The Tenth Anniversary

 It is almost impossible to believe that it has been ten long years since the day that changed so many lives forever. 

What surprises me is that this still seems so fresh sometimes and never far from my thoughts.  It is better in so many ways.  I get on with life.  I enjoy things again something I couldn't imagine just a few years ago.  I don't want to die every day anymore.  We went out of town again for this anniversary and I'd like to say after ten years we really enjoyed the trip.  Subconsciously, I'm sure it was meant to be a distraction (yeah, I'm still pulling that) but of course you are not going to just let the ten-year anniversary just slide. But thank God, it didn't wreck me.  I've had quite a year and that may be why.  My heart was elsewhere.  My sister and my best friend died just 31 days shy of her ten-year anniversary of being diagnosed with Leukemia.  She was the one person that never forgot the day; never failed to acknowledge it with me and always knew my heart.  She had a long hard road and it about killed all of us.  I still cannot imagine how I will live life without her.

We had to have our 12-year-old dog put down three weeks before she died.  And she was the one that had gotten him for us after we lost the kids.  I was so busy trying to help with her and so grieved over her until I barely had the brain cells and emotional bandwidth to share with that loss.  So, he did not get the grief that he deserved.  He too, had a rough year and my heart was broken but my time and attention belonged to her.

And I have finished my second draft of the book. I was hoping to have it completed by the tenth anniversary, but her illness took priority.  

I can't believe that this is also the ten-year anniversary of this blog.  No way when I started this would I have ever believed I would still be doing this ten years later.  Could not imagine living ten years actually.  But it truly has been a lifeline to me.  It has given me a place to grieve, to love, to process all that this has been.  I have lived in anonymity for going on 8 years since we moved here. Doing so has given me peace and a chance at a normal life but keeping secrets is very destructive and it has kept me feeling isolated and alone in this.  The blog has been my main source of how I've dealt with it all because of that.  My family all tired of hearing about it long ago.  I have a new church family and new neighbors and new friends and none of them know.  So, there is no talking it over with them or hashing out some new scenario or talking about Brian or how the baby has been on my heart all day.  I was able to talk to my sister on rare occasions, but she has had so much on her until I felt guilty bringing up my junk so most times I didn't.  Sometimes I can talk to my granddaughter.  She is always willing to listen but I feel like she is not the appropriate person to be unloading on.  My husband still listens as he is a captive audience, bless his heart, but I see his eyes glaze over the minute I mention anything about it.  And sometimes I have Kara's mom, but it is hard for us to talk about it too.  Even though I know that she feels the same things that I do and she would be the one person that would understand still grieving at the ten-year mark. She is a mother.  So, I know she does. And we are better.  So much better.  Both of us.  But we know for sure now the truth that we both I'm sure suspected from the beginning --this is forever.  

Most of my church family eight years in, do not even know we've lost a child or grandchild if you can believe that.  I can't answer the questions that are sure to follow so I literally hide the biggest thing that ever happened in my life.  Talk about an elephant in the room! I feel like I am the biggest liar ever.  Pulling off this deception but I cannot risk the fallout, so I still have not let it out.  I feel like a dog not acknowledging my children.  And it feels like I'm choking to death sometimes trying to keep it in.  I feel like if I could just let it all out, just be honest about who I really am what I've lost and grieve openly for my children --I would feel so free. But it isn't just me involved.  Donald loves the church and if it turned out like I fear - he'd lose that too.  We just cannot take anymore loss.  I know I'm not being very trusting but that comes from experience.  It seems like it's kind of too late to tell it now like that ship has sailed.  

This blog has been pretty much my only outlet.  

  

Today would have been their 15th Anniversary

 It's so hard to believe.  Fifteen years ago, today they walked down my driveway to a flower-covered gazebo, surrounded by all their friends and family and promised "to love, honor and cherish till death do you part..."  Little did we know death would part them just a short five years later. 

They were out celebrating their fifth anniversary the last time I kept Paxton, and he sang "Haddy Dirtday" to me.  It's been a long, hard ten years and I've aged a lot more than 10 birthdays worth.

Ten long years riddled with sadness and loss.  

And May 27th, I lost my sister. One month and one day shy of her 10-year anniversary of being diagnosed with leukemia.  She managed to beat the leukemia but the effects of bone marrow transplant and the resulting Graft Versus Host Disease took a full eight years and October 2023 she was diagnosed with stage four liver cancer --- one of the side effects of all of the previous treatments. 

Grieving her has been different but every grief is.  Sad to say but after the "Freight Train" plowed through my life not much can top that.  But it was an awful loss or should I say another awful loss.  She has been my best friend all of my life and she and I have been through so much together.  I feel like I lost a huge part of who I am and I'm not sure in fact who I am without her.  She was my rock and has been such a huge encourager and my true north.  It was a horrific final month. Leaving us all with mixed emotions.  Seeing her like she was and knowing she could never get any better literally made it a relief when death finally came.  And I do look at things differently now.  The world is in such an awful mess now until I truly feel she is the lucky one.  And she knew that too. 

And as much as I've thought I knew all there was to know about grieving and loss - I find that I am still falling into a deep ditch of denial.  I have not faced the loss yet and it's been over a month.  I am hiding from it with useless, mindless activities the only difference is that now I recognize it for what it is - and still cannot seem to do anything about it.  I am afraid to look it full in the face.  As I said it has been ten years of many losses and I just don't know how much more I can stand.  

I'm sure, that I had experienced some of the grief ahead of time during the eight months that we knew about the cancer and found out there was to be no treatment and during that last month I was there with her several times a week and the last week, every day. I saw and experienced the worst that I have ever seen, and I will carry that vision with me till I am with her again.  But it makes me know one thing though and I can put that question to rest. I have always felt very guilty and always worried that I should have gone to see Brian, Kara and Paxton at the Coroner's office to say my goodbyes and tell them I loved them.  But I just could not. I felt like such a coward, but my survival instinct kept me from it.  I wasn't sure I would survive it anyway but always knew if I ever had to look at them, I would not. I have often been sorry I didn't go and grieved wishing that I had.

No.  I do not.  

I am glad that the last memory I have of them is sweet and the last picture I have of them all in my mind is one I want to treasure.  The one I have of her will haunt me forever and I had no choice but to be there and face it because I had to be there for her as best I could.  I ran away from the horror of seeing them, but I could not run from this.  

Losing her was and is awful because I will miss her in my life for the rest of my life.  But the death, the grieving, the inner feelings they are all so different.  God has given me the strength I prayed for. And for that I am eternally grateful.  

What does not kill you absolutely does make you stronger.

March madness

Yesterday would have been Brian's 51st birthday and though I did as I have for the last nine years, I had two weeks of funk prior to his actual birthday.  And it took me until almost the day of his birthday to realize what was causing it.  It was just an overwhelming sadness that there appeared to be no reason for --until I remembered it was yet again March.  I felt it but there was a little something different this year in that although the sadness was there when I realized it and acknowledged it --I just let it come. I sat with it, I let it wash over me, I gave it a little space in my life.  But I didn't let it overtake me.  I didn't cry.  And once I recognized it and let it have its space, I was good.  And on the actual day of his birthday, I had a relatively normal average day.  

That was huge. 

Ten years since the last birthday that I ever got to spend with him; a milestone and yet it was a pretty good day.  Four people contacted me and acknowledged it and let me know they were thinking of me and that was so nice but there was no sadness surrounding it.  I mentioned it casually and remembered him of course but it didn't consume my day or my emotions.

Last week I dreamed about him.  A pretty rare thing though I'm not sure why.  I always long to dream of him but just don't.  But last week was also a first in that I dreamed about him, and it was just a normal day with him in the dream.  Usually in any dreams I have had of him, I seem to know that he is really gone even though I am with him.  I want to talk to him at length.  I want to ask questions.  I want to relish every second of my time with him and it always seems to fly too quickly.  It always seems like 'unfinished business' or like I want to hold onto him because subconsciously I am aware that my time with him is rare and limited.  But not this time.  This time the dream was just an average everyday dream that he was a part of.  Like when he was living, and I spent an average day with him.  I didn't think about missing him or losing him or needing to hold him there for just a few minutes longer.  We went about an average day, and he just happened to be a part of it.  That was huge to me.  Just huge.  It felt normal for the first time in so many years.  I awoke.  I remembered the dream.  And it did not make me sad.  I didn't feel that terrible longing.  It did not dominate the next several days or even that day! 

Of course, even though both of those things are big, I have lived with grief long enough to know not to take that as an indication that this is over for good and that his next birthday won't just wreck me or that the next time, I dream of him I won't again cry for the day and be sad for days on end.  But it does indicate that though grief comes, goes and then comes back again I now know too that when it shows progress and heads in a direction of healing it may circle back a time or two but praise God, it gets there eventually.  So it is still cause for feeling hopeful and optimistic.  

I just had a friend describe it pretty accurately.  She said that grief kind of moves in a 'figure 8' fashion.  And she should know, she lost her husband and soul mate after 25 years of marriage to a heart attack almost 20 years ago.  So she is seeing it from a 20-year perspective.  And that sounds about right.  It moves upward like it is going in the right direction for a while.  You come to a high place and think you are completely out of the weeds and then it starts across and then back down crisscrossing, flirts with the bottom and then starts back up again. 

You move through it one small accomplishment at a time.  It is still there but you've conquered one milestone - at first, they are small milestones like the first time you can casually walk past their favorite food in the grocery store and just go on with your shopping.  Then one day you can look at their picture and it doesn't make you cry.  And pretty soon you remember something amusing they said or did and you actually begin to laugh about it.  So, they are baby steps for sure. Then one day you hit a bigger milestone -- like a dream that doesn't wreck you.  

And sure, you may wind and twist about and still have your unexpected small things that cause a meltdown, but you find that one day when you least expect it --you realize you've conquered a birthday!  

 

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.

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 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?

What I would tell Brian if I could talk to him one more time...

My grandson asked me this past week if I had one more chance to talk one on one with Brian - what I would say... Just a few days before he asked me that, on his 49th birthday, I had wondered that same thing myself.  I decided I would give that question some thought and entertain that answer here as I did about three years ago.  

Brian,

First and foremost I would absolutely want to make sure that you knew that I love you with all my heart.  I would want to make sure you know that I didn't say I loved you, but that I love you --present tense- and always will.  Death has no impact on my love.  That would  be the first and most important thing I'd want to tell you.  But I would also want to tell you that I have never entertained the belief not for a single moment that this happened as they said it did.  I knew you 41 years before that day and I knew who you were in your heart.  I knew you were a sweet, kind, mindful conscientious child.  I knew you were a good and loyal brother to your siblings, and I remember how you could never hardly even fight back in a scuffle with your older brother because you were afraid of really hurting him.  I knew that you were a good and loyal husband to Kristen and when she left you pregnant with another man's child - I watched you walk my floor all night till 5:00 am for weeks and weeks second guessing every unkind word you'd ever said that may have caused her to want to leave.  You hurt over her, cried over her, loved her and you just wanted her to come home.  You immediately forgave her and you held no animosity toward her - you just wanted her back.  I remember me being mad enough to want to strangle her and still you defended her.  When I begged you to get a lawyer and fight for the kids - you angrily refused, saying you could never take your children from their mother, and you would never do that to your wife.  "She is my wife!"  You yelled.  You were hurt.  You were devastated.  But you never really even acted angry at her.  All you wanted was her to get past this and come home.  

You were angry at the other man and even got into a fight with him when you were totally blind-sided to find out that they were actually married before you were even aware the divorce was final.  All the while you had thought she'd eventually come back.  You lost your home, your wife, your children and the life you had known in less than 24 hours.  

You later grew to literally hate her as much as I ever knew you to hate but you also knew you had to keep peace or have your children kept from you.  So, you stuffed it down and made nice.  You were kind and accommodating to them both as they totally ran your life and extorted money from you to support their drug habit for the next 15 years. Then when Ashley came to live with you, most men would have put a quick stop to that child support but not you, you continued to pay her because you said she only wanted the money, and you wanted the child and you knew if you continued to pay her, she would leave Ashley alone and let her stay with you and if you stopped the money, she would fight to get her back and of course, you were right.  

You put up with untold misery out of them both for the next 15 years --for your kids. So no, it never crossed my mind that you could have done this.  Your kids were your life - all three of them.  Again, I knew who you were in your heart.

Though you had a quick, hot temper, you were always on the side of right.  You were conscientious, you had moral integrity and always looked out for the underdog.  You were soft-hearted to a fault and could never, never hold a grudge. That is who you were.

I'd just want to tell you how proud you'd be of your kids today.  And I'd tell you what a good little mother Ashley is and how she's going back to school and wants to take college courses for a degree in early childhood education, she cooks like a pro and has a home of her own, two beautiful little boys and a great husband that she says reminds her of you.  She is in church regularly, does regular bible studies and goes to cub scout camp-outs with her son.  I'd love to tell you about how much she misses you and how much she now looks back and appreciates all of the things you ever did for her and she tells me all the time how much she realizes now what she was too young to see and appreciate then.  She tells me how she wishes her husband could have known you because she is so proud of the way you raised her, the things you taught her and the stable, loving home you gave her.  She says you were the most positive influence in her life and the only stability she ever really had.  And she would give anything if you could see her now and know that all you tried to teach her was not in vain.  

I'd want to tell you that Alex has a new baby girl and he is doing very good now too.  Took him a little while but whenever it happens, it's right on time.  He has his own place and is a stepdad to three little girls.  He seems happy and though he doesn't talk to me as much about his feelings.  (He's a guy) He wants to make you proud and I can see your influence in him as well.  He has a good heart and he misses you and I know now that he has a baby of his own he, like Ashley will think of all that you were to him.  He will realize the sacrifices you made and all that you tried to do for them.  He will see now, what he couldn't see as a teenager and will miss you all the more.

I would also have to tell you that it has occurred to me, that your kids have straightened up and turned their lives around, I truly believe not "in spite" of losing you but perhaps "because" of it.  You were always too soft and let them get by with far too much.  They walked all over you and you rescued them and never made them stand accountable for their actions.  I truly do not believe that they would be where they are today had you still been here to rescue them.  Sorry, but I honestly believe that is true.  Hopefully, that is some good that has come out of all of this horrible bad.

My heart hurts for you still -every single day.  Not one day so far has gone by that you were not the first thing on my mind in the morning and the last thing on my mind every night.  It has been seven years now and though I'm settled with the idea that you are gone, I have good days and I can laugh again, the grief and pain are just as alive today as they were seven years ago.  I am glad that I did not know that would be the case seven years ago.  I would not have made it.  And if I am honest, some days I still wonder if I will.  I used to pray I'd get through just one more day and pray I'd get through this grief and now I realize that this grief albeit, a tamer version of it, will be with me forever, just as the love I have for you will and that's okay.  Grief is the price you pay for love.  In fact, I think I could almost define it now as "love".  At first it feels awful and rips a huge, ragged, bleeding hole in your heart and you just want it to go away because you relate it to the worst pain you can imagine but later it slowly evolves into your way of loving the someone you lost.  So now it feels as if I were to lose the grief, it would be wrong like I'd be giving up the love I have and so I'll keep the grief.

I am glad to know that you are home.  You came to me in a dream about four months after you all died and told me you were "Going Home!"  And you had the biggest smile on your face.  You were young and light and looked happier than I'd ever seen you look.  And I believe with all my heart that you are home and that you are smiling that huge smile everyday now with no more pain, no more earthly torment, no more disappointments, hardships or heartache.  You are where we all long to be and I for one, am so envious.  I want desperately to be with you. And that desire gets stronger every day.  I too, want to be home and as much as I love and miss you every single day - I truly would not call you back to the mess of this world even if I could.  I would love to go to you, but I would not want you to see and experience what is going on in our world today.  You could not stand it. 

I always thought that the first thing I'd ever say if I could talk to you would be to ask you what on earth happened - but funny when I saw you in that dream, for the first time in months - that really did not even cross my mind.  It did not seem to matter.  "Going Home" was all that mattered.  It was as if that just said all that needed to be said.  I was at peace and satisfied as if that answered all of the questions that had tormented me day and night for months.

I look so forward to the day when I will be with you again.  I miss you all every day and I love you.  

Mom

Grieving

 After seven years I have finally been able to write something I guess fit to publish again.  It was of course on the subject of grieving and recovery.  On that I feel I have expertise.  The story will be in a new anthology on grief, loss and healing.  Seems I have a lot to say on the subject of grief as that has been the only thing, I have been able to write about (here) for seven years stands to reason that would be my break-through story.

The story was meant to be a story of hope and how I have survived the triple tragedy we were dealt seven years ago.  And how someone else might also survive.  And I have survived.  I have managed to find my way out of the darkness by looking for others that are grieving an unfathomable loss and trying to do what I can for them.  Like it says in 2 Corinthians 1:4 who comforts us in all our affliction, so, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 

In speaking of grief, I feel I need to note here that I have definitely discovered that there are many kinds of losses and many different levels of grief.  We grieve when we lose anyone we care about.  We grieve our beloved pets when we lose them.  We can grieve a lost childhood, failed relationship or the loss of one's dreams due to life's disappointments.  And while loss is always loss, and all have an impact, they are not all the same.  

There are losses we grieve that we will "get over".  We won't forget those we loved, and we will always miss them. But we will go on with life and move past the loss and truthfully, seldom think of that grief after a few years.  Then there are the "catastrophic" losses; the kind of losses that cause PTSD or disenfranchised grief or complex, complicated grief.  Psychologists describe these losses as sudden or tragic losses, losses where violence has occurred, multiple losses, suicide, murder, losses where there is guilt or shame involved, losses that seem unnecessary or preventable, losses where you are left with more questions than answers, unresolved or losses without closure, losses that for one reason or another you do not feel you can openly acknowledge or the loss of a child.  

These losses are not even on the same level as a normal loss and when I look at the causes of complicated grief - I realize that my expectations of getting past this were totally unreasonable and almost --insane.  Even thinking that I could ever get over, move past or overcome "this" was ridiculous.  Any one of the above kind of losses can cause catastrophic or complicated grief and we did not have one of the above causes for catastrophic grief -- we had them all.

Then there were the secondary losses on top of the initial catastrophic loss.  The loss of my home of 23 years, my church and my neighbors, my standing in the community, my "hometown" and my entire support system.  Then I lost long time friendships some over 30 years long. And the worst of all of the secondary losses was my relationships with my other two children.  A loss like this, changes you. It changed me and it has changed them. I have the sinking, terrible feeling that those relationships are just as gone as my relationship with Brian is.  I have never felt more isolated and alone as I do now seven long years later.  It is very difficult.  The initial loss still alive and well, and the secondary losses gaining momentum.  

I remember when I was in high school my very closest friend at school called me one night screaming and crying - her older brother whom she adored had just committed a very violent and very public suicide.  He was sixteen years old.  He left a note citing his reasons as: Linda had all the looks and their oldest brother all the brains in the family...leaving a 14-year-old and a 17-year-old to bear that undeserved guilt the rest of their lives.  She was never the same.  Her relationship with her brother ended that day as well as every other relationship she had.  She shut herself off and from me and everyone else after that.  I did not understand and was devastated.  I sure understand it better now. That kind of loss changes you at your core.  

Though we may survive, the life we are left with bears no resemblance to the life we had before and we bear no resemblance to the people we used to be.

Some develop a new respect for life.  Others go on to find some divine purpose in their loss that will help them make sense of it or create some good that can come from it like M.A.D.D. (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) founded in 1980 after the death of a 13-year-old killed by a drunk driver or America's Most Wanted founded after the abduction and murder of 6-year-old Adam Walsh. 

Some have more sympathy and empathy for others in their shoes and develop positive ways to show that using what they have learned perhaps as facilitator of GriefShare group meetings or volunteering as a peer counselor for Stephen Ministries.  Some write their memoirs in hopes to get their story on paper and process the loss through the telling of their story as well as create a way to let their experience help others.  Some throw themselves into their hobby or their work or some charitable effort in order to stay busy, feel productive and create a distraction.  

But some, well some grow bitter, less tolerant of others, becoming more focused on themselves, making their world smaller thus more controllable, pushing others out of their lives for fear of being hurt again by something or someone they cannot control. Sadly, missing out on love, support, opportunities and personal or spiritual growth.  And others turn to drugs, sex, alcohol or crime because they are apathetic and have lost all hope and do not have the strength or the coping skills to survive any other way. These are not choices for healing.  These only lead to more loss.  

It is not easy, and there is no quick fix, but we do have a choice.