Fourteen Years

There are days in the year that are harder; the day he died, the day we found his body, his birthday,  Mother's Day, Father's Day, Fourth of July (since he loved it so), Veteran's Day, Christmas. But April 9 & 10 are the hardest, with the worst memories. It's still difficult to believe he is really gone, even after fourteen years.

How would he want to be remembered? Today, Peter W. Garretson and I looked at a myriad photos of his life, grateful we have them, grateful for the years we had him. From the baby to the toddler, to the schoolboy to the teen, from the college student to the soldier, from his SCA days to life in Florida. Ever changing, but still the same brilliant mind, the same sense of humor, the introspective frame of mind. To remember the 14th anniversary of his death, I chose one he took of himself in his SCA armor. I think he wanted to see himself as a knight in shining armor, a soldier for right. We will miss him and love him the rest of our lives.