Repost from myspace blog, origionally written February 4, 2007
Goodbye letter to my nephew
Current mood:crushed
Ford Thomas Hervey, November 1994- January 27. 2007. I love you. Thank you for lighting up my life.
My nieces and nephews last summer. Ford is in the yellow shirt.
Dear Ford,
I remember when you were born. You were my first nephew. My parents drove all the way from Salt Lake City to rural Iowa to be there. They were young grandparents, you were there first grandkid! You visited us the next month. You were a novelty to me. I wasn't used to this niece and nephew thing. I remember holding you. You were so tiny and soft, you head was wobbly, and your eyes strained to focus. How did your red headed mama get such a dark haired little boy?
The next time I saw you, you were two. Aunt Sarah and Jeremy were getting married. You came to Utah for the wedding reception. We had a family picnic at Mirror Lake. Did you catch some fish? I can't remember. You were so cute, drowning in your life jacket going on canoe rides with Grandpa. Glen was a baby, with his bright red hair. He was confused with all of your mom's red headed sisters.
You lived far away from your mom's side of the family. I didn't see you for a few years. I saw cute pictures of you with your Grandpa Gano or of you feeding a goat. In 1998, you're Aunt Christine and I came to visit. You and your brother Glen took turns while your Aunt Michelle became the human jungle gym. You loved super man rides.
When you went to school, the teachers had a tough time with you at first. They finally diagnosed you with Asperger's syndrome. I didn't see your 'Asperger's syndrome' traits as a disability; it was more like you were just a 'special edition.' There is no other Ford Harvey! Who else has the favorite color of tie dye? Who else wants to run for class president on the platform of getting a roller coaster on the playground?
Your mind was amazing. You had an amazing memory of facts, telling anyone who would listen about the temperature of Saturn or other detailed scientific facts. Speaking of space, you loved Star Wars. This week, your school played the star wars theme at lunch to commemorate you. But your biggest love was scouts. In fact, you are being buried in your scout uniform including an amazing wood carved kerchief. Glen tells me you carved it at scout camp. It is in the likeness of the Star Wars space ship the "Millennial Falcon."
You heart is as great as your mind. Being a big brother to so many, you were great with babies. When you were ten and Aunt Christine was pregnant with her first, you wanted to share your wisdom. You took Aunt Christine aside aside and showed her how to change diapers and feed and care for a baby. You didn't see limits like most of us do. I remember you holding your little cousins. You would hold little cousins who were so tiny they could hardly hold their head up. You asked their moms if you could teach them to walk. You also attempted to teach your little sisters to read when they were toddlers.
You moved to Missouri so your dad could go to chiropractic school. Since I lived in Indiana, I could visit much more often. When ever I visited, you made me feel like a celebrity. You were so excited to see me. You were always happy to visit family or to have family come visit you. You would count down the days to a visit. When I would try to leave, you would say, "Aunt Michelle, you can live here with us, you can go to my school." It was always that way. You loved your family and were always sad when we had to part. You had goals. You told us of your plan to serve a mission and marry a great girl. You wanted me to have that life too. You asked, "How come you aren't married Aunt Michelle? I am going to find you a husband." Every time I visited, you wanted to make those darn gingerbread cookies.
The day you died, you played outside with your brother and sisters and rode your bike. Your dad took you to the Daniel Boone museum to work on your merit badge. You helped with the dishes. You were a good son and helper. You told us when you had to do dreaded chores like cleaning that you wished you had 1,000 hands.
You went to bed healthy, with nothing more than a runny nose. Your mom checked on you an hour later and couldn't find you. You had fallen out of bed. Your skin was bluish and you were not responding. Your daddy tried CPR and called the ambulance. Your mom called Grandma to have her call your aunts and uncles to have us pray for you.
Thirty minutes later, your Grandpa called me with the sad news that you had passed away. I was so shocked and confused. Late in the night, across three states, your aunts and I sobbed to each other on the phone. None of us could sleep. We love you so much. We love your family. We worried so much for your parents and Glen. Your aunt Jennifer was worried that I would be sleeping in my apartment by myself. Ford, you left us before you found me my husband! ..
I guess this is real. For some reason, I thought maybe you would wake up, or I would wake up. This was all just a dream. How does something I can't even see take over your body and in a mere few hours snuff out your little vibrant life? How can something microscopic keep you from your eagle court of honor or from using your new tent?
My last memories of you, Ford, are at the family reunion this summer at Lake Patoka. There were 28 of us, all your aunts, uncles, cousins and your grandma and grandpa on your mom's side crammed in two cabins a few miles from lake. You were in heaven. It was heaven for me too. We loved playing at the lake. I remember you floating out a little too far to be where the action.
Some 13 year olds would be embraced to be seen with their Aunts. Not you. We went to the amusement/ water park the second day of our family reunion. You palled around with me. I took you, your sister Afton, and your cousin Ashley on some rides. You were really scared walking the steps up to tall slide. You weren't worried about appearing tough. You were honest. You clung to me. I told you to shut your eyes and breathe deep. You made it and loved the ride. Before I packed my car the last day, you helped me clean up litter around the pond. All the while, you kept begging that I stay longer.
Ford, now it is our turn to wish you would have lingered longer. It is our turn to close our eyes and breathe deep.
You teach us all of innocence, wonder, love, and how to live life. We will never forget you. I don't know how we will make it when they close your casket, with you there, in your scout uniform. It will never be the same. Please send us some strength Ford. Send your mom and dad strength. Save a place for us in heaven, preferably a place with a lake, cabins and playground with a roller coaster. God be with us until we meet again.
Love,
Aunt Michelle
