{JuNe 12, 2oo6: ThE SaDDeSt DaY}

I am not able to tell the story of the day that our James died. It is worse than death to learn that your child has left you...bound for heaven. My handsome, funny, smart, kind, loving, fearless son. The pain we felt was so intense, John & I later confided to each other, that we had believed, that dark night, we would die ourselves. That our hearts just could not possibly keep beating. I don't know how to describe it. I cannot even begin. I can only tell the story of his life. His beautiful life.

He was so fun (and so challenging) to parent! As his Mother I had to dig deep inside myself for the stamina and wisdom to keep up with him. He was it seemed, always one step ahead of me.

He was the most curious child I have ever known. He read "The American Boy's Handy Book"... a book about making canoes, catching wild animals, whittling, & such, so many times that it was tattered. He filled little notebooks with drawings of forts, bridges, tunnels. He was always outside. He was a dreamer. A planner. A man's man.

James had a wry wit. He shot off one liners at will. He could make anyone and everyone laugh. At about 14, he was sarcastic. But eventually, as he matured, he was truly funny. He had a quiet way about him, a confidence that drew people. His smile was genuine and easy.

He could be obstinate. Exasperating, even. When he folded his arms across his chest, John & I knew we were in for a battle.

He loved his family fiercely. He defended his brothers at any cost. He looked up to his older brother with such adoration, wanting to be just like him. His younger brothers, he looked out for... always protective. He could hardly believe his luck at having a sister. He loved that she was born in China. That she shared his birthday. He could hardly take his eyes off her. He identified so strongly with John. James trusted John implicitly. Would have followed him anyplace. He adored each of his grandparents. Loved to be with them. His cousins too, & aunts and uncles. His uncles are athletic and successful. His aunts, great cooks and very nurturing. He admired them all. He loved family gatherings. The food. The stories. The laughter.

James was a friend for all seasons. He had countless friends. To those who didn't know him, I can say with certainty, "You would have loved him"...because everyone did. Eric was like a brother to him. He thought of all of his friends this way. He knew the gift that this was, and didn't take it lightly.

He had such focus. He took the ACT 2 days before he died. When the results came several weeks later, he had scored a 32. He was a 4.0 student.

He played Rugby. He ran on the cross-country and track teams. He treated his body like a machine, eating carefully and pushing it constantly. He never drank. Never smoked or tried drugs. Though lean, he was very strong. We found a notebook in our gym, a log of sorts, documenting his daily runs and weight lifting. He even chronicled his aches and pains. (On one page, he randomly wrote, "The church is true"). At 6'4", he was the tallest of the boys. In fact, he towered above most men. He loved that about himself. His hands & feet were so big. At 13 he was gawky. At 17, graceful.

His faith was solid. He tried to be good and he was. He knew that he was a child of God. He knew he was worthy of help from his Father in Heaven. He prayed often. In fact, right before the accident, after making their way down a harrowing pass, Eric told us that he looked at James and said "I didn't know if we would make it"... James replied "You'll be O.K., Eric. I just said a prayer for you." Some of his last words.

He was a son any parent would be grateful to call their own. A month or so after he died, John asked me if there was anything about him I would change. "Nope", I said. "Me either", was his reply. We had such hopes for him. So much affection. We just loved him so much.