Well, it's been a month.
Things got off to a hefty start, what with working dragon*con and all. I've given anyone who asked about the experience some version of the same response: "It was fun, but tiring." When I returned home from Atlanta, I very quickly came down with a case of the 'con crud, which wreaked havoc throughout my lungs for the better part of two weeks.
by Dragon*Con TechOps
I've been home from Dragon*Con for a little more than a week now, and I'm still trying to figure out how to describe this year. Like so many things, it was a hodge-podge of awesome and infuriating.
The 'con is many things to many people. To me, it represents more of a family reunion than anything else. I've always been an "outsider" in that I live states away from some of the best people I've come to know over the last decade.
Today would have been your forty-third birthday.
In our family, we tend to celebrate birthdays in groups: my grandmother, mother and uncle in March; the twins and a cousin in July; and then you and I in August.
I've never been particularly fond of birthdays, and not for the superficial reason many give of being reminded that they're older. Being the center of attention is something I've never been fully comfortable with, and one thing that's made it more bearable in the past is that you were there to share it with me. Like clockwork, even if we hadn't seen each other in a while, we'd pick up and talk during the August birthday gathering and all would be well.
I'm going to miss that this year, and I miss you. It doesn't feel right to know that you won't be here to share the tradition with me this year, or ever again.
* * *
You died on a Sunday, on Halloween. I remember thinking that I wished I'd seen you one last time, wanting the 'proper' goodbye that many wish for but never get. We were out of time, and though I was devastated, a part of me was smiling because that's the last memory I have of you: lying in a hospital bed, obviously in excruciating pain, doing your best to not show it, and smiling. You had no regrets, no delusions about how your life would end, or how soon. You weren't scared or angry or bitter; you were happy.
In a way, maybe it's best that we never said goodbye, because that's how I always want to remember you: with a smile on your face.
Today was like any other. I woke up somewhat early (after sleeping way too much yesterday and last nite), had some toast and got ready for work. I minded my own business.
Then, via my friend Cali on Facebook, I learned of this:
Suspected child abuser Bradley Harlan Boda was arrested at his parents' home Wednesday on felony and misdemeanor charges relating to sex assault on a child. [More…]
It took my brain a few minutes to register, and then I saw a post on Twitter from the local paper that spelled it out a little more clearly:
Rocky Mountain High School counselor arrested on charges of multiple child sex assaults
I would write about myself on that day: where I was, what I was doing, how I found out, my reactions … but those aren't important, because this isn't about me.
This is about them: 3,000 people whose voices were permanently silenced on that fateful day. We will never forget, in New York and all over the world. And we will not let it happen again. May you rest in peace. May your souls be happy and free.
I've been struggling to find the right words since that night. I'm not sure I have any more now. I feel much like a drowning victim — gasping for air, fighting and clawing for something, anything — and yet, finding nothing.
I could spend the next several hours writing, rewriting, erasing and yet still rewriting, but then it becomes less about the message and more about the syntax. Something would get lost, so it's best that I save further words for a time when I have a better ability to say them. For now, I should focus on the most important thing, which is to simply say this:
Thank you for saving me. I love you.