I remember

white tux for 5th grade graduation

I remember that inch worm crawl you had as a baby.

I remember what a happy baby and child you were.

I remember how you insisted on a white tuxedo for 5th grade graduation. And then wanted to wear it again for 8th grade graduation when the pants were way too short.

I remember how much you hated braces.

I remember hearing that on gag night at the the close of the play Hairspray, you hid in the “dumpster” naked, out of site of the audience, making it hard for your fellow thespians stay in character.

I remember how you made all those silly videos on You Tube with your buddies.

I remember how you made up a game and played by candlelight with your friends when the power was out.

I remember how much you loved to dress up and never outgrew it.

I remember how much you loved your hat collection.

I remember how much you loved recording your rap music and how it made you feel when someone would tell you how much your music meant to them.

I remember how elated you were with your first iTunes album.

I remember how excited you were when we got your first dog, Andy.

I remember how much trouble you had sleeping even as a toddler.

I remember that time where I looked all around the house for you panicked at 8am in the morning, only to find you in the garage in the van, sitting in your car seat and sucking on your pacifier trying to self soothe.

I remember when your hair was straight and white and then light brown and wavy and then brown and curly.

I remember how skinny you were even as a baby.

I remember how you reached out to others who were hurting and would tell me the stories.

I remember that call from boarding school when you told me about saving the life of a young man who was trying to kill himself.

I remember what a loving child you were and the fact that you were never embarrassed to give me a hug.

I remember how you had audiences eating out of your hand whenever you were on stage.

I remember when you got out of the shower, told me to stick out my tongue to prove I had not eaten your gummy bears and you insisted my tongue was crooked. I found out later it was because of a brain tumor.

I remember when you didn’t get to be the driver of your own bumper car and you screamed your head off the whole time as a passenger. I’ve never seen you that mad.

I remember, I remember, I remember.

I remember when you told me to follow my heart. I want you to know I finally did and I’m sorry you’re not here to see it.

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Published by

AnneMoss Rogers

AnneMoss Rogers is a mental health and suicide education expert, mental health speaker, suicide prevention trainer and consultant. She is author of the Book, Diary of a Broken Mind and co-author of Emotionally Naked: A Teacher's Guide to Preventing Suicide and Recognizing Students at Risk with Kim O'Brien PhD, LICSW. She raised two boys, Richard and Charles, and lost her younger son, Charles to addiction and suicide on June 5, 2015. She is a motivational speaker who empowers by educating and provides life saving strategies and emotionally healthy coping skills. As talented and funny as Charles was, letting other people know they matter was his greatest gift. And now that's the legacy she carries forward in her son's memory. Mental Health Speakers Website.

13 thoughts on “I remember”

  1. Lovely. I stayed strong until that last paragraph. It wrecked me. I too wish my son could see what I’ve become since (because of?) his death. I’m both a worse and a better person since he left. Love to you.

  2. I read this and immediately went to copy the link and send it to Mikey. He, too, had a brief obsession with white tuxedos- and had a white tux cake for his 12th birthday. I smiled, imagining them both I those tuxes together now.

  3. When my niece died at age 16 (cancer) her greatest fear was that we would forget her. Love never dies and memories are precious.

  4. Such a beautiful, eloquent description of your Charles. I can just imagine him hiding naked in the “dumpster” to the surprise of the other actors. Like all of our sons & daughters, he sounds like a very special kid that I would have enjoyed knowing. Hugs to you!💜

  5. Don’t worry Anne Moss, I think he knows exactly what you are doing and is there with you all the way. Such a sweet and caring soul. I truly believe he is looking out for many. ❤

  6. So beautifully written, so tender, I can feel your love coming through the words. He was a wonderful young man.

  7. Charles had a delightful smile, with a glint in his eye. People believe that mental illness is due to an unhappy childhood. We know that’s not true.

  8. Gorgeous, Anne Moss. Thank you for sharing these beautiful memories. May the memories bring you joy even as you grieve. ❤

  9. What touching memories. I’m so glad you have them. He was truly a special young man. The white tux photo speaks volumes!

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