Niels Was One of Them

How do I hold on to Niels? How do I keep him a part of my life? It feels that little by little he’s slipping away. We gave away so much of his “stuff”. We sold his condo. We closed his accounts. These tasks are all mundane. These are all just normal “adulting” jobs. Normal except for the reason. Each piece, each act, each closure feels like another part of Niels is tumbling away from me into the ocean – leaving me only with memories…and I’m terrified that they will also dim and be swept away with the waves.

I have knowingly and purposefully created places in our house to “hold” Niels. There are photos and trinkets and books and pieces of paper with his writing. (Nothing exciting, mostly reminders about meetings, some math being worked out…but it’s his handwriting.) I talk about him. Heck, I talk to him. I recently found myself talking with him as I took an afternoon walk around the Chico campus. His “force” is strong there. I write about him.

I have that sweatshirt by my bed. I have his baby blankets and Spike, his monkey stuffie, too.

I keep in touch with some of his co-workers. Using his game systems, they created a gaming area in his honor in their break room. I’m not sure it’s had much use yet in “busy” season.

I stop by Panama Bay and give his photo a love tap.

But I still feel that he’s slipping away from my reach…piece by piece…act by act…moment by moment.

A couple days ago, I stopped by the post office to do some mundane tasks – I needed to pick up some postcard stamps. I also wanted to follow up on Niels’ “change of address” form. (Weird – what do you write in the “forwarding address” box?) While there, I had an experience that brought me an answer to my question…How do I hold on to Niels? Here is the story of my 15 minute trip to the post office. I recorded my experience on my phone when I got in the car with my sobbing, snuffly voice:

I’m sitting in my car in the post office parking lot…sobbing. I don’t want to forget this moment…

…I stopped at the post office to get some post card stamps and ask about Niels’ change of address. I walked up to the counter when it was my turn and very matter-of-factly told the postman that I had turned in change of address paperwork for my son who had passed away, including the death certificate, etc. I told him I didn’t get a receipt and I wanted to know how I know that the request had been processed? The postman simply said, “You’ll get something in the mail and it will take 3-4 weeks.” I said “thank you” and stepped aside to put the stamps on my postcards.

As I was standing at the counter stamping my postcards, a woman stopped and tapped me on my arm. She said, “I’m so sorry about your son. You went up there and stated his passing so matter-of-factly, as if it didn’t matter and the response from the postman showed that it didn’t matter”. She said that it did matter. My son mattered. She kept saying, “Saying your son died is not normal and it will never be normal”. She also kept repeating, “I’m so sorry about your son. I’m so sorry about your son”. “It’s not normal.” Then this perfect stranger hugged me, the dumbfounded woman who stood in the middle of the post office, sobbing. And after the hug and a final, “I’m so sorry about your son,” she silently walked away.

I finished stamping my postcards, dropped them in the box and went to my car.

Mind you, I didn’t cry at the uncaring response from the postman because in the aftermath of a death, there are myriad tasks that you just do…sleep walking through them, talking to strangers as if you report your son’s death every day of your life. As if you’ve been preparing for these moments. So yes, I did just matter-of-factly state that my son had died. And the stranger was correct. It shouldn’t be just a simple statement without a human response, a bit of human connection. There must always be emotion. Could the postman not have said, “I’m sorry for your loss. You’ll get something in mail in 3-4 weeks” ? It’s not much, but those five extra words would have meant a lot.

The stranger’s gesture, the moment this woman took to express her sympathy with me shows that humanity, human connection, just a few caring words matter. Hugely. Never doubt what a few kind words mean to people. I will remember this gentle woman’s gesture of humanity and be reminded that there are people all around us who just need a kind word…we just need to pay attention to see where we can share our hearts.

And with her words, she reminded me that Niels mattered. His life was more than a piece of paper, a form, a change of address. I’m so grateful to her for taking the moment to remind me that Niels mattered and that it is not normal to state, “My son died”. It will never be normal. It will never be easy. And I will keep him with me by being grateful that my son LIVED, by allowing the memories of him that pass through my mind and heart every day make me smile, cry, laugh, chuckle, and…to be reminded that Niels mattered.

To know Niels was to love him. He mattered. I love him and he matters.

And there are very good people in this world. Niels was just one of them.