The Adaptation of Missing

 

Lately I’ve been having a lot of memory flashes about Zane. There’s nothing in particular that sparks these remembrances; they just sort of happen. Sometimes they occur in a montage of the mind. I see the time spent on the second floor of PCH, waiting for a specialist appointment. Or…I revisit middle-of-the-night bedding changes. Some of the flashes make me long for day’s past while others make me wish I’d done things differently (i.e., regret). 

This past weekend was Mother’s Day, so I naturally thought of the times when I enjoyed the holiday. The three guys were always so good about planning something for the day—a bike ride or a day trip to a cool part of Arizona. I cherish these memories and hold them protectively close. There’s no way of ever going back to them, so they’re all I have when it comes to Zane. Even after three years, that’s still a hard reality to face. I imagine it always will be. 

Zane loved to move. When we lived in Colorado, he participated in adaptive skiing. Once we relocated back to Arizona, we discovered biking. He used to sing on the rides. We rented (and later bought) a house with a pool. The kid loved the water. We cobbled together flotations devices and, the summer before he died, I invested in an expensive adaptive piece of equipment for the pool. Water was so freeing for him. I miss those times. I miss it all, even the tough stuff. 

Here are a couple of photos (which I also can never add to), showing him doing activities he loved.

Zane participated in a lot of activities: biking, skiing, swimming, going to the movies, track and field days. But one of the things he loved the most was when he big brother would whirl him around in his wheelchair. It wasn't solely the motion that delighted Zane. It was doing it with the people he loved. 

I forever miss that kid. Every hour of every day.