The vicious cycle

Posted on September 3, 2013 by pathfinder

IMG_1372I keep writing things.  I have all these files on my computer of things I have written and I can’t bear to post them.  It sort of mirrors a lot of the way I am feeling right now.    Both my husband and I seem to be having difficulty getting out.   Hard to leave the house, figure out something to do.  Easy to say no to activities or say yes and then not go.

Not sure who to call and ask to do anything.   Feeling very hesitant to commit to anything.   Then, annoyed when you accomplish nothing.

I have come to accept that almost everywhere I go there is either a reminder, visually or something someone says that is going to make me think about my son.   There really does not need to be a reminder, but some things said about children, or off hand comments that I used to ignore or maybe even thought were funny strike me wrong.  I know the person speaking does not have the point of reference I do.

I wonder if I am staying closeted away to avoid those circumstances.   Not that it makes me think about my son less.   The very idea of thinking about him less makes me nervous.  My husband and daughter and I feel at times we are the only ones remembering him at all.   I know his friends think of him, but maybe like me they try to keep it themselves.

How can someone be so utterly gone?  Not even a ripple on the surface of the water to be found.  When I feel anger at times it is directed towards the audacity of life to go on without noticing.

So many people die every day.  Every day.  Every one of those people have someone who notices, hopefully cares.  Every one of those people are the child of someone whether living or dead.  And I hate to admit  it, but I don’t want to think about them.

I want to think about my one person.  I want everyone to stop and say – yes indeed – your one person was the most important, wonderful, loving . . . etc. etc. etc.   I’m no different from the people I get annoyed with!   Why has this not made me more empathetic?

Well it did for a while.  I scoured the news and read about ever incident of an accidental death or children dying.   And I sat in my puddle for the day after reading it.   So I knew I was not alone in my suffering, but I was alone with my particular suffering.   Because try as I might I cannot get out of my own head.  Not possible.

After a while reading about other’s losses wears your brain out from the grief.   Like eating hot peppers – you may finally by eating them often enough build up a tolerance.   Then is when I get spooked!  What if I am getting used to the idea of my son being gone!

That idea is depressing.   So the cycle spins around again.

And even as I am writing this, I am wondering to myself – should I even bother to post this?  What difference does it really make?    Do I feel any better having written it, or does it just confirm – document where I am?  GPS – Grief Processing System.

Well, I am not above making fun of myself either.   Sometimes my alter ego steps out and asks the women in the mirror what the heck she thinks she is doing?   But then I always considered my son as part of my alter ego.  So you can see how easy this is to get back to square one again.

I am here and he is not.  I will be here until I am not here anymore.  I will feel this way until I don’t feel this way anymore.

So, I have to work on making myself get out again.   Leave myself an escape route – always an escape route – but go anyway.   It takes so much energy sometimes there is hardly anything left once I get to where I am going.  But maybe the getting there is the victory – though no one else will notice.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Friends | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

A half a glass of water

Posted on August 22, 2013 by pathfinder

IMG_0494_2Today is my daughter’s birthday.  She and I had a discussion the other day about her birthday and her particular struggle with the fact that she is now only a year younger than her brother.   She was born three and half years after he was.

I have a book on the loss of a sibling and I have not taken time to read it.   I read a lot of books about grief and loss the first year after our son’s death.  I thought I should read a book about her loss and I don’t know why I have not.  I won’t make excuses here.  I just haven’t been able to do it.

I haven’t been able to go to the house where she lives, this house that she shared with her brother and where they, as adults began to form a different bond and relationship.   They were getting to know each other and love each other as adult siblings and then suddenly it was yanked out from under her.

But she has always known him well.  Their relationship was a relationship.  They related to each other and seemed even in the worst of times to retain a bond unlike anything I had with either one of them.  Siblings.

She could see in her brother things I could not.  I appreciate her insights into his behavior and attitudes.  He provided the same concerning her, for me.  He saw things and interpreted some things about her for me.   It is part of being a family.

I really want her to have a good day.  We gave her a camera for her birthday.  She had been trying to choose a camera for quite a while because she is very particular and has to do all her research.   I can’t wait to see what she will do with it.

I know  I am smitten by my children.   It is good that everyone thinks they have the best kids in the world, and I like everyone else am convinced that I truly do have the very best.

Birthdays have always been bitter sweet to me.  I have shed tears every year on the eve before my children’s birth date.   It has gotten worse now.

I read the following the other day:

A psychologist is having a talk about anxiety.  She lifts a glass half with water and the audience wonder if she is going to ask if the glass is half full or half empty.  She asks:

” What is the weight of the glass with the water?”  The audience answered from 250g up to 1 kg.

Then she started talking…”The weight doesn’t matter…but what matter is how long you hold it in your hand.  If you hold it for a few minutes there will be no difference, if you hold it for an hour your arm will get sore and pain a bit and if you hold it for a day…you will have sore shoulders, pain in your back, needles and pins in your arm and a lot more pain.  The longer you hold on to this glass the more severe the pain and despair.

This is how anxiety touches our lives.  If we think about it a few minutes and not give it much thought it will be OK.  Thinking longer and more intense about it, it will have a effect on your life and when we dwell on it, thinking every minute about it, it will consume your day and life.  It will consume us and it will eat us bit by bit.  It will feel like we don’t know where to go and where to turn…

I know this relates to grief too and the anxiety that comes with it. Water however is necessary for life so why stand around holding the glass? My solution to the problem would be drink the blasted water- take it in and fill the glass again.  But I understand  that sometimes we just sit and hold it.  So I am lifting my glass to my beautiful daughter.  I am drinking down the day – with all the flavors it holds.   It is life and it is love and it is the sorrow we share as people do that share love.

You my sweet girl are the dearest person to my heart.  Happy Birthday – from me and from your dad – and to quote your brother “oh yeah! Is today your birthday?”

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

Self talk

Posted on August 19, 2013 by pathfinder

IMG_0990There have been a lot of thoughts I have shuffled through lately. There are memories that are so stark and other memories that when brought to mind are difficult to believe are real.   I have to think I have always done that, selected memories for my collection and sorted others into the discard pile.   I think the only difference is that I realize it now.

It reminds me of becoming aware of a noise that has existed in and around me for a while and suddenly I focus on it.   The refrigerator, the clunk of the water pipes,  a ticking clock whose voice suddenly , annoyingly comes to the forefront. Unfortunately the silence is loud too.  A particular silence is overwhelming.  There is a voice whose absence shouts at me.

We are doing the best we can. I say that a lot and I don’t even know what the means or how to measure that!   From early youth I was conditioned that you were supposed to stay busy.  I enjoy being busy with things I like.  I am easily distracted when the project or activity is not something I  don’t  like.   Things I used to like to do are not as interesting as they used to be.  So at a time in my life when I expected to be settling in with those things I do best, I find myself searching again.  And maybe that was the way it was going to be anyway and because I was not “this age” yet, I did not know.

It is a sad convenience that I have something to blame it on.  Other older people who spin off into eclectic interests have to make up their own excuses.

I probably have lost some of my inner censor.  The outspoken aspect of me is more outspoken, my anger is less tempered, my reaction less veiled. I probably misuse the phrase “life is too short” to justify some of my more obnoxious behaviors and attitudes.

For the past three weeks I have revisited a lot of things concerning the day my son died and the things that happened afterwards.  I have been very miserable.   I know there are records filed here and there concerning the accident and medical records that documented his condition.   I know that some who participate in the sport of climbing have worked to try and educate others concerning safety.  I know the park has done their best to inform and remind climbers of the risks they take.

I know that accidents still happen and families are left to muddle through as we are.  Young people try out risky behaviors because they are young and that seems to be a part of that time of life.  I know.  I have talked myself through all of this again.   I saw and felt it coming and there was no where to run.

If the wash of it were only to hit me, I might be alright with it – but those who depend on me still – suffer through my moods and tears. I can’t go into a cave and hide till it passes.

We are here with the rest of the world.   Our spouses, other children if we have them, sisters, brothers, parents are all out there too depending on us in ways great and small.  And I don’t know about you but I am still tired and so are they.   There is a friction that builds up – static electricity of a sort that discharges at random.  The good face we are tying to put on around each other is as thin as eggshell.

Bad habits got worse with them too.  The things that frustrated me before frustrate me more.   I expected them to change for the better because of our son’s death.  But they didn’t!  And sadly, neither did I.  Not really.   It takes energy for that effort and I just haven’t had it.  Oh I’ve changed, but it is for the worse.

Depression has made every physical ailment hurt more and arthritis is setting in insidiously. Plantar fasciitis has developed in my left foot.  I eat without thinking and my mid section is thicker with harmful visceral fat.  We have had months of rain which has required more creativity to be active and I have failed in that creativity.    And all of this probably would have happened anyway, but the terrible grief I live with seems a great scapegoat.

So why am I talking about this?   I don’t think I am alone in this.  We – everyone on this planet are involved in greater and lesser degrees with a struggle of coping with life on this planet.  I read from the news there are places being torn apart from within and yet we are simply dealing with the weather.

I am not going to tell myself that it will all be okay.   I won’t make myself any false promises.  It will change – one way or another.  Other problems and concerns are coming.   But for today-what about today?  I know for sure, without a doubt, I really am not alone.

We are all struggling.  The problems may be different and where we are on this road of grief but we are here together.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Friends | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments

Patience for the day

Posted on August 16, 2013 by pathfinder

IMG_1003

I feel like I should write something.  It feels like by not doing so I am letting myself down.  I’ve never figured out who it is that stands over me in my head with these expectations.  I don’t think of myself as a driven person.  I think of myself as one of those little solar lights out there on the deck.  When there is energy to be had I can shine.  When there is not the couch looks real good.

Every day is slightly cracked or has a chip in it.  I am sure that they did all along.  I just overlooked it.  I see all the cracks, all the the chips and the smiles on people’s faces that never reach their eyes.

So, I think I need to fast from the news for a while, and probably Facebook too.   Lots of static, noise that gets in to my head and is confusing while not helping anything.

It has been raining so much and I think my mood is as soggy as all out doors.

 

But we took a vacation to the beach.  It was the week of my birthday.  I didn’t post anything about it while we were on vacation  because it was quiet and fairly uneventful.  It was hot at the beach.  I am not a sun person so I avoided the hottest parts of the day.  It was a South Carolina beach and the efforts that began in 1948 by the Corp of Engineers to battle beach erosion have not succeeded nor  have they ever worked. The beach stays in a constant winter profile – steeply slanted from what should be dunes with a very very narrow beach.  It is hard to walk on.   The groins they put out at a right angle every 100 yards or so make it impossible to enjoy a walk at low tide.

Our friends joined us at the beach for a few days.  That helped.  Having other people to talk to and to hear the undercurrent hum of the every day challenges of someone else’s life makes you feel less anxious.

The triumph in my mind was that we made it through the week.  We actually packed it up and drove to a destination and stayed in a place that was not so far away that we could not have made it home in a day.  We cooked meals and we read books and we walked the neighborhoods when the heat abated a little.  We talked to our daughter on the phone and I think both my husband and I both kept track of every nuance that we would like to tell our son about.  Especially the nesting osprey’s and the sharp-shinned hawk that skimmed through the live oak trees.

But it was my third birthday since our son died.  My own private anniversary without my mother or my son.  My mom used to call me before her dementia got so bad that she forgot my birthday altogether.  She would say – “forty-nine years ago today, it was just you and me kid!”.    I remember when I called her on my birthday when I was in Maine with my son years ago.  That was the first year she forgot it was my birthday and I did not remind her.

You have to be careful how you deal out these memories.  I give them space, but if I allow them to they will drown out all the voices in the day.  The daily voices become a hum like a television with the volume turned down – you can see the action and you can hear that they are talking – but you don’t know what the heck is going on and furthermore you don’t care.

This time of year I celebrate my birthday, my sisters celebrate theirs, my daughter, my late mother, my late mother-in-law.  July and September bracket it with the anniversary of the death of my son in July and my mother in September.  And the daylight is diminishing with each day.

I am trying not to diminish with it.  I stay busy till sorrow wrestles me down and I have to sit and weep for a while.

photoI took the dogs to the groomer yesterday and our 13 year old black pomeranian got a new cut.  She comes to me when I am weeping.  She can’t jump up easily so she puts her paw on my feet and looks at me.  I pick her up and she snuggles me.  She doesn’t seem to mind how long it takes for me to recover.  She is very patient with my sorrow.    I don’t know that you can ever wring it all out of yourself or that it is worth trying.

I think it is worth trying to be patient with yourself, however.   It is always worth trying.

 

P.S.  Dear Son.  I miss you.   Forever, Mom.

 

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

In the face of change

Posted on July 29, 2013 by pathfinder

IMG_6870Change is happening all the time, all around us, with us and without us.  It pushes and pulls us.  Sometimes it seems to shove us.  At times it has happened without our notice and when we arrive upon that change it seems astounding.  It is crazy that we expect things to stay the same as they always have.

My daughter told me I would not recognize the portion of the city where she lives.  They have rerouted the exit that takes you to her part of town and buildings that have been there for almost a century are gone.

It is difficult to try to change yourself.  It is easy to be a passive observer of the change going on around you rather than to try and change yourself.

Health problems can exert the “need” for change, but self-will and adherence to a prescribed regimen are the only things that can potentially render change in that situation.

For the grieving it can be difficult to focus on the former need.  We may even neglect ourselves to the point of inflicting real harm on ourselves.   It may be difficult to get ourselves up and out to the doctor.  The doctor is going to ask the inevitable “how are you doing?” and that is a question, when asked by a truly interested inquiring person, we don’t want to answer.

So.  How ARE you doing?  Your life has changed and you can’t do anything about it.  So what are you going to do with where you are?  What can you do?

Yesterday while driving I felt memories start seeping into my mind.  They were memories from two years ago and they are not pleasant.  They come like a pack of cards I shuffle and reshuffle, trying to make sense of something I can’t make sense of.  So I spoke out loud and I told them to stop.  I then decided to approach them from a different angle.

Here are a few of my conclusions from this examination:

I will never have a day when I do not miss my son.  (I know the words never and always are words that are to be avoided but in this case they are unavoidable)

I will always have moments when I will flash back to that awful day when we got the phone call.

I may often have moments of unexpected tears and panic.

I will always have a voice that seems to cry irrationally – “why him?”  I will always have a voice that says “I can’t believe he is gone.”

I have the right and ability to spend as much time as I want with these thoughts and ideas.  They are mine.  I don’t have to give them up for anyone or anything and as much as things may change around me, these things may not change in my mind. And that is okay.

In claiming these thoughts and holding them for a while, I realized that I can also allow myself to hold them without going through them obsessively.  I can give them some time.  They are available for me to take out whenever I so choose.  They do not change yet I can choose how I will allow them to affect my day.

In so doing I begin to feel my son with me during the day.  It is as if I have suddenly made space for him (his memory) to walk along side me.  To put his head on my shoulder as I read a book.  To come watch me paint for a moment and point out the things I need to do differently.  I can hear him making fun of me when I watch a truly stupid television show that is a waste of time.

I do not want the rest of the days I have left here to be a waste of time.   I would hope if the situation were reversed, if I were gone and he remained, he would not waste his time.

Right after his death I threw myself into a number of activities.  I participated in NANOWRIMO and somewhere there is a rough draft of a book.  I knitted a lot of dish cloths.  A year ago I began a new technique with my watercolor and continue to pursue it.  I have not counted the books I have read.  I do puzzles every day.  Today my life could change again.  I could cease to live altogether.  I know it doesn’t take much to make that occur.  We are so fragile.

It is hard to embrace change and impossible to accept and acknowledge the kind of change that the death of a child brings.  I can’t change that, but I can change me a little at a time, incrementally I can change how much time I will devote to his death or how much time I will devote to allowing his good influence to live in me.

In 1929 when the stock market crashed investors jumped out of windows because of the loss of their investments.  I have lost one of my investments, but to cash it all in would be to say that  my investment in my son  was never worth anything at all.   I gave my time and energy to help him grow to become a man, and a man he was.   He influenced others, including me and that is still worth something.

I have other investments.  My daughter and my son-in-law, my husband, my siblings and in-laws, my friends and relationships yet to be established.  I can spend any and all the time I want with those “thoughts” that might rob me of time I could spend shoring up my other investments or I can allocate those thoughts their time, and spend the rest where it continues to be needed.

Allowing the change wrought by the death of my son to only influence me in negative ways is ,for me, wrong.  It is disloyal.  It is a discredit to him and to me and the rest of my family.

I have been writing regularly in this time since my son died, and in the writing I see an ebb and flow of emotions and feelings. My own personal therapy of sorts.  I wish there were more than words to hold on to.

Please know that the things I say are not meant to make you feel that you need to change anything you are doing.   I have friends who have sought counseling and benefited from it greatly.  I like the fact that is still an option for me.  The Compassionate Friends are also a great resource.

As for today, may something in it change for the better to clarify or comfort or simply soften the day.

 

 

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Friends | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

Thought for the day – forgiveness

Posted on July 24, 2013 by pathfinder

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A friend posted a “poster” on her Facebook page that read: ” Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know before you learned it”.   Well that certainly covers a lot of territory.

As parents who have lost a child we are pretty hard on ourselves with the memories.  We think through the past, both distant and recent and find ourselves spinning our wheels in the mud.  We wish we had had a premonition, a clue, a sign, an indication of what was coming so we magically could have prevented it.  Had we known and not been able to prevent it – we wish we could have spent more time – so-called “quality” time with our child.  We didn’t know.

We didn’t know that the parents who had lost their child before we lost ours were in so much pain.  We didn’t know what we should say or do.  We didn’t know that there was nothing to be done except acknowledge the loss and to go do little things-things they could never ask for – like grocery shop or pick up the dry cleaning.  We didn’t know that sometimes all they needed was someone to come and sit, quietly and maybe read a book to keep them company.

We didn’t know that anything could bring this much pain and sorrow.  We didn’t know that life could change so abruptly and then continue to mock us at every turn.

We were not aware of our own short memories when it came to other’s grief and pain and are shocked at how forgotten we feel in a very short amount of time.

We did not know that we could feel so uncomfortable in our own skin.  Holidays and visits from dearly loved friends could become objects of dread.   We did not know we would have to plan escape or alternative routes to try and participate in what used to be every day events.

We did not sign up for this course and we are unwilling participants.

We are the only ones keeping track of our attendance and performance.

To those so unaware we have for the most part successfully  masked ourselves and appear to be “getting over it.”

And we get angry for all the things we did not know.  We loved our ignorance and did not know how fortunate we were to dwell in it.    We find it hard to forgive ourselves for not knowing.  It is easier to be angry at ourselves than our departed loved one.

So, in as much as it is possible, I hope to grant myself a  little forgiveness today.  I plan to take off the gloves that  I keep battering myself with.  I plan to look in the mirror for a moment and not inventory the lines of grief and pain, but rather see the person my son loved.

I am the person my son loved.  She is still here and loved by a daughter and a husband and friends.   She was able to love a son and a provide a nurturing environment for him to become a good man.  She has learned that life is short and it is not worth anything to dwell on frustration.  She has learned to breath in to the count of 7, hold it for 7 and release for 7.

She has learned that nothing is guaranteed, control is an illusion, love is all that endures.

It takes practice to be present in the moment, but it is worth the effort.

I hope we can all forgive ourselves a little today.

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Faith, Family, Friends, Holidays | Tagged , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

How is the weather?

Posted on July 15, 2013 by pathfinder

IMG_6760It is Monday again.  As has the rest of the country we have had some intense weather.  Our’s has come in the form of rain.  Some days have been very gray.  It takes work to pull yourself out of the gloom.

People still talk about the weather when there is nothing else to talk about and I am beginning to become a connoisseur of “weather-speak.”   You can divert a lot of questions with weather speak.

The reason is easy, the longer you converse with people the more personal the questions become.

I can slip in some comments about my son and daughter sometimes without anyone asking me directly about my children.  My husband and I have become more comfortable when in a group of people who know us.  We often remember and relate circumstances and events concerning our son now.  It gets a little easier every time.

I can sense, however, when I won’t be able to comment.  I can feel the dread rising.  This person is going to ask me about my children and when I tell them they are going to feel somehow that they should not have asked.  I then feel that I should have softened it for them.  It is a difficult cycle.

So here at times I think, I should say more.  I should tell more about him.  But then I think, am I detracting from those who are still here that mean so much to me?   Do I make them feel that I don’t care as much about them?  Do they think that I think about my son all the time?

He is never far away in my thoughts, but I do have more and more time when it is like when he was living.  I did not think about him all the time then.  The triggers are more expected.  I know a little better what most of them will be, though some still sneak up on me.  And strangely at times, I still want to reach for the phone and call him.

The other night I held a conversation in my head with him.  I let him speak based on things he has said before to me.  He told me not to waste any time.  He told me not to be afraid.  He told me he was proud of me.

He was a man who carefully considered his choices and I think he would have me to do the same.

I am trying to stop dreading the future without him.  It is so easy to allow the negative thoughts to take over.

IMG_5642My new artwork that developed over the past year has been well received.  I have been juried in to the three shows I entered, winning a prize in one so far.   The work has been selling too which is a great boost for the ego, and an incentive to continue painting.

I pour a lot of my emotions into those painting.  They are those places where I have been with him and where I like to picture him still dwelling.  I stopped putting his figure in my paintings.  I can’t decide if I am willing to do that anymore.   Those that have him in it are hard to part with now.IMG_1431

I hear pithy sayings and statements in movies and read them in books and think- yes that it is – and then promptly forget them and begin to search again.  I feel that I am constantly searching and it is never clear what I am searching for.  I search in my art and my reading and in the faces of every young man I meet.

Thankfully I rarely see anyone built like him.   I have yet to meet anyone who sounds like him, not his voice or philosophy.  Perhaps it is strange that I am thankful for that, but I am.

When it gets bad, as it does at times there are things I fall back on.

I knit.

I read.

I do puzzles.

I exercise.

I find a friend and run away to shop or take photographs.

If it affects my sleep I use a self-hypnosis tape to relax.

It takes a lot of work to stop and concentrate long enough to pull myself out of the sorrow at times.  It is then I hear his voice encourage me to do so.  I truly believe he would prefer it.

 

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

the poverty of words

Posted on July 9, 2013 by pathfinder

IMG_6711The poverty of words to describe life now for me and my immediate family is frustrating.  There is no relief.  The descriptive words are inadequate and the words for the emotions are flimsy and diluted – a shadow of the meaning a shade but not the pure hue. We are not used to life as it is now.

The people who share this journey with us wear a knowing look but are also at a loss to express fully how they feel.  There is no analogy that holds up. There must be dozens and dozens of posters and “sayings” that have been printed and shared among the bereaved.  Words that hold a part of the common thread of the fabric but never quite hit the mark.

We repeat them to ourselves and to others but for me they so often feel hollow. My husband and daughter and I still participated in activities we participated in before.  We entertain and go to join in other’s festivities.  It is not the same. There is a vibrancy missing.  It must be in me – like my receptors for such enjoyment have been blocked or partially blocked. There is a tug for my emotions to head toward that expected “enjoyment” and it always fails, just short.  I observe others there where I once have been and would like to be.  I don’t begrudge them, not really.  I do, however, feel like I keep a sad secret that I hope they never learn.  And some mean spirited part of me whispers to the ache “they are blissfully oblivious.”

I shy from giving advice.  Not because my advice is faulty, but because if not careful it sounds like so much doom and gloom.

I heard a speaker say “just because you think something,  does not make it true.”   Later it was reinforced again by yet another  person on a television show talking about how as humans we have a need to be correct and so we will latch on to incorrect information but uphold it as if it is correct for our ego’s sake.  This information keeps rolling around in my head.   My son’s death and my perception of the world are linked now.  Was what I was thinking ever really true? And has truth itself changed or just me and my perception? See, the words are not adequate.  I can’t get to the bottom of it or anywhere near the top. My son and his words and insights are gone.

It has left a tremendous gap in my view of myself.   I refuse to allow it to become a disability.  I am trying to be very careful how I think about it because I understand as my need to be correct exerts its pressure that what I think is not necessarily true.

But this is true, I had a child who is now gone.  He enhanced my life and brought new things into my life.  He is still part of our family and with us in thought every time we speak among ourselves.  The fact of him lingers, just there out of reach.  And we are frustrated because (I must repeat from those poverty stricken words) we miss him and yearn for him. He was a huge in our lives.  Not of more importance than any other, but important.  And because he is so missing from us and our lives we are off balance.  It has been two years now.  Two years. I cannot quantify how the world has been diminished by the passing of one person from this life.    The ripples  circle out and out and seem to disappear, till another drop falls.

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

The Second Year

Posted on June 25, 2013 by pathfinder

IMG_6479Dear Son,

In one week the date will mark two years that you have been gone.  Two years that I have not spoken to you or seen you or held you.  I am amazed that we have survived without you.  We use tools we have developed and learned to cope.  To the world, for the most part, because they don’t pay close attention, we look as normal as can be expected.

My tears come mostly at night, in the dark, as the day closes.  During the day I can fill up my minutes with busy work.  I find people to spend time with.  It is no substitute.

The word that seems to fit my situation best is yearning.  I yearn to see you.  Your sister and I talked this past weekend about the desire to return to a former time.  We talked again about how time would have changed things regardless, but not having you here as a frame of reference-it becomes speculation.

I miss laughter with you and the humor we shared.  I miss your affection and acceptance of me.  Your sister provides so much attention and affection, but we both appreciated those things from you.  Those things you uniquely gave.

Gartner snakes and hawks and absurdly funny situations all make me want to call you.  Just this weekend the most absurd thing happened.  Apparently the button on my I-phone that summons Siri is a little touchy.  Twice now I have activated it while the phone was in my purse.  I was in the garage after arriving home from a drive with your sister and we opened the door for the dogs to come barreling out. Asa charged out barking.  After he quieted I heard Siri talking.  The mechanical female voice said she could not find “Rock, rock, rock, rock, rock, rock ,rock, rock,rock,rock,rock,rock!  Did I mean Rock City Donuts?”  Your sister and I had a good laugh and now have adopted it to use when we need comic relief – either with a situation with the dogs or when we are confused about something.  Did you mean “rock, rock, rock?”  Somehow for me, odd as it was, I felt you there with us in that moment – laughing.

It really stinks that that is all I have.  I feel really sorry for myself, your dad and your sister.  The world has been diminished by your passing.  We will never know what might have been accomplished by you and I shy from that speculation because it is of no value for the day.

Your good influence on me however, was not wasted.  You taught me so much and opened my mind to possibilities that I never imagined.  I have gained more by having my children than they ever gained from me.  Amazing individuals – both of you.

I was changed the moment you came into my life – and when you departed.  Learning to deal with the latter is daunting since my learning curve has flattened quite a bit with time.

I think I have learned to muddle through the daily routine so far.  I don’t think progress is the right word for that.  When the periods of grief hit they are brutal and intense.  I have developed some physical pains with arthritis and joint pain.  I have come to expect them.  I expect the grief will come yet its intensity always surprises me and sometimes I feel panic that – this time – I won’t be able to pull out.  This time the nose dive will drive me into the earth in flames.

But then I think of you, your way of calming me – I breath deeply and slowly I reemerge.

I know I carry a lot of you with me.  I see you in your dad and sister.  I remember your words and smile.  We miss you.

I shuffle back through these paragraphs of inadequate words and think of the volumes of emotion that cannot be expressed.

I love you so much.  You are mine now and forever.

Mom

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

Father’s Day

Posted on June 16, 2013 by pathfinder

The days pile up one by one standing waiting to be recognized for their significance and what they mark in our memory. Every day becomes a memorial day.  It is unintentional.

The national holidays, the manufactured holidays all form ready reminders, but there are the private days.  The very private daily reminders.

I could see my husband cycling into it a week ago, dreading Father’s Day. Not that either child was particularly good at remembering that holiday or Mother’s Day for that matter.  These holidays have never held much interest for me and we never placed any particular emphasis on them, but they are advertised and built up.  It is a great time to make some money for retailers.

I think my husband has been as good a father as any father can be.  I am sure he and I could sit and come up with things both good and bad in both of us as parents.  I certainly was not sure of what I was doing having never been a parent and I know he bluffed his way through a lot of things.  But we had each other-as disagreeable as we have been at times-to try and figure things out with.

Right now, we find it hard to talk to each other about our boy.  It is always just below the surface.  We have been quiet together a lot, avoiding expressing our deep grief.  I don’t know why.  It has happened before.  It is like a cycle.

I will be so submerged in grief and see that he is doing fairly well, functioning and I don’t want to cause him to falter and I think he does the same for me.  It is like we are on a see-saw or teeter-totter  hanging on for all we are worth and dreading the drop.

I am back in June of 2011 a lot these days.  Remembering the events of that month that stood out hugging to me memories that are so precious.  I sort through them sometimes looking to see if I missed something.  Was there some foreshadow of what was so  soon to come.  No.  The memories are simply emblazoned in my mind now because of precious time alone that I shared with my boy hiking and witnessing an impressive storm.

I am glad I had my phone with me the day we took that last hike.  I am so glad I took the little film footage that I did.  I remember watching him as we hiked out.  He walked ahead with the dogs at his side.  I remember purposely fixing that scene in my head as I have at other times.  I bookmarked it in my memory.  I remember thinking how fortunate I am to have this man in my life.

I cannot read my husband’s mind, but I know he has as much to work through as I have.  I wish I cold help him and maybe just being with him is enough.   I don’t know.

We are close to the 2nd anniversary of our son’s death and we are in heavy surf.  It washes over all our days.

There is much change in our daughter’s life and she is struggling with letting go of some things that she too thinks links her to her brother.  It is hard to help.

But for my daughter all she needs to do is look in the mirror – and he is there.  She carries  his DNA and so many facial similarities to her brother.  They look so much alike.  So many pictures I have are of them together, always snuggled together in some way.   I know that she, as I ,miss that physical part of our closeness.  There is no replacement for the hug of a sibling or son.

So today is father’s day and I perhaps should be writing about my own dad.   Some would say that my dad and son are together today and I earnestly hope they are along with my husband’s dad.  I hope they are not aware of us and our grief.

My husband has been as good a father as he could figure out to be.  He has provided for our family. He has come to our defense.  He is a man of responsibility and integrity who loves deeply with a very tender heart.  I thank him for everything he has done and continues to do for our family.  I know our boy appreciated him – he said so – the last time I saw him.

Deiah and Josh German

Our son and daughter in Germany ( taken by a dear friend who loves them as we do.)

 

Posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Family, Friends, Holidays, Marraige | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment