I’ve written before that I am oh, so thankful I had NO IDEA Dominic would leave us that early April morning in 2014.
It would have cast an awful shadow over all those years we were blessed with his presence.
But there are some things I wish I’d known.
I wish I had known how hard it is to conjure up his voice now that it’s been nearly six years since I heard it.
I would have taken more short videos, just to have his laugh, his sarcasm, his deep mellow “Hey!” handy on my phone for the moments when I long to hear it. I wouldn’t have erased the backlog of recorded messages on the landline just one day earlier.
I wish I had known there were so few photographs of us together.
I would have gotten over myself much sooner and stuck my fat bottom in every shot my family begged me to take. I would have made certain there was at least one of him and me on each birthday, at special occasions and when he graduated high school and college. I was always the one taking them, organizing something or just to self-conscious to be in the picture.
I wish I had saved more cards, notes and random bits of flotsam from over the years with his words, his handwriting, his childish drawings.
Just a month before he left us, I cleaned out two decades of home schooling records and carelessly tossed so many bits of him into the bed of my truck, hauling it to the dump. Back then it felt like I was unburdening myself of too much paper and too many frivolous memories. Now it feels like an incalculable loss.
I would have listened more often to the wonderful sound of his drums banging away upstairs.
I took a walk most afternoons and Dominic timed his practice for when I was out of the house because it was so very loud. It was considerate and kind. And I DID get to hear him through the windows as I made my rounds but I really, really wish I’d just stopped and fully appreciated his talent.
I could list so many more ways I’d have arranged life differently-if I had KNOWN.
But I didn’t.
So I make my way through another spring, remembering, remembering, remembering.
Always hungry for more.