Sid Fernando

The end

Thanks for reading this blog.

This is Johnny

He’s my son, and he died on early Saturday morning, March 19, 2011, age 17. Saw him that Friday morning, chipper, happy. He’d cut his throwing arm six days earlier and was going to miss his game—he was a varsity starter at 2nd base as a senior. He’d been at his girlfriend’s house the night before, late—much to his mom’s chagrin; she’d gone over there in the car with our other son, Joe, then 14, to pick him up. When Johnny had walked in, he’d grinned at me with that “Can you believe Mom?” look.

He told me that Friday morning he had “news” to tell me when he got home that night. “I’ll tell you when I get back,” he’d said as I was bandaging his arm. He’d woken me up to do it, and he looked gorgeous as ever. He was going to a party that night, but he’d be home, not too late, and he’d tell me, he’d said. “You’ll like it.”

He never made it home that night. Or ever. 

measuring_time

anotherthornbird:

You can’t measure time by days, the way you measure money by dollars and cents, because dollars are all the same while every day is different and maybe every hour as well.

~Jorge Luis Borges

a_life_not_mine

anotherthornbird:

I was assailed by memories of a life that wasn’t mine anymore, but one in which I’d found the simplest and most lasting joys.

~Albert Camus