What do I miss about David

I find myself thinking about David a lot these days. Sometimes a song will come on the radio and it almost seems to transport me to another time and space where David is still trying to sing his version of the song as he waves his hands to the beat of the song. Unfortunately the transporter fails to truly transport me and all I hear is silence. I walk by his room and I feel drawn to open his door and look in. It's still empty. In the basement sits his Christmas Tree, taped shut in a box, not to be opened this year. No blinking colored star, blue lights, and special ornaments. They too are sealed up, wrapped in tissue paper, sitting high on a shelf in the darkness of the basement, wondering if they will ever be hung again. Do we hang his stocking this year made by his Nana? Christmas music makes me think about David. As soon as Sunny 102 started playing Christmas songs, way before Thanksgiving, David was already listening. They sound a little different this year, a little flatter.

I miss him so much. Even though I often would complain about the noise level in our home with so much going on, I miss it. I miss hearing Adventures in Odyssey, country music, phone calls, aids sharing life stories and adventures with David, and base ball. I miss going for ice cream, eating breakfast at Dave's Diner, hanging out in the hot tub, or watching Annie for the 30th time.

One of the things I miss the most is just holding him. I loved hugging him. While he was 20 years old, he still let me hold him, rub his back, and run my fingers through his hair. He hated thunderstorms so I would often climb into bed with him, hold his hand or simply rest my hand on his shoulder. I can't do that anymore. He was soft and cuddly. He was like the Pillsbury doe boy. But the softness is gone.

In the book, Lament for a Son, a father who lost his son writes the following words after they had buried his son;

"I catch myself: Was it him we laid in the earth? I had touched his cheek. Its cold still hardness pushed me back. Death, I knew, was cold. And death was still. But nobody had mentioned that all the softness went out. His spirit had departed and taken along the warmth and activity and, yes, the softness. He was gone."

I miss David's softness. As I shaved David for the last time and dressed him before he was placed in the casket, I knew David was gone. His softness had departed. I look forward to feeling it again. I miss you David.