The stairs to our bedroom on the third floor are quiet. It is the only real spot in our home that has carpet. We live in an old house. 1899 old. Creaky hardwood floors and noises everywhere. So when my father and I remodeled the home, we added carpet to tamp down the noise a bit.
Yet nearly every night, like clockwork 15 minutes after bedtime. Shea would slowly roll out of his bed, open his creaky door, and softly climb the staircase. He’d wait until we noticed his little steps.
“Shea, its past your bedtime, what do you need buddy?”
I need to tell you (or mommy) something
“What do you need to tell us?”
Well, see the thing is……
And then he’d ramble about some reason he needed to be up.
I need a song (he’d already had one or two)
I need a drink (there was always a full water bottle on his bed stand),
I forgot to tell you (his tactics were all non sequitur, no substance)
And then eventually, one of us would give in and go downstairs to snuggle him, or negotiate with him, or frankly anything to get him to go to sleep. It drove me crazy.
And it’s what I miss most.
The peaks live firmly in my head, in my mind, in my memory.
Shea riding a bike or saying literally anything, but cute.
Shea playing with his sister as a tag-team out to get the monster (me).
Him being joyful.
His laugh.
I can see it all in 4k. Hear it in surround sound.
Fuck, we have the video footage. The photos. The stories. The memories everyone shares with us.
But all the annoying, pestering toddlering is what I miss for some reason. Maybe it’s because it was ours. And mostly just ours.
The pitter patter of hearing his door open at 530 am, hearing those little footsteps all over our old house.
Hearing him sneak up to ask if he could watch PBS kids on the weekend.
Hearing his complaints about brushing his teeth.
About putting on clothes.
About feeding George.
About eating his vegetables.
He constantly showed the world how charming he was. How funny. How fun.
But he saved his drama for just his mom, sister and I. For his family. The meltdowns only we knew. So now they are more special. The most special.
I wish I had been able to soak it in better.
I miss the valleys more than the peaks.
Man, I wish I could be annoyed by it all again.
I wish there was more noise. I crave it. I fixate on the lack of it.
Screams of delight. Screams of drama. Nonsense and annoyances.
Soft footsteps on the carpet stairs.
I miss your noise.
Shea Thomas Callanan, our boy, passed away on October 12th unexpectedly. His epilepsy did not define his life, nor will it define his memory. If you feel inclined, please support Shea’s Play Fund which will be used to make play more accessible wherever it is needed most.
Hi Neal,
Thank you for sharing these posts with us. Shea sounds like the most adorable and joyful little boy. Toddlerhood is such a wild ride and it is so hard when you are in the thick of it to sit back and really appreciate all the little things. But you are so right that it is our privilege to be with our kids through those valleys, and we could all do more to be more present and grateful in those challenging times. Grief, joy and love are all so complicated and you have a way of putting it into words that beautifully captures it all. I am so deeply and incredibly sorry for the loss of Shea. I have had you, Laura, Lida and Shea (and your entire families) in my thoughts every single day.
My family lost by brother Evan 2 weeks before his 4th birthday (a drowning accident, I was not born yet, they had me the next year), and his name and memory have always been present in my life. I remember as a little girl going to group therapy sessions with my Mom and feeling pride when hearing about my brother. I used to play on the playground that is dedicated to him and secretly talk to him. I strangely enough ended up doing my pediatric residency at the hospital where he passed away. And now, my Mom says my son (his namesake) reminds her of Evan, and we talk about Evan’s silly personality, and raspy voice. We remember the peaks and the valleys. I guess I am saying all this because you had written in a previous post that you don’t want to forget – but Shea’s memory is certain to live on. We are all lucky to hear your stories and see your pictures. His name will always be spoken. His life will be celebrated and will have an impact on so many, probably in ways that you may never even fully know. I am sending you lots and lots of love. And now I will go scream obscenities at the sky because why the hell is life so cruel.
Love,
Leanna
Immediately saw that it somehow corrected to Neal but I can’t edit the post and I swear I know how to spell you name correctly (face palm)
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