I’m spending the winter at Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station in Antarctica. Our station has been in darkness for over three months and the sun will be coming back in a few weeks. Yesterday I wrote Henry’s name on my weather balloon. We don’t recover them; they fly miles up and far away before floating back to earth and being slowly buried by the drifting snow. Henry’s balloon is somewhere on the continent and will probably never be seen by human eyes again. Though we are still in full darkness, the moon was nearly full and the stars were bright, and later that day we had small flickering green and white auroras all across the sky. I think Henry’s balloon had a good view for everything.

THANK YOU SUE!!!!!

mamapundit

For me, the weekend was wonderful and terrible, all at the same time. It was wonderful to be with all the people who loved Henry the most (Henry’s dad and stepmother came down for the weekend too). But it was terrible for me to look at all the cousins ranging in age from newborn to young adults (yes, we consider the Abernathy fam to be cousins – and apparently we are actually distantly related via the Harris line) and wonder why MY child didn’t make it. I mean, we raised him the same way as all of these other healthy, thriving, beautiful children from this generation of our family, and yet he became addicted to drugs and then he died at only 18 years old.

I love every single one of my nieces, nephews and younger cousins with every fiber of my being. I love them like my own. I am so proud of how bright and accomplished and kind each of them are. It just seems so cruel and random and unfair that things went so terribly awry with Henry, who was surrounded with the same love and adoration that all of his cousins enjoy.

And walking around Bell Buckle, I was constantly reminded of Henry – riding his skateboard around town, eating an ice cream cone downtown, visiting with his great grandmother, playing lacrosse in the Abernathys’ backyard, climbing the giant magnolia tree in my mother’s front yard…

I miss him. We all miss him. The world seems off-kilter to me without Henry in it.

On the way home from Bell Buckle yesterday, C said, “Mama, we need to go to the hospital and get Henry now. He’s all better and ready to come home.”

How I wish that were true.

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

mamapundit

How would you caption this photo?

mamapundit

mamapundit

mamapundit

I’m just one of thousands of readers who have come to know your work through Henry’s passing. I’ve come to bear witness, to speak his name, and sit quietly with you in spirit. I shot this picture for Henry over Fourth of July weekend when I was vacationing with my family and the friends we go away with every year in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

This year was different, as we also gathered to spread the ashes of a dear friend who was more like a brother, whom I helped die in December after a 33-year battle with muscular dystrophy. While I’ve not walked a single step in your shoes, I have been there at the bedside, holding onto hands and calling out in love as a life passes into death. I shot this picture using a technique called light graffiti, essentially opening the shutter while drawing his name with light. (The sparkler artistry on the bottom is courtesy of my four-year-old nephew.) The picture is using light and time, which seems fitting some how.

mamapundit

And although she appears to have brown eyes instead of blue, she looks pretty much exactly like big sister C as a newborn.

(And she has notably looooong fingers and toes, just like Henry)

mamapundit

mamapundit

mamapundit

mamapundit