A new year

Posted on July 11, 2012 by pathfinder

The heat is still hovering over the area.   Here where I live it hasn’t been as hot as in some other places but it has been hot enough.

We are  a week past the anniversary date of our son’s death.  My husband took the week off from work.  I cannot say we knew what to do with ourselves.

Nothing happened.

The day came and went.

We heard from the young man who was with our son that day.  I have been checking on him through Facebook, watching his posts.  Some I have to glance at and look away.  I don’t know if his risk taking behavior has increased or not.  I think he is a very talented young man who has a lot of interests and derives a certain thrill from activities that might be termed high-risk.

There is nothing wrong with that.  I think our knowledge of risk taking behaviors has increased because of access through the media.  No one knew about the people who ascended Longs Peak in the 1800’s except those who assisted.

The public access we have to everything that happens as it happens is not always a good thing.  We begin to think that we have a right and duty to share everything.  I see people who live their lives as if everything they do is being recorded as with reality TV.   I can say our son was the opposite of this, preferring privacy.

I don’t know how my son’s friend feels.  I hate that he had to witness the events the took place that day.  I remember in high school when an acquaintance of mine ended his life by choice.  I had a terrible crush on him.  I saw him that night at a mutual gathering place.  He was with a group of friends and looked over at me – our eyes meeting for just a moment before he looked away.  The next day I was told he had ended his life by his own hands.  It stays with me to this day.  Of course, I thought I should have said something that night.  Surely I had in my power something that would have dissuaded him from his actions, something to cure the illness that caused him to come to this end.

The effects of gravity are part of the calculated risk you take when you are a climber.  It makes no exceptions.  Man sought to defy it even before he knew what it was.  Accidents happen.   They are sudden and insidious.  Hindsight can torment us about a lot of things.    We want to take the blame if it happens to someone else and we are near by or any way involved.   It is human nature.

For myself, perhaps I should have gotten to know the young man in high school better.  My shyness prevented that and my lack of confidence.   Would it have changed anything?  We will never know.

Should something have been done differently on July 2nd to prevent the accident from happening? I would wager that my son and his climbing companion would have done something differently had they known.   It is in the past now.

What power will we give it to take over our life?  That is the question.

My son was a huge part of my life, but he is not my life any more than I was his.  In death sometimes I think I idealize him because as I have said before in former writings he is not here to annoy me as he was capable of doing.  I do know this much about my pragmatic son, he would say to use the days we have to do those things that we need to do and want to do.

As for the unfortunate climbing buddy I think he too has idealized my son, his friend in some ways.   Yes we are all miserable because he is gone.  We all want to blame ourselves. I am sure those who performed CPR on my son blame themselves too, as does the unfortunate park ranger who called my husband in tears.  It was out of everyone’s control.

The climbing group who uses that area regularly certainly wanted to find someone to blame, choosing to blame my son  – proclaiming carelessness.  How could they face those rocks again if they did not blame something that they could pinpoint?   The Sheriff’s investigation said it was one thing, the climbing group another.   Either way the result was the same. It was an accident.  Control is an illusion at best.

And either way our son’s friend now struggles with guilt – the ugly gift that keeps on giving – along with his sorrow.   Sorrow is applicable.  Guilt needs to be released bit by bit.  Yes, I feel guilty that I am alive – having lived twice as long as my son – and that he is not here.   I am guilty of wanting to bring him into this world, guilty of allowing him freedom to choose, guilty of allowing him to wrap me around his finger.  And with that I am also thankful.  Thankful to have had the years I had with him.  Thankful that he loved us and wanted to be with us, that he was not ashamed of us and shared his friends with us.

My son’s life and influence would truly be wasted if his friends and climbing companions use his death as an excuse not to do the things they need to do.  My husband and daughter and I encourage each other to continue on each day.   We have been amazed at each other’s productivity this year.

What you see here are the few minutes I give to this effort called writing.  I get up when I close the computer and I move on.  After hearing from my son’s friend, I worried that my writings were hurting him.  That was not my intention.  I write because that is something I have in one way or another always done, as is my painting.  My son would not want me to stop.  I think about my son, my daughter and my husband often.  I try to balance it out and not dwell too much on my son because he made up a big part of my life, but not all of it.

There are tears every day, but not every day is spent in tears.     I have used this medium to allow myself space to express my frustration, my sorrow and my extreme love for my son and family.   He along with my daughter, husband and friends has been an amazing influence on my life.   I credit them with much of who I am.   I hope I can use whatever days I have left to be an influence for good. This is part of my son’s gift to me and to those he knew and loved.

Some times in the strangest places thoughts will come that are painful.  At those times – in my car  or wherever I am I say aloud and vehemently  “NO!”   I can give them time and space at another time when it is safer to explore.  If I try to constantly push them away without giving them some space to explore they gang up on me and threaten to take over.   Those bad feelings and painful thoughts are part of my memory now.  I try to use them to recognize others who are feeling the same way to empathize and if possible, help.

To my son’s climbing partner that day, I apologize for not thinking of you more this past year.   Yes, I would be lying to say that there is not some pain connected with my thoughts of you,but so it has been with every one of my son’s friends who have come to see us, called or written.  You all are a part of what we loved about him and a reminder that he is really gone.   And that is the pain we all have to deal with. He was a man of encouragement – goading and provoking his family and friends to think, move forward and if need be, change.   If we choose to honor him, then we honor him by moving forward, making positive decisions, accepting responsibility and accepting challenges with intelligence and consideration.  It is a tall order – but it is fitting.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Friends | 2 Comments

A Few Things I’ve Learned in the 10 Years Since Jason Died

Posted on July 6, 2012 by pathfinder

A Few Things I’ve Learned in the 10 Years Since Jason Died.

Not sure what my own learning curve is here – but she covers the journey very well.  Peace.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Faith, Family, Marraige | Leave a comment

one week

Posted on June 25, 2012 by pathfinder

You might spend your days sifting through the sad details of how they died, but when the day is done you  simply miss them.

You can remember the good times, and even smile perhaps laugh.  But when the laughter fades you simply miss them.

You can mount a campaign against the disease or drunk driving or texting while driving or warning other’s of the potential danger that took your loved one, but in the evening light you simply miss them.

You can rage in anger against bureaucracy that claims your unfocused time and attention with paperwork and information gathering with the final result being your loved one is still gone and ultimately you simply miss them.

You can write and write and talk and talk and look through pictures till your heart feels like it will burst and as you finally close your eyes for sleep, you simply miss them.

You dream of them, you look for their face when in a crowd,  you hope for something like a message sent to reassure you that they are okay but it does not tame the part of you when you simply miss them.

And simple is the wrong word here.  Simple is too simple because the missing is so huge and threatens to take over your day and if not paid attention to, take over  your life.

Days come when your mind takes a break and concentrates on other things – and you feel guilty that you allowed yourself a moment not to miss them.  But in the doing of things that are your bailiwick you honor who you are, the person that they loved.  Could it be as simple as that? To shift your energy to focus on the things you will do each day and do them in honor of the loved one who is now gone?  With purpose and forethought to say, “today I will do what I do because I loved them, because they loved me.”  ?

The downside is that after you become busy times of grief and missing them seem, when they come, acutely painful – bigger because they are concentrated and intense.  It is a painful trade off.   Surrender every day to the dulled down existence or parts of days to intense grief.

I am not talking about the first months after our loved one departed.  I don’t know that this can even apply to the first year for some.  I don’t know if it can ever apply for some.   It is not mine to choose for them.  Not adding to the guilt of still being alive by allowing yourself time to do those things you need to do without thinking about your departed loved one is a huge hurdle.  It is one you have to jump more than once – in greater and lesser degrees.

I am told again and again by those who have been on this side of things longer that this will change with time.  I think it does, but the change is subtle and almost imperceptible.

The death of our precious loved one was abrupt.  Our path from here on is uncharted.  Crumbs are dropped by others who are further up the path and they shine a light back to us now and then to reassure us they are there.   Sometimes on holidays and painful mile markers you just have to sit down and be where you have to be for a while.   It is frustrating to feel like you have made no progress at all.  You are weary because you have had to work so hard to get where you are and there is that pain again.

You want to be able to talk it out to someone.  You still might want the stage, front and center to dump some of this pain, to have others empathize.   It was difficult when this first happened it is almost impossible now.   It takes them a moment to realize why you might still be upset at times.  They might say it, though most out of respect won’t. But they all think on some level that you should be “getting over it” by now.   When they get that look of concern or the look that says, I’m going to run if I get the chance perhaps we should say “I simply miss my child”.  I simply and purely miss my son.

I can’t tell you all the things I miss because that would take 29 years.   As complex as this simple is, I miss him.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family | Tagged , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

investments

Posted on June 20, 2012 by pathfinder

Dear Son,

Some days I have to paddle really hard and some days I just float.  These are tough days.  I feel like I have rebounded back to the time just after your accident again.  I have a hard time starting the day.  It is tough to stay focused.  It is not just me, your sister and dad are feeling the same way.

We want to do something for you.  Emotions and actions that used to be focused in your direction have no where to go it seems.  I know that other parents have learned to channel those emotions and actions into different worthwhile efforts.  I haven’t gotten there yet.  I still feel like I have been punished.   We are sentenced to have to live without you.   Forced into retirement from being your parent.

Yes, in fits and starts, I have been able to do some things.  I survey the past year and am amazed at what has been achieved.   Your dad and sister take the prize.  Their constitution seems to dictate that they stay busy.  Lists serve them well and they are masters at checking things off.

Unfortunately I operate a lot like you.   I walk outside and the wind is blowing and with it go my thoughts.  There is an aroma on the breeze and I want to find where it comes from.   I picture how the water in the creek must be up because of the rain and want to go watch the water fall.   I long for you to be at my side as I go.  Because you are not here to go with me, sometimes it stops me in my tracks.

Your sister and dad are planners.  I have to compliment your dad on exercising and stretching his ability to be spontaneous.   I am a planner too – sometimes.   I prefer to think of myself as flexible.  Unfortunately that flexibility sometimes makes space for things to slip through the cracks.

I do not think about you all the time, though I do think about you often and intensely.  The intensity seems to be growing.   I don’t think it is just the time of the year either.  I think it just the way it is and I suspect always will be.

I don’t have pictures of you everywhere right now.  I can’t take it.   The sight of you makes me collapse emotionally.   I feel helpless and the hopelessness destroys resolve to pick myself up and move forward.  I feel hope for your sister and her future.  I try not to focus my magnifying glass on her  because it would be really bad for her.   I had such hope for you.

I guess I am afraid to lavish that on anyone else.  I have thought about the history when the stock market crashed and men jumped out of windows as they saw the investments that were apparently their life,  suddenly gone.  Investments.  Those  things in which we are vested “secured in the possession of assigned to a person” are pretty important.  I invested a lot of years in you.   We invested a lot of love in you.  That love was not squandered.  But trying to decide to invest more in something or someone else is frightening.   My investment in you was not wasted.  It has cemented wonderful memories in my mind but I  had hopes for more.

I do not want to push people who desire my affection aside. I do not want to withhold anything out of fear. You freed me to love others when you were here.  Loosing you and the pain of that loss makes me hold back in some ways.  I have not seen you or held you in almost a year and that is impossible to comprehend.

There was no wasted time spent with you or talking with you.  There is no time wasted even when there is nothing to say with your sister or your dad.  Many people collect things.   I am a collector too.  I have stored up so much of you in my heart and mind.  I have a sweet collection of the precious things concerning my family.  I am thankful I have a family, altered though we are without you.

We are missing you so badly.   We are all wandering around in a fog again,  dreading a day that is just a date on a calendar.  A date that will alter nothing when it passes.

Especially not our love for you.

Forever

Mom

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Friends | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Anniversaries

Posted on June 15, 2012 by pathfinder

June is halfway through.  I am remembering an anniversary with my son, a storm that took down trees and a hike in Panthertown.  They are good memories.

There is inherent loneliness in intense grief.  There is a feeling that no one can understand regardless of how similar the circumstances.  Others have lost children – but the one experiencing the loss is a unique individual and the one lost is unique and the relationship between the two is unique though perhaps in the most subtle of ways.  Even if you could prove with data and measurements that in fact personalities and relationships repeat no one would believe it.  Locked up in our own little heads we cannot communicate well enough or bring ourselves to consider that what we have is not unique.

We have just learned the ultimate lesson about lack of control and yet we fumble on trying to control others that are left in our lives.   We do not change our behaviors while expecting others to be transformed.    Sticking points are stickier.  Painful behaviors, infuriating habits become more painful.  The magnifying glass does not get shattered  – it expands.

We may have a shift in the paradigm.  We may suddenly find things that were very important to us no longer matter.   We don’t even remember what their importance was based on.   We are puzzled when others still cling to those things.   It may cause us frustration.   We want to set those people down and pour into them the wisdom we have so painfully gained only to find them uninterested and unwilling to listen.   This may add to our frustration.  Don’t they understand?  The world has changed!  Yet we exercise old habits focused in new ways.

If my son were still alive our family would be behaving in relation to each other they way we did before.

Now without him to worry about, complain about, argue with and become frustrated with we are tempted to idealize him.  Perhaps we project attributes on him and on his future that are really not within the realm of what was possible, and he is not here to defend himself or his potential plans.

If the past is any predictor of future then he would have drifted and shifted through many ideas and potential plans before settling on one.  He would have kept us in the dark until a decision was made.  He never expressed worry about money or means to us.  Maybe he worried over those things.  His privacy seemed to be the most important thing to him.

Some people have expressed to me the thought that they hope they can “go out” living life they way they want- as they think he did.  I sort of understand that.

I am a more fearful person than my son.   I was raised by a fearful mother and I experience those pangs myself from time to time.

Locked up in my own head is my own particular set of griefs.  There are many things I wish I could have done differently , patterns that got set that I wish I could have recognized before they became so engrained.  It is not possible to alter that now.   I really don’t think I could have altered it at all because had he not have died in that accident we would be going on like we always have.

I try to shake off that thinking.  It is futile.

I have lost my son.  I know he loved me, but I do not have him to love me anymore.   He was protective of me.  I feel vulnerable.   He and I shared a sense of humor.  I find humor in many things but I miss his slant on it.   I feel insecure and exposed.  I miss his acceptance of me – unconditional acceptance.  He was a person around whom I could truly relax.

It is what rattles around in my head.   Around and around, evoking tears and sighs and frustrated anger.  I don’t know for sure what comes after this life, if anything.   I used to think I did.  I just don’t know.   I certainly hope if there is something else that my son can’t see me now  – it would upset him and that thought upsets me.  I don’t want to upset those left here with me either.   I try to keep it all tucked in.  It is part of that inherent loneliness I spoke of, this weird dance we do trying to protect each other because we feel inadequate to share or perhaps too selfish. . .

I really don’t think anyone truly knows, it is all speculation from a very biased point of view.

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The Tennessee Stud

Posted on May 30, 2012 by pathfinder

Doc Watson has passed on.   We’ve listened to his music since we first married.  I remember when his son Merle died.  Some wondered if he would be able to continue his music.  He instituted Merlefest and played on for 26 years.   I’m sure he missed Merle at every session.

I remember when Art Linkletter‘s child died after plunging from a  window.  Johnny Carson’s son’s death, John Travolta‘s son, Bill Cosby’s and Eric Clapton‘s.

They all presented brave faces to the camera.  Their statements were made to assure the public that they would carry on.  Yes they carry on with their belly full of grief.

Doc Watson never saw his son.   Blind from birth he began playing harmonica with his musical family by age five.  He never got to physically see his son, but his love was not dependent on that.

Their music brought them together early in Merle’s life.  Doc is proported to have considered retirement when Merle died.

I have a friend whose daughter has been gone for eighteen years.  I cannot imagine it.   We have passed eleven months and I see no end to my grief in sight.  I watch everyone as they move forward in time after the death of their child and marvel over their ability.  Some have commented on “how well” I am doing.   I take it from some people better than from others.

How did Doc Watson stand to play those songs that were always done accompanied by Merle?

Perhaps it was to honor his son and their relationship.

The celebrity who has lost a child is in a most terrible position.  I know how people look at me and scrutinize “how I am”.  Imagine the world in your face, taking pictures and trying to document your progress.  My heart goes out to all of them and I admire what they have been able to do.   So many people who have never lost a child somehow mistakenly think that a parent can “get over” the loss.

Doc Severinson when interviewed about his friend and colleague Johnny Carson said “he was never the same after the death of his son.”   I understand.

But not being the same is not necessarily a bad thing sometimes.  At least not all bad.   There are obvious things to some people who are observant.  To others who know me superficially I have maintained that superficial jocular facade.  What they cannot see is my attitude towards them.  I have so much more compassion for them.  They are blissfully unaware of what might be in their future too.  I worry a bit for their sake.   I treat them as kindly as I can.  I make it easier for them to be around me because I want all the people around me that I can get who are safe.  In that I mean, they know of my loss and are wiling to be with me.

I have some people who were friends before our son died who have not even so much as sent a card, or email.   Probably they think that it has been almost a year, and it is too late for them to do so.

It is never too late to acknowledge a child to their parent.  Never.

There are people who I have overlooked in that way, or felt uncomfortable and did not know what to say.   My son’s death has changed that for me too.   To some I have apologized about my ignorance.   We spend too much time trying to do things according to some protocol that does not exist.  Do the right thing whenever it occurs to you, and allow the chips to fall where they may.

We are deep into the season that is upon us.  June is fraught with memories of my son.  We find ourselves missing and yearning for him more than ever.

Surely even up until the last time Doc Watson played his guitar he thought of his son.  He may even have heard him accompany him in his mind.

Today at the school our son attended our daughter is attending a simple remembrance for those faculty, staff and students who have passed.  My husband and I chose not to go.  We were told it would be very short, and not worth our effort to drive that far.   The tough part is we would just like to be where our son’s name is said, out loud for every one to hear just one more time.

Maybe that is why Doc chose to institute Merlefest.  Then, at least, his son’s name would be on everyone’s lips.  I understand that need.   That excruciating need.

Posted in Death, Faith, Family, Friends | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Memorial Day

Posted on May 28, 2012 by pathfinder

Today our country is honoring the memory of those who gave their life in service to their country.  Whether on the field of battle or whether through some mishap during training or while on duty they were still “serving”.  I have a friend whose beautiful son was lost while on base.  He was there to serve in whatever capacity was needed and unfortunately lost his life while working at the gate.  A vehicle struck him down.   His intentions were to serve his country.  His uniform and training attested to that, as did his willingness to leave home and  work in a place he did not prefer to be in.

The mindset that it takes to accept the risk inherent to being a part of the military is something I cannot fathom.

My dad and his brothers served in the military.  My husband did also.  He enlisted during the Vietnam conflict though he never went to Vietnam.   He was a hospital corpsman and ended up working at a military hospital in Europe.  He asked to be deployed to Vietnam .  The chaplain came to him and told him to take the duty to which he had been assigned.   I think sometimes he feels guilty when he sees veterans who came back from those battles, and even worse when he sees the monuments memorializing those who did not come back.

Our son was not a fan of the military.  His issues were with the governments and the underlying issues that he perceived took our young people into areas to fight.  There are no right answers or easy ways to peel the onion concerning any of the issues that have brought us into military conflicts.   He did however understand that those young people who chose to serve had the right to choose.  As he had the right to choose what he would do.

I think of the family members who have lost children in the military throughout time.  I think of the parents in war zones who have lost children in the conflict.  I think of the hundreds of young people who will never grew and those that will never grow to adulthood and contribute more to the future.   I miss them all.  I grieve their passing.   I wish it could be different.  I admire their courage.  I thank them for their willingness to serve.

Whatever helps the moms and dads, the grandparents, the wives, husbands and children to make it through another day – I wish for them.  May you have whatever helps in abundance.  I know, like me the one thing you desire, that you cannot have is your loved one back.   I am so sorry for your loss.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Friends | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Binding and Loosing

Posted on May 25, 2012 by pathfinder

Sweetheart,

There is a nest of baby birds chirping in the garage again.  House wrens love that space.  Because we leave the door open to the garage the birds take advantage of that area.  It never gets terribly hot and to my knowledge does not freeze in the coldest weather.  The parents have in the past started singing loudly as if to tell us to come open the door for them.   I will probably miss the exodus of the babies, unless it is like the time I came out to find the baby house wrens all over the garage floor.

They always look so angry.

I caught  a couple that time and put them in a cage briefly so that when you came home from school you could see them.  We laughed over their angry expression and their tiny tuft of a tail.  Then we set them free.

I search for meaning.  I feel like that has become my constant advocation these days.  In “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy” the subject is approached humorously.   I’m not sure that their take is not potentially as accurate as anything else.   Or maybe not.   The only thing that keeps cycling around for me is the idea of setting things free.

Like the birds you had – your hawks that you worked with so diligently – eventually set free.   You and your sister, though still deeply connected to us, set free to live your life.  It is the best way to keep those things you love.  Set them free.

In the Bible there is a passage (among many others) that I have never really understood.  Jesus is quoted as having said it twice.  Matthew 16:19 speaks of the keys of the kingdom of heaven . . .”and whatever you bind on earth shall have been bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall have been loosed in heaven.” (NAS)   Again in Matthew 18:18 “Truly I say to you whatever you bind on earth shall have been bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall have been loosed in heaven.”  Read in context you see that Jesus is dealing with people who are trying to figure things out in respect to those who impose on  people other than themselves  the need to  live by hard and fast rules and in the other  trying to explain the seriousness of  convicting  someone of their need to change their ways.  Binding them with rules – predominately manmade or loosing them to God and His Grace and mercy.  I take it to mean, if you bind these rules upon others – by these rules you will be bound.

I’m not saying we should not have boundaries or rules.  I am saying that we need to be careful, thoughtful, and realize how uninformed we are in most cases.   Life is like those little birds in that cage – left for only a short time and then freed.  I don’t know where they went or how long they will live but I assume they will be the birds they were meant to be.  I haven’t researched the life of house wrens, but perhaps the nesting pair return each year to our garage, or perhaps one of the offspring does.

I was raised by a controlling mother.  Her anger at me, when it flared was probably due to her frustration at her inability to control me.   I think I unwittingly brought part of that to my adult life.  I inflicted my delusion of control on your dad, you and your sister.  The things we work to bind slip through our hands like sand.

I feel that each passing year, as you and your sister grew wrenched my fingers loose from that tight grip I thought I had.  One day each of you in your own way took flight.

What would I bind here on earth if I could?  I don’t honestly know that I have a right to bind anything.

I would wish for everyone who chooses to have children to have the relationship I have been blessed with with my children.  I would hope for them to have time with them.  Lots of simple, uncluttered time to get to know the person, to really hear their voice, to observe the subtle nuances that make each child an individual.  I would hope for them the strength to accept each individual child for who they are and to love them, unabashedly without inhibition.  Parents should gather them every day in their arms when in their presence and in their heart when they are apart.

I have stayed busy with the strange elements of the society I live in that we call life.   I continue to maintain the house and my business responsibilities.   I have taken on new opportunities.   I spend less of my day in tears.

When I leaned in over you that day in the hospital I kissed you and whispered in your ear that it was okay if you needed to go,  I lied.  It really wasn’t okay in my heart or mind.   I just didn’t know what else to say because I knew that I was not going to be able to keep you anymore.

There is nothing I can really keep – except my memories and my love for you, my love and hope of more time with your sister and your dad until we join you.  I am loosening  the grip a bit at a time of those painful chains of grief, and binding myself up with the variety of memories I have of you.   I don’t want you bound up in any way except if it is possible in this incredible love I still hold for you. And if indeed, God is love, as we are told – then it is possible.

Love Forever

Mom

Posted in Birds of Prey, Death, Faith | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

A note of thanks (every day is mother’s day)

Posted on May 18, 2012 by pathfinder

Your trip to Berlin

I am here at the counter again, sitting on the barstool where one of my favorite pictures was taken of you.  Your sister took it.  You are getting ready to sip your hot tea.  You look like you are just about to smile.

One of your most endearing qualities has always been the way you loved your sister.  She annoyed you at times, amazed you at others and often goaded you to do things that you might not have considered.   You knew that you belonged together, regardless of your differences.  I don’t know if you begrudged her tagging along with your friends and you in some of your more benign adventures.  It never appeared that you resented it.

I remember your exasperated voice, when she had done something that you did not want her to. I also remember your praise and admiration of her.

She has always loved you.  She claimed you – my wa-wa being one of the first phrases in her vocabulary. There is the video of the two of you in her bed room as you teach her do-ra-me on the xylophone. ” I could teach her anything” you proclaim to the camera.  You both learned a lot from each other.

During your teenage years, as you pulled away from us and she in turn did the same, I remember you spinning off separately  from each other.  Turbulent years, for a variety of reasons, your dad and I held on tight trying to figure out how to guide you both.  I can’t say either one of you made it easy.  We were inexperienced with teenagers.

When she was diagnosed with leukemia you stepped up.  I know you wanted to go away to college, but you stayed here.  You had your own problems because of the prank you and your friends pulled.   Your steady presence helped us in so many ways.  Your inner turmoil was hidden from us.  You spared us.  Thank you for all your support and help during those years.  I am glad I had opportunity to thank you personally.

When you moved to Colorado we all were happy for you.  Your sister was still experiencing some turbulent years.  After her chemotherapy for 2 and 1/2 years she had some catching up to do and she did, with a vengeance.    She helped me move you to Colorado.

I look back with such fond memories to that trip.  As hard as it was to drive away leaving you at the condo, to continue settling in on your own, it also felt good.  Your sister and I continued our trip up through Wyoming and into South Dakota.   We visited national monuments, exploring places neither of us had ever seen before.

That is how it has been raising both of you.  I feel like it has been such a great adventure because just being with you was like exploring places I had never seen before.  You allowed me a glimpse of how it might be to see the world through your eyes.  You shared so much with me.

When you died, your sister was on her way here with her then fiancé.  I don’t know how it affects a person to loose their sibling.   I know she has felt some anger having to now  be the only child.   I worried that she might feel neglected because of our intense grief.

One day we had a confrontation in the hallway here.  She spilled all the frustration and sadness I knew she had bottled up to try and spare us.   Funny how we think we can spare each other grief. It is impossible.

She depended on you, son.  She misses you terribly in ways I don’t even experience.   She was secure in her new community in Ohio, knowing you lived right upstairs.

She returned to that house and packed up your belongings and brought them here.   She catalogued all your books and boxed them for donation to your department at the University.  She went to the court and took care of all the legal aspects of your estate.   She adopted your dogs.

She and her husband have purchased the house from us.  I know how attached she can become to things and as much as we wanted to be able to help them  to be secure, I worried over her motives for wanting the house.

I know you loved the house, wishing you could take it with you when you would inevitably move from there.

She expected you to be standing with her groom at her wedding.  She hoped to get your skinny body on the dance floor at the reception.  We all wanted to see you in a tuxedo.

Thanks to her I have some of the most wonderful photos of you here at the house at Christmas.   Times here when she comes to visit are still awkward.  Your absence at those times when tradition brought us together are very difficult.   We are changing some of those traditions a little bit at a time.  Time alone will change them anyway, so we are choosing to make those changes to suit ourselves.

The pictures of the two of you together break my heart the most.   The bond that is there is one of the most special I have ever witnessed.

I assure you she is a strong person.  Intelligent and capable in every way she continues to inspire and amaze me.  But she misses you.  She misses you in ways I have not experienced.  She is living her life and we are proud of her.  You would be proud of her too.   You would be buying airline tickets to accompany her on the trips that her job takes her on!

I have never regretted having children.  My own mother at one point in my adult life said she would not have had children if she could do it all over again.   I know she was angry and I hope not in her right mind!  As for me, perhaps I should have had more.   I don’t know that I could have handled more, but I certainly have reveled in the two I had.  Amazing gift.   Absolutely amazing.

Thank you for putting up with me.  Thank you for loving me and allowing me to stumble through raising and being raised by you.  I thank you both with all my heart.

Posted in Death, Family, Holidays | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

another day

Posted on May 11, 2012 by pathfinder

Right after our son died other people who had lost children told me “your son is with you.”  I was incredulous.   He was gone.  Life was empty.  Other meaningful relationships were blunted and dulled to gray.  The world with its color and vibrancy mocked me.

Most days now, for whatever reason, I feel like he is right beside me.   Please understand I am not speaking in some mystical way.  He was so much a part of my life, my thinking, my concern that it seems in the most mundane and typical daily circumstances that he is here.

I shed tears daily.  I have become accustomed to it.  I don’t dread or fear it.  It annoys me when I am driving.  I try to make it stop then for safety’s sake.  Afternoons and evenings are the worst.  The close of another day makes the sadness well up in tears.

I hate not being able to see him and talk to him.   Fear and doubt like to taunt me with the idea that I will never see him again.   I block people on Facebook  with their canned poster statements that infuriate me with assumptions about God.  I am working through my beliefs as hard as I can, thank you.

My daughter said it best.  ” I think, how can this be?  How can it be almost a year?  And then I think in ten years I will be thinking the same thing . . . ”

It helps when other people express how much they miss our son.   Since my husband, daughter and I think of him daily perhaps we assume others do too.  I know that is not possible.  Life has been moving forward for them.  It has moved for us too.  The road it very rocky.

Thinking about him doesn’t hurt all the time now.   His dad and I laughed today about one of his friends crediting our son with his ability to slay others at a game of chess.

I stay busy.  I have been physically busy.  I have resumed walking the dogs for an hour a day.  I have been painting.  I look back over the past year and wonder over the things that have been accomplished.   Our daughter, his sister has accomplished so many things.  Good things.  I don’t know that I have ever stopped to view a year in retrospect quite the way I have this one.  She and I talk and marvel that anything has been accomplished at all.

Depression still stalks me.  It blunts joy.   I plan things and then as the event approaches I find myself wishing I had never committed to it.  I want to stay home.   But staying home is hard too.   I loose focus and wander around without accomplishing even the most menial tasks.

I make myself go.   At times it still takes all the strength I can muster.  Thankfully the people I come in contact with know my circumstances.   They lend me a bit of their energy and I muddle through.

My daughter and my husband give me space.  We give each other space.   We each miss different aspects of the man.  We each contribute to our mutual appreciation of having had him in our life.

Some feelings are stronger now.  The incredible yearning can be very painful.

We are quickly approaching the anniversary of his death.  Just seeing that written is hard.

I have missed other people during my life.  Thus far there is nothing to compare this to.

The man ,once you had gained his favor, loved unconditionally.   He quietly would gauge how far he could push.  He was eager to share, to watch others learn, to see things click and did so without expecting praise or credit.  His shyness was endearing.   His wit quick and tongue sharp when necessary. He was a student of nuance.  He appreciated the natural world.  He loved a puzzle.  He allowed me to be who I am prodding me at times to work past fear and self-doubt.   I miss our time on the trail, on the road, on the couch shoulder to shoulder.

It will never seem possible that he is gone.   Never.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Faith, Family, Friends | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments