Coley-Boy & Me. As Close As Can Be.

I’ve been thinking about Cole so much I don’t know what to write first. I can’t seem to find a logical order to all my different thoughts. So I guess I’ll start by describing my relationship with Cole and telling you a little about who he is to provide context for future posts.  

Much of what I’m about to write is taken from the eulogy I gave at Cole’s funeral when I was in a greater state of shock than I am now. I want his eulogy to be part of this blog so I can look back on it easily in future. It’s interesting (for me, anyways) to compare my thoughts then to my thoughts now, after I’ve spent so many hours thinking about Cole. Here goes.

Cole was my special boy. He rarely called me Dad or Daddy. He called me Michael or Cutie or Daddio or Big Bear. And I called him Cole or Coley-O or Coley-Boy or Little Bear.

But before he was Cole he was Twin A, which was the tag the ultrasound technologist gave him when we first met him in Katherine’s belly. And the story of Cole can’t be told without the story of Alannah, Twin B.

Cole adored Alannah and protected her. And she looked out for him and loved him with that gigantic heart of hers. Cole was only one minute older than Alannah, but in many ways he was her big brother.

I remember Alannah crying before she could talk so we didn’t know what was bothering her. What did Cole do? He crawled up the stairs because he wasn’t walking yet and came back down with her favourite stuffed animal. “How did he know, I asked myself?” He just knew. He had that wisdom. He always just knew.

Cole was usually the one who came up with the ideas for the things they did. Like the time Katherine and I heard noise from their bedroom during naptime. They were only about two and their cribs were supposed to be on opposite walls. When we went to their room, we saw they had thrown their clothes and diapers and all their bedding on the floor. They had somehow managed to put their cribs together in the middle of the room and were standing there buck naked jumping up and down and laughing hysterically. Just one of the many fun times they shared.

But Cole wasn’t always laughing and having fun. Baby Cole sometimes had a serious look on his face. We called it his concerned look and used to call him Abe after Abe Lincoln. He did grow out of that look, but it would reappear every now and then. I remember seeing it when we were driving to their first ballet class.

Me: Why do you look concerned, Coley?

Cole: Because I don’t know how I’m going to lift Alannah over my head.

Coley-O and I bonded early and deeply. I loved taking naps with him on my chest when he was a small baby so I could feel his little heart beating next to mine. That felt like heaven to me and was the beginning of the most wonderful relationship I could ever have imagined.

We cuddled every night before bed, often reading Big Bear, Little Bear together. We lay beside each other to watch tv up until the week before he died when we watched the Sopranos prequel together.

He was never at all embarrassed to show his love and affection. How many high school boys kiss their dads goodbye when they get dropped off at school? He always made me feel loved. Every time he walked by me he’d reach out to tickle my belly, squeeze my side or hug me from behind. If his door was closed when I was going to bed, I’d call out  “Goodnight Coley-Boy” and, in a matter of seconds, I’d hear a thud on his floor as he jumped out of bed, see his door fly open and absorb the smile on his face and the sparkle in his eye as he came to give me a kiss on the cheek and that special Coley-Boy hug that made me feel like the most loved person in the world.

We were so close we didn’t need to do anything or even talk to enjoy each other’s company. After about fifteen minutes of silence in the car one day when he was about ten he said:

Cole: Is this what they call an uncomfortable silence? 

Me: Do you feel uncomfortable?

Cole: No.

Me. Me neither. So it’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s a comfortable silence because we’re comfortable with each other.

We both loved being alone in our house, but we also loved being alone together. We were on the same frequency. We could do our own things and, at the same time, take comfort in knowing the other one was home, too, even if we didn’t hear or see each other.

Although he was such a sweet, loving, beautiful boy, I learned early on to keep an eye on him. It started in grade 1.

Me: How was school today, Cole?

Cole: Good.

Me: Did anything interesting happen?

Cole: No.

Just then his teacher called to say she had sent him to the principal’s office but he didn’t go. So I asked him again:

Me: How was school today, Cole?

Cole: Good.

Me: Did anything interesting happen?

Cole: No.

Me: Are you sure?

Cole: Yes.

Me: Miss Wyatt just called and said she sent you to the principal’s office and you didn’t go. Do you remember that?

He looked up as though he was searching for a distant memory and said “Oh, ya.”

Me: So what happened, Cole?

Cole: I didn’t want to go so I went to the bathroom, stayed there for a goodly time, then I went back to class and said I was sorry.

Cole was super smart and wise beyond his years. Not that you’d know it from his marks.

Me: Coley, why is Alannah studying for the final exam and you’re out playing games with your friends?

Cole: Because I only need to get 11% on the final to pass the course and I can do that without studying.

When I suggested he work harder in middle school to get better marks he said “School’s not for getting good marks. It’s for learning how to get along with people and making friends. If I learn something along the way that’s a bonus.” How does a parent argue with that?

Cole was all round smart, but he was smartest when it came to other people. His EQ was off the charts. He knew what you were thinking and feeling. He just knew. And he was often two steps ahead of you so he knew what you were going to think and what you were going to feel.

Me: Coley-Boy, I have a question for you about a work situation involving a buyer who’s saying this and a seller who’s saying that. Let me explain the situation.

Cole: This is what you should do.

Me: But I haven’t explained the situation yet! These are the details and this is the question, Cole.

Cole:  I already told you what you should do The seller wants x and the buyer wants y. If you do what I told you they’ll both do what they should do and be happy.

Cole shared his love freely, which was the most important thing, but not his thoughts. He was very private. I wish he was more open so I could’ve helped him more when he had problems, but he liked to handle things himself.

That’s the way he always was. He was his own man and felt independent right from the get go. On more than one occasion when he was young we’d look around the house and ask “Where’s Cole?” We’d be in a panic until we found him somewhere, either at a neighbour’s or in the schoolyard.

Us: Coley, you need to tell us where you’re going so you don’t get lost. 

Cole: I’m not lost. I know where I am.

Cole rarely got upset with me. I think because he loved me so much and accepted me for who I am, warts and all. Or because he appreciated that I loved him SO much and thought his good was SO good that I was willing to overlook his shortcomings. I found it almost impossible to get mad at him or say no to him. I wanted to do things for him all the time. Some household disagreements were inevitable, we’re all human, but I know that no matter whatever he said or did, he loved all three of us with all his heart.

Coley-O’s greatest wish was for the three of us to be happy. He played games and sports with us and watched tv with us because he loved being with us. Family was vitally important to him and he loved spending time with his extended family, too.

Cole had no interest in getting a conventional job when he graduated Queen’s with a philosophy major. He was going to build the life HE wanted to live. He thought of being a writer and often wrote in his large collection of black Moleskine journals. He taught himself how to trade stocks and options online. He dabbled in crypto. And most recently he was in the planning stages of starting an online business. Going against convention isn’t easy. It isn’t easy on your parents, either. But Cole knew what he wanted and I admire him for pursuing his dreams.

A few years ago I woke one Sunday to see a text he sent me while I was sleeping. It said “My friend is sleeping over.” I didn’t know it at the time, but that marked the beginning of a new chapter in Cole’s life, perhaps his happiest. I thought one of his friends had gotten drunk and didn’t want to go home. Then I noticed the shoes in the hall. They weren’t boys’ shoes. The same thing happened the next weekend. I met Mia’s shoes before I met Mia.

Cole was at his happiest when he was with Mia. He travelled all over the world to be with her. I thought I was Cole’s favourite until Mia showed me some photos from their travels. It wasn’t even close. He just looked SO happy. Knowing Mia, I can understand why he was so in love. He made the perfect choice. They were such a good match. He told me Mia made him want to be a better person and was someone with whom he could be 100% open and honest. He had found true love and his partner his life’s journey.

There are a million memories of Cole I’m going to treasure forever and a million things I can say about him, but if I had to pick one thing and one thing only to say about Cole, it would be this: When you spoke to Cole, you felt seen. He listened intently, with compassion. He knew what you were thinking and feeling. He cared about you and he made you feel like you were the most special person on the planet. What a gift that was. For everyone who met him and especially for those of us who got to spend so much time with him.

Cole’s life was short, but it was full. He had great friends. He loved and was loved by his family. And he had found Mia, his soul mate, and looked forward to spending the rest of his life with her on a grand adventure.

One of the things I’ve realized as I think about Cole is that he taught me a lot. Probably more than I taught him. He was just so wise. He changed my life in so many ways. The most important things he taught me are these: Listen to people without being distracted. Look for the best in them. Accept them for who they are. And try to make them happier.

On the Friday night before he died, when I was feeling tired at the end of a long week and cleaning up in the kitchen, Cole came downstairs, hugged me from behind and asked me if I’d make him pasta al aglio e olio. I was so tired, but I couldn’t say no to this boy who loved me so much and who I loved even more. So I did what I always did and said yes. I told him I was going to use spaghetti, as is customary for this dish, but he asked me to use linguine, which for some reason he liked much more than spaghetti. Naturally, I said I’d use the linguine. I’m so glad I got to make this meal for him because it turned out to be his last. After he ate, he watched tv with us.

The next day was Saturday, the day Coley Boy died. I didn’t see him because he slept in late and stayed in his room, but we texted. His last text to me was “thank you” because I bought him a steak I was going to bbq for him for dinner. But thank YOU Coley-Boy, because you did so much more for us.

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As always, thank you for reading. Writing is an intellectual exercise for me. The words don’t just flow onto the page. I have to concentrate intently to determine what it is I really want to communicate and how I can do that most effectively. I think about every single word. Writing about Cole is extremely difficult for me because it’s such an emotional experience. There are times I have to stop to focus on my breath and centre myself so I can continue. I noticed the other day ninety five people have subscribed to this blog. That’s ninety five people who are willing to spend some of their time, their most precious resource, reading what I write. It’s not as quick as flipping by a photo on Instagram. That means a lot to me. So if you’re a subscriber, I send you a special thank you for your commitment. And if you’re not, I send you a special thank you for spending the time today.

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