7 Years - Still With Us

It has been 7 years since Shawn Jr. died.  Seven years sounds like a long time. In some ways, it is. A lot of life can happen in 7 years. Kids grow up. Families change. Weddings happen. Grandkids are born. Homes get louder in some ways and quieter in others. Life keeps moving, whether you are ready for it or not.

But in other ways, July 11, 2019, still feels like yesterday.

I can still remember sitting beside Shawn’s bed at MD Anderson. I can still remember the helplessness of watching him suffer. I can still remember Misty and me holding his hands as he took his last breath. I can still remember walking out of that hospital knowing that our family would never be the same.

That is the strange thing about grief. Time passes, but the deepest pain does not really leave. It just changes shape. Some days it is buried under work, family, games, laughter, busyness, and the normal routines of life. Other days, it rises up without warning. A song, a Luka highlight, a Dr Pepper commercial, a family joke, a Helms Hope moment, or one of the kids (most likely Josh) doing something that reminds me of Shawn Jr., brings it all rushing back.

July 11 is different. It does not sneak up on me. I know it is coming.  This year I was dreading it more than normal because, in part, I didn’t know what I was going to write in this blog.

Every year around this time, I find myself thinking about what Shawn Jr. would be doing now. He would be 28 years old. That is hard to even write. I wonder where he would be living. I wonder what job he would have. I wonder if he would be married. I wonder what kind of uncle he would be. I wonder what he would think about all the changes in our family.

I know he would love seeing the family grow. He would be obsessed with the addition of Lucy Layne.  He and Shawn Fletcher would certainly be buddies. And he would have loved to watch Miller grow and learn. He would be making jokes, giving people a hard time, and probably acting like he was the favorite uncle. He would be loving the family in that Shawn Jr. way - a mix of sarcasm, loyalty, and quiet tenderness.

This year, that feeling has been especially strong because two of Shawn Jr.’s best friends had children in the past few months. I am genuinely happy for them. I love seeing their families grow. But it is also another reminder of the life stage Shawn Jr. should be entering with them. These were his boys. They grew up together, laughed together, played basketball together, and walked through so much life together. Now they are becoming dads, and I cannot help but wonder what Shawn Jr. would have been like in that season of life.

I think he would have loved it. He would have been proud of them. He would have made fun of them. He would have given terrible advice with complete confidence. He would have acted like he knew everything about parenting before ever changing a diaper. And underneath all of that, he would have been deeply loyal and present for them and their kids.

That is one of the hardest parts. We do not just miss who he was - we miss who he would be. We miss the 21-year-old Shawn Jr. we knew. But we also miss the 28-year-old Shawn Jr. we never got to know. We miss the career he never started, the family he never built, the kids he never had, the conversations we never got to have, and the memories we never got to make.

At the same time, I am grateful that Shawn Jr. is still so present in our family. He is not here physically, but he is still woven into who we are. His name comes up constantly. His jokes get repeated. His opinions still get quoted. His pictures are still everywhere. We still treasure his closest friends. And we get to tell his story through Helms Hope, in part to try to honor him.

I wish July 11 was just another summer day. I wish Shawn Jr. were here with us, making us laugh, arguing about sports, loving his mom, teasing his siblings, and living the life he should have had.  But that is not our story.

Our story is that Shawn Jr. lived 21 years with joy, humor, loyalty, faith, and love. Our story is that he left an imprint on all of us that cancer could not erase. Our story is that we still grieve deeply because we still love deeply. Our story is that even though death changed our family, it did not end our hope.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” That verse means more to me now than I ever wanted it to mean. I wish I did not understand it so personally. But I do. And on days like July 11, I hold onto the promise that Shawn Jr. is not gone forever.

Shawn Jr., we miss you every day.  Seven years later, you are still with us.  You are still loved. You are still missed.  And we will see you soon.