I went to a celebration during the pandemic. I stayed at the fringes and wore a surgical mask. Others were ignoring the health guidelines and were greeting each other with hugs and kisses. Anne was next to me and she wept. She wept from the pain of death—the death of our son that I did not want to face that day. She was thinking about the real question that I was wrestling with in my body and soul while my mind was trying to ignore it. How can we celebrate when Elliot is not here? Don’t people see that he is missing?
We do not even know what we have lost yet. We never will except in our imaginations. Elliot interned at UCONN two summers ago. He worked on research projects on biomechanics and psychology. Martin and Steven talked about his brightness, determination, and goodness. Elliot’s calculus professor said the same. Would Elliot design robotic limbs to help paralyzed people to walk? Would he change course and do something completely different: teaching, managing a grocery store, politics, or writing?
What would the girl he married look like when she walked down the aisle? Anne and I both agreed that she would have dark hair and eyes. She would be smart, strong, and a little quirky. She would be a good listener because Elliot had a lot to say.
Elliot loved kids and would have been a caring father. The children would know that they were adored. Their grandfather would adore them too, but now that grandfather will never meet them. While the others celebrate their hopes for a beautiful future, I wish them well. I also lament what I will never see.
