To a Son

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
Edgar Allan Poe


You will always be missed as well as remembered by all who knew you.
Your life enriched all you met as you traveled the world.
You were loved for your funny jokes and pranks, smiling your quirky smile, your unquestioned integrity, and for always trying to help others on their journey in the cyber security world. So many young people were given space to develop their ideas in your company and with your help, became successful. You gave your talent, time, heart and inspired young people with your belief that anyone can accomplish anything, if they put their faith in themselves and God.

As a man, Freddie, you gave all that you had until you could give no more. You shaped us, as one would shape a landscape; you propped us up with your inspiration as you fought for your life yet continued to work on your dream of sending a robot to the moon. This, in and of itself, elevated the quality of each of our lives, you lifted our mind, our heart.

You left us with our memories…memories of a loving son, brother, father….a devoted soul, a loving life, for all of us who knew you, to treasure.


My son kept a log of what he ate, medications he took and when, vomiting and how much, toilet habits and how long. He wrote notes to himself. I made a few notes that I felt would not invade his privacy before leaving. This one struck me. He wanted to write his autobiography. He called me once and said. “Mom, I cannot write anymore.” Not knowing his weakened condition nor his troublesome wife, I tried to encourage him. When I saw him I felt I might have to try to write about his life but there is so much I do not know.

He wrote on March 2, 2016 – Wednesday(W)

“I know the words—+have 1st Opening Words for my book now! This is important!

Inside a box he wrote:

“It’s easy to say ‘I want to live!’

“It’s not necessarily so simple to do it.”

For those of you who have the stories and are willing to share them, would you please send them to me at

I would like to include as much as I can, giving each contributor recognition. It is not easy to ask and few people read my blog. Please help spread the word if you knew him.

Thank you.


The house is sad. The vacant windows without lace curtains stare sadly back at me, accusers of abandonment.

It truly is not my fault, I plead. Yet there is doubt in that statement. Could I have chosen differently? Is my sister an easy target to blame?

I wander down the dusty road to the cemetery to say hello to all my ancestors, starting with great, great grandfather Meek, saving my son for last. None speak back. They are not there. Not like in Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town” where they sit in chairs and talk to one another about the live folk coming.

Over the chain link fence are the slave graves and I wonder if I will ever have archeologist dig for their graves. My brother knew where they were. He walked me through the trees pointing out each one. They were great, great grandfather Meeks helpers…8 in total. Females were not counted.

The wind heard my voice murmuring “I will be back, Freddie, I love you.” and sent it through time and space to him and as I turned my face upward, I could feel a slight breeze brushing my skin.

Leaving the shiny new tombstone is hard, even if I know he is not there. “How,” I ask myself, “do I live the rest of my life?”

Returning the way I came, walking the road of my childhood, back to the green house now one with the bamboo and brambles, waiting in silence.