The Inspiring Story of Benjamin Goldberg
Love is a lot of things, but it is the only reason I wrote it all down. It began as a journal not to forget and evolved into a message so intimate that it had a hold over me and would not let me put it down. Not because it was unimaginably sad the story of my son’s illness, but instead because it presented an intriguing perspective on life and death.
Our stories were intertwined, his and mine, woven with a telepathic flare. We may have raised an eyebrow along the way, but it revealed what was carved deep within our hearts.
Although he was incredibly young, he was an old soul. It held you captive when he spoke: you had to know more. I saw it in others that brought out our basic essence— it was music. To say he loved music was not enough; he was music, and it could be better explained with Michael Jackson, Daft Punk, and The Beatles.
My role was to hold the space. I never asked the question – why is this happening? Because it seized the present, which I was gripping with every thread of my being to stay in.
Our lives as we knew them were over, and I fell on the notion in the tragic moment of the cancer diagnosis that there is nothing other than love. Envision if you will a cassette player. I will record, fast forward, pause, rewind, and eject to play its melody.