Kissing 2020 Goodbye

Well I should have known it couldn't leave without kicking and screaming its way out.  I am sick.

So for the first New Year's day in probably 15 years now I cannot spend New Year's with my best friend Kathie.  Doesn't feel like anything drastic but I don't dare expose her or her sister or her husband to anything because these days you just don't know.  So we will sit home alone - quarantined for the next 10 days I guess.  So now 2020 has officially hijacked New Year's Day 2021!

Today, for some unknown reason has been a very down day.  Its dismal outside but it was dismal inside as well.  Knowing I can't go to Kathie's like I have done for years has not helped but actually I think I'm okay with that.  Seems like we have had weeks of hoopla because Christmas was celebrated in several small gatherings so it kind of dragged on and I'm a little tired.

I've been reading a novel which is not usually my cup of tea.  Not much of a fiction lover but this is based on real events and I felt like I needed some down time reading.  It was a very good book but the subject matter was very sad and depressing and as it turns out I don't think that was what I needed right now.  The book was about a children's home in Tennessee that stole children and adopted them out to wealthy and powerful families, politicians, movie stars for a huge profit.  It was called "Before We Were Yours" By: Lisa Wingate.  The characters and details of their lives were fictitious but the premise of the story was true.  The Children's home was real.  The woman behind the baby brokering business was real.  The stories of cruelty, neglect, molestation and even murder were real.  It was a depressing, sad and horrific account and an eye opening realization of how cruel and horrible people can become for money.  It also cements the reality that as bad as the world is today - it has been just as bad in times past. People have committed inhumane atrocities for profit and power throughout the pages of history.  But it was not a light read by any stretch of the imagination and this was not a good time to read it. 

This has sure been a horrific year and I am glad to see it go however, the realist in me will not allow me to be overly enthusiastic about 2021 taking its place.  Too much lying in wait to believe that it is all going to magically get better.  Like we were going to wake up this morning and the virus will have disappeared overnight, all of our civil liberties and personal freedoms will have been restored, all of the businesses that have been bankrupted by this will have revived, people will want to work again and we will not be living with the threat of socialism and communism looming large on the horizon. We will be living once again in the land of the free in a United States that I recognize. And all will be sunshine and daisies.  

And as bad as this year has been and it has been like none other in history, I mentioned this morning to my husband that it is not the worst year we've ever seen.  And although I have always known that I would never get over losing a child - you say that without really knowing what that truly means.  And even after it happens you hope and pray that you were wrong.  That some day that pain would let up and you could live a normal life again.  All you have to compare it to is other, less horrific losses.  The grief was bad.  There was sadness and months and months of crying and guilt and sleepless night but then life began to slowly come back.  Days looked brighter.  You laughed.  Life continued.  You still missed the person you lost but you lived with the loss, remembered them with laughter and fond memories. And you picked back up and you lived again. So there is no way I could have imagined that 6 1/2 years would go by so quickly and that I would still be crying.  That I could still find it hard now to look at their pictures, that I would still be haunted by the unknowns of what happened and why.  Almost seven years.  That would have been far too much to live with had I known that in the beginning so I am glad I didn't know this then.  

However, today it no longer scares me because I realize with "acceptance" that it will always be.  Some days are better than others and I understand now that "some days" is the best I can hope for.  And I understand now that some days it will always hurt.  Some days it will be unbearable.  Some days I will cry.  Some days it will be like it is brand new again and some days it will be unbelievable.  And I know now that those days will always be with me.  This is not something I will ever, ever get over.  I will live with it and the pain will not be as sharp.  I will cry but alone and controlled and not as often.  I will wake up in total disbelief, but I will quickly recover and realize it has been like waking from a dream.  

I have finally come to the realization that this is life now and that's just how it is.  It will never go away.  How could it?  How naive of me to have ever believed that it could.  

I don't know how much the shame and secrecy contribute to that fact but I'm sure they don't help.  Perhaps if I could have grieved them openly, received love and support like normal people, if I could have been able to talk about them or hash out the confusion and anger and mystery or bounce my thoughts off someone, get feedback, miss them out loud, perhaps if I could speak of my children to people I meet like a normal person or perhaps if I had a socially acceptable answer to: "what happened?" instead of hiding my hurt and hiding the most horrific tragedy a mother could live through, hiding my children --all of them and the details of our life because I don't know how to answer: "How many children do you have?"  If I say three, they ask conversation starter questions - where do they live, what do they do?  Are they married do they have kids?  If I say two, I feel horrible.  If I say three and one has died, they ask what happened.  So, I avoid all talk of my children and feel as though I am living a lie at all times.  I feel guilty like I am rejecting or abandoning my living children like I am not claiming them, bragging on them, talking about their lives.  And keeping secrets will eat you alive.  How can I possibly make friends or get to know people when I have the worst tragedy in my life that has to remain untold.  They cannot ever "know" me, and I feel like I'm living a lie, not being true to myself, not even being myself.  Not at all living authentically and am not a "surface" person.  If I feel comfortable enough to tell them anything I begin to feel judged.  I start reading stuff into little slights and feeling as if they are treating me differently now.  It is changing me.  It is making me a loner.  Making me not want friends because it is too hard.  I can't be me so how real can a relationship with them be anyway.  I am sure that the nature of the situation has had a great deal to do with why I am still where I am.  And just like 2021 can't erase the tragedies of 2020 nothing can ever erase the tragedies of 2014

Still

 

I was just telling my sister that grief just keeps coming at you because if you loved someone you will never stop missing them.  It takes turns.  Some days I think about my Mama all day long and it has been over twenty one years since I lost her and some days it still seems so fresh it is impossible to believe it has been so long. I still relive that evening on the hospital helipad helpless and alone as I watched from the ground and an overwhelming sadness overtook me - as they lifted off and she flew away in the helicopter as they “life-flighted” her to Emory – She may as well have been carried off by a band of Angels because I knew in my heart she was flying away for the very last time.

Some days I just think about Shirley and how after Mama and Daddy divorced she literally moved in and rescued all of us.  She gave us the only real stability we had ever known.  I think about how selfless she was giving her all to be there for all of us.  We were strangers to her.  She had never been around kids and she gave up her quiet, peaceful life of never having to struggle to rescue a bunch of needy “strays” and stayed loyal to us for over 20 years until she died.

Some days I think about my brother in law Keith Day, lost way too young to a heart attack at 50 years old.  I think about how funny he was and about how he went against everyone’s advice to start that street ministry that has now morphed into the “Blessings Bus Ministry” that feeds and clothes the homeless on the streets of Atlanta for over 15 years!  I think about how proud I was of him then and how thankful I am to get to be even a tiny part of it now.  

Some days I go way back, and I miss my uncle - Bobby Holland killed in a tragic car accident at 26 years old.  He left a young wife and 8-month-old child that never knew her daddy.  I think about what he was to me.  I think about what a good daddy he would have been to her.  He was the first man that I ever really trusted.  He was kind and gentle and so different from all the men in my life that either, grabbed at me and made me feel gross, or beat the hell out of me for little or no reason.  I had a pretty dim view of men in general most of my life.  He was the exception.  He was also the first person in my life that I loved and lost; at 10 years old he was my introduction to grief. I cried over him for a solid year.

There are days when I think about my aunts and uncles that I’ve loved and lost; my grandparents and as of two years ago, my dear friend Durinda – the first of my childhood friends to die.  My friend and neighbor most recently - Linda Sayre a testament to the way a Christian both lives and dies.  She lived loving the Lord and she died trusting Him.

And of course, leading the pack are the days that I think of Brian and Paxton and Kara.  Those days are still after 6 years - devastating and still that grief surrounds and nearly consumes me almost daily.  I don’t cry everyday anymore but I do still cry.  And while it seems good that I no longer cry everyday I’m really not sure it is because I think holding it in could make you explode.  Because replacing that is a deep, aching sadness that permeates my entire being.  I can laugh but not without guilt.  I have small joys, but they are colored by a layer of sadness and intense sense of loss.  Each takes their turn at me.  Each has their day and of course there are still the ever-lingering peripheral losses that continue to pile up --six long years of losses.  Like after all this time I still do not know what happened.  Not a day so far goes by that I do not think of that.  After six years I still cannot talk openly about them.  I still cannot acknowledge that I ever had them, loved them or lost them because of the questions sure to follow that I still do not know how to answer.  I feel cheated and that feels like a loss unto itself.  I still feel judged, and I still feel guilt where Kara’s family is concerned.  My faith has suffered immensely.  I fight it – daily - with everything I have but there’s no use lying – it is not the same and it has suffered irreparable damage as has my relationship with literally every other person in my life.  Some lost never to return; some have returned but what we have left is so different the relationship is virtually unrecognizable.  I’d venture to say not one part of my entire life has not been seriously affected.  I still don’t sleep well waking up most mornings before 4:00.  I still cringe and get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach on the 23^rd of the month – not just August but every month – for six years.  I do not seem to be getting “better” as I’d hoped and prayed and each successive year, I find myself getting closer to "bitter” than I’ve been for six years. 

Some days I can see their pictures and feel love and warmth and remember sweet memories.  Other days I can see their picture and it is like a knife to my heart.  Three knives actually.   

Still surprisingly, Paxton has been the hardest.  Maybe because he was totally innocent and maybe just because he was a baby and there is something so awful and so tragic about the loss of a child.  And most especially under such traumatic and horrific circumstances.  That said, they have all been hard.  Very hard.

Still, I feel guilty because I never saw any of them and that feels so wrong and yet I know if I had it to do over, I would choose to do the exact same thing again.  I am a coward.  I could not see them and live and the survivor in me always, always knew that.  I am an incredibly strong person, but strength only goes so far, and I simply could not face that.

The conclusion I’ve come to is if people have had a place in your life; have impacted your life, you have loved them, or they have loved you –you will always miss them.  Always think of them from time to time and yes, even always grieve the loss of them – still - and always.

August

Birthdays, I think, are the hardest.  Yesterday would have been Kara's 33rd.  At least half of this month of August has been so difficult and I feel like I have really taken a major leap backwards and birthdays have played a large part in that.


The 16th - the date that I gave Kara her early birthday present because I had been unable to come home much with my sister sick and was afraid I would miss her birthday.  I never-ever give anyone their birthday or Christmas presents early.  Guess we now know why I was lead to make an exception this year.


The 18th - the date of the last video that Kara's made of Paxton and sent to me.  She also sent one to her mom.  Mine was of Paxton saying:  "Hey Nana, I love you."  Nancy's said: "Hey Me-ma, I love you."


The 22nd - Kara's mom's birthday and the last time she ever heard her daughter's voice and just hours before their deaths.  Her birthday will never be a happy occasion of celebration again.


The 23rd - the actual day they died but forever noted incorrectly because they were not found until the 24th. 


The 24th - the day that changed all of our lives forever.  The worst day in all of our lives up to that day.  The day that changed what we would have as a future but it also because of what the police said happened even made us question our past.  If that was true then nothing else we had ever known was true.  That day made us all question everything we knew, everything we believed in and everything we could ever hope for.


The 25th - Brian's oldest son's birthday.  It was his twenty third and it was the one that would change every birthday from now on because "this" would dominate.  "This" would mar.  "This" would be all he would ever think about for every birthday now forever.


The 31st - Kara's birthday.  It would have been her 30th.  A birthday she was looking forward to and dreading but would never see.  And now forever for her family they can never think of her birthday that the anniversary of her death does not loom over it.


I pray for peace for all of us as August is once again in the rear-view mirror thank goodness.

Dear Brian

June 19, 2017

Dear Brian,

I just got through reading your Journal to Paxton yet again.  It breaks my heart just as much two years and ten months later as it did that first week when we found it.  Still what a Divine Gift that was.

As I read back over it the words you leave to Paxton are like knives to my heart as you say things like you are writing these things down so that Paxton can come back and read at any time the things that you had to share with him; the musings and life advice. With every line I read I hear a man that adores his wife and child; plans on the baby growing up someday and reading this and knowing how much he mattered to his parents.  I hear a man that sounds as if he plans to continue writing this for years to come.  Every line stabs at me as I read how much Kara wanted a baby, what a good mother she was, how happy you all were, how hard you worked on your house, how proud you were of it, how smart Paxton was and how you wanted to give him a general idea of what life was like when he was born, what he was like at each stage of his growth and a record of each of his little milestones.  You wanted to tell him how you met his mother, how much you loved his mother and how much the two of you loved and wanted him. 

As I read it in retrospect I want to scream – “He will never read these words.  He will never know your love or your intention.  He will never need your advice.  He is two and a half – and he will never be three!”  I want to protest and stop time where you are on these pages and never let August 23^rd 2014 come.  Just to see the year 2014 written out makes me turn literally sick.  As I read the dates you mention in these pages my heart pays careful attention. It is November 2011 as you begin you are 38 years old – I pause and count up the time you have left on that date.  You go back in time now to the date you and Kara met – February 6, 2009 my heart lightens as I remember how happy you were at finding her and I remember exactly when you broke the news to me and your dad that you had asked her to marry you only days later.  I remember distinctly looking straight at her and asking “Are you crazy?”  You were not amused.  But you looked at me and said: “I know what you’re thinking and yes, she knows I’m in debt and that Alex has been in trouble and I know how crazy this sounds Mom, but I let her get away one time and I am just not going to make that mistake again.”  You mention your wedding date July 11, 2009 and my mind flits back to the events of that day.  I typed up your vows that you were to read to each other.  Hers were silly and falling right in line with the goof- ball you had portrayed to her.  Yours would melt my heart.  I thought that day – how yours and hers were going to be so vastly different and how yours would surprise her – but they would not surprise me.  I knew how serious you really were about this and what this marriage meant to you.  And while it was true that you certainly had a silly side and were constantly joking and cutting up – I knew what she did not, that most of the time it was a smoke screen to hide years of hurt and heartache not only from those you were with but from yourself.  It was a light-hearted attempt to detract from the tragic life of hurt that had plagued you for years. Intended to make you laugh and forget.

January 26, 2013 – I read and quickly calculate that you have one year and seven months to live.  You mention to Paxton that he was born on December 10, 2011 – I go back…to the hospital the night of his birth, Kara is in labor, you are a basket case.  You cover it trying to fidget with the medical items in the room like a 12-year old boy and you pace.  They take her down for an emergency C-section and I quickly assess the panic that crosses your face for just a split second before you hug Kara and tell her everything will be okay. 

You tell Paxton then that you moved into your new house in February of 2012 and I remember the pride and excitement you both had at having a home that you made your own with the blood, sweat and tears of weeks of intense hard work as you both side by side patched a thousand holes, hung doors, replaced plumbing fixtures, painted over bright red enamel paint that spanned the 20-foot cathedral ceiling, I remembered feeling so proud of both of you but maybe especially Kara – at her age – digging in and working night and day beside you to lay custom tile in the kitchen, put in new countertops, hang and stain new cabinets.  She was learning as she went and never complained but actually seemed to enjoy it and she actually saw the beauty in the two of you doing this together.  I was amazed.

Your next entry is December 2, 2013 – My breath catches and my heart skips a beat as you inch closer and closer to the date. You mention Paxton is about to turn two.  It is 8 days from his birthday – his last birthday.  You say it is creeping up on Christmas –the last Christmas; the last Christmas you will ever see; the last Christmas I will ever enjoy.  December 2013 was our last Christmas with our complete family; my last Christmas with the baby; Kara’s last Christmas and the last Christmas her family will ever enjoy.  Then I remember two events from that Christmas – the baby yelling out “NANA, I MISSED YOU!” when I never heard him put two words together.  And then I remember what I said when everyone left that day.  As the last one got in their car to go, I turned to your dad and I said, “I will never do this again.”  I had my feelings really hurt because I had worked for weeks to decorate and plan, cook, shop and wrap for Christmas and everyone stayed about 45 minutes and ran out the door saying you all had plans to go to a movie – I was devastated - movies play 364 other days out of the year.  Christmas comes once a year.  Jamie and Marie had driven over 400 miles and spent 45 minutes with us.  And after weeks and weeks of planning and days of working - I was alone on Christmas day hurt and angry.  And I said, “I know you think I don’t mean this – but I’m serious I will never do this again.”  And prophetically, I never will.

June 22, 2014 – your last entry.   I realize I am sitting here “accidently” rereading this and writing “this” exactly three days shy of three years since that last entry.  Countdown.  Two months and one day.  You tell Paxton some of the funny stuff he does and what he is like at this age, you mention things you do together and talk about his new puppy.  Then you cut to the chase – you talk to him about God, you tell him again how great his mother is, you relay life lessons about women, marriage and patience.  You tell how much he means to you, and you talk sweetly of your special time with him and how much you value that time.  I realize as I read from an almost three-year perspective that though you thought you were writing this for him – you were in fact under God’s instruction – writing this for all of us. 

I am both sad and extremely thankful.

Techno Grief

Grief, like everything has also changed with technology. Technology issues were things that were never considered just a few years ago and not something I have heard anything about in all my reading and research – how technology makes it difficult to accept a loss because your loved one keeps turning up in texts, emails, voice mails, phone contact lists, Instagram photos, Youtube videos and worse still --old news feeds.

We really don’t realize on a surface level how deeply ingrained we are in the technology that permeates our lives today.  So much so until it, at times, seems to override reality. It never occurred to me how much our subconscious minds automatically believe what they see through our daily  blasts of technology because we are so conditioned to it.  One instance was when Siri asked me if I want to call Brian.  Now on a logical level I knew that wasn’t possible but for just a split second my conscious mind wanted so badly to believe she/it could until I found myself desperately wanting to try.  And like sometimes I find myself just looking up their phone numbers on my contact list as if seeing it there makes this somehow less true or not real even if it is just for a moment.  Or looking up old texts where even seeing their words typed on a screen makes me hear their voices because I was so used to being able to actually “hear” through their typed words, their inflections and their tone – like finding the silly comments Brian had left on my Shutterfly page and as I read them I could actually “hear” the mood he was in; the lightness, humor and sarcasm in his voice --making it feel like they are actually there on the other end of my computer, email or phone.  And for just a minute – it feels so good, so right and so normal.  It is a break from the sadness and a moment of “before”.   I even find that I look on other emails I’ve sent and I note the date as being before the loss and I grasp for the lightness that was in my own voice and hang on to that free easy innocence that I will never know again.  The voice I had and the person I was “before” when the most asinine things took priority in my life and I spent my days worrying over the lifelong battle with my weight, getting my hair to behave or the fact that my phone wouldn’t hold a charge; when the little petty annoyances of an everyday life were the things that dominated my thoughts.  Or things like fretting over who was and who was not going to come to Christmas or being aggravated at the fact that I had changed the day and time four times to try and fit everyone else’s schedule.  I look at those emails and mentally take myself back to that life before I knew catastrophic multiple loss when I believed God watched over all of my children, when I thought things that horrific only happened to other people.  And I can remember and take myself back to feel the very atmosphere of the "before". 

It seems my entire world is divided into two parts.  There was me before August 23, 2014 and there is me after August 23, 2014.  August 22, 2014 – hair mattered.  August 24, 2014 - life did not matter. June 3, 2014 - I was emailing an editor to see if they had accepted a story I had written.  September 23, 2014 – I am trying to survive one day at a time by writing out my pain, my frustration, my love, my grief and Brian’s story on this blog unconcerned with whether anyone else will ever even read it or not.  March 31, 2014 I was setting up a closing with a real estate attorney to close out the sale and put Brian and Kara’s house in their name.  February 12, 2015 I am emailing a foreclosure attorney setting up a date for the sale of that same house on the courthouse steps.   

There are other things too like the notification not long ago that was on my phone when someone had hacked an old email account and I got an email in my inbox that said it was from Kara – for just one moment I was so happy and just because it sat there in real time saying that it was from her, I had a moment of relief even joy and excitement although on a conscious level I knew better.   And strangely enough, it doesn’t even feel crazy to me???  Sounds crazy.  But it doesn't feel crazy. Not because nothing is crazy now but instead because everything is, if that makes any sense.   My life, my actions, my thought processes, my logic and my reality –everything seems so skewed until even the craziest stuff seems…well… normal.

Sorry.

I've gone a little backwards and I've been kind of running off the rails lately.

The other night I drifted off to sleep and about an hour into what might have been a good restful sleep I "suddenly" remembered that Brian was dead.  In my sleep I had actually "forgotten" it and for just a split second when I woke up "remembering" I thought I had dreamed it and that it was not really true and then when I realized it was it was like hearing it for the first time all over again.  It rattled me so badly until I could not go back to sleep for hours.

How in the hell does that still happen?!  How can I live in the midst of this horror with it never leaving my mind day or night and suddenly have it hit me like it is all new and I am hearing it for the first time??? How?  I mean it was absolutely just like it was brand new - almost 14 months later.  I don't understand that.  I really don't.  But it is unnerving.

And I have been a mess ever since.

And this entire week - I have done little else but hide and sob.  I have been thinking about all of them but most especially missing Paxton again.  I have just been remembering him and all that he was; how sweet he was; how much he loved really simple things - like his little hot wheels cars. How he didn't really care all that much about lots of toys or complicated toys with batteries or remote controls or things that made noise or had motion like most kids.  He was a very simple child.  He had every toy known to man but what he loved was his plain simple little cars that he pushed around himself. He even played with them in the bathtub.  He had robotic cars that made engine noises, honked their horns, had flashing lights and ran by themselves,  But in a minute he would sidestep those and opt for his hot wheels. He had racetracks, computerized games and toys, books, movies, tents, telephones, a motorized tractor, a swing set, a trampoline, musical instruments, a bicycle, a motorized car that he could drive himself - literally everything a child could dream of.  But what he loved were his cars. He watched cartoons but only loved the ones that had lots of songs.  He loved music and different sounds and he paid attention to voices, accents, inflections and tones and used them even when he didn't have words.  He loved all animals and had absolutely no fear when it came to animals.  He would have walked up to a grizzly bear with his hands outstretched. He loved to dance and sing and he understood things that were so far above what he should have known.  Brian brought him over fishing for the first time just weeks before they died and he thought Paxton was going to be so excited to catch his first fish.  Brian cast out and got a bite and handed the rod and reel to Paxton and helped him reel the fish in.  Paxton saw the fish struggling on the line and he knew he absolutely knew that it was hurting the fish and he started screaming: NO!NO!NO!NO! and turned away refusing to look.

A couple of years ago there was a huge community yard sale and a lady there must have had a half acre of toys for sale.  Brian and Kara came and brought Paxton and Brian set him down right in the middle of all those toys and told him to get whatever he wanted.  There must have been over 300 toys there and he picked up two little cars and a school bus and went back to his daddy for him to pick him up.  He was ready to go.  Out of 300 toys - two tiny cars and small school bus was all he wanted! He was always just satisfied with the smallest simplest things and happy with whatever he had.

I have typically had very little patience with children and have not wanted to babysit anyone's children in years.  Raised mine and half-raised a few of other people's and I was kind of over it. But it was definitely different with him.  Although he wore me out I wanted as much time with him as I could get.  Sometimes I was glad to see him go home simply because my body could not keep up with his energy level and I was exhausted but I wanted him with me - always. I never turned down time with him no matter what until my sister got sick.  I had a love for him that even I did not understand.  I could not hardly go two weeks without seeing him or I was in withdrawals.

I have never been so broken over anything in my entire life as I am over the loss of that little boy. Broken.  The joy has gone out of my life.  I miss him so bad every single day until I could scream and cry all day every day.  I don't give in to it because I am desperately afraid I will go past the point of no return.  I don't.  But I so could.  I stand strong fooling the rest of the world but the truth is I'm a mess.

It is good in a way that I am able to hold up and function – but in another way it is not so good because I am laughing when I want to cry and going to my job, cooking and doing laundry when I really just want to go to close all the blinds, stay in my pajamas, never comb my hair and pull the covers up over my head.

Sometimes I am proud that I am able to keep going and other times it feels like it is choking me to death and I want desperately to just actually do what I really want to do and stop pretending that I’m okay. I want to give in to it and just scream to the top of my lungs. “I want my children back- NOW! I can’t do this anymore!”

And I suppose that I am a pretty strong person – or I used to be. But what most people may not realize is that what makes one strong is a long history of surviving many difficult circumstances. And though it’s true you are made stronger or at least you are able to appear stronger – the down side is that there is also a “cumulative effect” from all of that hardship. And inside you live in fear that at some point there is going to come a time when your mind and your body just say: “No more.”

What very few understand about that appearance of “doing well” is that though I may not react like a lot of people might that does not mean that I don’t feel the same things. They just stay quietly inside like a cancer that hasn’t been diagnosed yet.  No visible trauma on the outside but all the while it is silently, methodically destroying me from the inside out. All of the sadness and devastation that anyone else would feel – is still there and I absolutely feel every ounce of it. Most days I literally feel like I'm choking as I stifle the urge to cry and scream because I will never see my son, my daughter in law or my baby again.

Brian was always such a delight to me. If you have children then you know they are all different.  He was the only child that I had that would come to me and openly talk about whatever was on his heart. When he was a preteen, he would come to me at night and ask me if we could talk and we would sit up way past our bedtimes while he poured out his heart to me. He used to talk to me openly sometimes in tears about his puppy-love heartbreaks. We talked about God and spiritual things and he shared with me his dreams and aspirations and he often confided to me his deepest fears in life. Nothing went on in his life that I did not know about because we talked. As a child and even a teen, he was mindful, respectful and kind. As a general rule, he went where he said he was going and came home when I told him to be home. He was kind and loving and conscientious. Then at seventeen he made some really bad choices that affected the rest of his entire life. And I watched as life beat him down and changed him from the happy, carefree and funny child he had always been to a nervous, worried, anxious young adult in a bad marriage that destroyed his trust and ruined his life for the next 18 years until Kara came along.

Kara – I am also so brokenhearted over her and so terribly sad for her family. she adored both her mom and dad. And I used to envy the type of close relationship she and her mom shared - more like best friends than parent and adult child. And she loved life so much! She was beautiful, young, talented and energetic. She had a beautiful voice and loved to sing Karaoke and used to dream of singing professionally. And she worshipped that baby and he was the light of her life. I have seldom ever seen anyone that enjoyed being a mother more than she did. She treasured every moment with him. She thought everything he ever did was adorable and she carefully observed and recorded almost every move he made. And she loved my son. What more could you ask for? Though she was younger than he was by eleven years, she thought he hung the moon. She was the wife I always hoped and prayed he would someday find. She was the one that I hoped would make up for all of the hurt and disillusionment that he had with his first marriage. She was proud of him and she thought he was way more brilliant than he actually was! I used to laugh at the fact that she absolutely thought he could do anything. If he’d told her he was planning to build a rocket to the moon and was going to start a shuttle service on weekends – she would have called me breathless with excitement at what he was going to do and ask me if I realized that he was going to be famous some day! I believe she loved him with all her heart and even though she was young and talented and absolutely beautiful – on her wedding day she confided in me that she never thought she would ever get married and still could not believe that he actually wanted to marry her…

And that baby – number ten counting my step-daughter’s two sons –was the absolute light of my life. I was so young when most of the others came along and I had not really gotten over the trauma of three teenagers yet. So I could never fully enjoy them like I should have which makes me very sad. So when Brian told me they were expecting a baby – I admit I was less than thrilled. I had five grandchildren before I was forty and all were born to very young parents. I loved them. Oh my, how I loved them but I worried. Non-stop. So much so that it stole much of the joy out of having them. I worried about what, up to that point, irresponsible kids would do with a baby. I worried how they would take care of them. I worried how on earth they would afford milk and diapers and clothes and medicine and the bazillion other things that a baby needs. I worried how on earth I could help them when I was at my financial breaking point and they just kept coming. I had done nothing but worry about them and I was just about “babied out” by this time and the last thing on earth I expected was for a baby to come along and wedge his way into my heart like he did. As a matter of fact a few years back when I was without a cat and begging my husband to let me get another one I laughed one day and asked him “Well what would you rather have a cat, or a puppy or a baby?” thinking of course, that I had him on that one. His answer that stopped me dead in my tracks was --a baby! I almost fell out of my seat. “And why on earth would you say that?” I asked baffled. And his smart answer? “Because I figured that would be the one thing you absolutely would not want!” I just cracked up. He had me. So no, I did not expect for him to melt my heart like he did.

When I think of him --I want to sit in the middle of the floor with a lap full of hot wheels cars and a pacifier and sob till my heart bursts. I want to scream and rage at the unfairness of it all and the waste of such beautiful lives. In some ways I want to be okay again and in other ways I don’t want to live another day because so much of the joy has gone out of my life. I cannot imagine that I will never see him run or play or hear him laugh or sing again. Though I had managed to live fifty eight years without knowing him and only had him for such a short time, he made such an impact on my life until I cannot imagine now having to live another day without him. The sadness and devastation is at times, almost too much to bear. Most of the time, I just feel like I am dead inside. I’m functioning but I don’t know how or why. So I may look like I’m doing quite well on the surface and I’m glad that I do – but the honest truth is I know I will never even be okay again.

The Storms of Life

I have been bombarded lately with a common message coming at me from a variety of areas.  I listen to Charles Stanley’s radio message at 5:30 every morning on my ride to work.  I also listen to a local Christian radio station that does a Daily Devotion every morning.  I also have a Bible app that has a Bible verse of the day.  These three different forms of media have all come together with a common message this week. The Storms of Life – their cause and meaning.   There are three types of storms that God allows in your life. 

There are Protecting storms – as in you did not get that job that you were hoping and praying for – you feel at the time that it was a storm or an unanswered prayer but perhaps instead it was because the company was going to close and you would have been left jobless.  Or perhaps you prayed for things to work out in a relationship with a certain person but that did not happen and you are disappointed but you later meet the love of your life.  Your seemingly unanswered prayer was actually a form of God’s protection.  I’m sure if you think back you can recall a time when you have asked God for something only to find out later that you were thankful He did not allow you to have whatever you had asked for.

Then there are Correcting storms – storms that hit your life as a direct result of some sin or some wrong choice that you have made.  God is not trying to destroy you with these storms of correction but instead guide you to the best choices for your life for your own benefit. - Proverbs 3:11 My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord, neither be weary of his correction for who the Lord loveth, he correcteth even as a father the son in whom he delighteth.  Ask yourself this about whatever you are going through – Is this a storm of correction?  Is there something in my life that needs correcting.  Is this a disciplinary storm that God has allowed in my life to open my eyes to something I am doing that is out of His will or is pushing me farther away from my walk with Him?  His purpose is to move us constantly in the direction of a closer walk with Him. Our goal should be to be more Christ-like.  Is there something in your life; gossip, lust, envy, an addiction or an error in thinking that may be blocking that goal?  If so, He will do whatever it takes to get your attention and get you back on the right track.  That is a correcting storm.

And then there are Perfecting storms – A storm that has come into your life as a test to refine you like gold in a fire to remove the impurities in your life or like in Luke 22:31-32 where Jesus tells the Apostle Peter “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon that your faith may not fail.  And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”  This was an Apostle of Jesus Christ who had listened to his teachings and left his personal life to walk with Jesus for three years.  But Simon Peter had such a love and loyalty to Jesus he began to be arrogant about it.  In the next verse 33: Peter says, “Lord, I am ready to go with thee, both into prison, and to death.”  In Matthew 26: 33:  “Though all men shall be offended because of thee yet will I never be offended.”  And in verse 35 he goes on to say “I should die with thee yet will I not deny thee.”  But when Jesus asked him to come to the garden with Him and watch and pray – he fell asleep.  And when the guards came and arrested Jesus Peter in fear for his own life, denied even knowing Jesus three different times.  So though Peter loved the Lord, he was arrogant and prideful about that love and his faith.  He was not nearly as strong as he had thought.  So Jesus agreed to let Satan “sift” him as wheat – to test and try his faith not so Jesus would know the depth of that faith for He already knew but so that Peter could see his own shortcomings.  So he could no longer hide from his failures as a loyal friend and follower of Jesus.  I’m sure this was an eye opening experience for Peter.  I’m sure he was filled with confusion, remorse and shame.  But it gave him an honest assessment of how his strength, bravery, loyalty and faith was tested and found lacking. God knew that Peter’s pride was going to have to be destroyed if he were ever going to be of any real use.  Peter suffered a Perfecting storm.

And yet again this morning still another confirmation as Charles Stanley spoke of “works” making you feel justified when in fact nothing but what Jesus did on the cross could ever justify you.  There is nothing you, personally, can ever do to make Him love you more or make you right in His eyes.  Nothing.  He was saying that just because you go to church three times a week, tithe 10%, teach Sunday School or sing in the choir --that does not justify you to Jesus.  He was making the point that you were made “free” from the bondage of the law but it hit home with a different message to my heart entirely.

I have spent nearly thirteen months assessing the Tsunami that decimated our lives August 2014; initially just trying to survive the storm - dodge flying debris, tread the rising flood waters, cling desperately to whatever small pieces of solid ground I could find and then after I survived the first waves of destruction I began trying to make sense of it. 

Prior to that storm I, like Peter, would have sworn nothing could shake my faith. I pretty much felt like I too, would have gone to prison or faced death in a minute.  I was “secure” in my faith and my relationship with God was, I thought, unshakable.  I was in church almost every week for the past 22 years, I tithed, and did all of the other things that I thought was expected of me as a Christian. I cared about people, I gave to charities and tried to help people in need.  I was proud to be able to do what little I did in the church and while I never consciously thought I could “work” my way into Heaven or gain brownie points with God or even work to make restitution for any sins in my life, I apparently did think it would somehow keep disasters of this magnitude away from my life because the first thing that hit me was the unfairness and the devastating feeling that I had been betrayed by the God I loved and trusted. 

Obviously, I had a huge issue with pride as well.  Let me tell you there is absolutely nothing that can humble you right down to the dirt like the devastation of losing three members of your family at once and the shame and horror and yes, even guilt of having the whole world believe the son you love with all your heart --took the life of his wife and child. 

While I recall thinking I would gladly give my life for God – I can confess here and now that I absolutely never entertained the illusion that I would be willing to give the life of my child or grandchild.  Giving one’s life sounds like the maximum sacrifice but let me assure you it is not.  I know first-hand what a maximum sacrifice looks like and it is certainly not my life.  My life has not meant two cents to me this entire year.  Sacrificing my life would seem like a cheesy consolation prize.

Like Peter, when three times he denied even knowing Jesus, I have come to the humbling conclusion – that my faith, love and loyalty has been “sifted as wheat" and found seriously lacking.   

Bitter sweet

This week Brian’s 18 year old daughter gave birth to his first grandchild.  It was a sad moment knowing he was not there for support or to welcome him into the world and sadder still knowing he will never know the joy that grandchildren can be.  

It was also a happy moment knowing that we have a new addition to our blatantly dwindling family.  He was so was sweet and the moment I held him I did not want to let him go. And it took me back to another hospital three years ago December and I had to wonder how we got here? I sat and thought about how you never know what is just around the corner at times like this when you are so happy.  Would I have allowed myself to know Paxton's love had I had a clue what was ahead?  I hope I would have.

I wanted to shield this new baby from all of the horror and all of the sadness that changed our lives forever six months ago.  I don’t want his birth or his life to be marred by what is still so fresh to us all.  I’ve always heard that when God closes one door, He opens another.  I hope this new baby is that open door to my granddaughter and that she will get comfort and relief from her loss.  Not that anyone could ever take the place of her family members but maybe he will help fill that emptiness and lessen her pain.  I pray that for her.  She is very young and has a hard road ahead of her and it is my prayer that God will watch over her and that baby and that she will develop a relationship with God and raise the baby to know and love Him.  At eighteen, she has already had more hardship, heartache and sorrow than most girls have in a lifetime.  I know that though this will be a difficult road, that baby will bring her joy like nothing else can and help her to put her life back together. 

I am sad that they are sixty miles from me and living with her mom, so there is no chance, that I will even be a part of his life.  That is a shame because I could sure use a little joy.

This coming Sunday will be another of our major firsts – Brian’s 42^nd birthday.  We had Kara’s birthday one week after she died; then our first Thanksgiving, Paxton’s birthday and then Christmas.  We will still have Easter – which we always celebrated together with a cookout and family get-together and then Mother’s Day and Father’s Day and the first anniversary before we are through the first year and all of the “first” triggers.  I keep hearing how sometimes the second year is harder than the first – oh God, I hope and pray not.  I cannot even imagine that.

I am better.  I know I am better because I’m no longer wishing I would die every day and that has got to be a good sign.  I still can’t believe I lived through it thus far.  I really can’t.  Undoubtedly I actually am stronger than I realized.

My oldest son got a new puppy.  My daughter got two puppies.  My granddaughter has a precious new baby.  They have all found something to love and something to help fill that gaping hole in their lives.  I am glad that they have something to love.  My daughter thought I should get a puppy too but cleaning up puppy poo and salvaging what’s left of my shoes does not sound all that comforting to me right now.

Nothing can fill the hole left in a mother’s heart when she loses a child or a grandchild.  I lost both and a daughter in law I loved. That’s huge.  I’m just not thinking a puppy is really going to get it.  Besides the last thing I want right now is anything to be responsible for.  I am functioning --most days.  But I just want to be able to do my job to the best of my abilities and beyond that --as little as I can.  There are still many days I’m completely useless.  I know a lot of my grief was put aside while I sat in the bone marrow clinic and I feel like I’ve got some catching up to do.  But I am still glad that they have found something to bring them a little bit of happiness in all of this.

GriefShare and this Blog are what keep me sane.  That’s a long way from “joy” but they have both been a lifeline that keeps me functioning.

True human compassion, an equal opportunity emotion

Lately when I hear of a tragic event on the news such as the one that happened a few weeks back right here in the community where I live - where an older couple went missing after placing an ad on Craig's List to buy a classic car.  They were found murdered and their car in the bottom of a pond.  The husband, a Vietnam Veteran, active in his church and regularly serving his community.  They were loving parents and grandparents and both physically and financially supported a local homeless shelter. 


I, of course, like the rest of the TV- viewing public following that news story --was devastated at the horror of their tragic deaths.  I felt pity and sympathy and compassion for the couple's daughters and grandchildren and appalled and disgusted at the horror that the accused man could do such a thing to another human being and crushed by the loss of such pillars of the community.


However, I noticed something different in myself as of late, I am also now seeing another side of the story.  A side that leaves me also sympathetic to the families of the "accused".  Of course I am thinking of and praying for the victim's family as always but prior to our "now" sadly, I have to admit that I have never given much sympathy or compassion to the families of the accused.  Why not? 


I am ashamed to say that until I became one of them I really never gave them much thought.


I have done just like everyone else and shoved them under the rug of indignation and lumped them right into the same category as the accused or never thought of them at all.  But this time I as heard the accused man's father on TV say that "he had to have been set up, this was just not him.  He could never have done anything like this..."  I suddenly felt very sad for them and very ashamed at my previous lack of compassion.  I now knew what it was like to be in their shoes.  I remember saying very close to those same words about my child.  I recall the trauma and shock and debilitating disbelief at first and then later, the dark depression, personal devastation, shame and deep anguish of being treated as if we had no right to even love our family member.


Why was it so difficult for people to see that we too had lost a family member?  I recall wanting desperately to defend him and who he was at his core and who he had been for the previous 41 years.  I wanted to cry openly to friends, church members and co-workers telling them of my tragic loss but quickly realized they extended no sympathy to him and little to none for anyone connected to him.  They didn't want to hear what a great dad he was or how much we all loved him.  We either got looks of blatant disgust or they just quickly changed the subject or backed away from us the first opportunity they got and then avoided us like the plague.


At first I was oblivious to it but over the next few weeks, I came to realize they saw him only as a monster and they only saw us only as an extension of him.


I was a mother.  I had lost my youngest son, my daughter-in-law and my two year old grandchild. 


Under any circumstances that was a horrific tragedy and unfathomable loss.


For weeks I did not even made the connection that no one else even acknowledged that we too, were crushed by the loss of our son, brother, nephew and dad; that we were also victims of this horrific event; that my son was loved and missed by our entire family or that I was still his mother and devastated by the loss of my child.


We were treated differently by law enforcement.  We were treated with animosity and disrespect by the coroner in charge.  We were treated with anger and disgust by the various people in businesses that we had to deal with after their death whether attempting to take care of his business, get his bills paid or get his utilities turned off.


It was a side of this I wish I had never had cause to know but it is a side of it that has opened my eyes.  Though I am certain I would never have treated the accused's family with any animosity - I admit I would not have thought of them with  the same level of sympathy and or empathy that I would have the victim's family. So I have been just as guilty of the same judgmental insensitivity.


Never again. 


I now look at the accused's family with a whole new level of empathy.  And in some ways maybe because I now walk in their shoes, even more compassion simply because I know there are so many more levels of grief for them.  And because I now know that no one understands their loss or their love.  I now know the shame, stigma and the personal devastation they face along with that loss and yet and they have done nothing to deserve this either.   


It has been a soul-bearing; moment of truth; eye-opening lesson in love and human compassion. 


We've all said it but do we believe it?  "There, but for the grace of God - go I."

Words I could never have imagined saying…

Four months out, and there are some out of state friends and extended family members that still do not know about the loss of my children.  I thought I was finally going to be able to make those calls but when I try – I find that there are no words… no way to relay this news.  What do I say?  How do I tell this?  How do I explain that what the police say happened – could in no way have happened and yet still I do not know what, in fact, did happen?  How do you tell this to anyone?  The few people that I have told were so freaked out by it until they were speechless, they either bolted or hurried off the phone and I have never heard from them again. 

Talk about a truly humbling experience.

I recall meeting a pitiful couple the first night we attended the 13-week grief seminar.  Their young adult son had been murdered by a man in his apartment complex.  They were having a very difficult time with the grief, anger, confusion and disbelief that someone could just walk up for no apparent reason and kill their son.  They wanted answers.  They were angry at the system and the way things had been handled although apparently, thank God, they had caught the killer.  They were baffled at how someone could be so callous and cruel as to kill another human being that was just doing what young people do and "having a good time". 


They still yet had to go through the rigors of a long, drawn out, emotional trial as they hoped at least for some sort of justice for their son.  They were of course, in deep grief over the loss of their son as well.  The sadness and empathy in the room was palpable.  Everyone could relate to that terrible feeling of loss but while everyone else in the group was reeling in shock; appalled at the thought of him being a victim of “murder” – I sat there and realized what I was feeling was more like sadness mixed with --envy?

Can you imagine?

I felt awful!  I realize that was not a natural response to the situation and yet I promise you at that moment I wish I could have stood up and said that someone had murdered my children.  What a comfort it would have been to say,  ”This terrible person did this awful thing and I am angry, hurt and confused at the cruelty of this situation.  I want justice!”  At that moment I thought how much I would love to have been able to say those words??? How awful! But how true.

I could openly grieve my son.  I could have poured my heart out over the loss of my child to any extended family and all of my old friends and co-workers and everyone would have understood the great loss.  I could have talked about how much I loved and missed my child to anyone in any circles without the devastation of having them turn away in what appeared to be --disgust. I could have had my loss validated instead of feeling like I had no right to love and miss my son.  I could have taken comfort from friends and family instead of feeling like I needed to instead launch into defense mode as I tried in vain to explain who he really was in his heart and how much he loved his wife and child.  “But, you don’t know him. There is no way.  He adored them.  But you don't understand, he was absolutely not capable of...  He couldn’t have...  He would never…” and I see "the look" and I choke and turn away leaving my words dangling in mid-air. 

This is why this blog has been so vital to my survival because here I can pour out my heart.  I can openly acknowledge my devastating loss.  My grief can spill all over these pages mingled with my tears.  I can talk freely about whom I knew he was in his heart; how he was such a funny, goofy child, a fun-loving young adult, a loyal and responsible husband, how much he loved his children and what a good dad he was.  I can talk about him like he was my son - a victim and not my son, the cause of another family's loss.  I can rightfully grieve this horrific loss.  I can love him in spite of what the Sheriff’s office said because I am, after all --Still Brian's Mom.

Things grief has taught me...

I know it is difficult to know what to say especially to someone in our situation and although we have had so many friends, church members, neighbors and co-workers that have been so thoughtful and so kind – we have also been shocked and surprised that most of the time, the care and concern we have received has been from people we either barely knew or did not know at all and then equally surprised at so little care and concern from some of the people we would have thought of as those friends closest to us or those that have been a part of our lives for years.

I have had sweet and thoughtful cards, calls, texts and emails, gifts, meals and donations to the Leukemia/Lymphoma Society  -- from such surprise sources as: my retired mail carrier, a girl in a resource department on my job, my new boss, the real estate agent we purchased a house through several years ago, my ex-daughter in law (divorced over 20 years ago), a neighbor from 25 years ago, our receptionist at work, an ex-co-worker that left the company almost two years ago, a young man new to our company that I only worked with about two months, the lady that replaced me when I changed jobs, the receptionist from another company located on the same floor as ours, my daughter’s Sabbath School class (not the same church or denomination as me), my sister’s best friend, my sister’s pastors mother. 

But sometimes those that you thought were your closest friends seem kind of freaked out and just don’t know what to say or how to act and so they simply avoid you.  This is a time when your emotions are so raw and you are so overly sensitive that friendships can be forged through the simplest act of care and concern or forever broken for the lack of it.

You really need not say or do a lot – sometimes just showing up is more than enough.  A hug and a simple “I’m so sorry” is perfect.  I could never have imagined what a simple card in the mail could do to lift your spirits. There have literally been days when a simple card in the mail actually made the difference between life and death at that moment.  You really may never realize what such a small gesture can mean to someone that is hurting.  A quick phone call with “Hey I was thinking about you – is there anything you need?”  They will likely say “No”, but ask anyway.

Also please know that we need to talk about it.  We need to talk about or hear our loved one’s names.  Please don’t come and try and distract us with talk about football or current events to avoid bringing our loved one up in conversation because you think it may make us sad – we are sad – there is no avoiding that.  We have no desire to forget them or pretend it did not happen.  We need to talk about it and it helps if you listen.  And yes, we may cry.  Bring chocolate and cry with us or just get us a tissue and tough it out. 

The only difference between living through a profound loss and never having lived through one – is time.  If you live long enough – you will experience great loss at some point.  One thing I have learned is how important it is to be caring, compassionate and supportive to those experiencing great loss because it does matter.

I 'm sure I have been guilty of the same, though I hope not often and one thing for sure that has come from this – is that I will never again be that person that doesn’t know what to say so I say nothing.