The Great Tylini

The sadness is overwhelming. I woke up this morning with a list of 'things to do' running through my head and, as I was going over that, it hit me...again...that Tyler is no longer part of the physical world as we know it. His energy/spirit is still alive, but the flesh and bones being is gone. The grief welled up and I cried...again. I still can't believe it.

Today I want to share a story with you. The story really has nothing to do with the picture or the finger gesture depicted therein, but like the story, the picture makes me laugh. I need some laughter right now. This story is the legend of the one and only Great Tylini.

When we were kids we spent a lot of time alone, just the two of us. I was left 'in charge' of Tyler a lot and, when we weren't trying to kill each other, we would often make up games or do silly things to entertain ourselves. One day in particular, Tyler was trying to tell me he could perform magic. The 'magic' in this case was the great art of escape. He told me if I tied his hands and feet, stuffed him in a laundry basket, tied him to the laundry basket and then put him in the closet, he could escape. I told him this game sounded dumb and we should do something else, but he begged and pleaded for me to play along. I finally gave in because the pestering was getting on my nerves. :-) We decided I should tie his hands and feet first, so I proceeded to tie his feet together at the ankles and then I tied his hands...behind his back. (Some of you know what's coming next and some of you can probably guess . Are you cringing yet??) Ty got up to 'walk' over the laundry basket so I could tie him to that and then drag him into the closet...but he didn't make it to the basket. In mid-waddle, he slipped on the hardwood floor and did a face plant squarely on his chin. Had we decided to tie his hands in the front or had I brought the laundry basket over to him, this may have been avoided, but alas, these things are usually clearer in hindsight, aren't they? When Tyler looked up at me, there was blood and he was crying. Wide-eyed, I ran to the kitchen phone and started dialing my parents' numbers. When I knew someone was on the way, I went looking for Tyler again. I found him in the bathroom in front of the mirror with a band-aid poised over the gaping wound in his chin. What I said next was probably not the best choice, "Oh honey, you're going to need stitches for that." Oops...my bad. He started crying like the world was coming to an end, or like he did in 2004 when George W. Bush was elected. (Ok, I made up the part about Bush, but Tyler would appreciate the joke.) I tried to reassure him that it wouldn't be that bad, but he wouldn't listen to reason. I mean, why would he listen to me? I'm the one who let him fall on his face. (Disclaimer - For the record, Tyler didn't blame me for what happened that day, but I often blamed myself.) At the hospital I sat with one of my parents just outside the room where they were stitching up Tyler's chin and I listened to him cry. It tore out my heart to hear it, so I cried for him. What a day that was. Lots of tears and 8 stitches later, everything was back to normal. Later, Ty and I joked that the little stitches sticking out of his chin made him look like he had a beard. Even though the great escape never took place, we dubbed him "The Great Tylini" because he was scarred for life from the experience. Much later, we would talk about that long scar running the length of his chin and laugh at our silly kid games.