Down Memory Lane

Or street, whatever the case may be. I had to go to an office building off Clifton Road for work today. I will never forget Clifton Road. It's the street where Egleston Hospital (where Dylan spent his final days) is located. I'm familiar enough with the area to drive the route without needing directions. As I navigated the back roads leading up to Clifton, I found myself turning back to the morning of Saturday, June 14, 2008. After I got released from Northside, Justin and I sat in the car and cried the entire the way to Egleston. We exchanged few words.

Today, as I took the same route, I felt myself flashing back to that ride. It hit me like a ton of bricks, really. I didn't expect it. The tears started flowing down my face, and I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the guy in the car behind me singing to himself and was instantly back in real-time. I wasn't headed to the hospital. I wasn't headed to see Dylan.

And you know, in a sense, it's a relief. I can't imagine what it would be like if Dylan were still in the hospital. As much as I want my son here with me (more than anything in the world), I'm relieved. Just like in the first few minutes after he died, there's that sense of relief that he's no longer pained, no longer suffering, and he's healed and whole in heaven.