Dear Jonah,
Well, here we are again. Me writing you letters. You still refusing to come back from the dead. And damned if I haven’t gotten used to it.
I’m grateful for that, of course. That I didn’t lose my mind (well, permanently anyway) after you died. That I’ve been able to keep on living, even happily doing so.
Even though you’ve been gone. Seventeen years. Almost as long as you were here.
But you’re not forgotten, JoJo. Certainly not. There are digital photo frames around the house that continue flashing images of you, reminding me of the wonderful moments I got to share with you. And that’s mostly the way you remain a vital presence around here. The material evidence of your existence is still all here, physical bits and pieces of the life you once lived, and I notice it. But it no longer draws powerful emotions from my heart. Well, not always. I’ve grown comfortable with you residing somewhere deeper inside me.
But every now and then, I get a hankering to touch something that you’d held in your hands. A few years back I picked up a book called “101 Favorite Poems.” You’d won it during a poetry competition in elementary school. My guess is you never looked at it but, for me, the connection (and the curiosity) was there.
In looking through the book, and sure as night turns to day, I came across a poem that made the tears form once again in my eyes. Written by Eugene Field (a late-19th century American writer of children’s poetry and humorous essays), “Little Boy Blue” recounts the all-too-brief tale of a child’s toys and the loss of their young patron.
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise!”
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.
I instantly fell for these verses. Feelings that had long ago quieted down, they came rushing back. If only briefly. How good it was to feel that deep sadness at your being absent.
As for the artifacts of you life that still pepper our home, I may only pause briefly to acknowledge their continued presence, Jonah, but they continue to tap into that place deep within me that preserves my deep and everlasting love for you.
1996. Six years old. George has been with him for 2 years, a precious gift from Fran and Gerry Weingast z”l. Jonah and George share the bed EVERY night until the Fall of 2008 when, at 18 years of age, he goes off to college (Jonah, not George).
This is perhaps best illustrated by the Curious George doll that accompanied you throughout your childhood and that remained with you (and in your bed!) throughout high school. Once you’d left for college, George, like the tiny toys in this poem, stayed at home, faithfully awaiting your return.
As do I. Damn it. Seventeen years later and I still can’t shake that desire. I guess that’s love, eh?
Okay, kid. I think that’s enough. Take care of yourself, whatever that means. I promise to do the same. Thank you for the memories, for sharing your life with me. And for letting me prattle on a bit on this difficult, sacred day.
Love you forever,
Dad
We are so grateful that you take the time and dollars to support our work. It’s incredibly gratifying and this list of donors to our 
Dear friends,
We are so grateful that you take the time and dollars to support our work. It’s incredibly gratifying and this list of donors to our 
