Of being Free

Our 17 year old friend and surrogate son, Will, died on January 1, 2009. We are all reeling from the shock. Will was one of those kids that, as a sobbing cheerleader told me at the "viewing", "a lot of people thought of as their best friend". At least once a week - and quite often two or three times - he would pop through my front door and shout "Dr. Ruth! What's for supper??" (We told him numerous that I'm not a doctor (yet) but he liked the way it sounded) Will would slide onto a bench and munch out with us. After a cigarette and conversation on the porch he'd be off to visit someone else.

Some days he and Biz would show up even when they knew Paul wasn't home just to sit in the jacuzzi or lay around on the couches and talk. I loved Wild Will Wasson. He would often take a scolding from me about one thing or another that I had heard about from the "mommy grape-vine". Sometimes we would talk about the doubts he had about God and love and pain and addiction and parents and girls and friends and ... . My first thought when we got the call was - "he's free". All of the questions are answered. Perfect love flows around him and through him and fills his very being.

And he is so not here anymore. I had never touched a dead body before this week. It was so cold. And so just a shell. And so not Will. But it was the vehicle that carried around the man-child we loved. So I wept. And I ran my hand over the back of the fresh hair cut. Because that's what I always did when that vehicle was Will.

I have more to say about all of this. But that's it for now.