This is the fourth, 4th of July we’ve celebrated without Tony. It doesn’t feel as devastating as it did the first few years. While it doesn’t hurt like it did in the beginning, I still find myself thinking about him throughout the holiday.
On the 4th, our youngest was recovering from a cold so we stuck close to home during the day. The evening brought along fireworks. Fireworks were legalized within our city limits last year. Since the holiday fell on a Tuesday, it was relatively mild. This year, the 4th fell on a Thursday, and it was wild.
In my yard, I slowly spun myself in a circle. The sky was filled with glittering bursts in every direction. First, I thought how lucky I am to not have severe PTSD triggered by loud noises. With the number of fireworks exploding around me, it sounded like I imagine a war zone does. It’s weird to be thankful that Tony died away from home, but I am glad we didn’t bear witness to his death. Next year, the 4th will fall on a Friday and I’m sure the sky surrounding our home will be just as full.
The other pervasive thought I had that evening is, what he would have thought about us being able to legally shoot fireworks. Would he have been the one to take the boys to the fireworks stand instead of me? How much would he have spent on what is essentially lighting your money on fire?
A few years before he passed, a police officer pulled up right as Tony was lighting a small smoke bomb. The officer yelled for him to stop but the wick had caught before he could react. It was kind of comical because the smoke bomb was so small and someone else nearby had been lighting M80’s all day. Which was probably why the guy was patrolling the area. In the end, the officer gave Tony a warning and did not write him a ticket. We always laughed about that infraction. He would be amused to know he could light as many smoke bombs as he wanted to now.
If only he was here to have that last laugh. Instead, I’ll have it for him and share it with you.
