Different

I can't begin to tell you how many times I've wanted to sit down and write but haven't been able to make myself delve into the depths of emotion long enough to start, much less finish, a post.

Sitting here now, I don't know where to begin. Months have passed since my last entry and a multitude of changes have transpired. The main thing I have realized is that there is no "better", there is only "different". I am different. My family is different. Life is different. There is still beauty. There is love, there is life, there is joy. There are moments I am knocked to my knees by the pain of missing him, there are moments when it feels like it has always been this way. Sorrow is a part of my soul and I doubt that will ever change, yet it comforts me in a strange way, virtue of its ability to constantly remind me of Josh's existence.


It's been fifteen months since Josh committed suicide. He would be 27. His Son is 16 months old and I know very little about him other than he is growing up not knowing his father or our family. The fault lies with me and my inability to separate his birth from Josh's death. Knowing if he hadn't been born, Josh would still be alive. Believing if Josh had the opportunity to be involved, to have been acknowledged as his father, to have held him in his arms and felt the warmth and weight of his body, heard his little baby sighs, to have known the magnitude of love and responsibility he would have found a reason to want to live. Instead I am left to replay the moment when he looked at me with agony in his face and said to me, "Can you imagine? I'm going to be an absentee father by default". It tore him apart not being allowed to see his son, finding out he was a father 10 days after Kai was born, seeing pictures of everyone else holding him, being told not to come for fear of upsetting others, not knowing from one day to the next even what State his child would be living in. Yet, I know that others have suffered much worse and not ended their lives. The decision still lies fully with Josh. There is no blame towards others for his death itself. There is dislike however, for anyone who would do that to another person because they didn't have things the way they wanted. (I know there are huge gaps and this passage leaves more questions than answers for anyone reading it)

Once again, I have felt My Josh intervening and finding a way to give us what we need and make his presence known from a distance. In the blink of an eye, another round of holidays have come and gone. We were expecting to trudge through them, focusing the whole time on the impending birth of our newest grandchild who was due on January 16. Instead, I'm listening to his baby grunts and groans and mild protests of life from the next room. Josh's namesake made his arrival 7 weeks early. Becca went into the hospital the day before Thanksgiving and delivered Joshua Bryce Blair on December 1st. He weighed in at 5lbs and 9ozs, spent a week in the NICU and came home on December 7th in plenty of time for Christmas. Needless to say, none of us had much time to wallow in our grief through the holidays and on the occasions Grief came knocking at the door he had to share us with a new baby and there simply wasn't much room for him to take up residence.

Joshua Bryce has brought healing love to us all. He reminds me so much of his uncle it would be scary if it weren't so welcome. Holding my grandson close and letting my tears anoint his head while he sleeps upon my chest has been a balm to my heart, has brought peace to my soul and reminds me that without death there is no reverence for life.

There have been horrible moments. Devastating moments. Walking out of Wal-Mart sobbing after realizing I had bought stocking stuffers for all three children. Literally not realizing why I only needed two of each. Devastating. Calling his phone number and being surprised when someone else answers. Looking at Baby Josh and aching with knowing how much My Josh would have added to the experience. Finding the card he gave me telling me thank you for being the great mom I am and always have been. Going through the pictures, memory upon memory being brought to mind, always with the knowledge that Josh will never create more.

My pain is not diminished. But it is different. By sheer force of will I am slowly learning to find the beauty in it instead of only sorrow. I have learned to cherish life a little more. I am kinder, more patient, more compassionate. I see good coming from the loss of my son, but only after spending my days looking for it. Daily I fight the temptation to let myself drown in my sorrow, but I simply won't allow it. Over and over again I come nose first against the realization that if I don't continue to live then Josh's life was a negative. A bad thing, a hurtful thing. I love him too much to let that happen.

Life is finite for us all. Each and every one of us is going to die. I can only hope that someone will miss me as much as I miss Josh, for if they do, then I will have lived my life in a good way. I can also only hope I will have allowed them to miss me with joy for having known me. No matter if the tears are running down my face as I type.... They are only tears for having lost him....not for having known him.

To say I miss Josh is the equivalent of saying the Sun is a little warm. He is and always will be, a part of my life. The very fabric of my soul has been woven through with threads of his. I will always be Josh's mother, I will always long for his smile, his touch. I will always be in debt to him for the person I am, as well as the one I will become. Without Josh, there would be no me.

I love you Josh. Rest assured that hasn't changed and never will. Perhaps that is the main thing I have learned in the last 15 months. I don't have to be afraid of a future without you. There is no such thing.

Thank you for being my son. Always my son. Yesterday, Today and Tommorrow.