The Loss Of A Son

It's been a hell of a day. Despite attempts to escape it the telephone has rang all day and I've contemplated operating a tool booth at my door. And yet, everyone has the best of intentions. Besides, if they didn't call and come by I'd think no one cares about me and my family. I went through most of my life thinking Jason was the only thing I'd ever gotten right. Not that I deserve a lot of credit, he was an accident as far as I know and his grandfather was a much bigger influence in his life than I was but I'd like to think his brilliance had something to do with the genes I passed down to him. I spent the most of his life very angry at his mother for breaking up our marriage and taking my only son, my only child, away from me. It was this fear of loosing another child that scared me out of more relationships than the relationships themselves. His death opens up old wounds that I had thought were closed. And yet it's for his mother that I cry the most. For I know deep in my heart no matter how many times she hurt me and how many times we fought or how critical I became of her choices in raising him, Jason was her entire world and she loved him more than I could ever know. And while I spent all these years learning how to discover a new world of my own, his mother never got that chance.