I am having shoulder surgery in the morning. It turns out I have a labrum tear with a paralabral cyst underneath. It’s been scheduled for months. I wanted to wait to do the surgery until after the nice weather was over and (gauging by the current weather) it appears I was spot on. The cooler weather has definitely moved in for now at least, as is always the case it seems with the month of November. Oh November. I refuse to give you much thought until the busyness of October is through. Now that we have celebrated numerous late October birthdays and Halloween, I’ll deal with you. I’ll deal with you because you suck and because the 15th comes every year whether or not I am ready.

Right after Dalton died, a (now) dear friend came and visited our family in an effort to comfort us. She was between six and seven years out from her own daughter’s fatal accident and was there to support me from one grieving mother to another. I don’t remember everything from our initial visit, but I will always recall her demeanor. Later I would contrast it in my head with my own as soon as she left our home. Both of us had lost teenage children and yet she was able to talk to us while she sat smiling and seemingly happy as she shared stories about her daughter. At the time, all I could do was cry in her presence. I remember wanting to fast forward through the pain to be six or seven years past my son’s accident so I could smile again.

And here we are. It will be seven years on the 15th. That will be 2,555 days I haven’t seen him. That 13 year old boy who should be 21. The one I still cry for in the shower. The one I can close my eyes and hear his raspy voice and that weird clicking sound he made with his mouth. His dumb dolphin sound. That annoying way he would say “Mom, Mommy, Momma” 20 times in a row like that kid on the show Family Guy because he loved it when I finally would snap. I think about the fruit snack wrappers and the sunflower seeds I would find under the couches (where no food was ever allowed under any circumstance). And I think about watching that boy play ball. Man he could pitch. It’s taken seven years for the memories to finally make me smile first and cry second. I guess that’s a sign of healing.

My birthday was the 28th. I felt so humbled by all of the birthday wishes people gave me on Facebook. I have got to get better at doing those myself because it sure makes a person feel good when it’s YOUR birthday. I posted that I felt like it was a win-win situation because I got to spend it with the people I love, plus it made me one year closer to seeing my boy. The next day I woke up to a text from one of Dalton’s best friends, Easton. It said, “Happy bday jenny. I, as well, am counting the days.” I smiled so big because a 21 year old took the time to text his buddy’s mom on her birthday. But, not just that, he remembered my boy. That simple line was one of the greatest things I could have ever read.

I want to share a short story about who Dalton was for anyone who didn’t know him: My father-in-law, Tommy, needed a plumber to come work on his kitchen sink yesterday. A young man came instead of the one who usually does work for Tommy. They started talking and (recognizing the last name on the ticket) the young man asked Tommy is he was Dalton’s grandpa. Tommy shared with this young plumber how Dalton was his best friend and spent much time at his house. The young man finally introduced himself as Zack and said he knew Dalton. They were the same age. Zack said he played baseball with Dalton. Tommy asked if it was with the Cubs and Zack smiled and said, “No I wasn’t good enough to play for the Cubs, but I played with your grandson in little league.” After more conversation, Zack looked at Tommy and said, “I want you to know something about Dalton. You see, I wasn’t very popular and I wasn’t that good at sports. I had a hard time growing up. But Dalton always talked to me. He didn’t care. He saw me and I’ll never forget that.”

Smiling. Crying. But mainly smiling. That’s where I’m at 7 years out. I miss that boy. He was your typical 13 year old kid, but he had a big heart.

I don’t know what God allows people in heaven to see, but I secretly hope Dalton got to take in a scene from the communion line at Mass on Sunday. Since Dalton has been gone, no one is here to agitate his older brother (who is now 25 and the father of 3). As a reference point, Colton and Dalton used to whisper all through Mass and would constantly have to be redirected. Typically they would either be arguing or discussing the upcoming NFL games that day. Fast forward to today and now Colton has a 5 year old sister, Dawsyn. So we are all walking towards the alter in the communion line: Carly in front holding Saylor, Kaemyn behind her, Colton and Dawsyn behind them and myself at the back. I see Dawsyn repeatedly tapping Colton on the back of his leg and whispering, “Colton!” He ignored her two or three times before finally turning around (right in front of the alter) sweetly and patiently asking her, “What is it honey?” Dawsyn, proud she got his attention at last, looks at him with a giant grin and hissed, “You’re DUMB.”

Maybe she just needed to purge herself of any evil thoughts before she received her blessing at the alter… or maybe she was channeling her inner, ornery older brother. Either way, as Colton told us all that story at lunch on Sunday, it made us laugh. Laugh and remember a life well lived. A life worth taking time out of my day and writing about so you can get to know a little more of him. I hope some of it makes you smile too.