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.