It’s been a long 6 months since my last post as life has been impossibly frenetic. Personal travel, home projects, work trips, holidays and more work trips have kept me over stimulated and quite honestly worn out. I’ve had little time for reflection and one would think that busyness would distract my mind from dwelling on missing Alexander.
It’s quite contrary. Guilt settles in when gaps are too long between reflective time, not unlike the sensation when I’ve gone too long between calls with my mom.
While in Vietnam, September came and went, marking two years we’ve been without Alexander. He was strongly active with us in early November, we wondered why only to shamefully recall that his celebration of life was Nov 1.
The holidays used to be amongst the fondest of times, but Thanksgiving and Christmas now arrive with trepidation.
I brace myself for the inevitable: a foreboding vortex of swirling emotional opposites. I’m with family and friends yet lonely, smile while I’m sad and empty inside, and thankful yet not, living in a world where my son is forever missing.
The worst is that nobody mentions Alexander anymore, like he never existed.
The hurtful silence cuts deep and is uncharted territory for me. It’s an awkward Catch 22 for all; just saying his name changes the mood of a conversation, so I get it. Yet as a father, you never want your son to be forgotten. Not. Ever. And especially not by your family.
I’m finding that during excessively busy times I need to make time for a good cry. For me, it seems to be part of “the process”. When times are quiet, melancholy settles in. Maybe that is why I am so busy, I don’t know, but the paradox is that silence brings me closer to my son.
My November travel schedule was insane; I was home for a mere 11 days. With Thanksgiving approaching, I decided to walk Alexander’s trail to his bench with bouquet of flowers. My time of reflection on the bench is interrupted by a young man in his 20s who sits with me.
“What are the flowers for?” he asks. I silently point to my dedication on the plaque. He offered condolences, and making small talk, he asks where I work. I told him HPE. “I had a Compaq computer once, you know they were later purchased by HPE.” Interesting, I thought, not too many people his age would know that.
I tell him I sell networks for HPE to which he immediately replies, “You mean like switches and routers?” That startled me, nobody ever responds with those words, yet those exact words would be my response when I am asked what I sell. Hmm, I thought. What a coincidence.
Our topics vary but eventually land on his limited cooking skills, noodles and Sriracha. Ultimately, he confides he lost his mother a year ago. They used to walk this trail together and I could sense he was still struggling with her passing.
I shared my experience living with Alexander after his death, and how his mom may be present in spirit. I challenged him to open his mind and seek clues. Be present and be wary to note that sometimes coincidence is not coincidence, but rather your mom working to connect with you. Choose to live with her and you will see you are not alone.
And in a brief moment of silence, two strangers shared a tear together on a bench.
We stood, shook hands, and bid one another a heartfelt farewell.
Walking home, the circular irony of what just happened hit me like a slap in the face. Alexander’s trail, his bench, HPE, routing and switching, Sriracha and noodles (Alexander’s favorite dish was Vietnamese Pho with Sriracha): the commonalities were impossibly coincidental. Two grieving souls on two different paths and a trail bringing our destinies together.
Later in Feb we got hit with ice and snow. During the thaw, I decided to visit his bench again, three months since my last visit. From a distance, I saw what looked like a white bag of trash on it; I was getting flustered. Anger turns to surprise when I see what is on my bench is the melting remnants of an ornate snowman thoughtfully equipped with buttons, eyes, a nose and a hat.
My emotions got the better of me as I stood there alone and sobbing over the notion that someone who doesn’t even know my son, would honor Alexander with something this sweet.
And in a moment of clarity, I caught a clue as to who this someone may have been.
Tony, This is a beautiful post. I think of Alexander often when I’m driving around Lafayette. Each time, I say a prayer for him, and for you, Francie and TJ. Angels appear when we least expect it. And we are held. Sending love to you all. ❤️🙏🏼
That is so true Carson, and sometimes you are the angel to that someone. 💜
The strangers we meet along our path have helped us grieve and it seems they are no longer strangers. Your story put a smile on my face as I can see how Alexander continues to walk with you and your family in sometimes unexpected places. Love to you all
That is so true Catherine, sometimes when you suffer, humanity comes from you from the most unexpected corners and it feels like reassurance. Thank you for connecting with us still. 💜
Beautiful. Say his name. Alexander Low.
💜
Thank you for the raw truth. I understand it.
💜
Soulful writing that feeds every person who recognizes profound grief. Thank you, Tony.
Thank you for such kind words Linda. 💜
Thank you Tony for letting us continue on your journey of such heartbreak, loss and more. What a profound impact you had on that young man. I think of Alexander often and all of you. Hugs.
You are a sweetie, thank you Barbara!💜
Love to read your posts. I love even more getting to know your heart and beloved son Alexander. Wish we could have lived closer as our children were growing up. Please keep sharing i want to hear everything about your journey and Alexander.
Our journey certainly continues to surprise..💜
Bro’ Tony, I apologize AGAIN for taking so long for not only reading your such beautifully written posts, AGAIN! But letting you know that I have! And how much I, and I’m sure everyone else that reads them, appreciates you sharing your thoughts & feelings about your journey in such a wonderful way! Sadly, ever since my brain injury from the crash on my bike, I have a difficult time remembering a lot of different websites, programs, etc. The reason why I stay focused on Facebook. But I’m going to now give myself a reminder to check in here on your very special page.
Lotsa love back at you Paige, thank you! 💜
Tony,
This is extraordinary! I am extremely moved by your beautifully written post. Grief is a continuous journey. I think the journey gets less arduous as time goes on, but we always walk the path.
So true.💜
You’re more than welcome! ❣️🫶❣️
Tony, thank you for your honest and heartfelt posts. I see you on that bench and cry alongside you. I often think of Alexander and you and Francie and TJ. Sending love and comfort today and always. 💜
You are so kind, that’s very sweet. Thank you Cathy. 💜💜
Beautiful. Thinking of you all and sending purple love your way💜
Thank you so much Maarit, sending much love to you and the family!💜
You are a wonderful writer, Tony. This particular posting illustrates the openness of your heart. I hope you and that grieving boy see each other again. There is much he could learn from you. Wisdom, acceptance of the eternal nature of love, and perhaps how to cook.
😊
Beautiful how you describe how to handle grief when life still goes on. Thank you for sharing 💜
🙏💜
Alexander will never be forgotten. He touched so my lives. We miss you and Francie dearly and hope to see you both in the near future!
🙏💜 Miss you guys too.
I’ve read this a few times now. It’s so incredibly beautiful, Tony!! I believe it was more than the trail that brought you two grieving souls together; Alexander and that boy’s mom knew just what the both of you needed that day.💜💜💜
So true, sometimes I have to pinch myself when these things happen. Lotsa love to you Elena!💜
Such a beautiful post, Tony. It’s so hard when time passes after a loss that will always be fresh in your heart. God bless the snowman builders and everyone who keeps Alexander alive in their memories!
A good reminder to keep talking about Alexander and all those we live.