How will it end?

When a dinner companion once lamented about a loud party on her block the previous night that the police didn’t respond to I told her to just throw some cherry bombs in the street and wait for the neighbors to report gunshots. Everyone laughed and agreed it was a good idea.
Even if bringing the police in on a basically erroneous report is wrong my solution was still appreciated. I like being a source of answers. With 17 and a half years being a father I like to imagine that I could answer most parenting questions. So when I don’t have a solution to a problem it really bugs me.
I’ve been thinking a lot about writing this memoir. There are so many good stories I could string together chronicling the life of Naomi. I have journals that I wrote right after her diagnosis and right after her death. There are some raw, ugly emotions there.
Even without things written down I have clear memories of incidents. The time it literally took four nurses and me to hold Naomi down just to do a needle stick I felt frustration, sure, but I also was very proud of her. I remember the time a man dressed as Santa Visited her and cried as he hugged her. She made up songs about her cancer and sang them very loud in the hospital. They were not power ballads or dirges but campy songs with words like “wibbldy wobbldy wone, the cancer’s in my bone”.
I finally wrote what I want to be the first page of the memoir. It’s a scene that took place about a week or so after we lost her that describes exactly how I felt. I think it’s a good hook. I think if I can work on Icarus and write my blog then I can also write this memoir. But I’m still reluctant to really get into it. I said so in the last sentence of my last blog entry. I don’t know how it would end.
Like I said I feel right if I have the answers. I can write a whole powerful story about this little girl who touched so many lives. I can write about how her loss was devastating. If I had a dollar for every time I heard something along the lines of “I can’t imagine going through that…” or something similar I could buy a car. But that’s okay. The loss of a child is everything horrible one might begin to imagine but the good news is that at least with our family the years provided healing.
So where will my memoir end? The years go by where finally the first day goes by that I don’t think of her? I don’t think that’s happened yet. The day she ought to turn 18? Sarah’s wedding day? I don’t know. I know that I can write it just for me. Most of my writing is. But if I write this I want it to be just a little more significant than anything else I’ve written. For her.