ON MORNING

I was suppose to have met Ronald for lunch yesterday, instead I went to his viewing. I hugged his mom who seemed numb and as blindsided as I felt. I sat with his sister for a little bit and we exchanged our favorite memories of him, then she turned to me and said, "I just can't believe after tomorrow I won't ever see him again."

I knew just how she felt.

What we have lost hasn't fully sank in yet. As much as we are hurting there is still a numbness brought on by shock, and we will never be the same people we were Wednesday morning, some more pronouncedly changed than others, but there will forever come moments when we think to ourselves, "Oh my goodness, Ronald would love this!" and we will, for that portion of a second, forget until loss slaps us across the face with its cruel absoluteness. We will forever be reminded of our loss.

I said goodbye to Ronald today. Slip in near the back and listened as a pastor talked about a boy I hardly recognized, and it made me sadder than I was. I wonder why we find it necessary to sanctify our dead?

It was not this spit and polished person I had come there to grieve, wasn't this boy who was so, so good, I had grown to love, it was Ronald in all his flawed humanity that I will miss for the rest of my life.

Ronald who others had a cause to fear, Ronald who shot heron, and stole, Ronald who lied and manipulated, Ronald whose laughter would make it impossible to remain unhappy, Ronald whose art amazed me, Ronald who would have stood between me or my daughter and anyone wanting to harm us, Ronald who remembered my birthday every year and made me breakfast three mother's day in a row, Ronald who sat beside my daughter when she got her heart broken the very first time, silently, with his arm around her shoulder never saying a word, until she laid her head on his shoulder and finally let herself cry. Ronald who, much to our horror, beat the boy responsible and issued a warning to never ever harm Elizabeth again or he would finish the job. Ronald who understood things on such a deep level it astounded me. Dark skinned, long curly haired, brown-eyed, Ronald, who smiled easily and often, who teased and tormented, who cajoled and charmed, who lied and frightened, who loved unwaveringly and unconditionally.

This was who I said goodbye to today. Beautifully flawed Ronald, a boy I will always love and call one of my own.

After the funeral, I went past my son's girlfriend's house so I could hold Logan, my grandson.

As I sat rocking my tiny little guy, he looked up at me and smiled and cooed and I finally let myself weep. Kayleigh, the sweet girl that she is, slipped from the room and left me alone with my grandson, this little tiny bit of his daddy, and after my tears I sat talking to Logan, telling him about his daddy who he has yet to meet, and gratitude began to fill me because it could have been Michael as easily as it was Ronald back in the day, and I now need never fear my son's death to drugs as those days are long behind him, long behind us.

I want to write my son a long letter of thanks for making the hard choices he did. For stepping up and allowing himself to become a man. For giving me Logan. For growing up and believing he deserved a better life than the one drugs would afford him.

Even as I grieve the loss of Ronald, I realize just how fortunate I am that my son chose a better path.

Because of his choices there is a new life in my world, and tomorrow I will wake up, sit on my patio drinking dark, rich coffee with some sort of flavored cream, writing, reflecting and when sadness comes and sits in the seat next to mine, I will go hold my grandson and breath in his baby sweet smell, and know, no matter how dark the night, morning always comes.