Catastrophic Grief Makes You Crazy

It really does.  

Need proof?

Crazy - like keeping an open, half drank Pepsi in your fridge for two years and only tossing it as you move.  (Hey, at least I didn't pack it.)

Crazy - like tripping over a houseful of toys scattered everywhere for six months after there was no one under 40 that even visited. (And sadly, yes, I will cop to the fact that did pack some of them.)

Crazy - like getting that "deer in the headlights" look every time someone asks how many kids I have.

Crazy - like nine years later still not knowing how to answer that question. 

Crazy - like when I finally tell someone I lost my son, I never say "and my grandson and my daughter in law" which makes me feel awful but I know if I do there will be questions that I can't answer.

Crazy - like breaking off the closest friendship you've ever had - screaming that you never want to hear from her ever again.  And then crying because you miss her so much - for nine years.

Crazy - like bursting into tears in Walmart when you pass by baby shoes, Hot Wheels cars, pumpkin pie, eggnog, a box of Rice Krispie Treats or losing it in the checkout line over a pack of Skittles. 

Crazy - like postponing an appointment with a surgeon made for the 24th of August.  A surgeon! 

Crazy - like having a hard time planning or doing anything on the 23rd of any month because in my mind I have 12 anniversaries of their death every year.  Yeah - that's crazy.

Crazy - like unconsciously looking up and noting the time at 3:15 (March 15) on any clock I pass every single day and stopping to think about Brian

Crazy - like noticing the numbers 315 on phone numbers, signs, car tags, addresses etc.

Crazy - like stalking and snapping pictures of a total stranger in Chick Fil A because he looks so much like Brian till its spooky.  Realizing that's crazy and doing it anyway.

Crazy - like thinking every single dark haired girl with Italian features on TV looks just like Kara

Crazy - like seeing a man that looks like Brian going into a store and actually seriously wondering what Brian was doing in South Carolina! Because for just a moment I forgot - five years after he died.

Crazy - like going into a funk and crying on and off the entire month of March --for nine years.

Crazy - like waking up at or close to 4:00 A.M. almost every single morning for nine long years - when you are retired!

Crazy - like binge-watching crime shows trying to find a scenario that fits or a similar scenario that disproves the story we were given.

Crazy. 

It makes you just plain crazy.

Happy Birthday Pretty Girl

Today would be Kara's 38th birthday.  I've thought about her all day long.  She was such a breath of fresh air.  Fun and light and easy going and absolutely beautiful.

Happy birthday sweet girl.  We miss you so much.

My Heart...

I had 58 years of my life before he was ever born and he has now been gone 9 years.  I only had him 2 years 8 months and 2 weeks.  Such a small percentage out of the whole and yet that 2 years and 8 months and 2 weeks will dominate the rest of my entire life. And yet I am afraid that the small percentage of time will fade as it becomes farther away and I will forget what loving him was like.  I will never forget him of course but emotions fade, memories fade and I am afraid he will occupy such a small segment of time out of my life that I will forget a lot.  You do as time goes by.  And I don't ever want to forget one minute of my short time with him.  I enjoyed every minute of it and photographs and memories sustain me.  Losing him was awful but not as awful I think as never having had him.

Paxton at five months old pulling up at the baby gate 

Brian built to keep him safely away from the stairs.

Paxton at 20 months - in my yard playing in the leaves

                     

The Panda Bear blanket - the very first thing I bought when I first learned Kara was pregnant

Sitting on my window seat watching the birds

On the front porch

Playing in the yard

At the mall with his mom and Aunt riding with Garfield

Napping in the kitchen floor

Paxton three months old with "Jeffrey" on his head.  

Brian named all of his toys

Paxton new born the day he came home from the hospital

Sitting in Nana's bed laughing after he swiped the remote

Paxton two months old spending the weekend with Nana

Nine Years...

Oh my gosh I cannot believe that today was nine years ago that they found my son, my daughter in law and my 2 1/2 year old grandson shot to death in their home - the home we helped them purchase three years prior.  How my husband and I now wonder and fear that somehow that contributed to this tragedy  

Nine years later that still sounds too bazaar to be real.  Nine years.  Never would I have imagined a grief that could last nine years and I am so thankful I did not know that then.  I can't help but think about where I was exactly nine years ago at this time of day.  I was sitting in church waiting for Sunday School to begin.  I was already calling Brian and then Kara worried about them because I had not heard anything from them and they had not shown up for the visit that he called me Friday evening to schedule.  By this time, I had called both at least twice.  This time 9:50 am Sunday morning August 24, 2014 - I was still blissfully unaware of the freight train that was about to plow through my life and the lives of so many others.  Innocently, I was only slightly concerned that no one answered my calls and that they never showed up the day before because they could have gotten tied up at the birthday party they were to attend first.  I am unaware at this time that they never attended the birthday party for the six year old next door and that the carefully chosen and beautifully wrapped gift was sitting abandoned on their coffee table in their living room.  I was as yet unaware that Kara's mom had been actively trying to reach them at this point for more than 24 hours.  And she was unaware that her birthday would be the last time that she would ever hear her precious daughter's voice.  And that her birthdays from this day forward would never be an occasion to celebrate but a reminder of that birthday.  Brian's oldest son's birthday was the 25th and so at a very young age, his future birthdays will only be a reminder of his worst birthday.

One hour before, I had been in my closet obsessing over which shoes to wear and wondering what I could have for dinner when Brian and Kara finally made it over Sunday evening as that was the backup plan. Feeling a little concern I still refused to give in to the panic that was quietly making its way from the pit of my stomach to my throat where it threatened to strangle me as I suddenly recalled the strange incident that happened Saturday morning at exactly 4:00 AM  when I sat straight up in bed from a sound sleep and burst into tears for no known reason.  There was a reason that was yet unknown to me. And after I remembered that the panic was hard to hold back.  I tried several more times to call during the fifteen minute break between Sunday School and church.  I even left a desperate message for Brian that said, whatever was going on he needed to call and let me know they were okay or I was sending the police - which I assumed would prompt an irritated but immediate response.  It did not.  

After church several members were going to go grab a burger and enjoy an hour or so of fellowship. Chiding me for the panic I felt they finally convinced us to go. I could not keep my mind on anything.  I kept trying to call.  While waiting for my meal I thought to call my brother who lived just a few miles from Brian to see if he would run by and check on things.  He did and called me back to say that both cars were in the driveway but he could not get anyone to the door.  By now I was in a full blown panic attack and the friends we were sitting with insisted they drive us over and put my mind at ease.  I refused.  I knew - without knowing, that it would not put my mind at ease and I wanted to put off knowing as long as I could.  If I didn't go and didn't know I could live in my blissful innocence a little longer. 

Then I called my daughter.  She and Brian were very close and Kara was like the sister she never had.  I knew if they had just gone with friends somewhere she would know.  She assured me since they'd been going to the little girls next door's birthday on Saturday they probably just stepped next door for a bit.  That eased my mind just a tiny bit and she said she was close and could be there in ten minutes and she'd call me when she got in touch with them.  Then she mentioned that Kara's mom had also called her to see if she knew where they could be.  Twenty minutes or so passed as I sat on pins and needles and she called - and now I detected panic in her voice too.  She said, “something is wrong.  No one is coming to the door and I cannot see any movement inside the house.”  She confirmed that both cars were still in the driveway and that she thought they may have been gone with friends until she realized Paxton's car seat was still in the back of Kara's car.  She said she went next door and talked to the neighbor and not only were they not there but that they never showed up for the birthday party on Saturday like they'd planned.  She then said she noticed that the one and only ground level window behind the shrubs was "open" just a little.  It looked locked but had not been pushed all the way down so it would appear locked but was actually open.  She said, "Mom, Brian would never leave a window open and unlocked."  We both knew he was a fanatic about locking doors. She asked if she should climb in and check the house.  I said, much louder than was necessary - "NO! Absolutely not."  She said, "Well, what do I do now Mom?  I'm worried something is wrong."  I told her to call Paulding County police and I repeated, "no matter what  - Do not go in that house.”  It was at that point I knew. Then I asked her to put her husband on the phone and I repeated to him - "David, do not let her go in that house!"  

By that time our friend and my husband had arrived at Brian’s house.  They dropped me and his wife off and went to ease my mind.  I sat wringing my hands and praying for a miracle.  When I had not heard back from my husband or my daughter I knew something bad was wrong.  I called both and got no answer. I knew they did not want to tell me on the phone. My husband finally answered and said I'm on my way home.  I screamed “What?  What is it?”  He said, it's bad but I will talk to you when I get home.  I looked up to see our preacher coming in the door.  I knew they had called him to get here as fast as he could.  I remember screaming at him "What is it?  What has happened?"  He kept saying, "I don't know.  I don't know.  I just know it's bad."  At that, my legs buckled and I hit the floor and started screaming.  A lot after that was a blur.  I don't know if it was ten minutes or two hours and I don't remember when or how just that I looked up and my bedroom where I had retreated to was full of the women from the church, my husband, my daughter and eventually Brian's two oldest children as they made their way from Carrollton and Jasper.  

All I could think about was wishing I could go back.  Praying I would wake from this horrific nightmare and go back to the morning when shoes were my biggest concern.  Back to the innocence of life before nothing would ever be the same again.  Back to the Sundays when Paxton and I played hide and seek behind the throw pillows and pushed his firetruck back and forth across the den floor.  Back to when Brian's birthday was a celebration for my youngest son and not a week of crying and depression.  Back to family Christmases again with all of its crazy scheduling issues around ex-wives time constraints.  Back to July a few days before my birthday and the last time I was able to keep Paxton before my sister got out of the hospital and Paxton was singing "Haddy Dirtday" to me while Brian and Kara were out celebrating their 5th wedding anniversary.  Back to blissful, innocence before grief took over my life and my faith was tested beyond what I ever imagined.  Back to before in my grief and anger I pushed away my best friend of over 30 years. Back to before we became "those people" to the community we'd been a part of for 23 years. And before we had to leave our church of over 20 years, our home, our neighbors, our friends, my daughter and moved 100 miles away to a life of isolation and anonymity simply to be able to try and survive what I was sure would eventually kill me.

I have survived it.  Nine years today.  Thank God.  It still hurts of course and always will but with God's help I am better.  Better than I ever thought I'd be.  The move and the anonymity were hard but they were the only way I survived and not only survived but in many ways thrived too.  We have a new church, new home, new friends, new church family, rekindled our relationship with grandchildren that have lived over 100 miles away all of their lives.  Kara's mom and I have developed a relationship that even we don’t understand. And though we no longer have Christmas like we used to - thanks to the request that first year of Brian's only daughter, we have a huge wonderful, family Thanksgivings and we now let Christmas be what it should be - a celebration of Christs birth.  We have great grandchildren that we love and enjoy and though we will never stop loving or missing the ones we lost we try to rest in knowing they are actually better off than we are and we look forward to seeing them all again someday soon.

A Flash of Insight...

I think I need to talk to someone.  

Now I can't seem to cry.  I'm crying on the inside but I no longer seem to be able to hit that pressure release valve and really cry.  It has been several Sunday's now and I'm feeling desperate.  Vacation and camping trip and Mother's Day and Father's Day and races that were rained out --have all preempted my Sunday Relief Day and now I'm stuck.   Back in the weeds with no relief in sight.

I’m quite familiar with the signs of depression but somehow I missed them as I wrote:

And I don't know if you'd call it mental or spiritual or emotional or a combination of all but I have zero attachment to this life anymore.  I don't care about things like life's silly competitions, making new friends, or even hanging onto old friends, I don't care about "things" anymore; like new cars, clothes, furnishings or just stuff in general.  I still buy what I need but --I don't care about it one way or the other --I just don't care.  I have health issues that I refuse to go get seen about because --I don't care.  I no longer want to struggle to stay in this life.  This world truly does not feel like my home anymore and I'm ready to go home.  Things of this world no longer have a hold on me.  I"m okay living in this world and I function in it.  I will fix food and eat, I will buy clothes and shoes because I need them.  I will take the medicine I have for chronic high blood pressure because I do not want to be dibilitated and be a burden on anyone else but would I go to extreme measures to buy a few more months or years by taking chemo or having mutilating surgeries - I don't think I would.  I don't necessarily want to die but if it is my time, I'm really okay with it. 

Classic depression and yet I didn't recognize it as such..Crazy after all this time how that could slip past me.

I've been getting some online help with some issues and I think it is helping.  My granddaughter is getting counseling and now going to Griefshare.  I hope it helps her.  I'm learning its never too late..

A walk through the memories

Single dad

Engaged

Planning a wedding

The Big Day

I've got news...

New Addition to our family

New Family

 

After Almost Nine Years...

 Brian's natural father finally now knows he is dead. 

Unbelievable.

We decided to take a birthday trip for both of our birthdays.  We are six weeks apart in age and it's a big birthday so we opted for a trip out west.  

We flew into Denver and then drove to Moab, Utah and went to Arches and Canyonland National Parks.  We crossed the Rocky Mountains and did a lot of nature sight seeing.  It was the most unusual landscape we had either one of us ever seen.  It was gorgeous and it was a very good trip.  On the way to Utah, we stopped at a State Park to gather rocks (my souveniers - cheap date) from the river bank of the Colorado River and while there I got a phone call that literally stopped me in my tracks.

It was my ex-husband --after 32 years.

I almost fainted.  And my anxiety level was through the roof.  Strangely enough even after 47 years away from his control I was shaking and a complete nervous wreck.  I knew either he was calling because he'd finally heard about Brian or I was going to have to tell him.  

Turns out I'm still not sure which it was.  He claimed he called me first to see if I thought Brian would be willing after all these years to talk to him...Not likely.  So I as gracefully as I could told him about Brian's death.  He did not sound shocked.  He asked what happened briefly but did not seem to need a lot of details.  He did say he was sorry for walking away from him 32 years ago and even apologized to me for what all happened in our marriage and after.  It was unnerving and kind wrecked the first two days of my trip.

He and Brian's ex-wife were the only two people that I was furious with in the beginning.  All I could think about was they were the two people in the world that had hurt him the most.  I'm glad that phone call did not come 8 years ago.  It would have gone very differently.  And as many times as I've played that conversation out in my mind - it did not go anything like I'd planned.  surprisingly, I was not angry.  I felt no hatred.  I dreaded telling him and I felt sorry for him.  The only thing I did say was that it was a shame that the call came 8 1/2 years too late because Brian would have been delighted to have gotten that call.  And that just made me sad.  

He now lives out of state and he claimed that he was in Atlanta for a week and wanted to try and reconnect with Brian but decided to ask me if I thought Brian would even talk to him after all this time.  What I believe was closer to the truth was that he was in Atlanta for the week --and this is important - without his wife, and decided to reconnect with Brian but certainly not me and he would not have needed my permission or my opinion so that made no sense unless when he started his search to find Brian's contact information, what he found was his obituary.  And he called me and concocted that story to get the details and confirm that it was in fact Brian.  Either way, he didn't have to lie.  Didn't matter.  He was nine years too late.  Sadly, he has two still living grandchildren and three great-grandchildren that he did not bother to ask about or show any interest in meeting.

So he is still who he is and Brian was just as well off that the call came in now.  God's timing - just right.

But anyway that was a shock.  Eight and a half years later, he finally now knows.  

*Related post September 13, 2017*

How Catastrophic Grief Changes You

 As I've said before "this" did not just change how many places were set at the table for Thanksgiving.  This changed everything.  Besides the obvious of what losing three members of your familiy can do to you  it also changes you in so many other ways that you never expected. Secondary losses I guess they're called.  But not in the manner that I have heard secondary losses referred to such as who cuts your grass or takes out the trash or takes the car in for servicing.  These are more on a personal level and not task related but since they are directly caused by this loss they would have to be considered secondary or second level losses and after 8 1/2 years I have to now assume they are permanent changes. I don't know.

The things I am referring to are more like personality changes which I would consider at a far higher level than whose job it is to take out the trash so I really think they deserve the title and trash duty should move to fourth or fifth level losses.

I feel like "I" have changed.  Mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually.  Totally changed.  Some changes and the rationale for them are normal and expected physical changes - like gaining weight from stress eating and/or depression. And speaking of depression - 

Mentally, depression for one. I cannot seem to stay out of the weeds. Momentarily, I can feel better with more exercise, regular contact with my family, regular church attendance and keeping almost too busy.  But I don't stay there.  Let me get some down time and I'm right back digging my way up just to get to ground level.  Mentally, my short term memory is terrible.  I still have problems concentrating on anything and I'm having problems with my speech too.  I've always been a talker.  Some people are natually quiet and have little to say - that has never been me.  Suddenly, I can hardly complete a sentence before I stumble and lose focus and just stop mid-sentence.  

Emotionally, I notice a couple of things here.  I can still get angry really quickly with frustrating "business dealings" like terrible customer service and people that do not do what they say they're going to do but it dissapates quickly.  And I spend no time thinking about it later.  But anger with the people I love - just doesn't so much happen anymore for more than a fleeting moment.  I get my feelings hurt much more easily though and that's hard.  But nothing really seems important enough to get mad over, hold a grudge about or make myself or anyone else upset over.  I don't seem to have really "strong" feelings about much anymore but then that too may be depression talking.  

Spiritually, here I've noticed a lot of change.  I do not feel even remotely like the same person as before the tragic deaths of my children.  I don't seem to have the same strong spiritual connection that I did before.  I still love God.  I still seek truth.  I still want to do what is right in the eyes of God.  I still go to church regularly and work at the church and still try to do what I can for others.  But now those things are conscious choices and the "feelings" that I used to have that prompted those choices without thinking about it - simply are not there.  Unfortunately, (I think)  I am less prayerful than I used to be.  I kind of have the attitude that God will do whatever He chooses to do to accomplish His purpose and that's okay.  What I want doesn't really matter.  It's like its just a fact of life that I accept now.  I trust God and His ways a lot more and fighting against Him to have things go my way is no longer something I do.  

And I don't know if you'd call it mental or spiritual or emotional or a combination of all but I have zero attachment to this life anymore.  I don't care about things like life's silly competitions, making new friends, or even hanging onto old friends, I don't care about "things" anymore; like new cars, clothes, furnishings or just stuff in general.  I still buy what I need but --I don't care about it one way or the other --I just don't care.  I have health issues that I refuse to go get seen about because --I don't care.  I no longer want to struggle to stay in this life.  This world truly does not feel like my home anymore and I'm ready to go home.  Things of this world no longer have a hold on me.  I"m okay living in this world and I function in it.  I will fix food and eat, I will buy clothes and shoes because I need them.  I will take the medicine I have for chronic high blood pressure because I do not want to be dibilitated and be a burden on anyone else but would I go to extreme measures to buy a few more months or years by taking chemo or having mutilating surgeries - I don't think I would.  I don't necessarily want to die but if it is my time, I'm really okay with it.  

Death is no longer my enemy.  Perhaps that is what's meant by: "O' grave where is thy victory, O' death where is thy sting?"  

It does not frighten me to talk about it or even plan for it and when I lose another friend - I no longer cry.  I feel like they are the lucky ones.  My only fear where death is concerned is losing another of my family.  I do not want to lose anymore family and I think that drives a lot of these feelings because the older we get the more likely that becomes so I'd rather it be me so I don't have to live through another horrific loss.

I don't feel numb exactly but dulled for sure.  And I'm not sure that it is not exacerbated by the secretive nature of all of this.  Not being able to deal with it openly.  Not being able to talk about it.  Not being able to grieve them openly.  Not having the support I needed because of that.  And of course not knowing what really happened and not feeling like we got an adequate investigation or adequate information.  

Secrets are destructive.  

My Silly Baby Boy...

Rocking Mama's Red Heels

Photo Shoot at the barn

Trying on hats in Charming Charlie’s 

                                            

First trip to the beach

Flying through the house in a monkey blanket

Riding “YeHa” at Nana’s 

                                                  

Napping in the nightstand

Playing in the bathroom cabinet

New "Do" after his bath

Paxton's coffee table campout

Mommy and me

Paxton and Teddy in the Island Cabinet with his 

favorite blue Blankey

Napping in the kitchen floor 

Trying on Wigs

First Trick or Treat - Dragon Costume that he would not take off

He was very creative. "Soda Box" costume. 

 Kara sent me this with the caption:

"Yeah, this just happened!"

 

Where I am with the book idea...

Nowhere. 

I have not made one single effort in the attempt to write the book.  I just cannot wrap my head around this story becoming a book.  I've only told a small handful of people about the prospects and have gotten nothing but positive opinions.  The consensus is that since I could not find anything at all in the way of positive, hopeful or encouraging stories that I could relate to concerning a situation like this - that I should write it so others can.  And I get that and maybe I should.  I want to or at least I want to want to.  But something about it seems kind of "wrong" too.  Like capitalizing on such a god-awful tragedy. I was only able to do this blog because I had to have an outlet for all of my emotions.  I had to do something to give Brian a voice and make him human to those that only saw a monster.  It was all that kept me going for such a long time.  I had a positive reason for it.  I felt like it had a higher purpose, and it did not give me any opportunity for credit, fame or profit.  It was just a way to honor the three of them, remember them and grieve them the way I was not allowed to do.  It helped me vent.  It helped me process.  It helped me --period.  

I just wish I could get it in my head that a book might do the same... And, if I'm honest, I'm a little afraid of it.  I'm afraid that in writing it all again from the start and reliving it all again from the beginning that I will go back into that deep pit that it took me years to come out of.  It may give me insights and possibly help someone else going through this --but I'm just not sure I could take it all again and I know that is a large part of what is holding me back.  When I started this blog, I had no way to go but up.  My progress through this has been slow, start and stop, backwards a little and forward a little and it has taken me eight long years.  I don't think I could take it if it took me backwards and I'm just afraid it will.  I am afraid of those emotions again.  I'm older and not as strong or resilient as I used to be.  Eight years of this has taken its toll.  Some days I'm still not sure I'm going to make it.  And on those days going backwards ...No.

But it is true that I read over 100 grief books trying to find something that would help me or encourage me or give me hope and could find nothing I could relate to.  I just had to take all of them glean what I could and create a composite of little generic positives from each and do the best I could with that.  It wasn't what I needed.  It wasn't what I'd hoped for but it was the best I could do.  

There is definitely a need.  I just need the courage to try.  And of course, the desire, the talent, the enthusiasm, the motivation, the encouragement and the time!  

Good ending to a hard Day...

It's Sunday and since I have now trained myself to hold my tears and emotional meltdowns until Sunday, it's kind of always a bit of a hard day but today was harder than most.

 As I've said before I've been cleaning out and clearing out and letting go of memories.  So today, Brian's daughter came, along with my other two granddaughters and their families and we had a nice dinner and a great afternoon together - all 12 of us!  

It was established before Ashley came that she would be taking some of Brian's things back with her.  Some I had intended to keep because at the time the kids came to clean out his house and take what they wanted --these things were left.  Some I knew all along that one day I would give to one or both of them.  I just wanted to wait until some time had passed and they were more settled so they would keep them and care for them.  Today was that day.

I had Brian's baseball card collection.  His biological father had started the collection for him when he was little, and Brian had kept collecting them for 40 years.  Today I gave them to her for her son.  I gave her a box of his little odds and ends things, old movies, games, photo albums. 

The main reason for the trip here was a portable kitchen island Brian had built for Kara that I didn't have the heart to leave in the house when we sold it, so my husband brought it home.  Kara had said she always wanted an island in her kitchen and was a little disappointed that this house did not have one so Brian told her he would just build her one and he did. He built it to her specifications, and she always loved it.  I have a video of Paxton pulling up on it and opening the door and sneaking snacks out of it before he could even walk and the very last "hiding" picture she sent me was of him inside that little island’s cabinet with his giant teddy bear and his fuzzy blue blanket.  He loved to play in the strangest places.

But the hardest thing that I let go of today was a canvas bag of his old, ragged socks.  His "sock puppets" he and the kids made.  I wrote a blog post on the infamous sock puppets several years ago.  It was such a gift when my daughter found them in his attic before the house was put up for auction.  I had packed them away and had not seen them since.  That is until last week when I started going through stuff to give the kids.  I laughed and cried at finding them again as did she when I opened the bag of puppets.  I wanted to show them to her but had fully intended to keep them, but she assumed they were part of the stuff I had for her, and she wanted them.  So, I let them go.  Rightfully, they were hers.  And I needed to let them go.  But it was so hard, and I knew as soon as they were down the street the tears would start.

I've also had a toolbox that his son took in the beginning and then because he was not settled or stable  at the time, left it with a girlfriend.  Fortunately, her mom called me and made the two-hour drive to meet us and see that we got them back.  We've had them ever since.  I wasn't particularly attached to them and had never opened the box.  But today we did and as soon as I saw his tools --well...suffice it to say, it was hard.

Eight and a half long years later I'm still losing pieces of him.  Last spring, we lost his little dog that we took in the year he and Kara married. She was 21.  It's not like we didn't expect it but still it was losing another connection to him, and we loved the dog, so it was doubly hard. 

We had a day today that was a day of remembrance of him.  Like what I wanted for his birthday.  And that part was great.  Alex was not here, but Alex did not want to participate in that kind of celebration anyway.  He says it's too hard for him, so this worked out well.

This was not planned as such, it just kind of happened.  As we sat here together all of us recalling each of our memories of him - I could not help thinking about Kryss, Justin and Andy.  The spouses and significant other of my granddaughters.  All they know of him began that one horrible day.  They will never know the person he really was.  And again, I was saddened by the fact that his whole life was defined by "that".  All of the good he ever did and all of the man that he was, the dad that he was and all of the things that he ever did right - were all erased by one tragic event.  

My now youngest grandchild is wise beyond her years and surprises me with her wisdom.  She says Brian's life was not defined by this to us nor was it to God and that is what matters.  We can spend our life hurting over the injustice, or we can share stories like we did today and know he loved us all so much.  She says she found Jesus because of it.  That fighting through that trauma made her come to know God and she is so grateful for the way God took that tragedy and made her new with it.  

Unbelievable.  

What a gift.

Happy Birthday my sweet, sweet boy.  

A Book? Mehhhh I don't know...

I keep thinking that I want to capture all of these intense emotions so that they are not lost to me should this blog ever go away.  I have toyed with the idea of perhaps writing a book.  I want to and yet I don't.  I'm not sure I can go back and relive all of these emotions day by day again.  And while a lot of them are still alive and well it isn't like it was in the beginning and it has taken a long time to make what little progress I've made to get here. So going back to the beginning and retelling -- reliving all of this again well I don't know about that.  Also, to be honest there is something about writing the details of this story and having it be even potentially profitable - well that just seems wrong.  And for sure any anonymity that protects me from public judgment would be over.  

And those are my reasons for not pursuing it thus far.

In my efforts to try and make a solid decision I've had to ask myself a few questions:

Why do I want to do this?

Who am I doing it for?

What do I hope to accomplish?

And when I started to answer those questions it is there that I see merit in the prospects of a book.

Why? 

-   Because I want to introduce the Brian we knew to the world at large because I cannot stand knowing that his entire life was reduced to ashes and his entire 41 years before that day counted for nothing.  I cannot sit by and see the man he had been up to that day -- the light-hearted, funny, sweet son, the concerned, loving, playful dad, the loyal-to-a-fault husband, the funny baby brother, the hardworking employee, the practical joking co-worker, the fun uncle, the dependable nephew, the closer than a brother - brother-in-law --be reduced to the monster the news media and Sheriff's department portrayed.  I cannot let that erase all that he was up to that day.

-   Because we cannot be the only family that has been where we are and I know better than most how hard it is to find something we can relate to.  It was a determination so devastating, so difficult and so harshly judged and because of that it is bathed in shame and secrecy.  No one talks about it and as far as I can find no one writes about it either.  It is something that leaves you feeling so hopeless and alone and I want to give others what I could not find.  Hope.  Understanding.  Empathy.

-   Because I want to find the lessons I can only see in the rear-view mirror.  I want to bring it out of the darkness and look at it closely in the light, twist it and turn it and see it from all angles, analyze it, dissect it, put it all under a microscope and learn from it what I can.  I do not want to waste this pain.  If there are lessons in this, I need to be able to see them and that is so difficult to do when it is shoved under the rug.  I want to find the beauty from ashes, and I want to help others do that too.

Who is it for and what do I hope to accomplish from it?  These kind of run together.

-   First and foremost, it is for Brian because I firmly do not believe for one minute that he was capable of this, and I want to honor the person he was before this and by letting the world know the person that we knew in the hope that it could raise a question in their mind too.  I want him to have a fair trial the only way I can get him one —by giving our side of who he was and perhaps give some that read it cause for "reasonable doubt".

-   The average person - I want the reader to see that there are two sides to every story.  I want others to know how sometimes the police department's final determination may not always be correct.  And before they are so quick to judge they should realize that there is a 100% chance that they do not know the whole story. I'd also like for others to know how quickly their lives can change and how a jaded determination from a police department could happen to them just like it did us.

-   The police departments - I'd like for them to see what an emotional snap judgment on a grisly crime scene can omit about who someone is.  I'd like for them to know that saving time and money on what appears to them to be a useless and costly investigation can decimate the lives of all of the survivors.  

It may not matter to them, but it matters to those that are devastated by the results of not having a proper investigation.  And I fully realize that I cannot know for sure that I am right, and they were wrong.  I admit that.  But I am certain I knew him well enough to make a better judgement call than they could in a few hours.  And I'm sure I cannot know exactly what really happened but that's the whole point. I can't and neither can they.  What I do know is that I could have accepted it and moved on had I had a full and thorough investigation with a half an ounce of concrete forensic proof.  Something they did not deem important.  

-   For Kara's mother - the only other person in this tragic mess that had the same loss I did and understands from my perspective what the loss of a child and grandchild means and to let her understand who Brian really was and why I still cannot believe he could have done this.  She doesn't have to agree with me or believe as I do but I want her to understand why "I" don't.  I know it cannot bring back her child, my child or our grandbaby but I live in hope that it can give her peace with the fact that they were loved and there was no way this was out of malice.   

-   For all mothers that have lost children everywhere under any circumstances.  We share a common bond of love and loss that no other human can come close to understanding.

-   And to anyone that has ever experienced a loss that they cannot acknowledge.  There are so many layers to that loss that they will continue to peel through for years to come and the emotional damage that keeping this kind of secret causes is unfathomable.  It would be my hope that bringing this out of the darkness and into the light that I could acknowledge and accept this and in doing so that others can as well, hopefully setting us all free.

Well His Birthday Didn't Go as I Hoped...

But it went about like I expected.  We did not celebrate.  Same as we have done for the previous 8 birthdays.  I have not celebrated a single one of them as much as I have want to.

His kids were not on board.  One was busy with family obligations.  The other I have no idea as I never got a response from him.  Neither of my own kids called me.  I did call one of them but I may as well not have.  I went to my sister's and spent the afternoon with her.  As with most of my life she is my best friend and the one and only person that understands and actually cares.  But for some reason I don't even talk to her about all of this. It's like beating a dead horse at this point.  But I still enjoyed our time together.  

By the actual day, most of my funk had played out the previous two weeks. The first day of March the "mood" starts and it goes on until the actual birthday and then it's like its behind me and I'm okay again for a while.

Today is Sunday.  My typical "cry" day and though I am not in the best place emotionally I don't feel like crying today.  I think because I've done so much for the past two weeks.  I've just been a grouch.  Suffering from a case of activity burn out and I think clinical depression.  I think I need those happy pills back that I let go of three years ago. 

I've had another story published.  So I guess that's something positive.  I am making a half effort to write a little.  I've had no interest in it but after 8 long years of silence, I've submitted and they have published three stories now.  I am trying desperately to get out of this downward spiral I've been in for the last several months.   I don't know what happened to the things I used to enjoy.  Photography, writing, crochet, cooking...now I just sit,  I eat everything that gets in my way and I still can't sleep.  I watch way too much TV --something I have never done.  And I've tried different things to see if maybe I can spark interest in something new.  I've tried volunteering, and church work again, I've taken design classes online, we bought a camper and have tried camping again after many years, I've tried reading a few old classics again, visiting botanical gardens.  I have enjoyed them, all of them for a bit but not enough to keep me out of the weeds.  I think I desperately need someone to talk to.  I've never been without friends to talk to and share burdens with.  Bounce stuff off of, give me fresh perspectives, get me out of my head etc.  

Friends matter to me.  They always have.  We all need people.  We were made to be social creatures; we need to have someone to share our successes as well as our burdens.  Successes are all the sweeter when shared with someone you care about and the weight of your burdens are cut in half when they are shared. And I've always, always had friends and confidantes.  That is also now missing from my life like hobbies and goals - I've shoved them out or grief has shoved them out.  I am systematially cutting everything from my life and as of this weekend church may be on the chopping block.  That scares me.  I've tried desperately to make a close friend at church.  I've gone out of my way to the point of becoming what I feel is a pest.  But the relationships are just shallow and superficial.  Its really difficult to make close intimate friends at this age.  Everyone is kind of over it.  They have their friends and no one wants to invest the time or emotion it takes to create new ones.  I keep praying God will send me someone.  I thought I'd found someone I could bond with in my nextdoor neighbor and less than two years into the relationship - she died!  Died. Mesotheleoma. And come to think of it I guess I have a right to be a little depressed I've lost twelve people from my life since 2020 and my sister-in-law is dying with bone cancer now.  All of that would be hard on anyone in any state of mind.

It will get better.  Maybe.  Somehow I don't quite have the same conviction that I did five years ago when I say that.   But I keep praying it will.  If you pray, please pray for me in that.

Birthdays

Today is Brian's first grandchild's 8th birthday born just 6 days before Brian's birthday.  His hardest birthday.  The first one after he died.  So he has never met this first grandchild and there are now two more that he has never met.  

His daughter told me the other day how her youngest one (three) noticed a picture of Brian sitting on her table and asked who that was.  She told him it was her dad and he said, "I've never seen him."  Thus began a long, difficult conversation and a lot of pent up emotions of how her children would never know their grandfather and he would never know them.  

She, like me, still struggles.  

As a matter of fact she has just now after 8 1/2 years signed up for GriefShare.  She did the opposite of me.  We signed up way too early in this grief journey and she has signed up way later than their target attendees.  I was still in shock and denial.  She has struggled with learning to cope with daily life on her own without their help and has found that 8 years later, she still needs help.

What she is hoping to gain out of it at this point is being able to get her emotions out because again like me, she keeps them inside.  She lets them out to me but only on rare occasions.  She is still also  struggling with the secondary losses - which never seem to end.  Like her sons never getting to know her dad and the biggest influence in her life.  And I'm certain with wondering how on earth to ever tell them what happened.  I do not envy her that job.  I cannot imagine how you could even tell that to your children.  I still cannot even tell it to strangers, friends and relatives.  I don't know how.  I don't know where to begin.  How could you tell this to your children???  Both of Brian's children have got that hard conversation ahead of them.  Catastrophic grief - the gift that keeps on giving...

March is always my most difficult month because Brian's birthday is the hardest of all days.  This coming Wednesday will be his 50th birthday.  A milestone birthday that should be celebrated.

I'm pulling my usual - distracting myself with activity to try and keep from melting down.  Church work, camping, house painting projects, basement cleaning anything and everything.

We have been cleaning and working on their memory garden some though.  I'm afraid my good intentions with that have gone the way of my interest in every other part of my life.  I have neglected it.  Ofcourse, it always needs cleaning and replanting in the spring, but I have been very negligent still.  Maybe for his 50th I will get the lead out and get it looking like it should again.  You know what they say about "good intentions".

How I would love to do something special for his 50th to actually honor him instead of either avoiding it or crying all week.  When Kara's mom brought cake to our lunch to celebrate Paxton's birthday together, I wanted to cry.  It made me so happy to finally actually "do" something to remember his birthday.  We had a "Paxton's grandmother" day out with lunch and a movie and then cake. Remembering him together.  It was awesome.  I would truly love to do something for Brian's 50th even something small.  Dinner with his kids and grandkids would be nice.  Hmmm maybe?

2023

That seems pretty impossible. What seems most impossible about it is the fact that I am still so deep in this hole after 8 1/2 years. I could never have imagined that.  Ever.  It has been a hard couple of days and I have no idea why now.  The meltdowns have stayed at bay for quite some time and yet over the past three days they have been barking at my heels.  The world is a pretty dark place right now and though I have had God's peace for the most part the last few days have been really hard.  

It is hard to believe that after all this time the threat that I wouldn't live through it is still alive and well. 

It's funny how you think that that is a very real danger for the first year for sure but I'm pretty certain most everyone would believe that if you lived through the second year you'd be home free.  Sure you would still miss them.  You would still grieve.  You would still have secondary losses still cropping up from time to time.  You'd dream about them; get melancholy on birthdays and anniversaries and still get triggers occasionally that would throw you for a loop. You'd go on with life.  Things would be different.  You would be different but you'd begin to smile again and one day you'd realize you laughed out loud.  You'd feel joy and at first it would feel off.  Uncomfortable.  Like you'd done something wrong.  You'd have guilt feelings about being momentarily happy.  But as it began to happen more and more you'd adjust and be okay with it.  Then one day without fanfare you'd realize you couldn't remember the last time you cried about it.  You realize that you had not thought of them in weeks maybe months.  Your life has begun to rebuild - different but still good.  You'd start to make plans for the future.  Set goals again.  Do things and really truly enjoy them.  And one day, one day, you'd realize you were on the other side.  You'd made it.  You'd learned from it.  You'd changed through it but the changes were actually good.  Your life was good again.

That is what I thought.  That is what I expected.  That is not what has happened.  That has happened with every other loss I've ever known but not these losses.  The sharp, all encompassing, breath-taking pain has subsided.  Yes, and thank God for that.  But here I am almost NINE years down the road still not caring whether I wake up or not.  Finding that I am as of late systematically trimming people from my life.  My relationships are shallow, surface relationships and I have never been like that.

I put one foot in front of the other.  I walk through life doing what I am trained to do.  I cook.  I wash dishes.  I do laundry.  I go to church and I serve where I can.  I walk through my life like a zombie.  But I don't live my life anymore.  I've stopped crying on Sundays and that may be part of the problem.  I'm not letting it out and it is choking the life out of me.  Winter does not allow me much alone time. And I do not cry in front of other people.  But I can tell this week I am exploding.  I want to cry.. I need to cry.  My heart is crying and screaming on the inside and yet I keep moving.  Going through the motions. 

I've begun to do odd things.  I'm cleaning out, clearing and purging. I'm writing letters to my loved ones; cleaning out my files; tossing memories I've held onto for 45 years.  I'm giving away things I ordinarily would not have parted with.  Its like my heart knows something I won't let my conscious self see.  I'm getting good at keeping secrets —even from myself.  

I have no one now I can confide in.  Looking at the life I now have and the resulting relationsips I don't really feel there is anyone that would even care.  Not one soul.  I feel like I could just drop from the face of the earth and no one would even notice.  That is a bad frame of mind and I need to get my head straight. What kept me from desperate measures in the beginning was the fear of what it would do to my family and those that depended on me or cared about me.  I felt we had all been through enough and I dared not add to their misery.  I feel like I have been freed from that concern now.  Everyone has recovered.  Everyone has moved on.  Everyone else.

And I know I’ll be okay.  I will.  It’s just been a long hard winter that has lasted three long years. Coping with all the horrific changes that Covid brought on and this is just about too much.