Remembering Eoin

Our son Eoin died at 16, and this week marks the 25th anniversary of his passing.

It began like any other day…

But no one wants to hear about this, unless there are lessons to be learned after 25 years. Are there any? I learned a new respect for fate--how arbitrary was it, to take the life of someone of such promise? Eoin was fifth in his sophomore class, always an honor student, spelling, math, and geography champion, recruited by West Point in the eighth grade, appeared in two movies, traveled a bit, already an established writer--I could go on and on. What could possibly be gained by cutting short such a life? I have learned I must be content with never knowing the answer to that.

We were close--all three of us--and I imagine we still would be. Skyping weekly, at least, if we didn’t live near each other. He could be in another part of the world on a movie set, or working in a physics lab, or just being a husband and father. One of the good guys.

Our last days with Eoin were good ones. We were proud parents at an honors dinner at school the week before, where he was awarded an academic letter jacket. For the Memorial Day weekend we cooked up a holiday feast, grilling chicken and turkey hot dogs and burgers, steaming corn, whipping up salads. Eoin deveined shrimp for appetizers and helped man the grill. He was looking forward to another summer at home, free from the pressures of a rigorous curriculum. For the summer of ’93, he planned to participate in an academic program in either France or Japan, he wasn’t certain yet…

We were so proud of the fine young man he’d become. I like to think of him now as having adventures journeying through time and space, occasionally looking in on the old folks. We miss you, buddy. Stop by any time.