Nine months today

This has been on my mind all week and I've decided to get it down on paper/into computer file before I forget even more details. Obviously, this is a short version of what happened. I do know how to edit .............

It’s been 9 months since Henry left us and I remember that day much too well (mostly, that is, there are a few bits missing.).
I remember it being a beautiful day (just like today, except without the morning fog and, of course, quite a bit warmer) - sunny, warm but not hot. I remember talking to Henry before he left for school - it was a normal morning, no different from any other morning.
I remember the phone calls – first the school telling me he was missing, then the calls I had to make to track down somebody to get a hold of Larry (who was in Pascagoula, Miss. that day), trying to call Henry many times (I didn’t figure out until many months later that he hung up on me every time), talking to Larry whenever he was not on a plane and to Kate. Talking to the police. Two phone calls from San Francisco General.
I remember spending some time at the school, later driving around town looking for Henry.
I remember the drive down to the hospital with my friend and a police chaplain and arriving at the hospital, talking first to one doctor who explained Henry's injuries to us and then another who told us that they hadn’t been able to save him.
I remember saying goodbye to him twice. He looked so peaceful.
And then driving home, sending both my friend and the police chaplain away and cleaning house and Larry finally arriving home around 11 p.m.
It didn’t seem real then and there still are times when it doesn’t.

We are already making plans for the 1-year anniversary. We will definitely be on the bridge at 11:45 a.m. at lamp post 47 but we don't quite know what do just yet .......

Such a difficult day

Today is the day for cleaning out Henry's room - at least partially. The bed has been dismantled and is now on the dump, the dressers are headed to a thrift store (somebody might as well get some use out of them) and I spent a couple of hours packing up his clothes, karate paraphernalia, his Pokemon cards, games etc. (I remember how he liked collecting those, he had such fun - we had such fun) etc.

It was one of the most difficult things I've done in a long time - much harder than talking at his memorial service or writing that letter to the newspaper (both very much out of character for somebody who's always been very private and quite shy and timid). But it was time.

I cannot think of anything sadder than to see the tangible evidence of somebody's life - Henry's life - reduced to a few boxes full of clothes, books, karate trophies and assorted bits and bobs.