My son was far from perfect and he made a lot of mistakes, but he always persevered. He never gave up. When one door shut, he found another door. And he was funny! He loved making people laugh and he laughed at the silliest things. He loved tickling his two little kids and hearing them giggle and squeal with delight ... and they loved him. He was extremely intelligent and a talented artist. He drew me a picture of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse one year as a gift. It's been framed and hanging in my home ever since. Once mother's day, he didn't have any money to buy me anything, so he drew me some flowers. I still have it on display.
Tomorrow will mark one full week since his death, but it feels like it was just yesterday when the Deputies and Coroner broke the news to me. I didn't believe them. I didn't want to believe them, and I held out hope that they misidentified the body ... until I saw him in his casket. It really was him. I held him as much as I could, leaning over his casket, my head on his chest, and other hand tickling his scalp. He loved having his head rubbed.
I can't describe what I'm feeling now. I stayed with his body for a long time after the funeral ended, just holding him, touching him. Walking out of the funeral home yesterday was the hardest things I've ever had to do. I know his soul is no longer in his body, he's in heaven now, but I knew when I walked out, that I would never again be again be able to touch him or kiss him.
My very first blog post, on November 14, 2008 was about him. At that time, I actually had two blogs, which I have since combined. I imported all my old posts into this blog, so the post is now listed as January 20, 2013, but it was first published in 2008.
I'll never talk to him again. I'll never again hear him say, "I love you, Mama." At the end of every phone conversation or upon parting, we always said, "I love you", and for that I am grateful ... but I'm greedy ... I want more I love you's. I want more of his hugs where he lifts me off the ground, and laughs at my protests for him to put me down.
Davy was far from perfect, but he had hopes and dreams. He waffled back and forth between wanting to be a mechanic or a preacher. I was rooting for the ministry. He would have been an amazing pastor, able to reach troubled youth and bring them to Jesus before they made life altering mistakes. He had a huge, generous, kind heart.
The person, or persons (they think he was run over more than once) who did this can write an anonymous note to the sheriff's department and explain why they didn't stop. I'm not looking for revenge ... I just want answers as to why they didn't stop or at the very least call it in to 911. Maybe they did. Maybe one of the many, many, many 911 calls that came in that night was from the person who killed my son and then drove home and went to bed.
His killer will be brought to justice, if not on earth, then in heaven. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord". Whoever did this will one day answer for their crime. And personally, I'd rather face the judgement of man than that of the Almighty God.
Below is the very first blog post I ever wrote ... and it was about my silly boy.
The Day My Son Colored The Cat
Home alone one day, my son, the youngest of my three children, decided he wanted Tux to be all black. I have no idea why. Not only is he a child, he's a boy ... and I'm not quite sure it's possible to understand what goes on in their heads!
So, on the day in question, my son gets out a Sharpie marker and colors the white spot on Tux's chest. Now keep in mind, this is in Tux's pre-declawed days. Tux is hardly what I would call a sweet, compliant kitten, so I can only imagine the gymnastics that child had to go through in order to subdue the cat long enough to color him ... and the fact that he did not require a trip to the Emergency Room is a testament to his ingenuity!
Apparently, coloring a cat with a Sharpie marker is not a good idea. The cat walked like he was a little tipsy for the rest of the day. I'm not sure it it was from the fumes or the chemicals seeping into his skin. As his "high" wore off, he became one of the sweetest kitty cats you've ever seen. You could hold him and cuddle him without fear of being shredded by his razor-sharp claws!
That was months ago, and Tux has returned to the same psychotic kitten he was prior to "The Incident" (as it's came to be known). He's declawed now, so cuddling him isn't as dangerous as it once was. And, like before, he's exhibiting the textbook symptoms of ADHD. (Do they make Ritalin for cats?)
I'm giving serious consideration to coloring the cat again ... and blaming it on my son.
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