There is a point in the deepest part of night when all the nocturnal animals and insects that have been active all evening begin to quiet. What sounds like a very loud conversation, among many, slowly becomes one voice. The night owl has to finally finish what he has to say and then it is quiet. Still. Silent. The moment is brief but poignant. Beautiful even. It is the moment before morning breaks and the birds begin their songs of the day. It is that singular moment when night becomes morning, when a new dawn is about to break. It is one moment. Then. Morning has broken.
Sleeping with the windows open feels like a dream of late and yet it was one I lived this week. Experiencing how the night moves through a different lens was unexpected but provided a perspective difficult to reach lately.
A week ago Sunday, time stopped and I have had a difficult time moving past that singular moment. The phone rang. Shock. Desperation. Disbelief. Desolation. A beautiful child.
Maximus James Vaccarino. Max. A rock star before his time. A term I have given only one other soul who left this world too soon. He held more emotion and love than fit in his beautifully growing body and mind. Gone. Peacefully in his sleep. 12 years old.
Realizing through the time it takes to blink an eye that he is gone. A long second. That moment between knowing and not knowing. I am stuck here. I can't go back to not knowing but am not really able to move forward to fully accepting it either. Stuck.
Max was Kelley's godson. An honor that meant more to him than he can or will ever really express in words. We don't have the honor of being a part of their everyday and there is always the feeling that we wish we could do or be more but the love is there. Always. We pick up as if we just saw each other yesterday.
The feeling we have on that Sunday night is to just get up to Massachusetts. In a fight or flee world, I flee every single time. But this time - I am fleeing to be there. Just to be able to share the same air, let the Vacs know we are there. Just there. Even if we don't even see them. We don't just just want to be there, we need to be there. We live 900 miles away and we love them like family. The whole family is our family.
The week following Sunday is a blur. We go through the motions of life - work, cook etc. We do life but there is something very heavy that weighs our shoulders and hearts down. Kelley and I frequently just sit in a room throughout the week and we don't speak. Speechless. Quiet. It takes a lot for me to be speechless but I really don't know what to say. Again, I am stuck.
I book airline tickets. Kelley rents a car. Saturday, August 5. It can't come fast enough. That morning, we pack and prepare ourselves for what's to come. Thirty minutes before we are due to leave for the airport we realize I booked our tickets for 2 weeks from the departure date, August 19. The fact that I didn't even realize that until that day speaks volumes. I am a detail person and that's a pretty big detail to miss. Fuck. After 2 hours and lots of time on screens, our problems have been resolved. We book a 6:30 p.m. flight but that quickly becomes 8:40 p.m. due to a delay. After a very long evening, we are in bed in Medfield, Massachusetts with the windows open, the breeze blowing, the night noises discussing our presence late in the evening at 2:30 a.m. I didn’t sleep much that night, though that’s not unusual. I witnessed that moment I described above.
We have one goal for the following day. Be there. Be present. If and when we are needed. We drive to Scituate. A town that already feels like a true community is amplified by the Heritage Days that are occurring in town. They have held a candlelight vigil in honor of Max at the high school that Thursday. We hear stories of the first responders and how they reacted on Sunday. We go to a local nursery and they have heard about the boy that has passed away on Northey Farm Road. A beautiful and amazing family, the owner says. Truer words never spoken, I think.
We feel slightly better being there. In their town. Kelley and Timmy connect and we are gifted with some time alone with him. Moments that I will be forever grateful to have shared. Max is ever present and it feels comforting to feel him in his absence. It hardly feels real that he is gone. Monday's visitation is overwhelmingly beautiful. To see the love, support, community and outpouring of emotion speaks volumes of the impact that not only Max, but the entire family has had on so many. Hundreds of people see the artwork, the beautiful photographs, the tik toks while paying respect to a family that is going through its worst nightmare. The Vacs handling this impossibility in the most graceful and human way.
After the wake on Monday, they arrive home to personalized notes through lanterns lining their streets. Moving, to say the very least. It brings tears to my eyes as I type even now. The strength of community. The love. The support. I have never witnessed anything close to it and it was more moving than I will ever express in words.
The Vaccarinos are an incredibly special family. They draw people in. They connect and they build community. They are magnetic, incredibly grounded and the world is simply better with them in it. I think that is what I struggle with the most. We will not be the same world without Max. We all would have been better because of him. He provided joy and he challenged us at the same time. The world is less kind without him. Why did it have to be this way? I am not sure there will ever be an acceptable answer to that question.
Max was original. He was unapologetically himself. He had an old soul, and yet he was finding himself too. He was beyond his years and his level of creativity and depth far surpassed his young age. He was adventurous and he loved hard. Like his father, he was always creating. He lived in a home where he was able to be himself and that is a testament to his loving family. He had a family that was filled with love, adventure, laughter, tears and humanity. His parents loved him and will continue to love and honor him every damn day.
The service and funeral held many moments that will live with me forever. The constant change of weather from rain to sunny skies as if Max is trying to keep everyone on their toes. The image of the Timmy, Stephanie, Kelsey and Riley walking down the aisle behind Max's coffin. Heartbreaking. Close. Together as a family. Seeing Riley holding Stephanie's hand. The strength Tim showed standing beside Steph sharing the most emotional eulogy I have ever heard, honoring his son. As Kelley said later, we heard Tim's love, understanding, wisdom and grief in the most personal way. He comforted us when all we wish we could do is comfort them. The strength, the resiliency, the love, the connection filled every corner of that cherished room.
So I go back to that moment. The moment of silence before dawn. There is so much beauty there. I am reminded by Timmy that even in our darkest moments there is beauty. While I am stuck in the moment of disbelief, I know that life will continue. It has to continue. The sun will come up. Every single day. I owe it to Max, to Tim, to Steph, to Riley and to Kelsey to move forward. We all do. One foot in front of the other. Bird by bird. To realize that kindness conquers everything and that love is what is important. Love each other. Be there for each other. Treat everyone in the world as a friend. And live in the moment. Live in that moment. It is everything.
Rest in art. Rest in passion. Rest in laughter. Rest in argyle. Rest in adventure. Rest in theatre. Rest in power. Rest in everything that is good. Rest in peace, beautiful Max. We love you.
Play Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens and pay it forward in kindness today.
8 comments:
Amy and Kelley I am so sorry for your loss and the family’s loss of such a young vibrant life. Beautifully written
I am so very sorry. Your exquisite words brought me to tears . Katherine Ferrara
What an absolutely heart-rending read. So full of love and grace for a life lost all too soon. My heart breaks for the family, for their unfathomable loss. May grace and peace be their constant companions in their time of grief. There are no words that could possibly feel adequate. Thank you for writing such a beautiful piece, where Max's soulful beauty shines bright and strong. - Christina
Beautiful— heartbreaking
I’ve had a lot of loss in my life. This makes my heartache, reading this brought tears to my eyes. The feeling eases, but never disappears. I’m so sorry for your loss.
It’s hard not to read this beautiful work to Max and his family and not feel tears welling and spilling over. I’m so glad you were able to be with them and know how hard it is to feel their pain. ❤️🌻
I am sitting here with tears streaming down my face after reading this post. I had a challenging week this past week. I go through waves of grief. While I do not diminish the grief I feel from the loss of my husband, even after 2 1/2 years, the grief of the loss of a child is unimaginable to me. Thank you for sharing Max and his family with us. What a painful loss for his family, including yours. Much love to you all.
Amy, my heart breaks for everyone whose lives were touched by Max. You so beautifully capture the love Max brought to the world, the pain of his loss and the joy of his memory. Thank you for sharing. My thoughts are with you and Kelly.
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