My dear dear boy, age 19, left us March 29, 2013--two months tomorrow. He had struggled with a drug addiction for several years, had attended rehabs, and would have stopped...if only he could. Methamphetamine got it's hands around his neck and never let go. As with many drug addicts--something you would only know if you knew them--Vaughn was the sweetest, smartest, kindest, most spiritually minded person you could hope to meet. And so handsome--like a blonde Jesus--girls loved him! I don't know why I get so stuck on his physical beauty--I just can't believe it's gone from this world. He didn't choose his illness/addiction; he tried drugs to escape the pain he felt after his father died, and he turned out to be in that percentage of people who become addicted. And for that he suffered horribly and then paid the ultimate price. And now what? I suppose time will eventually numb the pain a little. But I don't even really want that, because each day takes me further away from him. My memory of him now is so sharp, but I know it will dull--we will gradually leave him behind. I can't bear the thought of that. He will never turn 20, never discover his talents and place in the world, never have children. Never know how many people love him and miss him. He was so kind to all--to everyone except himself. Of course I go back and pick apart everything I did wrong...why didn't he love himself? Was I too critical? And yet we were close, through everything. No one will miss him the way I do. I will miss him forever. And...I will go on. I will even be happy. It would not honor him to destroy my life as well. And it wouldn't set a good example for my daughter. So I have to be strong, even while the maelstroms of grief are scouring my soul.