The digital clock at my bedside is yours. It startled you awake early each weekday morning for work. I can't bear to hear the alarm, so use it only to mark time's passage.

Today I watched it click to 5:00 A.M. 

Eight years ago the machines keeping your body alive were turned off at 5. Today I watched each minute pass, remembering your face, the last beats of your valiant heart.

Silence. 

Waiting.

Rules and laws.

I remember everything.

5:05.

She said, "Time of death, 5:05 A.M.".

November 6, 2005.

This morning your life slides through my mind from beginning to end. Precious memories. Sweet baby gurgles. Funny boy, mowing the carpet. On and on through the years, good and bad. Laughter and tears. Music. Tall young man. Heartache. Laughter. Life.

It was too short.

Paul David, forever my baby boy, my tall young son. There's no one like you in my life. I think about you every day. I miss you every day.

I'll honor you by being me, because you hated hypocrisy. I'll honor you by raising your daughter and telling her about you. I'll honor you by trying to be a better friend, because so many called you "my best friend".

The minutes continue to click on by and I must start the day. The little girl with your eyes will soon be awake.

Another day of life. Another day without you. And yet you're always here. Paul. My only son. I miss you.