The bond between a mother and son is unlike any other, and losing a child is one of the toughest things a parent can endure. My son accidentally passed away in December 2018. He was 15. My life changed in an instant. Because of his untimely death, the only organs we were able to donate were his “ocean eyes.” Two blind people can now see.
When we moved to Southlake in June 2014, David was starting sixth grade. I am the first to admit it: He was not an easy kid and hated us for moving him away from Connecticut, the only home he had ever known. He gave us grief, had depression and anxiety and didn’t always make the best decisions. We persisted. We got him all the help he needed. Finally, about a year before he passed away, he told us he was finally happy. And he was.
Yet it wasn’t until after he died that we found out how happy, kind, loving, compassionate, funny, caring and just how real David truly was through the help of his friends. At the celebration of David’s life, we asked people to write to David — an inside joke, a story, anything they wanted, but it had to be written to David. After hundreds of people came and went that weekend from across the country, I sat down one morning and read them all.
The constant theme was how he helped his friends through dark places: to make up with other friends, to forgive, to get over the things they couldn’t change, to just be happy. He made them laugh when they were sad. He gave great advice. He was the best friend they could ask for and then some. He had so much to give to the world, and the world had so much to give to him. It was enlightening to know that he was such an incredible person.
Even knowing all of that, I didn’t know how to function, and honestly, I’m still working through it. I wanted to honor his memory. I got a tattoo of his signature — one of the coolest signatures I’ve ever seen. I made his urn, or as I call it, his vessel, in my pottery class. I see a grief counselor. I take Pilates classes to get the pain out of my system. I’m training our middle dog (we have three golden retrievers) to a therapy dog. I am trying every day. And I get up every morning, put my mascara on and face the day as best I can.
As I reflect on this first year without him, we survived a lot of firsts: His 16th birthday when we released 16 butterflies, Mother’s and Father’s Days, even the start of his junior year. We miss him every second of every day.
The night before he died, he gave me a hug, and said, “Good night. I love you, Mom.” Those words will forever live in my head and heart.
Geri Allen, longtime Southlake resident, lives with her husband Matson, 13-year-old daughter Sadie and their dogs, Moose, Pickles and Boomer.
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