plans on the baby growing up someday and reading this and knowing how much he mattered to his parents. I hear a man that sounds as if he plans to
continue writing this for years to come.
Every line stabs at me as I read how much Kara wanted a baby, what a good mother she was, how happy you all were, how hard you worked on your house, how
proud you were of it, how smart Paxton was and how you wanted to give him a
general idea of what life was like when he was born, what he was like at each
stage of his growth and a record of each of his little milestones. You wanted to tell him how you met his
mother, how much you loved his mother and how much the two of you loved and
wanted him.
As I read it in retrospect I want to scream – “He will never
read these words. He will never know
your love or your intention. He will
never need your advice. He is two and a
half – and he will never be three!”
I want to protest and stop time where you are on these pages and never
let August 23rd 2014 come. Just to see the year 2014 written out makes me turn literally sick. As I read the dates you mention in these
pages my heart pays careful attention. It is November 2011 as you begin you are
38 years old – I pause and count up the time you have left on that date. You go back in time now to the date you and
Kara met – February 6, 2009 my heart lightens as I remember how happy you were
at finding her and I remember exactly when you broke the news to me and your
dad that you had asked her to marry you only days later. I remember distinctly looking straight at her
and asking “Are you crazy?” You were not
amused. But you looked at me and said: “I
know what you’re thinking and yes, she knows I’m in debt and that Alex has been
in trouble and I know how crazy this sounds Mom, but I let her get away one
time and I am just not going to make that mistake again.” You mention your wedding date July 11, 2009
and my mind flits back to the events of that day. I typed up your vows that you were to read to
each other. Hers were silly and falling
right in line with the goof- ball you had portrayed to her. Yours would melt my heart. I thought that day – how yours and hers were
going to be so vastly different and how yours would surprise her – but they would not
surprise me. I knew how serious you
really were about this and what this marriage meant to you. And while it was true that you certainly had
a silly side and were constantly joking and cutting up – I knew what she did
not, that most of the time it was a smoke screen to hide years of hurt and
heartache not only from those you were with but from yourself. It was a light-hearted attempt to detract
from the tragic life of hurt that had plagued you for years. Intended to make you laugh and forget.
January 26, 2013 – I read and quickly calculate that you
have one year and seven months to live.
You mention to Paxton that he was born on December 10, 2011 – I go back…to
the hospital the night of his birth, Kara is in labor, you are a basket
case. You cover it trying to fidget with
the medical items in the room like a 12-year old boy and you pace. They take her down for an emergency C-section
and I quickly assess the panic that crosses your face for just a split second
before you hug Kara and tell her everything will be okay.
You tell Paxton then that you moved into your new house in
February of 2012 and I remember the pride and excitement you both had at having
a home that you made your own with the blood, sweat and tears of weeks of intense
hard work as you both side by side patched a thousand holes, hung doors,
replaced plumbing fixtures, painted over bright red enamel paint that spanned
the 20-foot cathedral ceiling, I remembered feeling so proud of both of you but
maybe especially Kara – at her age – digging in and working night and day
beside you to lay custom tile in the kitchen, put in new countertops, hang and
stain new cabinets. She was learning as
she went and never complained but actually seemed to enjoy it and she actually saw
the beauty in the two of you doing this together. I was amazed.
Your next entry is December 2, 2013 – My breath catches and
my heart skips a beat as you inch closer and closer to the date. You mention Paxton is about to turn two. It is 8 days from his birthday – his last
birthday. You say it is creeping up on
Christmas –the last Christmas; the last Christmas you will ever see; the last
Christmas I will ever enjoy. December
2013 was our last Christmas with our complete family; my last Christmas with
the baby; Kara’s last Christmas and the
last Christmas her family will ever enjoy.
Then I remember two events from that Christmas – the baby yelling out “NANA,
I MISSED YOU!” when I never heard him put two words together. And then I remember what I said when everyone
left that day. As the last one got in
their car to go, I turned to your dad and I said, “I will never do this
again.” I had my feelings really hurt
because I had worked for weeks to decorate and plan, cook, shop and wrap for
Christmas and everyone stayed about 45 minutes and ran out the door saying you
all had plans to go to a movie – I was devastated - movies play 364 other days out of the year. Christmas comes once a year. Jamie
and Marie had driven over 400 miles and spent 45 minutes with us.
And after weeks and weeks of planning and days of working - I was alone
on Christmas day hurt and angry. And I
said, “I know you think I don’t mean this – but I’m serious I will never do
this again.” And prophetically, I
never will.
June 22, 2014 – your last entry. I realize I am sitting here “accidently” rereading
this and writing “this” exactly three days shy of three years since that last
entry. Countdown. Two months and one day. You tell Paxton some of the funny stuff he
does and what he is like at this age, you mention things you do together and
talk about his new puppy. Then you cut
to the chase – you talk to him about God, you tell him again how great his
mother is, you relay life lessons about women, marriage and patience. You tell how much he means to you, and you
talk sweetly of your special time with him and how much you value that time. I realize as I read from an almost three-year
perspective that though you thought you were writing this for
him – you were in fact under God’s instruction – writing this for all of us.
I am both sad and extremely thankful.
