It has been just over three months since Nate died. I have not been able to write about it. Yesterday, I could not even finish my remarks – the one thing his mom asked of me – at the celebration of life we held. But this morning she sent me a letter to her son. I asked if I could share it with all of you. It’s how I want people to remember Nate Dowds.
I am still broken, and angry. Not at Nate, but at a country that sent him to war and a society that never figured out how to bring him home. Last Friday marked 25 years since 9/11. Most Americans will never comprehend the true cost. The casualties from that day, and the decisions we made after it, continue to mount.
I miss you Nate.
A Letter to My Son:
September has always been my favorite month. It was yours, too. That’s because in rural Ohio, September is magical. It is a time when farmers harvest their late crops of corn and soybeans. Farm stands bursting with pumpkins, gourds, sunflowers, and mums are seen on every country road. Children wearing sweatshirts and new backpacks wait for the school bus at the end of driveways, breathing in the sweet, fresh air of fall.
You were my last child to start school. You didn’t know it, but I cried on your first day. You turned to wave at me, your golden curls glistening in the sun, your precious gap-toothed smile big and brave. I knew your brothers would watch over you, but somehow my heart was still breaking.
Many autumns have come and gone in our lives, and here one comes again. But September is no longer my favorite month. One morning in August, I was sitting on our balcony watching the sun come up, and I just couldn’t stop crying. I needed to know you were still out there somewhere, and I asked you to send me a sign. Cardinals, dragonflies, butterflies, and rainbows are common sights around here. So I asked you to send me something I did not typically see. I asked you to send me a goldfinch.
A week later I was sitting in your sunroom in the early morning before your babies were awake. Three goldfinches landed on the feeder in front of the window I was facing. The next week, Gracie and I were on your front porch and a goldfinch landed on the windchimes beside us. The day after that Jonathan and I were walking in the park and a goldfinch flew across the path directly in front of us. Then the last weekend in August, I was on your front steps putting your babies’ shoes on when a goldfinch landed on the wire directly above our heads.
Last week, the first week in September, we went to the arboretum to let Jonathan and Gracie choose a tree in your memory. The arborist drove us around in his golf cart for 45 minutes, showing us thousands of trees. Jonathan finally narrowed it down to an oak because “Dad loves oak trees and we always pee on the one in our yard.” After more searching, the final decision was to be made between three young, majestic oaks standing at the bend of a trail. Jonathan pointed to the one closest to the trail, saying, “I think I choose this one.” A goldfinch immediately flew to a high branch. It was still sitting there when we left.
Now, in this second week of September, we are having your Celebration of Life picnic at the park where you always took your family. We string lights around the pavilion, surrounded by a field of goldenrod. The sky is big and blue, the warm autumn sun partially covered by fluffy white clouds as the wind puffs them past. A red tail hawk soars overhead. I can barely breathe. It is painful to look at this glorious world without you in it.
Your brothers arrange vases of wildflowers on each picnic table as I set up your memorial table in the back of the pavilion. A large, framed photo of you laughing and holding your babies in the middle. Your flag, combat boots, and a candle to one side. Memory cards engraved with your name and a slideshow your brothers have made of your life on the other. I cannot look at the slideshow. You are so beautiful. You are filled with so much joy. I cannot imagine how your radiant light has left this world.
I talk with the caterer and smile at her reassuringly as she sets up a BBQ picnic of your favorite foods. I resist the urge to throw myself down on the cold concrete floor in front of your table and scream. But I just keep smiling. I am vaguely aware my face is wet. I pray silently to my grandmothers to see me through this day. I search desperately for a goldfinch because I need to feel you near me. But none come.
And then suddenly, I feel you everywhere, your beautiful spirit shimmering in the kind faces and open hearts of your loved ones as they approach.
