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.  

Grace

We are coming up on Paxton's birthday again.  He would be eleven years old and that is absolutely impossible to believe.  In my head and in my heart, he will always be a toddler - maybe in his dragon costume growling as he ran down the hall or prancing in a diaper and a t-shirt wearing green plastic beads and rocking his mama's red high heels. Or perhaps in his Papa's old gardening hat with green nail polish.  Or sitting in front of my spice cabinet with little dusty brown feet, after pouring out a huge canister of cinnamon looking guilty and smelling just like apple pie!  He was my funny, silly, baby and I cannot picture him as an eleven-year-old child. 

This year for the first time ever I celebrated Paxton's birthday.  And it was awesome!

I had the best, sweetest day yesterday.  Kara's mom and I had a girl's day.  We meet from time to time, but it has been a while since we've seen each other. We were talking yesterday about the "beauty from ashes" and how we kept waiting for the beauty part.  But getting to know her has been a most humbling experience and definitely one good thing that has come as a result of this tragedy. I keep thinking how surprised Kara would be.  I can't help but think it would make her happy.

We had lunch and saw a funny movie and she brought cake for us to share and celebrate Paxton's birthday together!  It was the sweetest gesture and I absolutely loved it.  We talked about the kids; she reminded me of a funny story about Brian that I had totally forgotten.  We caught up on each other's lives, had a great lunch and ate cake in memory of our sweet funny baby.  She will never know what that meant to me or what her friendship means to me.  It very nearly made me cry.  Not the cake, not the memory of him - but her sweet gesture is what almost made me cry. That was so kind of her but that was not the kindest thing she did yesterday that almost made me cry in front of her.  

What made me sit in tears last night when I got alone was just thinking about the fact that she brought Christmas gifts to my great-grandchildren; the babies that belong to Brian's two oldest children.  What an incredibly sweet and gracious thing to do.  That did make me cry - like all evening.  There is no way I can ever express all that meant to me.  

After all of the unkind things totally disinterested strangers have said and the friends and family that have turned away from us the one person that I would have expected to turn away from us is the one person that has shown us the most love and grace.  What a true example of God's love!  

What would Jesus do?  Exactly as she has done.  

I planned all evening that I'd write a tribute post to her today.  I wanted to be well-rested and have plenty of time to give it the thought it deserved although I knew exactly what I wanted to say, now that I've sat down to do it as usual lately, my mind is blank and my words are muddled, and I know I can't do her justice. 

Father's Day

A day that I know is difficult for Alex and Ashley.   It is also a difficult day for me.  It reminds me of several things.  Brian was without a doubt the best dad I've ever known and that there was such a contrast between what a dad should be and what my dad was like.  And how a "step"-dad that stepped in and stepped up gets so little recognition on this day.

This morning however, he got a sweet, sweet gift from Ashley and I just wanted to acknowledge it here.

This was her text to me:

I don't know if I have Papa's number but please tell him I said Happy Father's Day.  We listened to a message at church today about fathers having fathers and men that spoke into them and raised them to be good fathers and husbands and I am so thankful for Papa being there to speak into my dad and raise him to be the father that he was.  Because the generations continue with the things we learn from fathers and I'm grateful to have learned so much from mine.  I've only cried twice today already so far lol.  I love you both.

What a gift to him and what a sweet tribute to her dad.  

It's difficult to be a parent and it is sometimes the most thankless job in the world.  It has to be even more difficult to be the dad that took on three children that were not his; loved them, supported them and parented them through all the hard times while their own biological fathers walked away.

Ashley channeled her own dad today with this message as he is the only one of the three that has ever acknowledged that his stepdad did what he didn't have to do and was truly a father to him when his real father walked away and deserted him.

Brian's spirit was absolutely close to us today because as Ashley was writing this to us - the church handed out packets of "Skittles" with a reminder to pray about bible school!  Skittles.  Notoriously known as Brian's favorite candy - his house was never without a jar of Skittles on the counter.  Kara even had Skittles on his wedding cake!

Dear Brian,

I am thinking of you and Paxton a lot today for some reason.  It has been a sad day today.  I saw a movie that had a baby that looked so much like Paxton.  Even had on a shirt identical to one that he wore a lot and he was the same age.  I still see you both everywhere.  I  catch myself looking for both of you in crowds and sometimes when I see babies that remind me of Paxton I want to just stay close to them and soak in their sweetness.  Sometimes in stores I follow their moms down a few aisles just so I can see him a little longer and feel him close to me again.  

I've set Sunday afternoons aside as the time I give myself  to cry.  Dad watches the race downstairs and I have some private time to myself.  So that I don't "break" in front of people or in public anymore I designated a day when I know I can be alone and I come in the office and I can miss you both all I want and out loud if I need to.  I allow myself time to just sit with my grief, cry and be sad. And sometimes I just sit here and think of things I remember because I want to keep you both fresh in my mind.  I had you a long time but Paxton has been gone way longer than the two years and eight month that I had him so I am so afraid that I will forget.  Not him, of course but the essence of him.  His silent sweetness, his funny little ways, our little games and how much they amused him, his first words, the sound of his voice and the "baby" way he pronounced words. That sweet baby smell, his giggle, what he felt like snuggled up to me asleep.  Little sweet or funny things he did like pretending to sneeze when he was so little and laughing when I said "Bless You!" because he knew it was a joke.  And how we used to play hide and seek and he'd lead me to the linen closet and shut me in and then pretend to look for me until he would open the door and "find" me right where he'd left me.  

These are the precious things that I never want to lose but I am so afraid that I will.  

I know there were a million little things that you all did or said that I was sure I'd never forget - but I did.  So I know its possible and so I try to remember all the little details that I can so that they will stay fresh in my memory and he will stay alive in my heart.  

So today is Saturday --not my day and yet I'm sad and grieving fiercely today. Not sure what's up with that unless it is the baby in the movie. 

Sometimes those little coincidences, like dreams, seem like little gifts from God.  Little snippets of you or Paxton that I find in crowds or in movies that give me a little private visit from you. I will take them.  And I am thankful to God for them even if they do make me sad afterwards.

I think lately about how everyday I'm a little closer to being with you all again.  Until then I will see you in my dreams or at the mall or in the babies I see on movies and I will think of you all and miss you still everyday.