8 years ago today

. . . . . . . . Grief is ever-changing. This many years after Kyle's accident I know this: Grief burrows deep and erupts when you least expect it--when I least expect it. I can tell a story about Kyle ten times and only on the eleventh do my eyes swell with tears and I can't quite speak. I can go for months, feeling steady all the while. Then unsteady. Spring is hard compared to the rest of the year. Kyle's birthday in April, Mother's Day, the SFSU scholarship trip, Memorial Day when Ky was last home, July 4th and our last conversation, and today, the day of the fall. I have a slight sense of impending doom, like the dark clouds of a storm coming in. I am unsettled. Easy to tear. Grief is circulating in me like blood, round and round and in an out of my heart. I am not quite sure what to do with it. It is not really intrusive, it is almost comforting. Surely it is familiar. I have lots of stuff I have to do but I am distracted even more than usual it seems. How do I spend these moments? Do I look at pictures of Kyle? Do I talk out loud to him? Of course, if he can hear me, he can also read my mind, so why speak, right? What do I do with my sadness? How do I honor him? What is the "healthy" thing to do? Just be with it, right? Just be in the moment. The moment. The fucking moment is uncomfortable. The fucking moment is empty. I just miss him miss him miss him. Tonight I will be at Forest Lawn with a few family and friends. Some of us then will eat at Mijares. The food and alcohol will numb me. Later at home, sober again, I will be alone with my grief. It will be okay. I will love you always, my baby boy.

SFSU History Department Awards

Tomorrow we present our 8th annual scholarship -- in honor of our dearly loved and missed Kyle Campbell Whitham McLeod -- to a deserving SFSU junior majoring in Latin American history. With initial and continuing gifts from family, friends, colleagues, IATSE, and others, the award has grown from $500 to $1000.00. We think that Kyle would be proud that his life produced this legacy, and that every year a young man or woman is helped to attain his or her educational goals because Kyle lived and loved and was loved so much in return. And how comforting to a mother to know that once a year--forever--someone will speak Kyle's name out loud as his scholarship is awarded.