Her Life Will Never Be the Same

Every morning, as much a habit as anything I do, I open FaceBook. It's a nice way to wake up, catching up with the world that way. This morning, I read the unexpected message: "Just thought I would let you know about a tragedy in our family this week ... I felt like you should know since you have been thru this before and might be able to offer words of hope to them at this time." And within those three dots were included the words 'son' and 'suicide.'

My heart immediately broke for this dear family, but especially for the mother. I had been close to her in past times. Distance is the only reason we really didn't see each other much. But I still considered her like a sister. And now ... her son was gone from her. In an instant.

Yes, when she is ready, I will know the words of hope to offer. I have said them to myself over a hundred times. They have been said to me. And I believe those words to be truth.

But first, there will be shock. Only, it doesn't feel like any other shock I've known. It comes as an uninvited but necessary guest. This strange companion never leaves. He's there first thing in the morning, when she moves from sleep to waking, and she doesn't even need to remember, to remember, to remember ... she knows. Her child's passing became as much a part of her as breathing, in the instant she was told.

Shock gets her through that first week, the first month, the first years. The necessary preparations, the visits, the memorial service itself. She will speak to those around her, perhaps even offer comfort herself, and somewhere in the back of her mind she may wonder, how is she even standing in this moment when her entire world has been turned on it's head?

As she moves through life, there will be Before, and After. Always. This is her way of reckoning time for the rest of her life. A perfect dissection.

Shock will stay with her. He'll do what he came to help her through. (As Lin-Manuel Miranda has so eloquently stated, 'the unimagineable.') And there will be tears. That goes without saying. So many tears, more than she ever knew she had in her. How does one measure the tears that will come unbidden for the rest of her life? Yes, the waves will come crashing with less frequency as time passes, but for the first year, or even two or three, she will cry, and cry, and cry ... because, as the Facebook quote says, grief is love with nowhere to go. Her love knows no bounds, so why should her tears?

She may have a spot she goes to. Sitting on the bedroom floor, leaning against the wall, crying into the room where no one else is. She needs it to be this way. She needs this space. She will cry, and cry, and cry .... again, and again. And her love will ask the air, "Why him? Why my sweet little boy who once had laughing eyes?" The room won't answer, but it's always there when she needs.

Not that that spot is the only place she'll cry. But it's the place where she will go when the big cries come. When her heart needs room to break, again and again.

And along the way, the words of hope from others will co-exist with the love, and the missing, and the tears, and the grief. They will be her lifeline. They will be the thin threads of the rope she clings to. (Don't even begin to call this a new normal. Normal? What is normal about your child being so broken he can't go on?)

People will tell her they feel him near. She'll believe them and disbelieve them at the same time. She'll hope in her heart that he is being cared for, and loved, and looked after. That he is surrounded by loved ones who have gone before. That he doesn't have to carry the enormous burdens he carried in life. It was always so easy to believe this about others who passed, why should it be any different with her child? But it is. She longs so much to hear his voice again, to see his laughing eyes, to KNOW he is okay.

And then, perhaps sooner, perhaps later, perhaps in the midst of it all, who can say - she'll feel what others have felt. She'll sense he is near. He may even say words to her. In her heart, in her mind. He'll speak to her. She prays that it is really his words coming to her. She wants to believe. The words sound like him. He will tell her how amazing it all is. That he loves her. That he is okay. That she needs to be her amazing self.

Peace may come quickly or slowly. But it is quite possible for grief and peace to co-exist. Hasn't it always been this way?

Yes, I'll offer her words of hope and truth. Because I have lived them. Because someone offered them to me. And someday, she'll offer the words to other women around her. We'll all hold hands through the 'after' until that glorious day we embrace our dear children again.

Myself

Yesterday, I showed darling son's girlfriend my blog. She graciously read my entry, 'Before,' laughing at what she termed was 'just the right amount' of humor. No wonder I like her!

Darling son came back into the room and asked what we were doing. Upon answering, he said, "I didn't know you had a blog."

Sigh. The life of a mother.

What does it take before our children see us as complete human beings beyond the title of parent? I believe I may be partly at fault in this.

I believe it's time for a few things to change around here. And as with all good change, it has to start with me.

Not long now

It's all too close. His birthday, and then his passing date. Maybe I should simply call it his passage date. Maybe that would help. I have a feeling it might not.

As someone told me, the tears are all about the love. We wouldn't want the tears gone. But I sure would like him here. I'd give anything to see him, if only for a short time.

I'll write more later. For now, there is this. From several years ago, when I wouldn't necessarily have called life simple, but certainly my life seemed simpler in some respects. How I miss him. For all of those we miss so dearly.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxAaGp5SHoQ&t=13s

December Night

My dearest son.

Music. It makes the house feel like home. E noodles around on his trumpet. Such talent - he learns by watching, and I'm amazed at all the things I know are inside of him. Like you, he does things his own way. It's relaxing to hear him learning new songs as I hook up the electronic piano. Yes, the one I barely know how to operate beyond playing the keyboard. I need to have M sit down with me and teach me all that this contraption is capable of. That would be a fun thing to do this next year, along with brushing up on my French.

The downstairs family room is a mess. Chords everywhere, evidence of Dad's work and your brothers' gaming. We'll figure out where the extra TV will go.

Remember when you and E started sharing a bedroom, and we were so upset with each other because you tried to organize it differently than I thought it should be? I felt E needed more space. What's funny is E didn't care. He rarely does. He has his priorities in the right place when it comes to people being more important than things.

I wish you could meet E's dog. Oh, wait ... you probably have! Isn't he something? E is such a good daddy to that dog. So much more consistent as a parent than I ever was. So caring and loyal. I like to watch him with Oz.


We miss you. Thanks for letting me know you are near. I'm trying to open my heart to your hellos. I'm trying to believe that all those little coincidences aren't coincidences. Thank you for being brave. Thank you for being our angel.

He begins to feel away from me.

I've known this feeling before. I don't like it. Why is it happening so quickly this time? Is grief so familiar to me now that I don't even need much time to process? Or am I in denial?

His hands. I remember thickish .... like his feet. Hobbit feet, we called them. He could grow hobbit hair, as well. Not surprising that Tolkien was one of his favorite authors.

I vaguely remember the physical space of him as he came through the back sliding door. Usually grinning, and bearing gifts. Thoughtful, sweet gifts from his place of work, Costco. He loved seeing the new things that came into the store. He loved owning and giving the things that came into the store!

My exercise shoes are because of him. My heated blanket in winter. Our kitchen knives.

His first gifts? Nausea and stretch marks. The nausea faded with time. The stretch marks didn't.

I now touch my scarred skin reverently.

Please, help me remember. His hands, his legs, his arms. His smell. His hugs. His laughter.

(Oh, that boy loved cologne. Remember that day at Macy's? We went to pick out earrings for your girlfriend, but we couldn't help stopping at the perfume counter.)

I remember the snarky remark said with a smirk. But also, the serious softness of his eyes that took in so much. That tried to understand. That in the end ... left us lost for awhile.

I open the mp4 file on my desktop. The video begins. And I try to remember.

I will never be the same ...

Wednesday morning, July 27th, we learned that we had lost our oldest son to suicide.

The pain is unreal. The myriad thoughts and emotions swirl in my head as I examine the kaleidoscope that was his life. So many patterns, colors, shapes shifting across a landscape of 30 years. His was an amazing spirit.

There is longing ... to see him - his bright, playful eyes, which were also the windows to a heart more sensitive, stronger, and bigger than I ever realized - and to sense again the physical space of him. His pillow sits on our kitchen bench. I sometimes pick it up as I pass by and breathe in the lasting traces of his scent.

And as I think on the future, I feel - almost hear - his saying, "It's okay, Mom. Don't be afraid. Be your crazy, talented self. Don't wait. Use your gifts, they are already there. Let the world be enriched by you. It will be all alright. It will be amazing."

Well, while we are on a roll … a different way to view the New Year

Today, a guest post. From a man I tremendously admire. Everything he writes is spot on. (Did I mention I admire him tremendously?)

In my faith - I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints - we partake of the sacrament in remembrance of our Savior every week. I know many Christian faiths have this practice. But no matter what faith you ascribe to, the principle of reflection and service can be put in place by anyone.

I was heartened to find this article because I am not the only one receiving such ideas during the sacrament. (I thought it was Heavenly Father's way of communicating with my busy brain - during the Sacrament He knows I am a more or less captive audience.) I know these ideas are gifts from God, and I'm so grateful to add to that understanding with the writing here.

Blessings to all of us as we strive to make the world a better place.

http://ldsmag.com/the-failure-of-new-years-resolutions-and-something-better/#.VKblOzeMVSA.facebook


(I'm not sure why the link is posting this way … cut and paste, folks?)