As I look at this picture of Sam and I, I see what isn't there. His stoical expression because he was ready to go and didn't want to have his photo taken...one or two pictures, okay and we had stepped over the line asking for more. He was my handsome, compassionate, yet taciturn son. He knew his own mind and seldom strayed from what he believed. Naive in some ways, worldly wise in others...he was simply our Sam and we love him.For so long I haven't been able to write about him for possibly many reasons. First and foremost, because it makes it so real, seeing words on a page. In Black and White. Carved in stone, engraved on a marker. Strange, I should feel that, when I have always derived such comfort from words.
Missing Sam is part of me, like taking a breath. There is a hole, jagged edges, painful and aching that does not fade or dissipate with time. I am certain everyone thinks I should be over this by now, but I am not...and that is just what is.
So I mourn for Sam: his potential, his presence, his personality. Sam saw the world in black and white, but he was beginning to discover the shades of grey that make everything more vibrant. His was a romantic soul. There was a hero for every vanquished villain, good always triumphed, and there was always "the right thing to do."
So I imagine how he felt when he tried to wrap his brain around the news. The encompassing word, cancer, enormonity of the word "rare," and the even scarier words, "No treatment, No Cure," as well as the finality of the unspoken word, "dying." I have to imagine, because Sam didn't discuss it, wouldn't discuss it...and you couldn't make Sam do what he adamantly would not do.
His stubborness was almost legendary. We always considered it an asset and told him so. He didn't try to be even more unyielding, instead he would redouble his efforts to persuade you that his way was right. He would argue, consider what you said, think about it (okay, brood is a better word and often would revise his assessment and change.) It was this ability which became even more evident as he grew up that garnered our respect. So we respected his wishes, the subject was closed. We played it out Sam's way.
Maybe that is why I can't seem to say goodbye. It is so final.
I am stubborn too, and I prefer the wave and the words I uttered as I dropped him off at school:
Later Sam...Love you!
