Remembering Kyser

Most of you have been coming here daily for a while, but there are several new folks, as well. Those of you who are more recent readers may not know that my cousin Kyser was killed in April of this year.

Today is Kyser's birthday. He would have been 24.

I don't know who coined the phrase "Time heals all wounds." I'm not sure what the context was, whether the orator was referring to a stubbed toe, a broken marriage, a lost soul ... But I'm relatively sure that what he WASN'T referring to was healing from the loss of a precious, intelligent 23-year-old young man who was murdered in the prime of his life.

In my mind's eye, I can still see him handing out programs to guests at our wedding in his itty-bitty tuxedo. I can still see us pillow-fighting on my bed at their house when I was in college and he was 6, the age Nicholas is now.

I can still see the wind ruffling his hair as I drove him and his brother Harry through the streets of Birmingham, on the way to the zoo or the pottery painting place or the movie theatre.

I still love him.

I still miss him.