Shane,

Nine months have passed since your mom and I were given the news that you died. I really, truly still find it hard to comprehend.

Like we do every month, we're going to free another helium balloon with your name on it into the wind later this evening. Perhaps someone, someday, will find one and come to know a little more about you. That's really all we want, for people to remember you.

There's a group of parents that have lost children, called the Compassionate Friends. It's really just a support group. They've organized a candle lighting "thing" for tonight. In honor of sons and daughters that have died, people will put lit candles in their home windows for an hour. Everybody will do it from 7-8 pm tonight, local time, so that for twenty-four hours our memories will burn their way across the globe. I hope that makes sense. Sappy and a little goofy, but that's the kind of thing we need.

Some people are uncomfortable with it. It's a small thing, but they feel that it's too close to Catholicism. I don't remember reading, "thou shalt not light candles," but I do remember reading that Paul would never again eat meat rather than risk offending one of his brothers. Now I'm wondering what he would have done if *not* eating meat would have offended one of his brothers. I'm sure you know what I mean. Somtimes it's easier to work hard at "avoiding the appearance of evil" than it is to really show love and support for the downtrodden and broken-hearted.

"Discomfort." That word hardly means anything to us anymore.

Anyway, we'll see what happens. Hopefully those that can't bring themselves to light a candle will at least sign the online guestbook and put your name in it. Doesn't seem as significant, but at least it will be longer-lasting.

Your Mom's having a rough day, but you know what that means... she's cooking. Cooking and crying, crying and cooking. Hey, a little extra salt brings out the flavor, right?

I'm... well, I'm just me. Trying to deal, trying to accept, trying to understand, and most of all, trying to help your mom. The ecclesia made me a little nuts today (endless debate, committee decisions, yuck), but i kept my cool and finally left when I felt like your mom needed me more than they did. I find that I'm very scattered lately, anyway, and I quickly tire of wearing the happy face. Leaving was the right thing to do, though I know I'll hear about it from "gramps" sooner or later.

Hey, we miss you. What a revelation, huh?