It could have been an accident, illness or more but one dark night a tsunami took my son away. We couldn’t hold him back, like the wind he was always in flight. He was tough and didn’t bend to fear but he couldn’t win this fight. He was a great young lad, so full of life and almost too bright. He’d argue the Moon is made of cheese and made some believe. Someday, a great lawyer he could really be. Now, he's not around but can be found, in the reflection of tears and in the mirror of memories. 

Death is very creative; it makes heroes of those who pass. It takes care to clean our thoughts of kin and puts out fires from the past. The renowned give the reaper many more chores. Socrates, Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, Elvis, Jackson & more didn’t have a flaw! “How great they were, not a single scorn!” It’s always the same; myths get mixed with the born. Their legends live long after their fantasies are shorn. 

My son was born outside the gates of fame. He strove but only when he was best. In his youth he rebelled and made revelry. He wore his hair long; pierced his tongue & ear and dressed in wild tie-dyed colored clothes that didn’t fit. He smoked, listened to rock music, liked blonds and drank good wine. Alone he hitched a ride to the rave that raised the 60’s from the grave. The Woodstock remake was very gay but the flowers were lost along the way. When my son jumped off the stage to body surf the crowd, a thief stole his money and ID. 

When he grew, he groomed and changed his costume. “Who is the respectful stranger who walked into the room?” He was seen at church and in law school class chasing fleeting dreams. He pecked keys and stayed in touch with many from his lap. His contacts included: grandparents, siblings, cousins, and many friends of old. He was a networker who spoke of adventures and his many goals. He thought of others and often lent a hand. He even gave gifts when coins fell through his pockets’ holes. 

He was wise for his years, a natural counselor — born. He firstly listened and then spouted words; but I mostly miss his zany laugh. It was as if it said, “Is that all … what’s up with that?”  He had his own short comings but they’ve also disappeared. Now that it’s done, I reckon he was right. We’re here, for a quick span and when it’s over … problems leave our sight. 

When the tsunami scooped him up, he wasn’t near the ocean or a sea. It seems it was the mighty wave of fate that took him through the break. I can’t reason where he is, or observe what happens to the dead. You can even say the rest … is only in my head. Yet I intuit he’s surfing high, on some great new swell. “There he is! I see him in my mind. He’s basking in the light, with many smiling friends. A gentle breeze is blowing and they’re greeting flying souls!” Some day I hope, we'll meet again! 

Ken Koskinen, a.k.a "The Naked Psalmist"
July 19, 2009