Where the hell are you? Damnit!
I know I should be all spiritual, seeing visions of angels and feeling the goodness and awe of your signs in the afterlife.
I am pissed because you are not here.
Two years. I haven’t seen you in two years. I haven’t heard from you in two years.
Why did you have to crash the truck into that tree less than a half mile from home on 12:15 am on July 22.
And why did you have to die six hours later?
And don’t tell me it was God’s plan. Don’t tell me it was your time to go.
No!! As your mother, I DEMAND, an after-life text message, phone call, something, anything to let me know you that you are OK.
I will have a major conversation with God on this one. Where the hell was he when I needed him the most?
I thought I would write something about your memory and my bad-ass purpose to transform into a better person when reflecting on your second death anniversary.
The moments my fingers touched this keyboard, anger poured like a hurricane’s fury.
I am beyond pissed with nowhere to take it.
Bring it on God.
Send me to Hell and I will drive the devil insane with my grief and attitude.
Send me to Heaven and I will have a lot of questions and even more attitude.
Times like this in my seething tears, the only word that comes out is…FUCK!!!!!!!!!
Where did I go wrong, so terribly wrong to lose you at such a young age? So many other humans manage to escape an early death when every odd in the world is against them.
Time ran out on you. And when the time came, I was totally powerless to turn things around. My prayers were not answered on July 22, 2016.
My brain cells ricochet madly from one memory to another like hundreds of flash-frames muddled with voices, images, smells and feelings of you.
Logan, I miss your “Hi Mom, you know what Mom.” I miss seeing your face light up, and that impish, wide smile with the gap in the middle of our two front teeth. I miss your tousled blonde hair, wrinkled clothes, mis-matched socks and shoes – that were usually if not always untied. You never tripped.
I miss your silliness, posting pictures of guys in high-heels trying to run on a treadmill. I miss your goofiness in the way you watched endless episodes of Sponge Bob with your friends. And not to mention Dumb and Dumber. You had the Monty Python lines and British accent down to a tee – when saying, ah, but Mom, “tis nothing but a scratch.”
I miss your big hugs and listening to your excited conversations. I miss hearing your goals and game plan for the next run. I miss even fighting over which music we would listen to in the car – either your heavy/death metal or my lighter Pink Floyd. We usually compromised on AC/DC after I listened to song after song of the screaming death metal.
I still have all your playlists on iTunes and I listen to them sometimes, cringing when the deep guttural screaming comes on.
Remember Johnny Cash? You liked Folsom Prison Blues and even a touch of Sinatra. You have a few Beatles tunes in your collection. Your favorite was While My Guitar Gently Weeps.
Is there death metal in Heaven?
You must be driving God nuts. I can hear him now. LOGAN….no more death metal. Perhaps God is a metal head. May be you turned him into one. Or he listens patiently as I did because he loves you so daggone much!!
All has been revealed to you. Us pathetic souls on this earthly dimension – even the most enlightened, buddha-believing, Koran-knowing, bible-educated, church-going and mission-filled of us all – really don’t know much. We think too hard. We make things too complicated.
I have a feeling love has got something to do with it.
We sense a very faint glimpse of love. But in our primal state of survival to our more kindergarten efforts to be enlightened, it’s hard for us mortals to really love. We’re too tied up in our needs to eat, feel good, look good, have things, go places, feel secure, find our lost selves, be with others or even escape in spirituality. You are not burdened with those earthly needs.
The closest I have come to love is YOU. The moment I found out I was pregnant with you, I was so happy that this living being was growing inside me. Such a precious soul you were at second one of your life – and now in the afterlife. You called it the “other dimension.” Perhaps you were on to something.
As you grew, so did my love for you. I wanted nothing more than for you to be safe, healthy and happy. That was my daily prayer to God as I checked on you while you were sleeping from your first day to your last. My needs and personal ambitions were selfishly important, but they paled in comparison to what I wanted for you. I wanted you to be more than ok.
My hope for you in your new life is not to watch over us on Earth, but to be in utter bliss and happiness with God, to be bathed in his light and one with love.
I love you Logan always and forever.
And, God, don’t take my anger personally. I have a feeling your love is a lot bigger than the very worst of my pain and grief. Take care of my boy and keep me going strong so I can do some good in this world as Logan did in his short 19 years.