09/15/07 – 09/15/17 ⛰🎈
Hopped in a basket, and rode up in a balloon to feel a little closer to you today, Bradley Milder Jameson.
10 years ago, we got a call that you fell from a tree. A silly tree. And 10 years ago on 09/16/07, life would never be the same.
I think about you, you know.
I think about your life – who you’d be. I think about your small teeth – your chuckle – the way you felt when you held me.
You held me that night, do you remember? That way your boyish arms felt around my chest.
“Is this okay?” you asked.
“You’re fine,” I patted your forearm – my head on your shoulder.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered that night in my canopy bed, as though you could hurt me from a hug – or sleep.
You made fun of my canopy once. “Jesus. You would have a canopy bed,” you muttered.
“I’m a southern princess,” I laughed.
Perhaps, you looked at me then, and thought “oh how much this little girl has to learn.”
When you choose to love someone, you unknowingly accept the pain and beauty that comes with that choice – and I have certainly had both with you.
Over ten years, I have been angry at you for leaving, content that I knew you at all, grateful when I think of you at peace, heartbroken when I see your family hurt, lonely when I’m insecure, and mostly thankful – thankful that you are still so easy to miss – and chose to love me at all.
It doesn’t feel like a real explanation though – to say all that.
It doesn’t quite encapsulate what it means to grieve.
My pain for you is ever lasting – my thankfulness past that.
One of the last things you ever wrote to me was at midnight on September 7th:
“Care about ya more than anything Lindsey. Can only hope that one day I will help you like you do for me. Call back if you wanna. Love you, and here for you wherever you are.”
Little did you know, you’d help save my life. Little did you know, you’d give me so much love in the addition of your whole family to my life.
Every day you push me, BMJ. Every day you demand that I stay present in a world full of distractions, reminding me quietly that life is so fleeting, and wonderful.
You were not perfect.
And I’m thankful I still remember that.
No, you were not perfect in your adolescence. In your boyishness.
You were not perfect in your impulsivity and your occasional recklessness.
You were not perfect.
But, I don’t want to remember you other wise.
I do not want to remember you as the person you weren’t.
I want to still love you as the human you were.
And the person you were – has carried with me to now.
10 years – my God, I will always miss you – will love you – and will fly the skies looking for you for always, as you have truly been one of the loves of my life. ❤