We were on this same porch in the same sweltering heat nested among sunflowers one year ago tonight. We sat together as a family that evening before sending our daughter across the street and into that house with the porch light for a sleepover with our dearest friends, the Mussers (we had an early arrival time at the hospital the next morning). We hugged. I remember trying to relish that moment. It was the last time we were together. 

Tonight I stand in the light of a unique and  glowing moon. Fitting and most incredibly sad.

  
I took this picture one year ago today. Owen and I were sitting on an amusement park train. We must have taken a hundred pictures as we were waiting for the train to move. Some silly. Some serious. 

I remember sitting there with a heavy heart. My wife’s grandmother passed away unexpectedly that morning. Meghan was at her bedside. We had planned to go to the Idlewild for some time. Given Owen’s impending surgery, she implored us to continue with our plans. It’s kind of how she is: always putting the kids first and making sure their needs are met. See, to her, Owen needed the trip to Idlewild. In four days he would be moving from full speed, kid-in-the-summer, to recovery mode. His summer would effectively be over as he recuperated in time for the 1st day of school. Idlewild would be his last hurrah of the summer. 

As we took these pictures I remember feeling anxious, wanting for everything to go well with the surgery. Fearing the worst, but knowing that the two previous surgeries were  completed flawlessly. As a parent, I have always found that my mind drifts to the worst possible scenario. It’s sort of a defense mechanism that considers that possibility and then almost immediately snaps to a more reasonable and less frightening scenario. That flash, that deep dark place, is evident in my eyes in that moment.

Memories from last July–the weeks leading up to the events of August 2014–are painted in my mind so vivid and near. The memories, unlike any I have, are like a keepsake box that I carry with me. I am taken to a certain place at the slightest reminder of a date, a song, this photo.

july is our kid birthday month. owen’s birthday is july 13. olivia’s is july 24. kid birthdays have always been special occasions in the galluzzo household. while we aren’t backing up the toys r us truck to the front door, we do ensure that each birthday has a unique theme (music, star wars, fairies, mustaches, etc.), and that we deck the place out. we have a couple birthday signs that we re-use each year, and we typically bedazzle our home with balloons and streamers. this festival atmosphere lasts the entire month.

we started thinking about how impossibly difficult today was going to be months ago. how do you commemorate this day? the answer: surrounded by love & with great care and creativity.

we’ll start here:

this is jessica rutherford. she is a glass artist of the world class…and an incredible friend. jessica knows loss. it’s a bond we share. jessica (among her many skills and interests) creates beads for the beads of courage program at children’s hospital. as some may know, owen was a recipient of hundreds of beads throughout his life. he was very proud of his beads. i asked jessica to help me do something special for owen’s birthday, which (of course) requires some exposition: owen played on an 8 and under coach-pitch baseball team in 2013. his team was the cubbies. it needs to be said: owen loved the cubbies. so, early on in the season his coach approached each player and requested that they give themselves a nickname. there was destroyer, j-money, beast, charlie rocket, dr. j, and others. our quirky little guy selected “the world.” that’s right, he was “owen the world” for the entire season (and beyond). since owen’s passing, “the world” has been a thread weaved through a good number of remembrances. i asked jessica to create a “world” bead that we could share with family and friends for their courage and support. on saturday olivia and i visited her studio. jessica walked us through the process for how she carefully and patiently crafted each of the miniature globes–tons of love behind those individual works of art.

on sunday olivia and i put together packages for the beads. images follow:

olivia assembling

finished products

ready for distribution

so, today was owen’s birthday. i cannot adequately account for the emotions i felt today. some new. some familiar. mostly an unbearable day, but some incredible moments.

we visited his tree for a picnic with some of our closest friends. 

we painted rocks (now a cathartic tradition).

we sent birthday greetings to the sky.

and we traveled door-to-door to distribute “world” beads. this greeted us as we returned home. 

our pain is rich. we miss our boy terribly. an immeasurable wealth of love buoys us.

july is grey. this made me smile. I’ll explain later.