Eric Benner

Last night was one of those nights...I was overtired, with a headache, and super frustrated becuase I was done, but my work, the most important work of my life, the work of being a parent, wasn't.  I had made decisions that allowed for flexibility in the day, but homework commanded late night awake-time.  I had nothing left, but I had allowed the flexibility that got us there.  Laying in bed, feeling like I should be somewhere else, taking responsibility for the tired kid downstairs, I just wished I could hand it to you.  Or my mom.  Or Kait.  Or anyone, to be honest.  Then, I was pissed and tired and tear-filled because you were supposed to be here to take over in moments like this.  You used to be.  

It took several hours of tossing and turning, before my pity-party moved towards the realization that I am the one here and it is  my job to be the best I can be.  Last night, I gave all that I had;  it may not have been as much as I wanted, but I was here, just in a different room, still engaged, still awake, still present.  I really do thank God that I am healthy enough to be all of those things and to really thankful and happy for most of it.  I sometimes forget that sometimes accepting good, but not great, is so much better than the way your disease made you feel.  It was then that I realized it would not matter if you were "here", because "you" hadn't been "here" for a long time.  It is still so hard sometimes to realize that you being gone is more real than you being here and not being you.  

So, forgive the pity party.  Allow the fact that I still just wish my kids had their hero back.  Help me to remember that I can't always do everything for them, even if I want to.  I don't own their success, so help me stop owning their failures.  It is the process of life that makes them who they are to become, and quite frankly, we have three really amazing, inspiring, beautiful, strong kids.

We are all flawed, which makes us human.  As Pastor Mary Lynn once told me when I expressed how much I wished things could have been different, when I inquired about not being "perfect"....she said I was how God make us "perfectly human, perfectly flawed".  I use that phrase a lot these days and I thank her more than she will ever know for giving me that perspective.  

 

Peace be with you. . . .remembering you as always.    Good times- - - sad times.
Miss you forever.  So glad you were our son even for so short a time.

Hugs

Eric,
 
 Happy birthday Eric. You are so missed by so many. You had no clue how much you were loved by so many. Miss and love you.

Not that you ever really cared about birthdays, but WE all did, so in honor of your memory, your life, your footprint on our heart that still brings me to tears, I hope and pray you are at peace. "Happy Birthday" is ridiculous;  trite, frustrating, filled with mockery.  I don't know what to say, what to type, other than I am some wierd combination of mad and sad that our kids are missing another day with a you that was stolen far too soon.  NOT the correct feelings for a birthday note, but darn if they aren't real.  Anyways, you are in my thoughts, my heart, my prayers on this day, and all others, as we navigate on living, loving, breathing, dreaming, and most of all believing in health and happiness and all that comes with this thing called Life.  In your memory and your honor on this day of your birth, may God bless each of us with a special gift of peace in our hearts over your loss.  

Today, Michael  added Drew's songs to your memorial page.  Fitting, I think, as each song was originally intended to be about a dad.  On My Team, written by Patrice about his dad, Remember the Days, also written by Patrice, and changed by Drew and me to reflect more of a teen friendship/relationship.  Ghost of My Father, written by me, is clearly an attempt to capture the feelings Drew has verballized, and those he hasn't, about his resemblance to you, the best of you.  The concept of this song was actually taken from a poem Madi wrote and then altered to fit a song stylistically.  Either way, to hear Drew's voice coming through when visiting you, in this format, seems fitting.  

Your page means different things to differnt people.  To Kait, it appears to be a place for her to go, to remember, to question and to really grieve.  I hope that it becomes something personal like that for Madi and Drew, at some point, whenever they are ready.  For our friends, it remains a place to keep you alive, to be sad, to find comfort.  For me, wow, well it serves many purposes....I cry, vent, remember, write...all different versions of therapy.  I guess it is one way to keep you involved;  I know how ridiculous that sounds.  

Anyways, I sat down and uploaded a bunch of old photos.  Again, it just felt like I should.  No rhyme or reason, just wanted more of you and our kids represented.  Your time remembered.  Your RELEVANCE here, because you are not.  It is just so unfair for them.  For you.  You always thought the younger me's obsession with fair, or more accurately understanding, was silly.  "It is what it is" was your response when I wanted to know the why's in this life that didn't make sense.  I cannot hear that damn phrase (which is so overused today) and not hear your voice saying it.  I just remember how great you were with them.  With everyone, for that matter.  Even now, I just can't fathom the pain it must have caused for what came so naturally to become so much effort, and the resulting feelings that must have resonated.  It brings me to tears, or breath-gasping sobs even now, all this time later because I just don't understand.  I don't understand the disease and how you get there and I don't ever want to.  But, I do now understand how devestating it must have been.  The depth of that devestation.  The frustration and anger and loss of hope.  I do truly thank GOD that I don't personally feel it, however I get it.  More than ever.  Seeing friends or loved ones now struggling with little things in this life constantly takes me back to you and the living hell you were in.  Horrifically unfair and unwarranted and unwanted...but afflicted still, with no reprieve.  I still cling to hope and faith and pray that there was an outcome that could have been different.  However, I finally, completely understand why the disease made you feel differently.  Unfair.  100% unfair.  Which is why it hurts so damn much.  It just feels like it should have been different.  Avoidable.  Curable.  Damn, it better be.  No one else should lose a child, a friend, a parent, a partner to this.  Unrealistic?  Probably.  But, that is still my hope and I pray that never changes.