Charlie St. Cloud

Sorry the right-hand side of the video is cut-off. The player is too big for the blog layout. But you can still see the trailer.

I took my daughter to see the movie Charlie St. Cloud today. It's about a young man (Charlie) whose younger brother (Sam) dies in a car crash, caused by a drunk driver, but Charlie can still see Sam. They meet every day to play catch. They talk and just "act like brothers". We fast-forward to 5 years later and find that Charlie didn't go away to college because if he did, he wouldn't be able to meet Sam for catch. He's stuck in the past, not letting go of Sam so he can live his life.

Then Charlie meets a girl. He wants to be with her, but would he sacrifice his time with Sam to make a life with Tess? His friend sums it up when he says, "What'll it be? Do you go back, or do you move forward?"

Charlie has to come to the conclusion about why he was given a second chance and was saved from the accident. What was his purpose? Why was he still here?

So the premise of the movie is: do you grieve forever, stay in the moment when your life changed, and never let go? Or do you let go, move forward and live your life to the fullest, take chances, and find happiness?

It was an excellent movie. Granted, I cried. A lot. Since Stephen died, I have longed to just hear his voice again. Stupidly wishing Heaven had a phone. Dumb things like that. I've not had a single dream about Stephen. Other people I know, family and friends, have had dreams of him, but not me. I have wanted to dream of him so maybe I could see his face or hear his voice just one more time.

So when this movie came out, about a boy who could still hang out with his little brother, I just had to go see it. I had to imagine what it would be like. Then ultimately, he had to let his brother go. That is so fitting. I realized that I wasn't moving forward about 18 months after Stephen died. People around me were, but I wasn't. I was spending more time on Stephen dead, than I was on the living people around me. It wasn't healthy and I had to move on. Don't get me wrong. I think of Stephen very often, but it's fleeting memories or thoughts. I don't dwell. I don't mope. I don't pity myself. I have a thought, I smile, or cry, and I move on. I have to. I had to let go. I will see him again. This life goes by faster than we know it. We have to live it while we're here. He's waiting while we do.

On a side note: my 5-year-old Jake asked me a serious question the other day, and this was our conversation:

Jake: Mom, why did they have to send Uncle Steve to Heaven? They could have just took him to the hospital and fixed him.
Me: Well, Jake, Uncle Steve was broken too badly and he had to go to Heaven. He couldn't stay here. They couldn't fix him.
And that was the end of that discussion. The answer was enough for him.

Grief comes in waves

So, let me first say that I can't believe I haven't posted in 10 months! That's crazy. Life gets hectic, I start feeling "better" and I don't need to vent as much. But something happened yesterday that just broke my heart.

We were riding in the car and the sun was behind the clouds. It kindof made the cloud look like it had a silver lining. I said, "That, to me, looks like Heaven." Trey said to Jake, "You know, where Uncle Steve lives now."

About a minute later, Jake says, "I like Heaven," then started to cry. You know, that slow cry where you see it in the face before you actually hear it. The eyes close, the head bows and the face wrinkles up, then the tears come.

I said, "What's the matter?" He said he missed Uncle Steve. It made me so sad because it was the first time since Stephen's been gone that I've actually seen Jake cry over it. Jake was only 2 (almost 3) when Stephen died and I was so afraid he would forget him. I always thought in my mind, Oh I hope he doesn't forget Stephen and how great an uncle he was and all the fun stuff they did together. But what I didn't realize was, with all the memories of the fun, comes sadness that it's gone. I never realized that three years later, my 5-year-old would still be grieving the loss of an uncle he hadn't seen in so long. I mean, it's only natural. I'm still grieving his loss, why wouldn't my child? I guess I figured he was too little to remember. But pain is pain, and loss is loss, no matter how old you are.

This is what I saw:



It is 21 days until Stephen's birthday. On July 31, he would be 27 years old. Robbed of his precious life at such a young age. In August, the drunk driver who took my brother's life will celebrate her 23rd birthday...with her family...in her home...with gifts and love. Something we'll never again get to do with Stephen. That hurts so much. And no amount of house arrest or community service or fines can erase that or give him back.

The 3-year anniversary is coming up on September 7th. And it doesn't feel like it's been that long. It sounds cliche, but it honestly does seem like it was "just yesterday." The pain isn't as severe, but the sadness is still fresh and I think it always will be.