The Last Cast

Hey, Buddy. It’s still hard to believe you’re gone, even after all this time. So much has happened since… then that I like to think you can see it. I have to, because that’s what gets me through the days. And that’s what has gotten me through.

Your mom is better, as I hope you know. I hear her talking to you when she doesn’t know I’m there. Then, when I come into the room to comfort her, she puts on her happy face like everything is perfect. You know that face.

Can you believe how big your maple tree has grown? It really has shot up in five years. Your mom has a nice collection of leaves from each year since it was planted, pressed in a book. She’s at the park now, polishing your commemorative plaque. It’s Saturday. You know, that’s what she does on Saturdays.

The current’s slow today, just a soft ripple against the rocks. You’d like that. The fish don’t really bite anymore, but I still come to our spot. It’s like they know you’re not here. Like right now, I’ve got your fishing pole, but they won’t bite. Remember how that small trout flopped out of your hands and you chased it on the rocks back into the river? I wish I had recorded that.

They finally tore the playground down. Your mom cried happy tears that day. She made me take her to watch them dismantle the equipment. I held her as she cried. Most of your friends’ parents were there too. Everyone was pretty emotional.

Speaking of your friends, we still see them sometimes. Tommy delivers pizza, Jason works at the grocery store, and Melonie is the neighborhood dog walker. They stop and chat, and it doesn’t feel awkward anymore. I appreciate that. They’re good kids. We never blamed them for what happened to you. We couldn’t. It wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t your fault, Buddy.

But, why though? I know I’ve asked this so many times in these five years. Why? Why did you stay behind when your friends left the playground? We know Melonie left first because she had to get home for dinner. Tommy was on his way to baseball practice, and Jason stayed with you, but he didn’t say much. Just that you were talking about a homework assignment and the Fall Ball coming up. And he left you on the swing and walked home. Why did you stay?

Why didn’t you walk home with Jason?

Yesterday was a big day. I swear I felt you in the courtroom. Your mom said it, too. When the jury convicted that bastard, a calm relief passed through me, and I felt better. I actually felt like I wasn’t walking in a fog anymore. I knew it was you, Buddy. I knew you were telling me to let it go. And I’m trying. I’m trying.

I’ve weaned myself off the sleeping pills and started listening to audiobooks to fall asleep instead. I feel better, and I'm a lot stronger too. I feel a bit more in touch with the day, which has its good and bad moments. Your mom still needs the sleeping pills. I don’t blame her.

The town is still deciding what to do with the empty lot where the playground used to be. We heard rumors of a parking lot or putting up a new building for a post office or other shops. Either way, your mom and I won’t go there. I probably won’t either, to be honest.

During one of the town meetings to discuss taking the playground down, we overheard someone whisper that no matter what they put on that spot, it will be haunted. Your mom couldn’t sleep that night, she was so upset. What she didn’t know was that I found out who said it and went to see them. I set them straight. I told them, “My boy didn’t die on that playground. That bastard took him from that playground.” And then I said something like, “If you want to talk about my son next time, come say it to my face.”

Some people still look at us funny. I catch them looking at your mom when we’re shopping or out for a walk. It’s like we’re contagious or something. Like, if they get too close, their kid will get kidnapped and…

These stupid fish aren’t biting today, Buddy. I should get back to your mom. She wants to stop by one of your favorite places and get a hot dog with cheese and fries. I want two. She’ll need a little extra support today, too. You should’ve turned seventeen today, Buddy.

I can’t help but wonder what job you would have if… no. No, I can’t think like this anymore. I’m sorry, Buddy. I’m trying to move on. I know that sounds harsh, but I need to. I need to.

I brought you with me today. Well, your ashes, but it’s still you. Your mom carries you in a pendant around her neck. She only takes it off when she sleeps. We keep your urn on top of the mantel in the living room, where your mom can see it from almost anywhere in the house. She doesn’t know I take you fishing. That’s our little secret.

But I think today will be the last time we’ll fish together. I have to move on, son. I just have to. I ache every day for you, and I can’t keep creating our little father-son time anymore. I have to move on.

I’m going to put you in the river so you can fish as much as you want. Catch that trout that got away when you were a boy. I think all the fish were just waiting for you to come back. They won’t bite for me.

I’ll bring your empty urn back and place it on the mantel. Your mom won’t know. She’ll still talk to it and kiss it and touch it every day. Part of you will still be there, Buddy. But when I come to fish in our spot, I need you here with me, too. You’d understand that, wouldn’t you?

Goodbye, Buddy. I love you, son.