Amy Peters’ Studio
On September 15th, my cousin drowned at Lake Almanor, California. We essentially stayed up at the lake for more than a week, trying to find him. The following is what happened next.
On Monday, we packed up, winterized the cabin, and came home. I was so distracted during the drive that I kept missing turns and almost ended up in Chico.
My brother and his family left early the next day — there was no way they could stay for the memorial or make it back. As far as I’m concerned, they were here for the most important part.
We spent the rest of the week planning the memorial. It was like it is for all families — that feeling of pulling a wedding together but in just a few days time and for a really sad reason. We figured out “keepsakes” (one of my cousins — incredibly — sent us charms, necklaces, and keychains that she makes to give to everybody who attended the memorial).We wrote obituaries, met with caterers, and picked out music. We printed programs, decided on clothes, and looked through pictures.
Pictures. I found myself desperately searching through pictures, hoping I’d taken certain shots on certain days and then beating myself up for not doing it. Or wishing the one I’d taken was better. Or clearer. Or I guess maybe just really him.
And there’s the voicemail he left on my phone that I have saved. Someday I’ll listen to it. Not now.
And then there are the young men I see, driving down the road in little silver cars, who make me do a double take. They pull up next to me at stop lights and I catch glimpses of their hands or their hair. They make me remember a little too much. They make me wish a little too hard.
We still haven’t found him. We’re waiting. Hoping. There’s talk of people from different states and counties that could help. Different techniques we could use. Sometimes I wonder if Lake Almanor was meant to be Logan’s final resting place. As one of his friends said, he came into the world naked and wet, and he so perfectly left it the same way (have I mentioned he was skinny dipping at the time?). But then, for our sake, I hope they find him. I hope we can spread his ashes on a few ski slopes and at Lake Tahoe and at Burning Man.
Because, you see, I’m sure that Logan is resting in peace. Now I just need the rest of us to feel at peace too.
Read the next chapter: The Eulogy
Tammy Soong is a writer, wife, and mom from Reno, Nevada. She takes an absurd amount of pain medication, but not enough to have actually named her children "Newt" and "Elfie." She spends most days stressing out over clutter, writing stuff for this place, and working on podcasts with her gal pals, the Blogging Betties.
I just finished reading through this series of posts, and I’m at a loss for words. Even in your grief, your writing is eloquent, focused, and heartrendingly beautiful… I’m in tears. There is nothing I can say to you to ease the pain, but please know that you and your family are in my thoughts.
Thank you Kimberly. Those were actually pretty good words for someone at a loss.:)
Please forgive me for leaving this comment here, instead of some beautiful, handwritten note I would send if I had been raised better. I am so sorry for this horrible loss. I only knew Logan as a little boy. I always loved watching you with him because it was plain to see that when you were with him you were practicing motherhood. The best quote I have heard recently about losses like this is: You don’t get over the pain…you just make room for it. Which is such a stupid, useless thing to say that if we were together I’d just start to mumble and hug you.
Well, you and I are sort of legendary for having trouble acting normal when we’re nervous. So it’s not like I’d expect anything more than mumbling.;)
And that’s a really good quote. Thanks my friend.
I wish there was something that would make it better, but I just know that there isn’t. xoxo
Kelly DeBie recently posted..I have a big head and little arms
You’ve made it better the whole time. xoxo