An Art Show

Posted on December 7, 2012 by pathfinder


Closer to the starsThis art show is dedicated to my family.  The Show is taking place at the Asheville Gallery of Art, 16 College Street, Asheville, N.C. it will hang for the month of December.

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I majored in Geology and have a degree in Earth Science.  I fell in love with field trips and hiking.  Here in the mountains living against the bosom of the Plott Balsams it feels like home.  Streams dance along the flanks of the Balsams chuckling as they make their way to the sea.

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      On the coast of North Carolina you will find the remains of the mountains that used to loom here finely ground up as sand under your feet.   Time and the forces of erosion have done their work.

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Here in the mountains you can drive a few miles and find yourself in the most astounding landscapes. Places like the Cradle of Forestry or Dupont State Park ,the Cullasaja Gorge  the Cherohala Skyway or the Blue Ridge Parkway.

 

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We have lakes that are cold and deep built  to control the flooding by the Tennessee Valley Authority.  Now they provide a vacation haven and a cool place to rest during the warm summer days.

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We have waterfalls that  take your breath away you can spend hours trying to follow one drop of water as it plummets to stream below.

So here is part of my show.  For those of you who asked, and some of you who wonder.  Thanks to my son and daughter who have introduced me to many of the places that have inspired.  Thanks to my husband for allowing us to live here.

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Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child | 1 Comment

The Season

Posted on December 5, 2012 by pathfinder

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Dear Son,

Thanksgiving holiday has passed and Christmas is on the horizon.  Your sister and your brother-in-law have traveled to visit his family in Zimbabwe and have returned safely.  Your dad has built some solar panels to heat his garage with plans provided by one of his good friends and Mother Earth News.  I have hung my show at the Gallery and found out last night that I have been accepted in the Southern Watercolor Society Show.  We all really wish you were here to share these things with us. You have always been a great cheerleader in our family.

I find it difficult to trust life.  It makes me weary.  I’ve decided to take a mild antidepressant.  The grief is not decreased but I am able to focus and sometimes it is on the grief.  There are still no words that explain how I feel.

In our family you come into our conversation as often as you ever did.  Your sister and I talked about how you would have wanted to accompany them on their trip.   There are places where both she and I realized you would have set up camp and longed to stay and climb and explore.  I told your dad how proud you would be of his solar panels.  They function really well and he has a great sense of accomplishment.

When I got my acceptance into the show you were the first person I wanted to talk to.  I really think you would like my new work.   I started it this past July.

I listened to a rebroadcast on NPR the other day of an interview of “Great Expectations” by Robert Gottlieb on the life of Charles Dickens.  I was thinking I would read the book until I heard him talk about the loss of one of Charles Dickens children.  Gottlieb explained when questioned about it that Dickens  loved children, but that he “got over it” because you have to “get over these things.”  These things?  I almost climbed through the radio.

I don’t think I can read this book knowing that Mr. Gottlieb has no better grasp on reality than this.  He cannot possibly empathize with the man about whom he wrote.  I can tell anyone interested that Charles Dickens never “got over it”  and and that indeed it influenced his writing forever.

You, my sweet son influence us in every decision we make.  You influence how I see the world and how I react to others at times.  You continue to encourage us to try, to explore, to reach.

Grieving parents worry erroneously that they will forget their child, or not honor them properly.  The fact that they get up every day and try at whatever level they are able is a tribute to the life of their child.  When you were handed to us swaddled and squeaking our hearts grew to encapsulate you within our very being.  You can’t destroy that without destroying us.

I have observed as best as I can the passing of the days.  There is no particular time when I miss you more and there is no time when I miss you less.  If circumstances do suffice the very being together as family reminds us of you.

You are forever a part of our family in every way.

As I am always,

forever,

Mom

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child | 4 Comments

The winding road

Posted on November 21, 2012 by pathfinder

The gartner snake on the deck

Highway 276 is a relatively short highway that twists and turns its way across the mountains between Transylvania County  and Haywood County in North Carolina.    When traveling on it you pass through the Cradle of Forestry by Looking Glass Falls and Looking Glass Mountain itself.  I had not driven that route in a little over 16 months.  I last drove through there at the end of June 2011 right before my son died.

This day in November 2012, I  had been to Brevard to provide a watercolor painting demonstration for a group of artists there.  I drove there by way of the interstate.  As I began my drive home I decided to turn North on 276 and follow the ribbon of road draped over the shoulders of the mountains.  It is a road where it is important to pay attention.

Most of the leaves were down and there were not many people traveling that route at this time of year.  Here and there cars parked by the side of the road indicated people who were probably out hiking.  It was a cool overcast day with the sun trying to peek through.  I almost turned around and headed back but somewhere in my head I heard my son make fun of me.  I passed Looking Glass Falls to the right and a view of Looking Glass itself off above me to the left.   My son loved to climb that mountain.

One day a few years ago our whole family had taken a day trip to Dupont State Park and on the way back we took 276 turning on the road around the base of  Looking Glass.  My son pointed out the trail  to the base so we stopped and walked back in.  He explained the different places where people climbed and that after a climb you could “walk-off” the back of Looking Glass.  Back in the car continuing on our route we came across a large rattle snake warming itself in the dirt road.  We stopped and waited for it to continue on its way.

There is a picture that was taken that day of the four of us on the trail to Triple Falls at Dupont.  A couple kindly offered to take our picture together.  We stand together shoulder to shoulder, a family.  It was a great day together.

The day in June of 2011 was spent with a friend taking pictures for reference for paintings.  My friend and I hop-scotched our way along 276 towards Brevard as the trees were beginning to leaf out.  I have those pictures on a flash drive somewhere.  About the same time my son was sending me photos he was taking on his back deck.  Three garter snakes had emerged, two were ready to shed and all wanted to sun themselves on his deck.  He was so excited.  He sent the messages to me and his sister and we discussed them via instant messaging.

I still have those pictures.

I am so grateful to have these memories.  There are so many places to which I would never have ventured had he not have been in my life.

I was proud of myself for driving that route the other day by my self winding my way on  Highway 276.  It was more than miles.

We gather tomorrow as a family for the Thanksgiving holiday.  The missing man is always going to be a part of the formula for us.  I dreamed he called  the other night and said he would be home for Thanksgiving.  He will be.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Holidays | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Defying Gravity

Posted on November 14, 2012 by pathfinder

Dear Son,

I flew.  Thats right, I flew with your sister to New York City and back.  Would you have gone with us?  I thought about it while i was there.  There were places  and things like the Metropolitan Museum, “Phantom of the Opera” and “Wicked” that I think you would have wanted to see.  The crush of people moving like a tide  on the sidewalks of Times Square was unnerving.

I found the city to be a lonely place.  I watched couples and threesomes walking together talking with animation as if they were the only ones on the sidewalk, preserving their little space as they walked. I saw others, bags looped over their arms, shoulders hunched head slightly down walking with long determined strides plowing through and around the crowds.  I went out alone.

It took a lot of effort.

I went out alone but I had you in my head.  I had your voice telling me that I could do it, and so I did.

One of your friends that you used to climb with just found out that you are gone.  She wrote us a wonderful letter.  It is like a word picture of you.  She writes well and her observations were so on target concerning the things I knew to be true about you.

She wrote:

“Your son was a very thoughtful and introspective person who calculated his speech. He never wasted words. Each of his words meant something and were always delivered at the precise moment, which I always admired. He also had amazing comic timing. Most importantly he always said the right thing at the right time.”

She related a couple of climbing experiences:

“. . .It was the first time I had ever climbed a route like that and I was pretty scared. We usually bouldered, or we started routes from the bottom and went up. At this crag, we had to start higher and work our way down. I wasn’t really sure what I was doing, but your son was with me the whole time. He was very reassuring and fully explained everything that was going on. He kept telling me that I was on North Carolina granite and I had 5.10 rubber on my feet! Trust those feet!

Again, ironically enough, I was climbing in Estes Park last month in a place full of gneiss granite (reminded me of NC). And I had your son’s voice in my head saying “you’re on NC granite and you have 5.10 rubber on your feet).  It was my boyfriend’s first climbing trip and I repeated this story to him as he was about to climb his first route.

Several years ago, a friend and I were climbing in North Carolina near Winston-Salem (where my family is from). I slipped on some lichen and twisted my ankle. I wasn’t able to climb for a few months. When it was time to climb again, I went up to the crack rock with your son and another friend.  We decided to rope up and do the crack, which wasn’t nearly as high as some routes, but it was high enough to be intimidating. I got halfway up and froze. I asked your son to let me down. And he said no. He said he knew that I could do that route and I knew that I could do that route, but that I was just scared. I asked again for him to let me down (with a bit more hysteria this time). He very calmly told me that I could do it and that if I came down now, I’d probably never get back on a rock. He said “I’ve got you, you are not going to fall. I can hold you here all day and you are not coming down until you finish.” The calmness in his voice did wonders in calming me down, I turned around and finished the climb. I was so happy that I did. He was absolutely right. In my time in Colorado, I have done the exact same thing to some newer climbers. Each time I do it, I think of him and how his calm voice made the difference for me. I’ve passed this along to others and have told them the same story that I just told you.”

I am happy that I went to New York with your sister.  We needed that time together.  I needed to prove to myself I could do it.   I think receiving your friend’s letter before the trip was a help for me.  I heard your voice so clearly in her words.  I could hear your calm reassurance once more.

Sweetheart, I can’t pretend that I don’t have moments and days of hysteria.  It has not ceased to seem impossible that you are really gone.  Here in this place I admit it because I think it is wrong to pretend otherwise, but on the street – out there I put on my best face and go on.

I know when you spoke to your friend and urged her to continue her climb you did so because you had experienced the same gripping fear at some point.

When I sat in the airport and watched he anxious faces I knew everyone there had some level of concern over the flight.  Perhaps this one would be the one!  As the plane touched down and brakes were applied and it slowed you could feel everyone relax.

That day you died  you  kissed me and went out with all the confidence the day deserved.  No one can explain why you did not come back.  It shakes my confidence in life itself.  I am having a hard time trusting life anymore. Perhaps it never should have been trusted in the first place. But there in New York I heard you urging me on in those valleys made by man among the steaming streams of humanity.   I heard you chide me “doom and gloom, doom and gloom! ”

It is nearing Thanksgiving and people are posting on Facebook the things they are thankful for.  It is a good exercise for the human heart.   I am thankful, but I am also fearful and grief is a relentless companion.  It waits for me patiently in every quiet moment with memories of you in hand.

As dampened as those memories are with my tears I am thankful I have them.

I love you and miss you.

Forever

Mom

 

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For the Better

Posted on November 11, 2012 by pathfinder

I’ve been to New York City with my daughter.  I have thought so often about writing all week, but I decided to abstain for a while just to see how it felt.  I went to New York City to see how it felt too.  It is in every way diametrically opposed to life here in the mountains.  I am in no way saying it is bad.  It is simply a sharp and dramatic contrast to everyday life as I know it.

It occurred to me that the  difference might make a difference in how I felt, might be an oasis formed by coping with the differences.  Both my daughter and I missed her brother, my son.  We thought about how he would encourage us.  We thought of the things he would like to see.  We discussed our attempt at coping without him.

My daughter worked on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.  She is responsible for registration for a human resources conference.  I chided her from not taking a break during the day.  We went to see Phantom of The Opera.  She was in tears watching the show she had seen on video as a child.  I thought about how much her brother would have loved to be there with us.

By Thursday she was so exhausted she was too tired to go out to eat.  We grabbed a bagel and retired to the room.  She thrashed around in bed all night.   We walked out a bit on Friday evening, but then again she was tired.  Saturday we headed towards Macy’s and then down to the High Line.  We walked and took photographs.   We went to see “Wicked” at the matinee and then ate out at a little Italian restaurant where we met up with some of my first cousins children.

While she worked I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Rockefeller Center.   I shopped at Macy’s and watched it snow.   It is not what I would call a vacation for either of us but  I was afforded opportunity to  learn a lot about my daughter as an adult.

I knew that she is a responsible organized person.   I knew that she is intelligent and trust-worthy.  She is also compassionate and generous and oh so kind to me.   I felt that her brother would be very ver proud of her, as I am.  He would have loved to have been with us.

I unpacked a few tears there.   They seem to travel with me everywhere.

Some tears were  for my daughter, for all she carries around with her inside her heart and head.   I  wish I could make everything easier for her, smooth all the rough edges and “fix” everything.  I want to protect her and am frustrated that that is not allowed in the ways I would like to do it.  I have to let her live her life and learn her own lessons.

It was an important step for both of us to undertake this journey together – both of us faced some fears and both of us found that our longing for her brother, my son, never ceases regardless of where you are and what you are doing.  It is a part of our life.

I recognized only a few songs from the show “Wicked”.  One at the end sung together by the two “witches” hit close to home:

 

So let me say before we part

So much of me

Is made from what I learned from you

You’ll be with me

Like a handprint on my heart

And now whatever way our stories end

I know you have re-written mine

By being my friend…

Like a ship blown from its mooring

By a wind off the sea

Like a seed dropped by a sky-bird

In a distant wood

Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?

But because I knew you

Because I knew you

I have been changed for good.

 

And I have been changed for good by my sweet children.  Molded and shaped, sharp edges buffed off , inspired and encouraged and loved.  Oh how wonderfully loved.  Thank you darling, my sweet girl.   Thank you son.

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A change of season

Posted on October 24, 2012 by pathfinder

 

 

 

Dear Son,

I don’t remember the feeling of Fall last year.  I was occupied with the grief of having just lost you and the upcoming wedding of your sister.  Fall is just another season of the year, but his year it seems to be staring me in the face asking “what are you going to do about it?”

Your dad voiced his frustration and I agree with him.  You would normally have been here as much as you could be at this time of year.   The cool temperatures make for days of great hiking and (I will say it) climbing.

There was a show on the other night about “having the talk.”  It was about families talking together about what they wanted done should they die.  It is a way of letting surviving family members off the hook from feeling guilt or confusion over trying to guess what their loved one wants done concerning a funeral, etc.  It is far more personal in many ways than a will which only covers what should be done with the personal effects and assists of the deceased.

We never talked much about that with you.  What  you would  want.  So when it came to that unfortunate time we all had to guess and try to make sure we honored you as to the type of person you had been.   Concerning heroic efforts to try and “keep you alive”, I think your dad and I struggle the most.

When I settle out of my tears and anger from the reality of the accident, I know we had no choice. We were given no choice.  You were unconscious and your body could not function on its own.  I guess in some strange way I am thankful that there was not a choice given the conditions that would have defined you “living.”  What dignity would there have been for you if we had tried to preserve the shell you inhabited?

As eclectic as you were concerning fashion and convention you were by all means a person of dignity and propriety in the most contradictory way.  Our gathering in your memory did not stand on convention.  We, I think, did our very best to honor you as you were, as you lived your life.  Remembering it has made me think about what I want for myself.

I want most of all to let those who remain behind off the hook.  I don’t want them guessing or feeling guilty that something was not done right.  So let me just say that whatever they choose to do will be fine – really.  I hope their are no sad songs and no preaching.  I hope that people who want to say something about me (if any remain to do so) are allowed to do so if so inclined and that they need not censor their remarks. I would like if there is to be a prayer that it be for everyone to come to learn to love others, to be wise and have strength to endure.   I want to be cremated and for my ashes to be where ever your ashes are.   As for my possessions they are covered in my will – except for my paintings and writings which I think would make a great bonfire.

Son, I never ever thought I would have to plan a memorial service for you.  We did it and we did it in love.  I don’t understand life at all-why we are here and why we die.  I don’t understand men’s anger against man, hatred or the need to hurt others.   I am so confused by how we keep on traveling around in the rut we create for ourselves like we have blinders on and can’t see to get out and rise above it.

I don’t understand how the sky can be so painfully blue and the shadows so long in this season we call Fall.   I don’t understand why the world did not end on that day in July.  Yet the truth is I don’t want to die either.  I didn’t want you to die, and I don’t want to die.  I don’t want anyone to die.

I am lonely without you and what you provided in my life.   I don’t hold your dad or sister responsible for filling that space.   It will have to remain as it is.  Does it scar over or shrink?  I don’t know yet.  Sometimes my biggest fear and panic is that I will in some way forget you.

I don’t think that is possible, but then I did not think it possible that I could loose you.

The confounded uncertainty of everything keeps me so off balance.  There seems to be a veil between me and what is real and I cannot get through it.  There are shadows and indistinct whispers of ideas that are just out of reach.

It is feeling of “never quite” being able to get to any place or goal that stands before me.  I run out of steam or I wonder why  ever thought it important in the first place.   I realize that your encouragement towards my efforts during your life were of great support to me.  You critiqued my work and stood at my shoulder to watch me work.

You and your sister are the best part of me.

Yet I will go to the studio today and work.  I will make a mess with paint and paper and make plans and the earth will turn and the daylight will end sooner than I like.

I carry you with me every day, so I am hoping for strength to do so as long as time permits, because I am

forever

Mom

 

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Friends | Tagged , | 6 Comments

Seasonal Affective Disorder

Posted on October 15, 2012 by pathfinder

It is Monday and I am working at one of the galleries where I am a member.  I have been getting out of the house a lot in the past few weeks and I have felt a little panicky lately.  I have also been experiencing some flashbacks to the day our son died.  Now that Fall has arrived and the sun abruptly shifted angles along with the shorter length of day I have pulled out my “light” therapy box.

Seasonal Affective Disorder.  I find it almost funny that there is a name for those of us who used to only suffer during the darker months of the year.  Those of us who have lost a child or children suffer from it all year long.

Halloween is the next holiday and for parents who have lost young children there must be a particular poignancy  when you walk through stores with the candy and costumes prominently displayed.  I was never a fan of Halloween and my children usually participated but did not seem to have the interest that some kids do.  Where we live it typically gets very cold by the end of October.  There have been years when we have had snow on Halloween.

There are other family oriented holidays quickly approaching and along with them now an unfortunate sense of dread.   Last year we had a wedding.  That is a happy memory.  The end of October now celebrates a joyful if somewhat bittersweet anniversary for us.

Last year we did our best to try to make Thanksgiving and Christmas as normal as possible.  The very idea is almost laughable.  Some parents living with loss talk of a “new normal.”  They talk of life before and life after.  I don’t know if there ever was a normal before and I would not call what I have now normal.  It is what I have.

As for this Thanksgiving and Christmas, I think is important for us to make an effort to be with those we love in as positive fashion as we can manage.  Beyond that it seems cruel to impose other expectations.   Perhaps we are left to live in a perpetual season of sadness.

I know that there are others who have lost loved ones.  Mothers, fathers, husbands and wives whose presence is sorely missed at those times we traditionally meet as family.  Everything changes inevitably so we pick up the pieces of ourselves and move on at whatever pace we can manage.

I have held my tongue this year.  I have never “liked” Fall.  Never.  Dealing with the season of sadness that seems to have established itself in perpetuity in my life, the season of Fall seems to be frustrating me more than ever.  I want to tell people who chirp excitedly about the cooler temperatures and leaves turning colors  how extremely depressing this  is for me.

For the most part I function rather well.  I do so for a number of reasons.  I honor my family which obviously includes my son by trying.  Most times it takes a lot of effort.  Some days it feels almost impossible.

I think most parents who live with this loss wish the world would slow down for just a little while to allow them to try and catch up.  Day to day events at times seem monumental.  But I have purchased some Halloween candy (which I am trying not to eat).  I have been thinking about what we should do for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I am a victim of seasonal affective disorder, both the one caused by lack of daylight and the one caused by how starkly each holiday season brings to mind how much things have changed.

 

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Friends, Holidays | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Forever, mom

Posted on October 9, 2012 by pathfinder

Dear Son,

I’ve been staying busy.  The daylight hours have begin to shrink and the trees are turning gold.  Maine was wonderful.  You were in our heart and mind the whole time your dad and I were there.  I wished that your sister could have been there too.  It was great having our college friends join us.  You would like them.  You would approve.

I wish I could adequately express to you how I am feeling.   Some folks seem to think that those who have died are omnipotent and “know” what we are doing.  I don’t like that idea.   Regardless I can’t make it be one way or another.  Sometimes I do however,  think you are right at my shoulder or elbow, watching.

Missing you has become a dull ache that reacts sharply at times when hit by the hot and cold of this reality.

I keep trying to be the person you knew.  I try to remember that I am an individual and that you are too.  What we shared was just that – shared.   It is not that I am not willing to share some of those things with someone else but I have not found that someone else and to be honest I am not looking.

Your sister and I have our own special relationship.   I treasure it and I am glad that it differs from what I had with you.  Neither better nor worse – just unique to the personalities interacting.  The same with your dad, I am his wife and partner.  I sort through this simplistic thinking just to make sure I am not blurring the lines or becoming confused or erroneously projecting something on someone who does not deserve it.

When we had you and found out we were expecting your sister we had that sudden fear that most parents of one child have.  Will we be able to love her as much as we loved you?  It is an amazing thing that humans seem to grow another emotional heart when a new child comes into their life.  What a joy!  Having two deliciously beautiful children and watching them grow together while yet becoming individuals!

Are you able to be aware of how much we think of you?  Your sister has had a hard time lately and it is tied up partly in memories of you.   I  really think you would be so proud of her, as I am.  She has a inner strength and tenacity that sustains her.  I always worry that she is overly generous, but then you always accused us of that too.  I suppose the apple does not fall far from the tree.

I had an awful dream right after you died that haunts me now.  I had to tell you that you had died and you were so annoyed at me.  In the dream you told me that it was not funny and to stop saying that. I hate that I had that dream.  When the media starts talking about all the medical miracles on the horizon with the research that is being done I panic and think – oh no – what if we should have made them keep you on life support in hopes of something appearing on the horizon the would have saved your life? I try to convince myself that the dream was just a dream, and I know that neurological innovations in medicine are difficult.  It is an attempt to make sense, to evoke guilt for me surviving and you not.

Here I am sobbing and here comes our 12 year old pomeranian to comfort me.  You take the comfort that you can.

We have had a cold snap and I think I am hoping for a cold winter that bundles us up inside with dusty books and hot tea.  I work on looking forward though the landmarks have changed and shifted. Clarity is difficult.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I miss you.  There are not enough words and not enough time.

I know I am not alone in this.  I have met so many through different venues who are walking this path too.   We gain strength through each other to try and give meaning to each day.

I love you so much.   But then, I really do think you know that.

Forever,

Mom

Posted in Death, Dogs, Family, Friends | Tagged , , , , , | 8 Comments

Time Well Spent

Posted on October 1, 2012 by pathfinder

Time well spent.

I’ve been thinking about that phrase.  I thought about it while driving for the past two days as we returned home from our vacation in Maine.  It was the first trip I have taken in well over a year when I did not feel anxious to return to my home – my house.  I felt very sad to leave.

I have tried to figure out why.

One reason is that two of our friends – a couple we have known for over thirty-six years met us there.

We arrived on Saturday at the house at Clarks Point in Southwest Harbor Maine.  They arrived on Tuesday.  By the time they had arrived, my husband and I had established our routine and true to my experience from our past our friends fit right in, comfortably, no adjustments.

When I first met my friend she and I were trying to figure out what we wanted to major in and do with our lives.  She met my husband before I did.  She had been in my life when I was dating other people before I met my husband.  We had tried to learn to play the banjo together.  She is a reader, subdued and calm, prone to heavy sighs and the sharp sarcastic wit.  Her husband majored in marine biology.  He is not the opposite of her, but is a contrast to her.

I saw pairs of salt and pepper shakers in some of the stores that were “non matchy matchy” pairs.  My friends resemble that.  They compliment each other very well but are a contrast.

While in college, after I had met the man who is now my husband and the father of our children, my friends younger brother died.  I remember going to her house.  He died in an automobile accident in Maine.  He is buried there.

She has other siblings – one of nine children.  Years later there was a second brother lost.  Freak accident involving his car and a truck carrying cargo.   Two beloved brothers gone.

my cairn

Her mother is still living.  In fact they brought her to visit some of the other siblings that live in Maine.  My friend is nothing if not practical, purposeful, thoughtful.

I have not lost a sibling.  I do not know what that feels like.  I think sometimes my friend needs to talk with my daughter, or maybe as she does for me – listen.  She is a very good listener.

The need to call my son occurred on a daily basis.  My husband let me drive almost the entire trip.  I don’t allow my mind to wander as much while driving and being responsible for passengers.  Yet thoughts of our son came and thoughts of our daughter who I wished could have been with us too.

I am going to have to accept that every place on earth is a reminder.  It is either a place where he has been or a place where I could picture him being.

I realized while with my friends how much our son would like them.   He and my friends husband and my husband would have disappeared somewhere over the rocks to some pool or short climb to reappear flushed with their discoveries.  My son would have fixed my friend her cup of tea.

So I guess maybe he was there anyway.  So much a part of me and my husband as anything can be.

I wish for everyone someone in their life that though not related to, is as comfortable to be with as our friends are.  We take up where we left off.

I don’t know what it is like after this life ends.  I hope, oh I pray that  when it comes it feels like that.  Walking through a door to take up where we left off, to be embraced by the ones we love and have missed so badly.

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Acadia

Posted on September 24, 2012 by pathfinder

The dogs are up even earlier here on the coast of Maine.  The sun rises an hour earlier than it does at home, and stranger yet they seem to prefer 5:30 a.m. to begin their day.  The first day here I rose to let them out and settle them down again and this morning my husband took his turn albeit begrudgingly.

We finally left the house after a slow start ourselves around 11:00a.m.  We drove into the national park Acadia, using the pass my husband procured yesterday as a senior citizen of 62.   He was impressed with the scenery.  We drove up on Cadillac Mountain and walked the little loop trail at the top.  It was a clear day and the sky a bottomless blue.

We stood and looked out over that vast scene.  “Did ‘he’ come here with you?” he asked referring to our son.

“Yes.” , I said.

“I bet he loved it.” he said.

We drove on to the next stop, the sand beach.  We were able to take the dogs there because of the season.  My husband stood and looked at the rocky hillsides that embraced the little cove and short strip of sand.

“Up there,” I pointed to the right, “he climbed up there and I took his picture.”

“I know that picture.” my husband said.   “He is standing with his arms crossed looking out at the water.”

I held back my tears but my husband could not.

It was a big step for me today.  Not a step further away from my son, but a step closer to some common thread that stitched us together.

I wondered what my husband was thinking as I approached the rocks.  I knew he wanted to climb up where our son had once stood.

Later in the car, he said, “You could take my picture there and then photoshop the two together – me with him there on the rocks.”

I smiled.  “I don’t know how to do that.”

There is a strange guilt I have that I store so many memories of my son within my heart.  I spent a lot of time with him.   I know my husband wishes he had spent more time with him.  No one can fix that now.

I don’t think in any family there are any even or equal relationships.  Every relationship is as different as the individuals involved.

I wish I could for my husband’s sake go back and put him in the picture with our son in lots of the places and situations my son and I found ourselves in.  In almost all of the pictures of my son, I was the one behind the camera, the one observing him as he went.

If I could figure out a way to photoshop my husband in to the picture on the rocks I would do it.  I would regardless of the fact it does not change a thing.

There are some pictures I need to pull out and put together for my husband, if that is what he needs. There is one in the yard with our son in his arms eating an apple together.  There is one on the monorail in Disney World where they are talking intently.  There is one on the couch with them laughing.  There is one on the beach with them fishing.  Later there are mopey teenage pictures and ones where a face is turned trying to avoid the lens.  My favorite one came years later  on the deck of the beach house at Surf City that we used to own.  Arm around his dad’s shoulder they stand side by side smiling heartbreaking smiles of such happiness.

I got the best part of all those pictures, I know, whether I meant to or not.  I got to take them all.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Dogs | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments