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.