The Fourth

For the past twenty years, our family has gathered to celebrate the Fourth. On Thanksgiving and Christmas, adult children have to be shared with the in-laws, but the Fourth has always been our day. Family, friends, beach, beer, ‘Merica. It was our son Steve’s favorite holiday. How could we do it without him? 

It’s been over eight months, and we still have a massive gaping wound, an emptiness, a hole, a void that will never dissipate; it will never be filled. All we can do is cauterize the wound, keep it from growing, from consuming us. We pad the wound with the love and support of others. We offset the emptiness by honoring Steve with all we do.

Since November 10, with the many remembrances and ceremonies dedicated to honoring Steve and the crew that we lost, we’ve learned that there’s a fine line between honoring and sadness. It’s easy to over-commit, overdo the honoring, and feel buried by the grief. I worried we’d fall into the hole of sadness over the Fourth. 

We didn’t. Mostly.

We gathered with our family and friends, and we did all the things we always do. The pool party, the 5K, the beach, the games, the fireworks. We did it all with Steve in our hearts. 

The city dedicated the 5K to Steve. His brother spoke; his son led the Pledge of Allegiance. We ate donuts; we played pickleball and football and we threw his sons in the surf. In our family photo, we held a surfboard designed to honor Steve. But when we all finally sat that night and watched the fireworks explode in the sky, our hearts shattered with the truth. He is gone. We fell into the hole of sadness. Every one of us. We cried so much. We miss him so much.

How do we do it without him? We live with the wound. We honor; we remember; we cry. We do the best we can do. That’s what we did on the Fourth, and I have to tell you. I’m proud of us. I think Steve is, too.