Tom, it’s been two years now since you left us. Two years that have changed my world in ways I never could’ve imagined. Your absence has carved out a space in my life that still feels raw, still feels too empty. And in these two years, so much has happened that you should’ve been here for.
The hardest part, without a doubt, has been the birth of my son, Judah. You would’ve loved him, Tom. He’s got that wide-eyed curiosity, that quiet strength I remember seeing in you when we were kids. I named him Judah in part because of the story from the Bible. Judah, who stood up and put himself on the line to protect his brother, Benjamin. I think about that story often now — Judah’s willingness to step in and offer himself so his brother would be spared. It feels too close to home.
In so many ways, I wish I could’ve taken your place. If I could’ve shielded you from all the pain you faced, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat. Just like Judah did. I know that none of us can change the past, and yet I find myself wishing, time and again, that you could still be here with us, that you didn’t have to be the one to go.
There’s so much you’re missing. So much you’ll never get to see. Judah is growing every day, discovering the world around him, and I can picture you teaching him the things you knew — how to build things, how to find the humor in every situation, how to be selfless in a way that only you could be. I keep thinking about how you would’ve thrived as an uncle, how you would’ve loved Judah.
But the hardest part — the part that lingers the most — is knowing that Judah won’t get the chance to feel your love. Because as much as I try to carry you with me, it’s not the same as you being here. He won’t know what it’s like to have you wrap him up in one of your hugs, to hear your laugh echo through the room. That’s the part that hurts the most. Knowing that Judah is missing out on you, on all the love you had to give.
I miss you, brother.
Westerman.Blog 