Way Too Hard to Leg-o

Remember how I told you Jack was patient? Well, that's why we had Gamestop giftcards from his birthday last March to spend today.

Every few months he'd have me put the cards in my purse, and we'd go "look." I guess he hoped that someday the perfect game that interested him would intersect with one I'd actually let him buy. Didn't happen. He never whined or badgered, just said, "Not today," and we would leave, puttting the cards away for another time.

Now I question whether I should have just lightened up and rewarded him for being the great kid he was, realizing that stupid video games would not have made my peace-loving son into a violent person. Oh well, there are a lot of things like that to think about, and I have a long, long time to do it. But today we took Jack's gift cards to Game Stop to buy "Just Dance 3" for Margaret. Tim and Margaret are dancing in the basement to a song called, "Let's Go to the Mall!" Oh my. Thanks Jack, I think.

I also don't know what to do with his Crunch bars in the kitchen cabinet. The week before school started a mom called and hush-hush asked what Jack's favorite candy was. I didn't know, but Margaret said definitively: "Nestle Crunch" On the first day of school, Jack found 4 full-sized Crunch Bars waiting in his locker as a back-to-school treat. Did I tell you our whole family had a feeling Jack would love his middle school experience? Oh my yes.

We drove home that day in the rain, and during homework time, Jack opened the first Crunch bar. He seemed so happy, and his movements struck me as somewhat ceremonious, kind of how I imagined Charlie slowly opening the winning candy bar in Charlie and the Chocolate factory. Jack divided the bar into 3 sections: one for Margaret, one for himself, and one for me. I got the "CH."

It's not unusual that his candy would still be in the cupboard, even month later. After all, I recently threw out Jack's Halloween candy from two years ago, but having a kid who saves his candy is vastly different than having a kid who is no longer here to eat it.

I don't know whether I want to eat the Crunch bars, throw them away, or run over them with my car. It all just hurts so much. The gift cards and candy are emblematic of so many things I wonder about right now. Like the jigsaw puzzles and games in our game closet. We used to leave a jigsaw puzzle out on the dining room table for Jack and Tim to work on when they had a chance. 3000 pieces was their biggest one. But Margaret and I don't like jigsaw puzzles, and most of our games are too hard or too sad to play with 3 players.

We tried to play a game with 3 people last night and the episode ended in anger and tears. What a far cry from that Wednesday night in September, the first day of school, when we all played Clue together. You may recall Clue had been touch and go in our family over the years, but that night it was perfect. Jack won. Margaret accepted the win graciously. Life was good.

But now we are left with the Clue board, Jack's room, his toys, his clothes. There is certainly no rush to get rid of anything because that part of the house sits empty now, and we don't need the space. I am just so angry that the things that meant so much to our little boy are just that...things. Things to be dealt with at some point. Things that mean nothing without our boy here to enjoy them.

The same boy who saved his Halloween candy also saved the box from every Lego set he bought. I remember asking his pediatrician about this during a checkup, hoping the doctor would back me up. "Doctor, is Jack a hoarder, or at least a very neat one? Shouldn't we throw away those boxes?" The doctor asked him about his interests and concluded "Jack is not a hoarder; he is a collector. To a Lego collector, those boxes have value. The boxes can stay."

And now, with hundreds of Lego sets, their boxes, and neat piles of instructions in pristine condition, I wonder if that will be yet another way Jack will be helping me as we decide, someday in the future, how to deal with his treasures. I don't think my heart could withstand throwing all of his collections willy-nilly in a donation heap. But perhaps with boxes, instructions, and all the pieces intact, I could fathom getting them to new homes someday.

I don't know where I'm going with this post except to say I miss him. I miss all aspects of his personality that made him so special. That made him a patient person. A saver. A creative spirit. A collector, who took good care of his things. I miss liking what he liked. Doing what he liked to do. Looking forward to this next phase of his life with him. Talking to him. Holding him. Ruffling his hair with my hands. Kissing the world's softest cheek. Walking around the block after dinner.

Wondering whether he would ever choose to eat his Crunch Bars.

Every Last Thing.