Love Is The Only Answer I Know

Yesterday, I learned of the death of a person who was much too young to die, a child who was part of my life for two decades as I mothered a son who was part of his life. In the process of mothering our own children, we all mothered this son.

Some deaths are inexcusable, unforgettable, untenable. When I was 21, one of my younger brothers died. When that happened, I thought, OK, that's it for me. No more trauma. Then I continued to be alive, and I discovered that life is trauma. To be alive is to be traumatized, repeatedly.

When my son was born, I wanted him to have the childhood Yeats described when he wrote, "when I was a boy with never a crack in my heart." I expect this is what we all want for our children. If you're lucky, this works for a while. Then life happens, something like yesterday happens, and we're all left trying to figure everything out all over again.

To my baby boy, I don't know how to help you with what just happened. I hardly even know how to process it myself. I wish I had answers. I wish I could lead you back to an uncracked heart. But the truth is that you and I were both just lucky to live this long without your heart cracking like this.

Is there anything any of us can do to find meaning in this? I don't know. I think everyone's answer to the question of meaning is different. What have I done? I've tried to be there for my kids. I've tried to reach out to people. All we know for sure is that we have each other in the here and now. All any of us can do is love each other while we are still in the here and now. Love is the only answer I know.