the sudden death of a child

I came across this article today at my desk, an excerpt from a memoir by a man whose two-year-old daughter was killed in a freak accident. I had to fight myself from getting choked up, because I'm at work and that is not a good look. The author's description of being in the hospital resonated so, so very hard. God damn it.

grandfather's golf cart

Last night I was overcome briefly by a memory of being at Liz's, the day after Christmas, talking in the kitchen with Andrew or Katie or Uncle Larry. At some point we became aware the the house had quieted down, and then that the cause of this peace was the absence of the little cousins. Where had they gone? And then I looked out through the French doors into the backyard and saw Jack placidly driving grandfather's old golf cart back and forth, with seemingly the entire roster of Peale cousins piled on and laughing gleefully. Jack wasn't smiling but his face looked relaxed and peaceful. I have no idea where he'd gotten the idea to do that, let alone the keys to the cart. Jack never learned how to drive and I'm pretty sure that's the only time I saw him behind the wheel of anything off a go-kart track.

Not sure what happened after that. I suppose he stopped driving the cart, the kids came back inside, and he did, too. Uncomfortably slotting himself back in with the Allen-Peales, probably heading back out for a cigarette at the earliest opportunity. But in the moment on the lawn feeling happy and comfortable

The image of him on the golf cart is one I cherish, for its incongruity, for the joy on the faces of our cousins, for the way it reminds me of Jack's mischievousness. 

dreaming about jack

The last two nights, I dreamed about Jack. First two in a while. On Wednesday, I walked into a laundromat to do my laundry, looked over to my left, and there he was, casually looking at his phone on an orange plastic chair. He was about his 19-year-old self, thin and with his boyish short blond mop. He looked up and we made eye contact. I was stunned, unable to say anything. He started, but then composed himself quickly. I guess he realized the jig was up. He explained that he'd faked the suicide to try to get away from some problem, I can't remember the specifics of his explanation. I was flabbergasted and confused, unsure whether to be furious or elated.

Last night, I was at home when we got a call that he'd tried to kill Maura L before killing himself. I was in the process of writing her a long letter, apologizing on Jack's behalf, when I woke up.

Wonder why the back-to-back dreams. While I was making breakfast this morning, the old guilt about not listening right away to his raps on Soundcloud or watching his videos washed up to the surface. I miss him.