Living with the "S" word. A.K.A. Suicide

The Way We Were.

2011-02-10T21:14:00.000-06:00

Dear Josh,

I no longer remember who I used to be when you were alive.

I saw a picture today from years ago when you were in high school and Sarah came to visit us. We lived in a little house.. an ugly house even, and I remember being self conscious of how we lived... in our little house, with our ugly kitchen, with a picnic table that had been revamped and painted for our dining room table. We were crammed into that house. No room to be alone, one bathroom, an extra kid living with us half the time, and friends dropping in to stay from all over the world sometimes.

When I looked at that picture it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was happy then. All my children were alive and well. You were on your way to graduating from highschool. We were all together ... and we were happy. I can't seem to stop the tears from coming and I can't make this make sense. All I know is, just for a moment, when I looked at that picture I FELT what I felt then and realized how much time I had lost waiting for everything to be perfect when they already were. Just for a minute, I remembered what it used to feel like to have you with us, all of us together. I already had all there was to have in this world and was just too stupid to know it.

I miss you.
I miss ME.
There is no way to compare this life to that one. We will never all be together again and because of that I will never be as happy as I once was. Most of the time that's o.k., because the way I feel now is usually all I remember... but today, I remembered the way we were.

I love you,
Mom

2010-09-27T10:54:00.001-05:00

Dear Josh,

The two year mark is steadily creeping up on us and I spend my days in a constant state of anxiety. My mind has a way of playing tricks on me without me even realizing what is going on and I realized the other day I had almost convinced myself you were going to "undo it" if I could only survive until the two year mark. Don't suppose your really gonna' pull that one off, huh? Don't get me wrong,I never actually expected that to happen, just used the fantasy as a means to get through the days...As the day itself gets closer and there is nothing to look forward to besides another long endless year without you it is harder to get out of bed and function.

Half the time I spend my days pretending nothing has happened, the other half I'm incapacitated by the reality of you being gone. Sometimes I'm really angry with you, sometimes I just want to join you in order to stop the pain. Then I'm angry with you again for causing the pain.

Oh Hell... nevermind. This isn't helping, you can't hear me, your not going to respond and I'm not a rational reasonable person right now.

I am so overwhelmed by the knowledge that this isn't ever going away. Not ever.

I'm sorry for being so mad at you today.

I love you.

Mom

Things NOT to do When Someone's Child Dies.

2010-09-07T10:03:00.005-05:00

I'm angry today, so I'm posting something I probably wouldn't post otherwise. Doesn't make it any less true, but it's probably not very politically correct. For that I apologize, but if writing this down will help someone not be bombarded with well meaning, but ignorant, people then it's worth it.

Things NOT to say or do to a grieving parent.

Don't run away. Don't hide behind the justification of " I'm just not good at these things". I'm not either. I'm damn sure not good at it and never want to become good at it. Understand that the pain you feel, no matter how overwhelming, is not the same as mine.

Don't compare my grief to the loss of your mother, your father, your sister or any other person in your life, unless it was your child. This is not my first go at the grieving process. I've lost mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, loved ones. It is NOT the same.

Don't tell me how he's with God, at peace, in a better place. I am grieving MY loss and I don't want MY child anywhere else besides with me in the physical realm. I truly believe he is at peace... but I am NOT.

Don't tell me "at least you have other children". My children are not interchangeable. Relationships are not replaceable one for another. Each of my children are loved and cherished, as I hope yours are. Which child would you be o.k. with losing?

Don't avoid his name. His life is precious to me and my memories are all I have. Share yours with me. Talk about him. Even if he was an ass the last time you saw him. I survived his teen years. You think I don't know he could be an ass?

Don't be afraid of upsetting me by mentioning him, his death or the word suicide. If I cry, well it's probably a WELCOME release from trying to put on a brave front in order to make YOU feel better. The tears are there whether you see them or not.

Don't tell me to call you if I need something. I'm not going to call and ask you to do my laundry,sweep my floors,wash my dishes or any of the million and one things I am no longer capable of caring about. I'm not going to call. No one ever does. If you want to help, then help.

Don't ask me if I'm better. No, I'm not better. Better than what? Better than I was before my child died? That's never going to happen. I am never going to be the same person I was and I'm certainly not ever going to be better than I was.

Don't put me in a position to have to comfort YOU. I know you loved him. I know your hurting too. I know you miss him also. But I was his MOTHER.

Don't ask me how I am unless you want to know. I am sick of coddling you and your sensibilities by saying "I'm fine". It needs to be alright to say "I'm having a bad day".

Don't wonder when I'm "going to get over it". I'm not. Ever. He was my child. He grew of me, from me, through me. He is dead. So is a part of me. Not all of me, the rest of me will learn to live, love, laugh and survive. But that part of me, the part that he filled, will never be "over it". I am getting "through" it. I don't even have the desire to "get over it".

So after reading this, if anybody wonders what they can say or do, the answer is simple. Show up and be present. Let me be wherever it is I need to be emotionally and know that whether I can express it or even realize it at the moment, I am grateful to not be alone.

Remember him. Say your so sorry for my pain and loss. Call my other children and my spouse to check on them, because I'm not always able to hold myself and them up. Be patient with me. You don't have to understand what I'm going through in order to understand you don't ever want it to be you.

Happy Birthday

2010-09-04T16:52:00.003-05:00

Dear Josh,

I'm posting this the day before your birthday because I'm not sure I will be able to do it tomorrow. Today has been bad, can't seem to stop the tears from coming and I'm afraid tomorrow might be worse. I can't believe your gone. Still, almost two years after the fact. I wonder if you are still watching over us like I knew you were in the first days and months? If you are I can only wonder what you would think of the changes your absence has wrought, wonder if you regret your decision, wonder if you are sorry for the pain you have caused. Sadly, I don't know the answers to those questions and I never will. All I know is that I'm drowning in sorrow today and miss you more than you could have imagined.

I've often reflected on your life, and my role in it, and am filled with regret for the things I did wrong, the times I wish I could change, the ways I should have been a better mother. I was so young and damaged when I had you and though I did the very best I could, I know there were so many times I wasn't the mother you deserved. I struggle with the guilt I carry, and yet I try to forgive myself because I know in my heart I loved you each and every day of your life. I truly did the best I could and when I knew better, I did better.

You and I talked about all these things before you died, and I know you had forgiven me, but I can't escape the fact that I impacted your life in some negative ways. Forgiveness or not, I can't take them back or change the effect I had.

The other day I saw pictures of your son. He is SOOO beautiful. He looks just like his mom, and yet everyone who sees him that knew you sees you in him. It's his grin I think... His facial expressions. There is some essence about him, at least in his pictures, that makes you known. I wish I knew him better, and certainly haven't been a grandmother to him, which I think would disappoint you, but I don't know where to put my anger when I talk to his mother. I'm so sorry Josh. I want to be better than that, but right now today, I don't know how.

On a different note, your nephew and namesake, baby Josh, is growing like a weed. Every single day I marvel at how much like you he is becoming. As nuts as it sounds, I deeply believe you were meddling in our lives when his life began. I mostly keep that to myself in order to avoid admittance to the looney bin, but today, I share it with you. Thank you for meddling.

There are so many many things I wish I could say to you, yet I can't think of many I hadn't already said. I love you. I am proud of you. I miss you when you aren't here. My beautiful boy, you were my saving grace. You were the beginning of my life, my desire to be a good mother, to be a better person. I owe you so very much and hope in some small way you knew that before you died.

Twenty Eight.... I wish you were going to be twenty eight somewhere other than in my heart.

Happy Birthday Josh.

Loving you, Now and always,
Mom.

Labor Day

2010-09-01T13:27:00.000-05:00

Josh was born on Labor Day Weekend. He was my first true labor of love. Sunday is his birthday... the day he won't turn twenty eight. Because he didn't turn twenty seven last year. This year, for the third time, I will labor through the day, but the pain I will experience will have no happy ending. No 8lb 2oz bouncing baby boy screaming his way into the world. Instead, I will labor to remember the bass of his voice, his shit eating grin, and the very essence of his being.

Oh Josh, I wish you were here. To blow out your candles, to make a wish, to celebrate.

I miss you my child.

Dealing with Others

2010-08-17T11:28:00.000-05:00

The thoughts of his suicide tumble through my mind till they are smooth and shiny, cool to the touch. When they leave my lips or fingers they have been made presentable, but sometimes I want to just throw them down in their raw unaltered form. Then you would see how rough and ugly they are when I'm feeling them. How the sharp edges of emotion leave bleeding wounds on my soul.

Then you would see how broken I am.

I'm not sure who I'm protecting anymore. You from having to share my pain... or myself from the inevitable moment you turn away because my pain is more than you can bear.

Leaving me alone again with a pain much too large for two people to bear, much less one.

I miss

2010-08-09T10:50:00.000-05:00

His smell.

The warm earthy scent of him.

I hold his hat over my nose in an effort to catch a whiff of him, and I can still detect the odor of his sweat, but it's faint, and slightly stale. Not bad, just cold, lacking the warmth of his scalp to reignite it's strength.

Of all the stupid things....

I miss the way he smelled.

Seeds of Life

2010-08-07T11:09:00.002-05:00

The fire has raged across the landscape of my world, wreaking destruction without regard to the desires or needs of the living. Charred remains of the life I knew are all that's left... cinders black and brittle, of a love and a life I once carried beneath my heart. Glowing embers sparkling with tempting light, wait to be fanned into full blown flames, that will not be satisfied until there are no remnants of life remaining. I tend to breathe very carefully these days, for every breath carries the scent of smoke and carries risk. Every breath could be the one that fans the flames of the past and incinerates the last tiny spark of life within me.

Yet, even with soot clogging my nostrils with every inhale, and ashes all around me, life remains. Buried deep beneath the surface, willing to grow and flourish if only given the chance. Determined to spread its tendrils, whether it's wanted or not, it creeps forth leaving dots of green across the desolate landscape where once a forest grew. There is life after destruction. Always.

I see it in my grandsons' eyes. I hear it in their voices. I feel it in his touch. The lives in their futures need to be oblivious of the pain within me. Their lives are to be nurtured, cherished, handled with care. Their lives deserve to be acknowledged in their own right for their unique beauty and potential without being compared to an entire forest.

But who can look at the aftermath of a forest fire without mourning the loss of the grandness which once was? How do you look at a seedling without wishing you could climb the tree that once stood in it's place? How do you scatter ashes with your footsteps without longing for the carpet of leaves and twigs representing years and years of growth?

I don't deny the life still within me, but I am faced with the knowledge I will never again be sheltered by the forest where once my heart was safe. Instead, I stand exposed amongst sprouts that will become the forest of my grandchildren's lives, hoping they will live safe and secure, embraced by love growing from seeds planted by the lives that came before them. They never knew the forest, so they will never long for it. They will only know the stories and fairy tales we weave from our memories.

This is why I make myself smile. Get out of bed. Pretend. I cannot alter my own intense desire to also be consumed by the flames rather than stay and mourn the passing of the forest. I can however, sincerely hope for the innocent lives around me to remain protected from the burn of the remaining embers.

I will not fan the embers voluntarily.

Slowwwwwly I breathe.

A Bad Day.

2010-05-28T12:46:00.000-05:00

The tears come swimming down through the smiles to catch me unawares.

There should be no more birthdays for me if he can't have them too.

I'm so fucking angry sometimes. Today, it's at him. For not being here. For not wanting to be here. For choosing NOT to be here.

Damnit Josh, where the hell are you?

Mothers Day #2

2010-05-09T11:23:00.001-05:00

There really isn't any point in trying to express how bittersweet this day is for me. You've either walked in my shoes and get it on a gut level and don't need me to tell you how it feels because your living it.... or you haven't and there aren't enough words in the universe to express the roiling of emotions today brings.

The chain I wear around my neck was a gift from him. The tokens and charms that hang from it have been given to me on significant anniversaries since his death. Today I added one that says "survivor".

Maybe with time, I will come to believe it.

Public Service Announcement

2010-04-09T16:07:00.000-05:00

I'm interrupting this blog to make an announcement.

When I first started writing here, I didn't tell anyone about it. It was my private place to spew my thoughts as I tried to survive the best way I knew how. My feeling were raw and exposed. There was no room in my life to deal with family or friends trying to talk to me about what I wrote. I chose a public forum like this because journaling left me feeling cold and isolated. Putting it here was like being able to actually tell someone. Yet I wasn't burdening the people around me, who were also grieving, with trying to listen to what I have written here. Getting it out of me and feeling "heard" has been cathartic. It has helped me lay some of my angst down and move forward without it.

Some. Not all. Nowhere near all. There is a bottomless pit of sorrow inside of me.

As time has passed, I feel stronger and better able to share this blog with people I know in real life. I even posted the link on my facebook. I don't really know who all has read it, nor do I ask people if they have. I am willing to talk about it, but I'm also willing not to. These are my thoughts and feelings and I will not apologize for having them. If what I write here makes someone uncomfortable then the easiest solution is not to read it. If I get the facts wrong, it's not in an attempt to inflict pain, it's me being human and getting the facts wrong.

This blog is in no way an indication of my entire life. It isn't indicative of how happy or sad I am all the time, or whether or not I feel love or compassion or joy for the other people in my life. It is not an indication of how much I do or don't love my other children. It is not a reflection on anyone's shortcomings or in any way intended to cause pain or sorrow to anyone else.

The fact is, no matter how much I am grateful for the rest of my life, I will never EVER stop loving and missing Josh. Anymore than I would have stopped loving him if he were still alive. This blog is where I deal and cope when I am no longer able to keep it inside. All I ask of anyone who reads is to be respectful of my need to put my thoughts here. If you want to talk to me about it, that's fine, but please remember there isn't a wrong way to grieve.... and there sure as hell isn't a right way to lose a child.

Enough said.

Shadow of sadness

2010-04-07T20:20:00.000-05:00

Josh's suicide has changed each and every one of us who loved him. For me, I think the biggest change is not looking forward to the future without the shadow of sadness. When I think of something positive or uplifting that is going to happen in the future it is never without the immediate following thought of not being able to share it with Josh.

I can think of NOTHING that feels complete without him. I find myself wanting to build a new life where there would be no expectation of him being in it. But the only way to do that is to build a new me.... one that doesn't love him and miss him so much.

That's just not going to happen. Nor do I want it to.

So wtf am I supposed to do with that?

The Nook in the Hall

2010-04-03T17:56:00.001-05:00

For seventeen months he sat on my dresser. His picture hung directly above him and when I passed by my thoughts were always pulled in his direction. I envisioned him perched up there kicking his feet back and forth bitching about how bored he was or reminding me his box needed to be dusted.

When I moved I had to find a new place to put him. I don't have a mantle, and the coffee table seemed a little up close and personal for visitors. I don't have a dresser and the nightstand was a little up close and personal for ME. While he was often a fan of hanging out in the kitchen, I don't have a lot of counter space and lining him up with the canisters just didn't feel quite right. Putting him inside the cupboards was out of the question as was a corner of the closet... so what to do?

I live in a little house built in the 40s... there's a small nook in the hall right next to the bathroom which was initially meant for the phone to rest. It was just the perfect size and shape for Josh's ashes to set. Where I will see him all the time, where he's close to one of his favorite spots to hang out. Yes, the bathroom. In typical boy fashion he took great pleasure in a healthy bowel movement and even more pleasure in telling everyone about them. So how fitting that he sits by the bathroom door so I smile everytime I go in there. The only thing lacking is his bathroom reader. He always had one to read while he did his best work. I'll have to get one from storage and set it next to him.

No I haven't lost my mind... or at least no more than usual. I just miss him... and I keep him alive in small ways that get me through the day. He always got my sick and twisted sense of humor and would completely understand his placement.

So there in the nook he sits. At least until I am ready to part with him and scatter him to the winds in Yosemite. He probably won't need the bathroom reader there, but I may shred a page to scatter with him.... Just in case.

The damn kid still makes me laugh. Even through the tears.

Memories Revisited

2010-03-07T20:00:00.001-06:00

I'm never sure why some days are harder than others. Today has been a day of memories blasting me from every direction, at a time when my ability to deal with them is at an all time low. They aren't even happy memories, instead, I have been reliving the days surrounding his death and his funeral. Reliving them on an emotional level, to the point that I haven't even been able to say his name without bursting into tears.

I remember how helpless I was to alter the course of events. I remember knowing he was in crisis and not being able to reach him. Feeling the sheer desperation of needing to talk to him so I could try and get him to come home... To reconsider his decision to kill himself. Because when he dissapeared I KNEW that's what he was going to do.

I remember having to call my children and tell them they needed to come to the house. I remember his grandmother wailing in my driveway. I remember his girlfriend dropping to her knees at the door to my garage. I remember dropping with her and staring into the twilight sky and repeating the word "please" over and over and over again. There were infinite meanings to that word, but most prominently I meant please let me wake up. Please make it stop.

I remember finally getting to be with him and realizing his toenails were painted red. I burst out laughing because only MY son would have died with his toenails painted and known I would laugh one last time at his antics. My beautiful child who was strong, virile and all man liked to go with his girlfriend and get pedicures. Does anyone know how precious that is to me?

I remember feeling rushed to leave him that last time. The rest of the family couldn't deal with seeing him that way and had left the room and were waiting for me. I remember not wanting to ever leave... not knowing how to find the strength to resign myself to never gazing upon his face again. He was dead, but at least he was still within my sight. I could see him and touch him and try desperately to commit to memory every little detail of his being. That is perhaps my one regret... that I didn't sit there till I was ready to go instead of when everyone else was.

I remember being the only one holding it together. Writing his obituary, gathering up his pictures, making sure everyone was called.... And all the while thinking I just had to take care of him this one last time. It was my one and only chance to say good-bye to him, to let everyone who loved him know him as I did. I needed to be present... in control. I needed to be strong, competent. I remember wanting him to be proud of me and the results of my plannng. Besides, there was no one else I could let do it. He was mine.

I remember thinking if I could just get it right I could cry later. I could crawl in a hole and die... later.

I remember that once I started crying I wasn't sure I would ever stop.

Yet here I am. 17 months later. Breathing, living, remembering.

Maybe the memories will be better tomorrow, but for today they are almost more than I can bear.

Of Suicide and Kindness

2010-02-15T23:17:00.001-06:00

It is not possible to go through life without causing another human being pain at some point. No matter the amount of love or compassion, sometimes in order to be true to yourself you must accept the fact there will be casualties along the way. I am at that point currently in my life. In order to take care of myself and survive the turmoil in my mind and heart I am forced to hurt the ones I love above all others.

I also believe that there are ways to hurt people that cause less damage than others. It's a bit of an oxymoron, but I truly believe that you can hurt someone in the kindest way possible. Yet again, I find myself looking to Josh for guidance. I'm also having more revelations about his death.

Since he committed suicide, I have done alot of reading and also joined an on line support group. Some of the stories I have read or heard have left me reeling in an effort to comprehend what other families have gone through and are having to survive. What I have come to realize is my son was incredibly kind to all of us in his last moments.

There are no doubts about whether he loved us. I think we all know he would have probably have been gone long before he was except for his love for us and his desire not to hurt us. He was loved and he loved us in return. He showed us in so many ways, but perhaps never more than in the way he died. I know he was aware of the fact he was going to hurt us, but I also know he did it in the kindest way he knew how while still taking care of himself in the only way he felt was left to him.

Before he died he completely and utterly made sure none of saw it coming. We had all seen or talked to him and even in retrospect, there were no indicators that he was feeling suicidal. When he left, Josh made sure to turn off his phone so none of us could wonder if there was something we could have said to him to change his mind. He didn't even check his voice mail so even though we had all left messages we also know he never got them. There was absolutely nothing any of us could have said or done to change anything. He went away to a place that was significant to him, but not to any of us. He got out of his truck and sat down under a tree before he shot himself. There was no way any of us were going to be the ones to find him. No one that knew and loved Josh had to see him that way. There was no mess for his loved ones to clean up or try to put back together in a moment of desperation. There was no note laying blame, there were no harsh words he could never take back. There is nothing around us or inside of us to remind us of his last moments. We are free to remember him in all his glorious beauty and to recall all the magnificent memories we have of his life. I am forever in his debt for the mercy and kindness he showed to us all in the way he handled his decision to die.

I remember how devestated I was when he went out of state to college at the tender age of seventeen. I cried for months because I hated him being so far from home and hated even more the way he appeared to be perfectly content with it. Then one day it hit me. The only thing worse than him being away and happy would be for him to be away and unhappy. That was when I accepted the fact that if one of us was going to be hurting, I was glad it was me. It got easier after that to be happy for his happiness. To be joyful of his ability to move on with his own life without me ever present.

I want to have my son back in my daily life. But in order to have that I would have to also be willing for him to continue to live with the horrors of being bi-polar. If he were still with us he would be in torment and I could never seflishly want that for him when I know he is at peace now. Those words do not come easily or readily. I struggle to think them much less type them and put them out for the world to see. It is not that I am alright with him being gone, it's more that I have always loved my son enough to put his happiness and well being in front of my own.

The same holds true now.

I want my son to be at peace. Please, be at peace, my son. For if you are, then I can find my way there too.

I love you Josh.

A Day of Love

2010-02-14T08:43:00.002-06:00

I cant hold it all together for everyone anymore. Today is just another day rife with expectations that will go unfulfilled. You aren't here and I couldn't bring myself to buy and do the little things I normally do for everyone.

So instead I will write here and wish it were chocolates. Wish it were flowers. Wish it was a sweetly written card. Wish I was with you. Wish Wish Wish. My days are full of wishes. I'm holding out both hands and wishing into one... and watching the other one fill up.

I miss you.

I yearn for you.

I love you.

Happy Valentines Day.

WWJD

2010-02-07T11:07:00.000-06:00

I don't know when exactly I lost my mind, but it's fair to say my family is hoping I find it soon. The problem is I don't know that I've lost it so much as I've found it and they don't like the results.

I'm leaving my husband of 20 years and moving into my own place. Everyone is angry at me and I don't know how to make them understand that I need time and space to myself. I need to figure out who I am and what I want instead of living my life continuously to please them and their expectations. I have created a monster. No one hears me and every one turns to me to be the central orbit and foundation of their world to the exclusion of me having anything for myself. For the sake of brevity, I won't go into details, but suffice it to say, I either do this or I get committed to the mental institute. The decision hasn't been made lightly and comes with untold angst, fear and hurt.

Numerous times a day I wonder what Josh's stance on all this would be. Josh was the one person I feel would understand. I think he would have been worried and angry, but I think he would have understood. Josh was always able to say no to us all if he felt strongly something was in his best interest or what he needed to do for himself. We often had our feelings hurt, yet he was also the one I think we all respected the most. We knew he didn't do things to hurt us, merely to take care of himself. If hurt was a by-product, he was sorry for that, but it seldom, if ever made him alter his plans. Because of that quality I think we had him for a lot longer than if he had lived his life for us.

When Josh died, I almost immediately recognized how grateful I was for him being able to stand up to us and live his own life. I felt he had truly lived and experienced life rather than doing what every one else wanted of him. I have always been in awe of his ability to do that. I want to learn how to do it for myself.

So I sit here wondering if he would understand. I talk to him but get no answers. Or do I? The strength to make this decision has come partially from my love and admiration of him. The possibility exists he wouldn't understand any of this and I'm deluding myself by believing he would. There is no way to express how much I wish I could talk to him and get his point of view.

I will have to muddle through on my own, not ever knowing:

What Would Josh Do?

Forward

2010-01-25T21:13:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I feel so ashamed of myself for doing exactly what I feel is right to do. I've spent the last 15 months trudging forward towards tomorrow with the firm goal in mind of learning to live again, yet I feel guilt for starting to accomplish just that. Despite the fact Josh wouldn't have wanted the rest of us to quit living, there is a part of me that feels I should have crawled into a hole of sorrow and regrets and never have emerged again.

Does it make me a bad mother for wanting to honor his life with life? I read about other mothers and how they have ceased to function and wonder if I didn't love him enough. Yet I can't imagine loving him more. No one knows what is in my heart, for if they did they would know I would die in an instant if it would bring him back. I would never laugh again if I could have another day. I would cry each and every moment for the rest of my life if I could see his smile or touch him for just a milisecond. I would walk naked down the street and give up all my worldly possessions if it would change anything. But the fact remains.... it won't change a thing.

The tears still come, the sorrow remains. I strain against the bonds of grief each and every moment of each and every day. But always with the knowledge that the only way for him to truly live inside me is to put something good back into the world. I can't alleviate my own pain, but perhaps I can make someone else's just a little bit less overwhelming. Josh would have wanted it that way.

For all his faults, he was the first one to drop every thing to help someone. It was one of the things I loved the most about him. One of the many things.

One day at work I let a little boy use my scanner to help check out his grandmother, who was with him. She proceeded to go on and on about how kind I was, which surprised me since I didn't think anything of it.

"That was just so kind of you! It made his day! He'll be smiling for the rest of the day." She said.

"It was no big deal, really. "

"No really, it was so very kind. Not too many people would have taken the time."

"Ah well, I've learned life isn't a dress rehearsal" I replied, thinking of Josh.

With a look of understanding, she said, " I've been trying to learn that myself. But it seems you've already got it."

With a sad smile I told her," Yeah, maybe, but I learned it the hard way".

With a look of astonishment, she proceeded to dig in her purse, saying, " It's so funny you should say that, just this morning I read this, and I made a copy of it. It talks about just that, how kindess is tied to loss".

She pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to me, then gathered her purchases and her grandson up and headed for the door. I hurriedly stuffed the piece of paper in my apron pocket and got on with my job and the next customer in line.

It was quite some time before things slowed down enough for me to read what she had given me and when I did I had to walk outside and around the corner of the building so I could have a good cry. Right at that moment I knew I had it right. Maybe not always, but certainly heading in the right direction.

This is the poem she handed me...

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the
Indian in a white poncho lies dead
by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night
with plans and the simple breath
that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness
as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow
as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness
that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day
to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

Naomi Shihab Nye (1953-)

I knew then I was definitely heading in the right direction and if no one else understood, then they didn't know Josh. Living life is the truest honor I can pay his memory, for despite his death, I don't know if I've ever known someone so very very very alive.

Wherever you are my son, know I love you. Know I remember you. Know I strive to be more like you.

The New Day of the Week

2010-01-16T13:58:00.000-06:00

For whatever reason, Saturday has become the day of the week that grief rears it's head a little more prominently. I suspect it comes on the heels of a week filled with work, co-workers, customer service and more or less tamping my emotions down. Putting on my game face so my pain doesn't make others uncomfortable.

When the weekend gets here I'm overflowing with unspent tears. I'm learning to expect it, deal with it, allow it. But even more importantly, I'm learning to welcome it. It's a release and a much needed time for me to reflect and heal. It's my time to not worry so much about everyone else and take care of myself. There is no sense of wallowing in self pity as much as permitting myself an outlet for my grief. If I don't get dressed, oh well. If nothing productive gets done, it'll be there tomorrow. If my weeping disturbs my family, they are learning to move on with their lives and check back with me one of the other 6 days of the week. Tomorrow is a always a new day and I typically wake much more able to face the day if I take the time to honor Josh, my sorrow, my loss.

Butch calls it Sadderday.

How aptly put.

With Time

2010-01-15T23:25:00.001-06:00

With time

you will learn to shoulder dense burdens

so incredibly heavy they once made your heart strain

and your lips mutter groans of agony

that the universe didn't seem to hear.

With time

what seemed unbearable will become mundane,

and the narrow tunnels for vision

will swell to allow tthe rest of the world

to come into focus at last,

although you will never see things the same.

With time even your nightmares will fade,

yielding the power they once had to

twist you into a sweaty knot in bed

and jolt you from sleep, wrapped up in damp sheets.

With time you will appreciate the sweet, buzzing numbnes--

the anesthesia you will fight with all your might at first

but learn to succomb to in order to feel less

and attempt to endure more

And you will endure more.

With time

you will learn there is no other option.

With time

you will simply learn to prevail.

Author unknown but suspected to be fellow blogger Nancy. I hope she will not mind me borrowing. This poem appeared on her blog some time ago and I printed it out and hung it on my refrigerator. Since that time, I think either I, or someone in my family, have read it every single day. Every. Single. Day.

What (I think) I've learned

2010-01-12T21:30:00.015-06:00

Next month marks the 14th anniversary of what was, until 15 months ago, the most heart breaking experience of my life.

My fourth child, a little boy named Mason, was born very prematurely in my fifth month of pregnancy. I said hello and goodbye to him, while holding him in my arms, in a matter of minutes. At the time,I couldn't imagine a worse thing to experience. Today, I not only can imagine it, but am living it.

After having to bury my infant child, I learned. I learned to never let go unspoken the true depth of my love for another human being. From that day forward, I NEVER allowed my anger or frustration to make me forget what was really important to me. Even when they drove me to distraction,(as, especially, teenagers can do) I always tried to make sure my children knew how very much I loved them. There were even a few times I literally told them " I love you SO much, and as angry as I am, I'm so grateful you are here to be angry at." I was far from perfect. I messed up, I made mistakes, I lapsed on occasion. But I also held my children a little longer, I talked to them more often, and every single solitary day, I relished them.

Mason's death helped me put life in perspective. Without that grief, and the changes I made because of it, THIS grief would be harder to bear. His death toughened my heart to withstand pain and not only survive, but, armed with my new found knowledge, to thrive. Because I learned, my relationships became stronger, my bonds with my children were better able to weather the stormy periods. Mason's brief and fleeting life made me understand tomorrow is not a given, it is a privilege. I learned to appreciate the moments, the minutes, the seconds, of my time with my children. Thank's to Mason, I have very few "if only" moments.

My last living memory of Josh is him stopping by unannounced. (as he was prone to do a couple of times a week) I remember we were busy doing something, but for the life of me I couldn't tell you what. I do remember making a conscious decision to stop what I was doing and spend time with him. He was only here a short while, and before he headed out again, while we were standing in the kitchen, he threw his arms around both my husband's and my neck, with a HUGE smile on his face, and told us "I sure do love you guys!" I had no way of knowing that a week later he would be gone forever. I had no clue that was going to be the last time. No one will ever know how grateful I am for taking the time to relish THAT moment, for hugging him back, for telling him how much I loved him too, for not just assuming I could make time for him later.

Mason's birth and death gave me the gift of not regreting my final moments with Josh. He altered my world for the good. How many of us manage to have that kind of an impact on someone else in ten minutes or less? There are worse legacies to leave, far worse. Though his life span was almost non existent compared to mine, perhaps he was only here as long as he needed to be. Perhaps, he was a wise old soul who only needed those few minutes to do the work of a lifetime.

Thinking about Josh's death, I can't help but wonder if it was Josh's "time". There are a multitude of different ways to meet death, from the mundane and expected to the bizarre and unannounced. Why should I assume Josh's death was any different from someone Else's death because he took his own life? From the very beginning, I've never really thought of his suicide as a "choice" on his part. In my heart I've believed, that in his mind, he had no choice other than to do what he did.

So perhaps, just perhaps, Josh's work here was done...and the rest of us had to stay in order to learn our lessons. I will never cease to wish he were still here with me, but I hope to embrace the lessons he is still teaching me.

Don't let today be the regrets of tomorrow. If you love someone,

Tell them.

Hold them.

Cherish them.

Life is short my friends. And I'm not talking about my own.

Trust me.

Different

2010-01-09T10:03:00.004-06:00

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.

Denial

2009-07-01T20:39:00.002-05:00

Any minute now I'm going to wake up.

That's what I keep thinking.

Nine months later.

How is that possible?

Pressure Cooker

2009-06-18T16:27:00.005-05:00

I find I have no emotional reserves anymore. The least little issue sends me into an emotional tailspin of epic proportions and leaves me feeling drained and useless. Cooking dinner is an obstacle to be overcome. If dinner needs to be cooked AND I need to run to the store for air filters in the same night, I'm overwhelmed. Throw in a daughters smashed car window and I'm nearly comatose in my inability to function.

Handling every day life is all I can do, and if there are other things going on I find myself completely avoiding Josh's suicide. Shutting him out the best I can. The longer I do that though, the more insistent the thoughts become. So I stuff them down even harder. I pack my mind like a canning jar... a memory of his smile here, the way he smelled there, then cram the mental image of the fine downy hairs on the nape of his neck in between the two and screw on the lid really really tightly. Then, just like a jar of pickles, stick it in the cooker and turn up the heat. Before you know it, I'm ready to explode without provocation or explanation.

It doesn't help that during a time when I could really stand to have some serenity in my life it feels as if I'm holding out my plate and saying "Higher and deeper please...."

Currently, my brother-in-law is living with us rent free, my daughter is pregnant and moving back in a couple of months, my 23 year old son is in Portland for the Summer and I won't see him for his birthday for the first time, my job is stressful, money is tighter than it's been in 10 years, my husbands business is floundering due to the economy and we're trying to do a re-finance on the house.

That's where I am right now. I need desperately to find time to honor and acknowledge my on-going pain. I need to have a good cry and allow myself my sorrow and my memories, but there never seems to be enough time in the day because I'm currently so inept at handling the smallest of details. I feel continuously as though I need to be doing other things.

Catch 22

The pressure's building and there is an explosion eminent.

Please.

2009-06-13T10:56:00.005-05:00

I hurt inside my soul in a way I can't touch, see or explain. I am wounded. Broken. Shattered.

Like an injured dog, I struggle not to bite the hands and hearts trying to comfort and heal me, yet my pain is so great I lash out- with no alleviation of my own pain, but rather, deeper discomfort from the pain I cause.

Inside my head the simple word "please" repeats it'self over and over. Please don't let this be real. Please don't let this hurt so much. Please let me find my way through this. Please. Please. Please. PleasePLEASE let me have my child back.

I have learned "please" is not the magic word. There is no magic word. Yet I beg the universe to make it so. please.

Stop the ride.

2009-06-02T18:11:00.005-05:00

8 Months.
34 1/2 weeks

Less time than I carried him inside of me. Yet it's an eternity. A vast endless chasm of frustration, agony, and despair. I scream at the top of my lungs driving down the street. I wail. I lash out at those around me. I physically double over in pain when I can't hold my grief at bay any longer. I simply can not wrap my head around the fact of this existence without him. Never hearing his voice. This is too hard. Too damn hard. Overwhelmingly hard.

For today this is how I feel. Tomorrow may be different. Grief is a process, but not a predictable one. There are no set rules, no definitive path to follow. Instead it is a roller-coaster, whipping me to and fro without the least regard to where I want to go. This ride has no foreseeable end, only moments of anticipation where it noticeably slows before taking me into another plunge.

Stop the ride, I want to get off now.

As long as I'm pissing and moaning, let me just say, if I hear the statement "God never gives you more than you can handle." one more time, someone's going to get hurt.

Seriously? Do people really still find a way to believe this rhetoric? Simple reasoning tells me that statement can't possibly be true. If it were, my son would be alive and handling his depression.

I'm angry today and I'm throwing the bullshit flag.

New Beginnings

2009-05-17T11:19:00.004-05:00

I found out two days ago my nineteen year old daughter is pregnant.

It's going to be okay, even though the circumstances are less than stellar. She isn't the first girl to have terrible taste in men, but she does have her own apartment, has a job and insurance, as well as being one of those old souls who was simply meant to have children. (She was so bossy as a child Josh used to call her Mom sub-set one). It will be hard, but she knows we love her and are here for her, that we will love our grandchild immensely no matter what.

She is older than I was when I had Josh, so I would be the last person in the world to tell her it can't be done. But damn....She could sure use her big brother about now. I even wonder if this didn't happen because of how much she misses him. In an effort to fill the abyss he has left in her heart...all our hearts.

He loved children and would have been an incredible uncle. He would have been an incredible father. Instead his son and his nephew will know him from our memories, not their own.

Some days, I could really be pissed off at him if I didn't miss him so much.

Exquisite

2009-05-15T18:54:00.007-05:00

So often, when I post here I feel better for having written, yet still feel I've very poorly expressed myself. Many of my posts have dealt with my feelings of gratitude, not for the loss of my son, but for the joy of his life. Each time I post something along those lines it leaves me wondering if I've somehow negated the depth of my sorrow or left the impression I'm less profoundly changed by Josh's death than I really am.

I am not whole. I will never BE whole again. My sorrow doesn't diminish as time goes by, instead it becomes easier to fake happiness with practice. Yet, there are times I truly do feel deep abiding joy. Perhaps it's a different joy than I felt seven months ago, but it's joy nonetheless. Joy for the child I was given the chance to know and love. Joy for the multitude of lessons I have learned virtue of his life, and sadly, also his death.

Yesterday, while reading a new Dean Koontz book (Odd Hours) my daughter gave me for Mother's Day, I came across the following passage and it so closely fit with what I've been feeling I wanted to preserve it here in order to find it more readily when I need to remind myself of where I want to be.....

"Loss is the hardest thing. But it's also the teacher that's the most difficult to ignore."

"Grief can destroy you--or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it's over and you're alone, you begin to see it wasn't just a movie or dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life."

This was speaking of a different kind of relationship and I didn't spend a lot of time with Josh scrubbing floors or worrying about the electric bill the essence is still spot on. I also can't say I took him for granted very often, yet I did. We all do. It's not something I can explain other than to say no matter how much you think you love someone, you can't ever realize how much you really love them until they are gone. You can only imagine the impact their loss would have, you can't truly experience it unless and until they aren't there.

My son is dead. All I have left are my memories and my love for him. He was exquisite, the best son anyone could ever ask for. Brilliant, beautiful, kind, compassionate, devoted and loving. I will love him to the end of my days, not his. I will not allow his death to be the only memory I hold on to. I will not allow myself to only remember how he died, instead of how he lived. I can't give him back his life, so I will spend mine living for him.

Exquisite I tell you.

His life means more than his death.

From the Corner of My Eye

2009-05-10T10:56:00.006-05:00

It's amazing to me the way the human mind finds ways to cope with grief. Seven months after Josh's death he is still the first thing in my mind when I wake, the last thing I think of before I sleep and often he rules my dreams as well. Yet, somehow, it's almost as if he's in my peripheral vision rather than directly in my line of sight. My mind has forced itself to redirect, refocus, and somehow cope with a loss otherwise incapacitating. I suspect I would not be here if that were not the case.

Most of the time, I'm fully aware of keeping my focus on life while thoughts of Josh hover close by. I can't bring myself to look (mentally and phsically) straight at him very often or I am completely unable to function. His ashes sit on my dresser with his picture hanging over them and I pass them at least twenty times a day and yet I rarely look at them. It comforts me to know they are there if I want to look at them, but to actually stop and do so is impossible without losing my composure. So I pass by, say the frequent "Hi Josh, I love you". and move on. By no means does this mean I don't think of him constantly, it simply means I cannot always indulge myself with a cry fest and so I keep him at a distance. Like when he was little, playing, and I was trying to get something done. I would keep him in the corner of my eye. Always aware of him, but not letting him be my primary focus at the moment. Now, even though he isn't little anymore, and he isn't here for me to watch over, I keep him in the corner of my mind's eye. The thing I'm trying to get done is living. Without him. Not focusing directly on him allows me to do this, albeit poorly.

Having said that, it also never ceases to amaze me how blindsided I can be when I am caught unawares by my grief. On those occasions it is like no time has passed and his death was only yesterday. Just when I'm going along as smoothly as I possibly can, faceing my grief, with at least a grasp on what it takes to get through the day, I find a new aspect of life that will never be the same without him. Each time that happens, I nearly double over in pain. I find myself crying, without the ability to stop, regardless of where I am.

That happened to me Friday. I work with a young man whose name is also Josh and I called his name the other day. Without thinking I said it the way I always said it when I was calling my Josh. You know, that silly lilting way I suspect all mothers have for their children when they are just trying to get their attention but don't really need anything...... Josshhh-U-aaaaaaa.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I haven't called his name in seven months. I've said it...Josh....Joshua. His name is said as often now as it ever was, but I haven't called it through the house. I haven't been able to call him with that lilt, the rise and fall of my voice, the drawing out of the letters, the way only I called him when I was eager to show him something, excited to tell him something. I haven't had the security of knowing he was in the next room, hearing his voice answering back .... Yeah,Mom?... What's up Madre'? (Madre' and Mamasita were his terms of endearment for me... no clue why. *shrug*) The tears started flowing and wouldn't stop. There was, for a while, no buffer of time since he died. My mind was unable to keep him to the side, instead he and his death was all there, in my face. No chance to prepare myself, no way to avoid... Just pure naked grief. Fortunately, it was right at the end of my shift so I was able to leave. I sobbed all the way home and then some. Sobbed, not cried.

I can't even begin to explain why one day is worse than another or what does and doesn't have the potential to make me melt down. There are chinks in my armor, but it's hard to examine it and find them while wearing it. I don't know what the triggers are going to be in order to brace myself against them. I want to be able to avoid those moments because while in the midst of them they are terrifying in thier intensity. Their ability to derail and incapacitate....to hurt... is incredible. It's feels hopeless to try and live with the pain. my guts might as well be scooped out with a rusty spoon through a wound that has barely begun to heal. The thought of it always being this way, never reaching a point of not being blindsided makes me want to quit. Just quit.

Enough of that....

I suppose the point of this rambling post is the fact it's Mother's Day. I needed to take a few minutes to look directly at Josh. To allow myself my grief, to willingly focus on him and let the pain wash over me. I needed to be with all of my children today, in one capacity or another. This is my first Mother's day without his presence, but there will never be one without his memory. There is a piece of me missing which will never be with me again. There are so many, many facets of my life which will never be the same. God, how I miss him.

Now, I will dry my tears and set my thoughts of Josh to the side. For the rest of today, I will glance at him, but only from the corner of my eye. I will remember I am still a mother and need to do whatever is neccesary in order to be a good mother to Tanner and Rebecca. They are also grieving. They need their mother. They need ME.

Whoever the hell that is.

Culling them out

2009-04-23T11:20:00.005-05:00

I have never been good at writing cards and letters or thank you notes. Not because I don't care, but because I find writing to be very frustrating and inadequate at expressing my feelings versus my voice. I pick up the phone more often than not to say my thank yous because I am much better at verbalizing my thoughts than writing them.

Having said that, it doesn't excuse the fact that I have yet to write one single thank you note to the people that showed their kindness and love when Josh died. I HAVE called most people and let them know how much I appreciated them, yet I know that is not a proper replacement for an actual card. Maybe it's because I find it an onerous chore in the first place, but for some reason I have not been able to make myself sit down and do it. I've started to do it more times than I can count, but one look at those little cards "From the family of Josh McBeth" and I shut down. I'm somewhat ashamed of my weakness, but I still don't think I deserve to be chastised for it by someone whom I considered a friend and who I thanked profusely in person at the time.

This is someone who has fallen off the radar since shortly after Josh's memorial service, who was at my place of business yesterday and immediately lit into me because they hadn't received a thank you note and I hadn't called them.

Which is why I quite bluntly told them "I'm sorry I didn't meet your needs when my son died."

~~Cue the music~~

And another one bites the dust....and another one down, and another one down, and another one bites the dust.

Ooops.

Bittersweet

2009-03-21T22:03:00.002-05:00

Tonight I held my six month old grandson for the first time. As he slept in my arms, I tried to memorize every detail of him, looked for similarities to Josh, breathed in his heady baby scent, and lost myself in my memories.

My heart is forever bound to his.

How terribly, utterly, irreparably...Bittersweet.

Gone.

2009-03-15T11:57:00.008-05:00

The world has gone on. The phone has stopped ringing, the friends have fallen away, the co-workers avoid the topic. Only the family must endure the unendurable. For everyone else it's like watching a really sad movie. When it becomes too much, you stop the movie and stick in a comedy. Not because you don't care, but because it's just too much to subject yourself to voluntarily. Trust me, if I could turn it off and avoid it, I would.

I feel unable to explain the sense of isolation I feel even when surrounded by others. When I am around those who are ignorant of Josh's death, sometimes I just want to scream with frustration.... How can anyone not see the putrid gaping wound I bear? How can they not smell the stench of my rotting heart?

If they know my son committed suicide they treat me differently. I'm powerless to stop people from wondering what I did wrong. It's not about particulars or facts, it's about protecting themselves from fear. It's entirely too frightening to believe I didn't do something to cause this because that would mean it could happen to them. To you.

My world no longer has insulation. There is no buffer. The worst can and has happened to me. Could happen again. Gone is any illusion of control.

And still, I would do it all again. If this crushing grief is the price I must pay for the glorious love I shared with my child, I will try to suffer it gladly, with thanks for the time I had with him. I will do my very best to always remember his life instead of his death, to not denigrate the beautiful person he was by only recalling the sorrow of his death. The cost is steep, yet worth it.

What can I say? I love him.

I miss him.

I ache for him.

He is gone.

My greatest hope is to learn from this loss. To become a better person. To honor his life.

I Remember...

2009-02-26T10:27:00.004-06:00

The way he pushed his butt up under my ribcage and straightened his knees out so I could barely breath. Pushing and rubbing on his bottom through the tight skin of my stomach in an effort to get him to relax.

Pacing the floors with him at the hospital in tears because I was convinced he didn't want me for a mother. (because he was crying, as newborns do.)

I remember...

Wincing each time he latched on to my tender breasts, and the way he would only eat until the hunger pains subsided and then fall asleep, only to wake up hungry once again in about 30 minutes.

Him being the noisiest nurser I have ever encountered, even to this day.

The callus he developed on his upper lip.

I remember...

How he wanted so much to be like mommy that he gave up his bottle @ a year and potty trained himself @ eighteen months.

His smile when he woke from his naps and him riding his tricycle down the stairs from the second floor.

The way he escaped from the apartment by precariously stacking the dining room chair, his playschool chair and a couple of phone books to climb up to the deadbolt. Only to be found naked in a mud puddle two apartments down. At seven A.M.... When he was eighteen months old.

I distinctly remember being sure I was the only mother who couldn't keep up with her child or out smart him. Knowing now he was anything but an ordinary child.

I remember....

His first day of kindergarten and him telling the teacher he already knew how to write his name and count. Making it clear she was going to have to do better than that if she wanted to keep his interest.

How his intellect was his gift and his curse all rolled into one confusing bundle for which no child could be prepared.

I remember how sweet he was, how worried he would get if I was crying, as even adults are prone to do on occasion. Especially young mothers who are stressed and trying to grow up with their children.

I remember....

Catching him, his brother Tanner, and his cousin Michael playing star wars in the bathroom. Complete with urine streams as light sabers.

Frequently getting up on Saturday mornings to find the yard mowed and edged just because he wanted let his father and I relax.

Him showing up at my job and throwing me on his back and spinning me around in circles 'till I was dizzy. How we laughed and were completely undignified and how incredibly loved and special I felt.

I remember...

He was such a bright and shining light you would do almost anything to be in his glow. Somehow the world was colder and less hospitable without his warmth, and yet, sometimes he burned so hot it was painful.

I guess the point to this post is.... I remember. The minutes, the moments, the good, the bad and the ugly. I spend inordinate amounts of time spinning the memories 'round and 'round my head in a frenzied fear of forgetting. Perhaps if I start taking a few moments of that time to write them down, a few at a time, I can let go of trying to constantly re-play them, knowing they are recorded somewhere and won't be lost. Perhaps it will take the pressure off of me to be the memory keeper for my five month old grandson who will someday want to know his father.

The gift

2009-02-25T09:16:00.005-06:00

I have lost nothing.
Instead, I have been given everything.

If I had to do it all over again knowing the outcome, powerless to change it, what would I chose? I would do it again without hesitation, without reservation. I could do no different. What greater testimony can there be to love? His life was well worth his loss. To have known him, to have held him, to have experienced HIM is the greatest gift I have ever been given. Even as I write this, with tears streaming down my face, there is also a smile.

The first eighteen years of my life was merely preparation to be his mother. He was my reward. I was born to be his mother, I will die still being his mother. His lack of physical presence makes it no less true. The very essesence of who I am was molded by his life, as well as the end of his time with me. I am a better person because of him.

I know his love. I'm no less familiar with it now than I ever was. My love for him is certainly no less. I wish I could continue to see him, yet don't I already know the fabric of his soul? I wish I could hear his thoughts, yet don't I already know what he would say? Perhaps not the individual words, but the essence. My child was no stranger to me. He was a continuation of me.

I knew my son. I saw him. I loved him, I rejoiced in him, I was proud of him, I argued with him, even, on occasion, battled with him. And it was beautiful. I bore witness to his life. So now, I am powerless to do anything other than mourn my loss while glorying in his life. No matter the pain, no matter the longing. None of it matters in reflection of what I was given for 26 years.

Josh is not lost to me, he is in every fiber of my being, every turn of my thoughts, every breath I take. His body as I knew it is gone, yet even in his cremation he became part of the clouds. He is in the sunshine, the raindrops, the new growth in spring. He IS.

I am the luckiest woman I know.

This is what truly matters to me. This is what I wish to share with the world of my child.

Today is not a dress rehearsal.

So what will I do with this one wild life which I have been given?

I will Choose What Matters.

Belief

2009-02-18T10:24:00.009-06:00

I walked out the door from work to see my car pulled up just outside, waiting on me, despite having left it in the employee parking area that morning. The dark tint to my windows kept me from seeing the driver, but it was a no-brainer that it was my husband there to surprise me since he is the only one who has keys and he loves to drive my car. I opened the passenger door to climb in, a smile on my face, glad to be done with my work day and to spend time with my husband of twenty years. That's when I realized the face leaning over the center console waiting for me was Josh's.

"Hi Mamasita!", He announced, smiling from ear to ear, but with a nervous quality, not sure what my response was going to be. After all, he has been dead for over four months. No small feat to show up now for a friendly mother-son date.

I freaked. Smooth freaked. We're talking bat-shit crazy, wall-eyed hissy-fit, freaked. I broke down in a way that is certainly not acceptable in public and I couldn't have cared less. I saw the smile fall from his face as he quickly threw the car in park and jumped out to run around to me. The whole time I was crying, no...wailing at him to explain to me what the hell he was doing there.

"No Josh! You can't do this! Your dead, I know your dead! You can't mess with my mind this way! How are you here? Where have you been? What are you doing? Please don't do this, I can't bear it."

I was angry as hell, which surprised me then, as much as it does now. You'd think I would have just been overjoyed to see him, and yes, that was there, but mostly I was angry. Seething mad. As he came to me I was swatting at him to keep away, trying to tell him what a cruel, cruel joke this was, yet he persisted in touching me, hugging me. All the while with his shit-eating nervous grin in place. Josh never did quite know what to do with a crying woman. You could almost see him thinking to himself " Oh hell, what do I do now? She's leaking!" Yet, he stayed by my side and held me, rubbed my back, quietly talked to me, and slowly his words began to penetrate past my hysteria.

" Shhhhh, it's O.K. Mom. I'm sorry I scared you. I'm sorry I worried you all these months. I'm O.K. I'm fine. It's all going to be alright. Please don't cry. I never meant to make you cry. I never meant for you to be so sad. I'm so sorry. Please don't be so sad. I'm fine Mom, I've been fine. I just don't want you to worry anymore. I'm right here. I'm always here. I love you." He repeated these gentle words over and over.

Slowly my heart heard him. It was impossible to deny his presence while enveloped in his arms, breathing in the smoky smell of his leather jacket, hearing the deep timber of his voice, seeing the crooked eye tooth in his smile. Slowly I came to understand the impossible was happening and I was actually getting to talk to my son again for the first time in four months. I was calmed. Comforted. Joyous. I believed him. Believed IN him.

I STILL believe.

Even though I woke up.

I love you Josh.

Hurt

2008-12-10T11:33:00.005-06:00

Grief is not an ebb and flow of good an bad these days. Instead, it is a river. Raging, roaring towards some unseen destination I cannot fathom. Pulling me in its grip in the direction it wants me to go regardless of where I would choose to send it. I am seized in a torrent of white water rapids and I'm spinning, smashing and pounding into boulders of remembrance at every turn. If only I could have a moment of calm to collect my thoughts I think I would be better able to know what to do, but I am unable to slow the thoughts and memories in my mind long enough to make rhyme or reason from them. The desire to breath calm revitalizing air is overwhelming, but instead there are droplets of pain splashing into my face and lungs, the mix of air versus grief getting thicker and more difficult to process into usable life. I can't see what's coming ahead, can only hear the increasing sounds of chaos and I picture a drop over an emotional waterfall at the end of the line. I'm terrified if I don't find a way to reach calm waters before I get there it will plunge me under the surface of life, taking me so deep into my mind and memories and sorrows there will be no hope of resurfacing.

As time passes I am beginning to feel so distant from Josh. I don't feel his presence around me like I did in the beginning. It's debilitating to think he's ....just, well.... gone. I spend my days seeking some tangible place, time or object which will make me feel reconnected with him but it seems the harder I grasp to reach him the farther away he is. The world is moving on without him. I know I'm supposed to also, but I feel unable to move on with it.

I'm hanging all my hopes on the passing of the holidays. I know there is not ever going to be a time when I'm alright, when it's "over", but perhaps it will be less consuming without constantly gagging on Christmas and cheer being shoved down my throat 24/7.

I haven't decorated or even set up the tree. We say we want to do it different this year, and yet it feels like we're shutting him out. There is no balance. We can't make it the same and we can't make it different and the damn day is coming either way. At this point it's pretty much a given it will be different, and not just because he's not here. There have been no gifts purchased, and I don't care. I can't do it. How do I not shop for him? Do I hang his stocking? How can I not? But then how can I leave it empty? How do we have tree decorating night without him? Do we set his Santa mug to the side or just not get it out? The questions without answers go on and on. I know with time I will have to come up with solutions and alternate plans. But not this year.

I sleep too much, I cry too much, I ache from head to toe. I'm forgetful and scatter brained. I'm avoidant and reclusive. I'm a shadow. Grief is exacting it's toll and the price is too steep to pay both grief and life.

I hurt.

Breaking Tradition

2008-12-05T10:57:00.007-06:00

Traditions are hard to break. When I started having children, I automatically started traditions. I started doing things I would feel the need to continue, without first giving thought to whether or not they were good traditions or force of habit left over from my own childhood.

For years, I've struggled with the commercialism of Christmas. Every year our family would discuss not participating in the whole traditional Christmas routine, and every year we would cave. In the past, there has always been some reason to follow through rather than let someone down or deal with the never ending questions. This year though, no matter how much I would like the option of having our old fashioned Christmas, it's not going to happen. Rather than swim upstream against the currents of change, I've decided to go with the flow.

It will be different this year. New traditions will be created. Only time will tell whether it's for the better or the worse, but never again will I allow myself to get locked in by habit simply because it's a comfort zone. (that has become increasingly uncomfortable)

Truthfully, Josh made the decision for me, but that's fitting since he has always been my impetus for change. I can't even begin to recall all the times in my life I've been motivated to be a better person in order to make his life better or make him proud of me. Knowing how much he despised what Christmas has become gives me permission to do it different this year. Even if it's by using the shadow of his death to do so. I know he wouldn't mind and would approve of our decision.

Come Christmas day, I will gather my family together and we will take time to remember why we love each other. We will spend time, expend thought, and share love. There will be no gifts that are pricey and could have (even potentially)cost someone their life at Wal-mart or any other store. If gifts are exchanged at all, they will be handmade or second hand. If I need proof of this being the right decision, I will wrap the scarf Josh hand wove for me several Christmases ago tighter around my neck and remember how much I treasure it. (Yet, I can't remember what he bought for me last year.)

At the end of the day, I want to be able to mourn the loss of my son secure in the knowledge I've found a way to create good from his life. It's the only gift I can give him.

Pain

2008-11-30T12:28:00.003-06:00

And just like that, it's over.

This first holiday has been hurdled and the next is creeping up upon me. Thanksgiving wasn't too bad really, but the day before was horrendous. I cried all day and felt such darkness and despair I could hardly breathe. The intensity of my grief was frightening and I found myself reliving the days immediately following his death. The desire to die in order to stop the pain was a repeating thought and it saddened me even more to recognize that Josh had to have felt the same level of pain, and more, to have acted on that desire. My poor baby.

Today, I am once again finding it hard to stop crying. It's strange. I'm not thinking of anything in particular, yet the tears continue to come. Some place deep inside of me is broken, torn apart, wounded... seeping continuously in an effort to heal. From one moment to the next I have no earthly idea how to cope with the pain, gripping desperately to the idea that it will abate, knowing it will become more than I can bear if it doesn't.

I go through the motions of life, holding hands with death. My loyalties to each pulling me in different directions, not sure which is winning from one moment to the next. I want to be with him, I want to be with my other children and my husband. I want the hurt to end.

Oh Josh, I don't want you to be in pain anymore, I just want my own to stop and I don't know how to reconcile the two desires in my one heart.

Happy Thanksgiving

2008-11-26T12:52:00.009-06:00

Dear Josh,

Before I started cooking I wanted to wish you a wonderful day tomorrow. It won't be the same without you here, yet you will be here in spirit. Too bad I can't convince your spirit to help with the dishes! *Smile* This year is a bit different in that the grandparents aren't coming. Instead, there will be a mixed bag of seven people joining us. Some who can't be with their own families, some who don't have families to be with. I know how pleased you'll be to hear that and I think we all feel we are honoring you and your life by continuing to include others in ours.

I can't help but wonder where you'll be tomorrow and what you'll be doing. I'm sure you're having great fun doing things that would scare me and I can't wait to see you again so you can tell me all about it. I can already see the mischievous grin on your face as you try and freak me out with your feats of daring and bravery! LOL!

Hope you're having a great time, but I sure wish you could call your mom. I miss the sound of your voice. I miss everything about you to be perfectly honest. I'm trying to be as brave as you were, but I'm afraid my prodigy have surpassed me in that regard. Forgive me, but I have to go now before the tears overflow.

Wishing you great adventures and, as always,

Loving you.

Mom

P.S. I'll eat a slice of cheesecake in your honor.

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Tangled

2008-11-25T11:31:00.010-06:00

Usually, when I sit down to write it's because there is a thought or emotion roiling inside of me, bumping against my insides, needing to get out. Today, it's more as if I am a tangled skein of yarn so jumbled up and frayed I can't find the end to begin weaving my thoughts together into a coherent pattern. The strands of emotion go in every direction with each individual thread carrying a different feeling. If I examine the fuzz up closely, I can find and identify hope, sorrow, love, anger, grief, loss, joy and a veritable myriad of feelings. When I step back and try to make sense of myself as a whole, there is no rhyme or reason to the tangle.

The threat of Thursday looms over me. Per the norm, I will be cooking the Thanksgiving meal. There is a sense of familiarity and normalcy in that decision, yet there is no sense of normalcy surrounding Thanksgiving itself.

If it were me, and only me, I would choose to stay in bed and try to sleep through the day. There would be no deep-fried Turkey for Josh to help his father cook, no ghost of him in the kitchen snitching food before it was served, no echo of his laughter as I scold him to get his fingers out of the potatoes he is vigorously hand mashing. His four servings of candied yams wouldn't remain in the casserole dish and his shadow wouldn't be napping on the couch after he has eaten to bursting point. After he tried some of each dessert, the dishes he isn't here to help me wash wouldn't be waiting for me. If it were just me, none of those things would be taking place. But, it's not just me and I have to find a way to make it the least painful for the rest of my family. Not painless.... just the least painful.

For the first time, my family won't be together. In and of itself, it was bound to happen eventually. It's amazing it's never happened before that one of my children wasn't able to be present for one of the holidays. What impacts me most significantly, is that we will be together as much as we ever will be, for the rest of our days. This year,and every year hereafter, there will be only four of us, not five. (plus friends) While I am grateful beyond measure for my other two children, who will be here fulfilling their own roles in our traditional Thanksgiving, I don't know how to fill the void he has created. There will be one less family member, one less helper, one less voice raised in laughter, there will be one less child hauling off my plastic containers filled with leftovers, (which he would share with his friends, and then come by for days to eat more at my house) ... there will be less, just less. Less of the very essence of my Thanksgiving. Instead, taking up the space Josh filled, there will be more tears, more memories, more longing.

The only thing there will not be less of, at least on my part, is love.

How wonderful my life has been, still is, will continue to be... if I can harangue myself into making it so. I am thankful for what I have, sad for what I've lost, full of love and joy for ALL my children and the blessings they are, in whatever capacity I have them. So tell me, why can't I stop crying?

Tangled, I'm so incredibly tangled.

Bailing

2008-11-19T13:42:00.005-06:00

Sometimes, the space Josh resides in is a peaceful, calm location at the core of my being. The waters of my soul lie still and placid, warm in the sunshine of his memories. Only the occasional ripple of unrest moves me, but even then it’s not necessarily disturbing as much as a nudge not to get too comfortable. The small gusts of sorrow serve to remind me that the winds of grief are not gone, only circling around me, gathering their strength for the next onslaught. Yet, even knowing I should be expecting the storm, I still find myself caught unaware by it’s power.

This morning, the urgent need to once again lay eyes upon his face came upon me so, I sat and looked at pictures on my monitor. I found myself touching the screen and weeping. His eyes crinkled in a smile the Saturday before his death, the deep look of contemplation as he sits atop a mountain, the mischief in his face while he torments his little sister…these snapshots of his life are what I have to turn to instead of his voice, his laughter, his presence…. His future.

Some days, those are enough. Not enough to save me, but enough to keep my head above water and believe in a future where the calm waters will last. Then there are the “other” days. Days, like today, when the winds are high, the waves are crashing, the tide is rising and my life raft has a hole in it. There is no peace to be found, no safe haven within reach, so I simply continue to bail and hang on to the knowledge that “this too shall pass“.

Please.
Let it pass.
Please.

Days of the Week

2008-11-18T11:46:00.005-06:00

Seven weeks. Forty nine days. Today is yet another milestone, one of many anniversaries I have begun to count. The days of the week have become markers in my life, days to remember Josh. My mind touches on the events that have altered my life and I fight the internal battle to make myself focus only on the days of his life rather than his death. Otherwise I feel myself slipping down a greasy slope, sliding faster and faster towards a bottom I do not want to encounter.

Today is the anniversary of his disappearance.
Tomorrow is the anniversary of filing the missing persons report and having to speak aloud our fears to a total stranger.
Thursday marks the day those fears were realized and my son was no longer alive.
Friday I visited the funeral home and said my goodbyes.
Saturday is the day I wrote his obituary.
Sunday, I gathered together pictures and mementos to display at his funeral and wrote the information for the handouts at the service.
Monday marks the day of his memorial service.
Which brings me back to Tuesday which is also the day he came home for the last time.

The weeks are made up of days, completing a circle revolving around Josh. I suspect there will come a time when I no longer count them or some of the days will become less significant than others.

I'm not sure if I'm more fearful of continuing to count or beginning to forget.

Hello

2008-11-08T12:19:00.010-06:00

Josh,

I look for signs of you all around me. Knowing how much you loved nature and the outdoors, it is easy to make myself believe you are part of the very air I breathe. Perhaps it's foolish, but it comforts me.

Yesterday, did you hear me telling you about my day? About sharing the pic of you at Yosemite, traversing El Capitan, and how in awe my co-workers were of your bravery? Did you laugh about me telling them how I couldn't look at it when you first showed me? It frightened me to see you pretending you had wings, but now I hope you're no longer pretending. Josh, I hope you know how precious all those pictures are to me now. They are visual proof of what I want people to know about you. You were so incredibly vibrant and alive. I have been so privileged to be in the orbit of your life.

I told you all those things, and more, when I was talking to you. I was sitting in the chair I usually sit in, facing into the yard. I imagine you across from me in your old familiar spot. I can almost see the smile on your face. I miss our conversations and soon found myself trailing off to a whisper, feeling silly and frustrated. The tears started falling harder down my cheeks and my heart felt torn asunder once again. My voice was strained and trembling as I expressed how lost I was feeling.

Did you hear me? I think you must have. Just as I told you, every single leaf on the maple tree fell to the ground. All of them... in one fell swoop. Instantly, I stopped my blathering and just relished the moment. After, I dried my tears and went to work and all day there was a calm quiet place in my heart were my anguish had been.

Perhaps it was simply time for them to fall, though I prefer to think it was you stopping by to say hello.

So....Hi there.

I love you too.

Another week goes by

2008-11-06T11:08:00.002-06:00

Today will be my fourth day back at work. Five weeks since his death. It frightens me how easily life continues without my son. Surely the world should stand still in mourning, yet it stubbornly keeps on going against my will.

My newest ritual is to sit on the back porch and talk with him. The fall leaves remind me of him in their swirling travel to greet the ground. They are in the midst of sacrificing themselves to the ever changing of the seasons and yet they are beautiful in their plight. No small wonder he loved them so.

It struck me the other day; I never realized how often I thought of him until now. Everything reminds me of him and brings a barb of pain, knowing he will never again see or do those things. The simple act of buying a new type of brie... The first thought that comes to mind is the need to call him and have him come try it because he adored cheese. The very essence of my being is intertwined with his… how lucky am I? Truly.

Each day I prod myself to smile more and mean it. To be kinder and feel it. To not be so sad over my loss that I forget to be joyful for what I have. Sometimes it works better than others, but it’s working. Josh would be so proud of me.

After all, only those that have, can lose.

Thank you, Josh, for looking out for me, for helping me remember your joy and excitement, for allowing us to have a relationship that brings me peace now.

I miss you so.

To Josh

2008-10-31T15:30:00.007-05:00

Dear Josh,

Today is four weeks and one day since you took your life. In ways, it is harder now than it was then: I cry less constantly, but miss you more with each passing day. I expect you to drop by just to say hi, I long for the opportunity to put my arms around you, feel your hair against my cheek, brush my lips across the coarseness of your beard and tell you I love you.

When I think of your last moments I’m haunted by the thought of you pressing the gun to your head. I keep wondering if you were crying, hesitant, if you had to work up your nerve or if you were calm and precise, sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that death was a welcome release from the torment of your own thoughts. If I allow myself to think of you crying it’s not long before I have to shove those images away before my own heart ache becomes crippling in it’s intensity. The desire to do the impossible becomes a constant barrage of thought in my brain. I become obsessed with the need to comfort you, hold you close and do what I’ve always tried to do for you… ease the pain. I long for the days when a bandage and a kiss could dry your tears, when you not only looked to me to provide comfort, but believed in my power to do so.

Josh, there are so many things I want to tell you, yet I am soothed by the knowledge that I told you the really important stuff. I have a sense of peace knowing you loved all of us and knew how very much we loved you in return. The rest of the world may not understand the pain you were in, or why you killed yourself, because you always did such a good job of hiding it, but I’m your mother. I know your heart, I know your soul, just as I’ve always known it from the very beginning. My love for you was blind, but my understanding of you was infinite. I know only too well the torture your mind put you through, the doubts and insecurities you lived with every single day. I know how hard you tried to live for everyone around you. I saw it baby, and I hope you know now, wherever you are, I’m not angry with you. I just miss you more than words can ever express.

Because I miss you so much, some days it’s nearly impossible to not be selfish and wish you could have continued to live for my sake. Forgive me for wanting you back, but please know it’s only because you brought so much joy to my life and all the lives around you. The depth of my longing and sorrow is a direct reflection on how incredibly loved you are. What a wonderful Son you are. I’m so grateful for you, for all you've taught and shared with me and I am at odds within myself to balance the joy with the anguish of your loss. I’m constantly reminding myself that the only way to have avoided the darkness of your death would have been to never have experienced being in light of your life. You have been such an incredible blessing, and I struggle to open my mind and heart to the lessons I can still learn from you.

You know I never thought I could live without you, and don't often understand why my heart is still beating in a world without your presence, but I truly believe that’s what you need me to do. Life will never be the same, but I know you believed in our strength as a family, in our love for each other to get us through this. I’m not sure yet exactly how it’s going to happen, but we’re trying Josh, so very hard.

The days pass and I see you in every thing around me and carry you with me everywhere I go. Nothing’s changed my Love. I feel your love surrounding me, and hope with all my heart you are finally at peace.

As always, I love you,

Mom

Sand castles

2008-10-28T11:33:00.005-05:00

Every day brings more closure to Josh’s life, makes his death more of an excruciating fact of my life. My heart and mind rail against the necessity of the phone calls, the faxes, the planning and organizing of his removal from day to day existence.

Yesterday I spent half an hour on the phone with his cell phone company in an attempt to capture his voice mail message in a retainable way. In the end the lovely ladies at US Cellular were able to send it to me in an E-mail message and the call ended with all of us crying. The kindness of others, the concern and sympathy of complete strangers never fails to de-rail me and though I certainly wish none of it were necessary, it is a balm to my soul.

Butch and I met with our grief counselor in the afternoon. When we went in I was feeling drained and hopeless but after an hour of talking to her I came away feeling somewhat more buoyed, more resistant to the constant barrage of tears and anguish. The conflict waging in my head was quieter.

The miniscule moments of peace are the only thing holding me together on most days. Grief feels like a surf, whipped up by hurricane force winds, pounding against the edges of my sanity. It washes me out to sea one grain of normalcy at a time. During the calm moments I rally slightly and build my emotional castle walls higher and dig the moat deeper, but in the end, the rising waves of grief return and my reinforcements are no match against their power. The days stretch before me in endless repetition of repeating this same act of folly over and over, yet I see no alternative other than to surrender to the storm. So, armed with a plastic pail of resolve and a shovel made of broken dreams, I work on getting through today.

Trading Places

2008-10-27T12:38:00.003-05:00

He took himself out of his own private Hell and put me in it instead.

Birds of Prey

2008-10-27T12:05:00.006-05:00

Saturday we dismantled my sons life. We sorted, boxed and organized his possessions into categories and labeled the boxes and the whole time I felt as if I were a scavenger picking the flesh from his very bones. Touching his knick-knacks, folding his clothes, finding his intimate belongings. Toothbrush and razor into the trash because he will never need them again. (But only after coaching to do so) Condoms following behind, because realistically, who wants to use a dead man's condom? How ironic is it that he would practice safe sex, but commit suicide?

For now, it all goes to storage. I am not able to make a rational decision about the smallest of items, and it feels too wrong to be scattering his belongings to the winds. I don't even want to bring things home because it makes it too real, too permanent. The days stretch before me in vast deserts of Joshlessness, and my mind often leads itself astray to a mirage oasis where he is only gone for the moment, not forever. In Dallas for the weekend perhaps. When reality comes crashing in, it can only be allowed to stay for a brief while before I am swallowed whole by the sheer hopelessness of living the rest of my life without him. Those are the moments I consider his path understandable, desirable even. At the very least, I've quit hoping to live to an old age.

My Love, My Heart, My Son

2008-10-26T13:37:00.002-05:00

Josh loved Autumn. The briskness of the air, swishing his feet through the leaves and hearing them rustle and crackle beneath his step, the vibrant colors, wearing jackets and beanies, all made him feel invigorated and alive. Each time I step outside and the sharpness of the wind snaps me across my face I think how much he would love to be experiencing it. If only......

Make a Smilebox slideshow

war

2008-10-24T10:57:00.004-05:00

Woke up this morning feeling overwhelmed. Sleep is a welcoming shroud to be held tightly wrapped around me until the buffeting winds of grief pull it from me. Only when I am no longer able to keep thoughts of Josh from invading the space between slumber and wakefulness do I force myself to get up and stumble to the coffee maker with his memories swirling in the wake of each step like the autumn leaves he loved so much.

Today I will continue shutting down his life. I will call the gas company and fax his death certificate to the electric company. I will go to his home and begin taking inventory of his possessions in order to figure out how many boxes we will need to pack them up. Before I’ve even begun, I’ve entered into that strange realm of denial where he is going to get pissed when he sees what I’m doing. Reminding myself repeatedly that I’m not the one ending his life, HE already ended it three weeks ago.

The books and pamphlets say I’m not crazy, these thoughts incessantly pinging through my mind are “normal” for my situation. His girlfriend refers to it as waging war with her mind. I would tend to agree, only adding the sense of standing on a precipice while doing it.

The last touch

2008-10-23T13:33:00.003-05:00

In the last three weeks I’ve discovered there are things too large for the mind to absorb all at once. My son's death has certainly fallen into that category. I find myself living in two alternate realities; the one where this can all be undone with some act that I’ve yet to discover, and the one where my son’s skin will never again be beneath my fingertips. On the last day I was able to make physical contact with him I ached with love, sorrow and the fear of forgetting.

Josh only stood about 5’4” and it was easy to forget how incredibly firm and solid he was, how male he was, until I wrapped my arms around him. No matter how often I saw him, I was always briefly startled by the concreteness of his body, the sheer strength of his arms as he returned my embrace. On more than one occasion I had marveled at his form, the near perfection of him, not the least surprised that he had been asked to pose for more than one art class. (A task that he accepted, to my eternal gratefulness, since I now have sketches from them)

This time, when I gently touched his arm I was once again startled, but this time it was from the icy chill emanating from his skin. I immediately laid my hand firmly against him trying to transfer my warmth. My poor, poor baby was cold and the mother in me rebeled against leaving him in that condition. The many nights of his life that it was my job to sneak into his room and pull the covers up over his sleeping body flashed through my mind, and it was agonizing to me to not have a blanket to swaddle him in, but merely a thin crisp sheet which only held in the cold. The urge to cover him with my own body, to let my body heat seep into him and warm his core and extremities was nearly overwhelming. At that moment in time, I struggled to grasp the realization that he wouldn’t wake up if only he were warm. His flesh was as eerily familiar to my fingers in death as it was in life. Firm and strong beneath my fingertips, once again jolting in it’s perfection. Death imitating life.

His eyelashes were long and beautiful, the envy of every girl he ever dated, but this time there was a gap in them and it took me a few minutes to understand they had most likely been pulled out from tape. His hair had been cut and looked dull and chopped, but was still silky sliding between my fingers. Each time my gaze began to settle on the cosmetic work around his temple I quickly refocused on something less foreign than the flesh colored putty filling and hiding the damage he had done.

Laying my hand over his chest I could feel the coarse softness of his hair beneath the cotton gown he was wearing. The cushion of air created by his hair allowed his chest to feel less frigid and my hand kept returning to rest lightly just above his heart, longing for a beat to flutter under my questing touch. The blue on white pattern of the gown lacked only a hospital logo and I kept begging the universe to warp back to an acceptable place where he was injured rather than dead. Waiting with futility for him to take a breath, to feel the slightest stir. At one point my mind threatened to crack as it tried to make my fantasy become reality. The finality was unbearable, knowing this would be the last time to touch him, to etch permanently into my memories the feel of this beautiful human being who once resided within my womb.

As I stood there alone with my child, I told him how much I loved him. How grateful I was for his life, how much I already missed him, how lost I felt without him. Somewhere in the midst of my anguish I realized I had one final task to accomplish for him. For twenty six years my only wish for him was to be happy, to be at peace. If the only way for that to happen was for me to live without him, then that is what I would learn to do.

With all the love a mother’s heart can hold, I whispered, “ For you, I can do anything.”

Before and After

2008-10-20T15:13:00.006-05:00

I think I was walking into the living room from our bedroom when I heard the car pull up. Somehow, I knew what was coming and instead of continuing straight, I veered right, into the kitchen. I recall trying desperately to think of something to do, anything to avoid the inevitable, so I opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water about the time my husband said “ Officer Burgess is here”. I calmly opened the bottle, briefly thinking that I looked awful and was going to have to get out of my robe and put some clothes on before the calls started. Then I tilted the bottle to my lips and drank. If I think about it I can still feel the coolness of the water slipping past my tongue, the momentary urge to throw up instead of swallow... The sheer agony of my stomach clenching against it’s invasion. More than anything though, I just wanted that drink to never end.

Our eyes met through the front window and his averted first. There was no smile, no acknowledgement, only that fleeting connection when he looked at me. I can only wonder now what he thought of my calmness; My continuation of getting a drink of water despite the fact that he and his partner were at my door. Perhaps he understood, or more likely, he was so busy steeling himself to speak to us it never entered his mind to wonder. It’s crossed my mind whether or not my response seemed cold or unloving, but at the time avoidance was my only resource, the only way to cope with an unbearable, unspeakable reality.

That’s when I knew for sure what I’d been feeling all day was true: My life as I’d known it for the last 26 years was gone, to be placed amongst all the moments of my past. That was the difinitive moment. The spot in time dividing joy and heartache, laughter and sorrow, hope and tomorrow.

I had started grieving that morning. I don’t know why or how I knew, other than a mothers heart sometimes just knows. There was a palpable difference in the very air I breathed. We'd filed the missing persons report the night before, and that day I'd left work because I couldn’t stop crying. I'd spent the day waiting to officially hear the news. Despite everyone telling me it was going to be O.K., every fiber of my being was aware that it was already too late for O.K. to even be an option.

Two days of his phone turned off, no word….. This time he didn’t want to be talked out of it.

My son was dead.