1975

Our son Peter died at age 21 on December 5,2005, after a long struggle with substance abuse. In the hope that if this message saves just one son or daughter of some family somewhere—l would like to share with you what I read at Peters memorial service at The First Parish Church in Manchester on December 9 on a snowy morning to a church filled with so many of Peters, Lizzies and our friends, family and neighbors.

"Our lives are made of the stuff of Shakespeare. Love, laughter, sorrow, hope, tragedy and ultimately, we pray, redemption.

"And in that vein, is the irony of a young man, vulnerable and all too human: so full of promise—with a heart open and exposed to all, who simply couldn't see all the love around him. And it is my own tragedy to be the father who wants to save the world, but couldn't save his own son.

"So in the end, Peter has left it to us to find the true meaning and context in his life, and now in his death.

"He was no saint. He was made just like all of us. Flesh and bones, borne with limitless love and such endless hope, with so many great strengths and so many great weaknesses. With a heart that knew no limit in its care for others, but which couldn't care enough for itself.

"Peters life was filled with so many moments of great joy and too many moments of great sorrow. He leaves behind so many of us who loved him without condition and now we sit alone, with unfinished dreams for the life that could have been. But even now—this morninghis touch, and the sound of his voice remain so deep inside me, refusing to be washed away by the tears.

"It is the greatest of all sorrow for me to be here, at this moment and at this place. But so it is. And if you'll please bear with me, I need to do something I never did enough when Peter was alive and with me.

"I'm going to read a story to put Peter to sleep today.

"In the great green room. There was a telephone. And a red balloon. And a picture of a cow jumping over the moon. And three little bears sitting on chairs. And two little kittens and a pair of mittens. And a little toy house. And a young mouse and a comb and a brush and bowl full of mush. And a quiet old lady who was whispering, 'hush.'

"Goodnight room. Goodnight moon. Goodnight cow jumping over the moon. Good-night light and the red balloon. Goodnight bears. Goodnight chairs. Goodnight clocks and good-night socks. Goodnight little house and good-night mouse. Goodnight comb and goodnight brush. Goodnight mush and goodnight to the old lady whispering 'hush.' Goodnight stars, goodnight air. Goodnight noises, pain and fears everywhere.

"Goodnight, son. It's okay to go to sleep now. You are in our hearts forever and I will always love you. Sleep tight tonight. I'll be thinking of you in the morning."

Nancy and I send our heartfelt wishes to all of you. As I have said before in this column, time is precious. Never has it been truer.

BoardmanAve., Manchester, MA01944; (617) 737 1100, X302; jbildner@newhorizonspartners.com