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Christopher

Noxon

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To Charlie (on your 23rd birthday)

Twenty three - where would you be?
(Also, for real: where are you now?)
Imagine you in grad school, or abroad, or doing a fancy fellowship.
Maybe a junior diplomat or working for the CIA.
Please tell me you’re not toiling in a hedge fund.
Or maybe you’re floundering.
Stuck in a stupid job, roving the world, out on Rumspringa.
Finding your way.
It’s fine, really!
Just remember to call home, answer texts, don’t worry so much.
It’ll all work out.
You’ll be OK.
Ha.

Up until recently
When we called your cell we could hear your voice
(OUTGOING MESSAGE, how perfect).
So sweet and sad to hear you:
Smart, funny, gracious, silly, deep, scattered, eager to please.
It felt good and bad: the love of you, the loss of you.
Then one day this summer Oscar called and nothing.
Line disconnected.

It hit hard - harder than it should’ve (of course the line went dead what did we expect).
Still, it brought out one of the few things I’ve learned about all this:
Disconnection is not OK.
There’s so much that’s senseless and unknowable
(Why? How? What now?)
But this much is true:
You cannot be disconnected, erased, forgotten, deleted, moved past.
There is no “letting you go.”
(Fuck right off, “Ghost” and those tales of spirits freed once loved ones “move on” - that’s just toxic propaganda so non-grievers can feel less uncomfortable).

And so we hang on to what we can get:
Memories, reminders, breakdowns, “deathaversaries” and birthdays.
Feelings and rituals and visits to your grave
Saying the kaddish and being there for others in pain
Toasts at family meals and sharing of photos and stories
And nurturing and prioritizing and asking the question:
How do I honor you?
How do I make you proud?
How do I keep you here?

So happy 23rd, wherever you are.
We’re all here loving and remembering and celebrating you
As best we can.

Love,
Dad