Icarus

This month our pre-ordered copy of The Beatles Rock Band arrived.

Henry loved the Beatles. During those final weeks he had tired of the High School Musical soundtrack and the Pokemon/Nintendo themes had run their course, so the Beatles were his preferred iPod selections - although the stereo split of those early recordings was frustrating to his deaf left ear: usually the vocals were on one channel with the bass and the remaining accompaniment was on the other channel. He would either hear unaccompanied voices or instruments with no vocals.

Nevertheless, he claimed Help as his favorite Beatles tune. But we knew he listened to All You Need Is Love most often.

He believed it, too.

The wii hadn't been turned on for months. After booting up, it greeted us with those familiar bubbling chimes that we would hear almost every morning when Henry turned it on. That magical sound was like a phone call from heaven. We felt such renewed pain, but also much joy. We were immediately surrounded by his presence.

It seems inconceivable that we have lived a year without Henry. How could we? Our lives revolved around him. It seems like we spent most of the last twelve months missing him but expecting his return, as if he had been away at camp. But in recent weeks the illusion became unsustainable and we have been washed away in a flood of sorrow.

There is comfort in keeping his memory alive. We are happier when we feel connected, but as we pass this anniversary mark we sense the unspoken judgement that we should be past the grief by now.

We will never be past it.

Henry had a yearning soul so far-reaching that it is our duty to honor, keep and savor his ambitious spirit every single day.

Especially today.

That hunger for the sun and the sky recalls an old myth of a kindred soul from ages past. Maybe today they are flying together listening to music in full celestial stereo.

We love you Henry.