Over the years I’ve shared often the moments and memories when Wyatt shows up. When I’m reminded of him in some way. Often unexpected. Today it feels like these moments and memories are getting fewer and farther between.
Today I looked over in the car and noticed that my passenger side seat belt has the shoulder strap set at the lowest level. It’s like that because Wyatt used to sit there. I remember intentionally setting the height for him because he was most often the one occupying that seat.
That seat is mostly empty now. I haven’t had to move that shoulder belt.
It used to be that there were always or at the very least, often reminders of Wyatt. His seat at the kitchen table, left empty. His bedroom, even though it had been transformed into an office. A ball that he used to play with found in the yard. A blanket he used to snuggle under in the closet.
Those things are getting farther away. I’m in a different stage. A different phase. There aren’t as many reminders. In some ways it feels like he is slipping farther away. In some ways it feels like I’m betraying him. Dare I say that I feel a bit guilty that my life is progressing.
I live in a house now that never held him. He never ran down this hallway. He never slept in any of these rooms. He never played in this yard.
His mark isn’t on this house except in the places where I intentionally put it.
More and more I’m around people who didn’t know him. People who never met him. People who don’t have memories of him.
My memories of Wyatt are precious. But there is something about knowing that other people hold their own memories of him. That they can share a memory that maybe I’ve forgotten or maybe never heard before. There’s comfort in knowing I don’t have to hold his memory alone.
I know that there are still many who remember him and think of him often. And yet when I’m surrounded by people who never knew him, I feel a strange loneliness.
I know that he is with me wherever I am.
Yet, it still just doesn’t feel good, this stage I’m in. It feels a little like a letting go. A little like a slipping away. I don’t like it.
So I’ll make sure he’s here. Make sure he’s present. I’m putting his mark in my house. And I’m sharing stories of him with those who never knew him.
He won’t be forgotten. And when I find a dime on the ground or that song comes on at just the right moment, I’ll know he hasn’t left me, because he hasn’t and he never will.
Salt Water Tides 