Little League

I love that I cannot forget

I love how I remember

I love how in each and every day the memory grows clearer

I love that I can say I knew you

I love that I can say I cared

But most of all I love how that weekend seemed to stretch on forever

I'm sorry I couldn't stop laughing

I'm sorry I laughed at you

I'm sorry I broke the lamp

I'm sorry I broke the duck egg

I'm sorry that the first time I met you I almost broke your nose

But I'm really, really sorry that I taped over you singing The Wizard of Oz

I hate that you lived so far away

I hate that you never came to visit me

I hate that we always said we'd keep in touch, but never did

I hate that I didn't go to your funeral

I hate that there had to be one

But more than anything, I hate that two thousand people were there who will never know you as well as I do.

I wish I could turn back time to that weekend

I wish I could listen to you singing We're Off to See the Wizard one last time

I wish everyone knew how great you were

But more than anything I wish that I had told you all this two years and five months ago

And that you would understand.

POET'S NOTE: I wrote this poem in memory of Alex, Sam and Judy Weinstein, who are the wife and sons of my father's first cousin, Gary. I chose to post this on this particular day because on this day, three years ago, these three people were killed in a car accident. They were on their way to a dentist appointment close to where they live in Detroit, Michigan, when an SUV - much larger and more powerful than Judy's car - smashed into them from behind. The driver of the SUV was drunk enough to be passed out, at a blood/alcohol level of 0.45, nearly 50% (the legal limit being 0.08). Alex, who was 12 at the time, and Judy, at 49, were killed instantly, whereas Sam, who was only 9, was expelled from the car and found by a pedestrian 20 feet away and taken to hospital in an ambulance, where he was declared dead. It sounds rather formal and "newspaper-y" writing it like this, but I feel that they ought to be remembered on the anniversary of their death. Two thousand people attended their funeral.

I miss them every day.