The Biggest Dream

Note to reader: This is part of an ongoing series about the life of my youngest son, Charlie, who died in July 2022. It’s a love letter to the unspoken places of mothering, parenting, divorce, and grieving. Most of this series is behind a paid paywall for now. If you are new here, you can start at the beginning.

“It’s so sad that daddy died before he lived his biggest dream,” Ray (age 8) said from the back seat of my car last week. The statement was unexpected so I wasn’t prepared to respond. It was just before Father’s Day and the girls suddenly wanted to hear stories about their dead dad.

“What was Charlie’s biggest dream, Gogo?” Sunny (age 9) asked.

“When he was your age, he dreamed of starting businesses to make money,” I said. “And then he would use that money to help people that didn’t have money.

“And later he wanted to be a farmer and so he moved to California to become a farmer and that’s where he met your mom.”

“But what was his biggest dream before he died?” Sunny asked.

“He wanted family,” I said. “And so you two became his biggest dream come true. He was able to live his biggest dream before he died.”

I looked at the rearview mirror and could see Sunny’s face soften at the idea that her dad was able to live his dream. Then I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered when I would start living mine.