Passion for Paraguay

Timothy's room Timothy loved to create, and he would often kneel by his bed to work on Lego projects. His mind was inquisitive and, while playing, he learned to troubleshoot. I loved that about my son. The week of the accident, Timothy had dumped his Legos onto one of his two beds. The last morning we left the house together, that's where his Lego collection was. His bike was parked in one corner of the room. His airplanes were sitting out. One of his favorite soldiers was lying next to the bed, which had automobile-design sheets on it. For the first seven months after the accident, I kept this room locked. I did not have the courage to step inside, and I did not want anybody else to go in, either. I needed time to allow myself to accept the fact that he was not with me. Holding on to how he left the things in his room seemed to give me the peace of something familiar, to which I could go back when I felt ready. I needed to see the room just how Timothy lef...

Saying Goodbye It’s been 14 months since the tragedy. Intellectually, I know that Julie and Timothy are not with me anymore, but, emotionally, accepting this to be true has been hard. After reading an article on intentional grieving, I've realized the importance of facing my pain and the places that meant a lot to us. I am advised that one way to do this is to write a goodbye letter and to find a meaningful place to read it out loud. Another approach is to write about events, places, and things that we both enjoyed, and gradually say goodbye in that way. I've learned that facing the pain weakens the grasp it will have in my life in the future. I have not yet said goodbye to so many daily things that Julie and I shared. When I fill out forms, I still cannot mark the widowed box. I can’t accept the fact that I am a widower. I still have my ring on. I have not taken it off since 2002, when Julie and I said, "I DO." I still talk about "us" when address...