I Don't Feel as if I Know You

I posted on Facebook last week about a message I interpreted from Kyle. Last Friday I went to the home opener for Tennessee baseball. Their starting first baseman wore #11, Kyle's number and position. Normally, this information Kyle would have been relayed to me preseason, but since he died, I've paid little attention to the Hot Stove League which is SEC baseball. So, when a starting 1B comes out wearing #11, I was pleasantly surprised. Then on Tuesday night, during a non-conference midweek game, the same #11 came out playing 3B, Kyle's secondary position. When the player, Andrew Fischer, came to bat in the bottom of the first I yelled from out seats, "Come on, Fisch'! Put one out for Kyle Mooney." 

He promptly hit a double to the right center gap.

I've written about messages and signs before, but not my motivation as to why I share these thoughts and feelings.

I am a victim. I am the victim of a horribly senseless and tragic event for which I'll never understand. Before Kyle died, my image of "victims" was of pissed off grifters looking for a handout. Those are fugazi victims...they exist in their imagination only. But as a real victim, I want my compensation. But I don't want it in the form of money or goods, but rather in terms of understanding. After Kyle died and the dust settled following his memorial service, I went to the local hardware store for various items. In our small community it's very common to run into a neighbor or acquaintance at a grocery, convenience or hardware store. One engages in the necessary small talk and pleasantries then it's back in line to pay for your greeting cards and Ben Gay. On this day I saw a woman that I know, but not well enough to step out of line and greet. Admittedly, I turned my head so she wouldn't see me. I didn't want to exchange platitudes and answer banal questions about how we were doing or hear the customary, "I can't even imagine..." And maybe this person didn't want to see or speak to me either. It works both ways. When people see us out in public maybe they assume we’re a hysterical mess and to steer clear like we're were a pack of lepers. It's hard to strike up a conversation with someone on the periphery of your life when your common ground is the death of a child.

But I digress.

I've spent the last three months searching for symbols for Kyle and wondering if they are direct messages or simply happy coincidences. Then, with the help of my grief counselor, it occurred to me... it doesn't matter. It can be whatever I choose for it to be as long as it makes me happy. I've mentioned before the freedom grief gives you. You longer care about trivial matters, which includes what a stranger in a checkout line thinks about you. 

However, being a victim, can become what defines you.

"That's Brennan and Erica. They're the ones whose son died in his sleep a few years ago."

"That's Leah, Erica's little girl. You know she had a son..."

When I first began venturing out into the real world, I told Erica that I felt like I had a sign around my neck that ready, "My son died" and that this pall rested over me like some sad tapestry of depression. That I would forever be known as, Brennan Mooney: Father to a Dead Son. We have a family member that lost her mother in an auto accident when she was 16. During her wedding reception someone remarked that she ran for Student Council President in the wake of her mother's death because, "she didn't to be known as the girl whose mother died."

Yeah, I get that.

I will also tell you, and her if she's reading this, that I've never looked at her / you this way. Not once. In fact, although I know what happened to her mother it's an afterthought on how I view her personally, like how you recognize the color of someone hair or their smile. You process it, but it doesn't define that person. What defines them for you is what your experiences have been with them, personally. 

Which brings me back to why I share my messages, maybe I'm concerned about what you think of me. Or maybe I just think the symbolism is cool. Either way, it shouldn't matter. I appreciate the sympathy, I'll take you compassion for my family, but I am not defined by death or the fallout which follows it. 

So, if you see me don't be afraid to say, "Hi." And don't be afraid to discuss any topic, including Kyle, which is someone and something I'll always like to talk about. I may be a victim, but I do not want to spend my life victimized by my grief or your feelings over what happened to my family. 

Or don't. I won't judge you. The same way I hope you won't judge me.