Holy Innocents Day

Today is December 28, Feast Day of the Holy Innocents. On this day we remember all the young babies killed by King Herod, in his effort to destroy our King of Kings, Jesus Christ.

9 years ago on this day, we held the memorial service for our own innocent child, Tim. Yes, he was older than 2, but he was still our innocent child, and taken from us much too soon. I think of him on this day as much as any other, maybe more. I am sorrowful for all innocent lives lost at any time for any reason. This day, I have especially been mindful of the 20 six and seven year olds in Newtown, CT. What a tragic loss of young, hopeful lives. Jesus said to "suffer the little children to come unto me", and "the kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these". What a beautiful place heaven must be. But it makes me sad to think of all those dear little ones there.

The Thin Veil

Mourning Cloak Butterfly

Way back in May, on Tim's birthday, as Hugh and I wandered back down the trail, a butterfly like the one above was flitting around a small clearing, then fluttered around us on the trail. Now, anytime a butterfly flits around me, or a hummingbird, I feel that it is a small hello from Tim. It gives me a thrill I can not explain. The following week, another Mourning Cloak Butterfly flitted around me at school, and within a few days it happened here at home, out on the sidewalk. 3 encounters within a week's span! I never shared it with anyone until I told my sister about it on her recent visit, and I finally looked up the butterfly with a description on the internet. Imagine my surprise and pleasure when I saw the name of this butterfly! It made perfect sense!

People talk about the "thin veil" between worlds. There are many sites on the internet if you are interested in reading more. I have read a little, and have mixed feelings about what some people have to say about it, and "thin spots", etc. But I have had several dreams of Tim, and I believe each one is a visit from Tim. I can't give scientific proof, or spiritual proof, but that is what I feel. And there are certainly dreams that have had significance in the waking world. For instance, the 2nd dream I had he was in the hospital, and his room-mate was my maternal grandfather. Grandpa died in 1979, and he is a very significant person in my life. To wake from that dream, knowing Tim was with Grandpa (even though it was very early in my grief), gave me a sense of peace. And at one point I was rubbing Baby Magic lotion on Grandpa's arms because they were so dry, and I could smell the Baby Magic (don't recall ever experiencing smell in a dream). It was the lotion both my grandparents used. This was real. 

In another dream, Tim was camping with us, and my Mom and her parents were sleeping in the car. I knew Tim was with them, and at one point I asked him if, since (?) was graduated (not sure if it was supposed to be him or Dennis or what), would he like to move back home? As I asked this, I was picturing in my head the small, real bedroom Dennis sleeps in, and wondering how we would make that work. Tim made it clear to me that he was going to stay, that he was where he belonged. With his Grandma and great-grandparents. 

How can I not see the message here? How can I not, in the waking world, know where he is, who is with him?. How can I not believe that these were real visits with them? In another dream, I hugged him, and felt his bony, skinny frame under my arms. I know I was holding my son. Too brief, and more infrequent as each year passes, I treasure each visit. 

Peace.

Mother's Day

Up at Tim's Meadow, May 10, 2012

It is Mother's Day, and I have been blessed with 4 lovely children. Even if Tim is not here on Earth with us, he is still a blessing in our lives. I am a lucky, blessed woman.

Peace.

Significant Dates

1st Boy Scout summer camp

On the Mist Trail in Yosemite 2002

Body boarding in Narragansett, RI 2000

When a loved one has died, certain dates are a lot harder than others. The holidays will always be hard, and of course birthdays. Also, and it seems especially true for parents who have lost children, the anniversary of the date of death. On some boards and forums, parents refer to these dates as angelversaries. It has been my experience that the days leading up to these dates, or the weeks, are much worse than the actual day. I have experienced much anxiety, nervousness, short temper, deep emotions of all kinds in the days and weeks leading up to Tim's birthday or "angelversary". It has been some very traumatizing times. But each time, no matter how anxious I was in those days or weeks, the actual day was filled with more calm. I did what I needed to do on those days, honoring him as best I could with the family. And it helped to have that time to do so. The past 2 years on Dec 22, I have done kitchen therapy. Making Christmas fudge and other goodies to share with family & friends. I think this tradition will continue, it works. 

Tim's birthday is May 10, just 3 days from today. Yes, he is on my mind more than usual (and he is on my mind every day), but this year, I feel I am running on a more even keel. I wonder, and won't know until December or maybe even next May, if this trend will continue; if, after 8 1/2 years, this issue is no longer an issue. Time will tell. Time, after all, is the great equalizer. 

As we do every year on his birthday, all of the immediate family that are able to, drive up to the mountains and hike up to Tim's Meadow. We bring cupcakes and candles, rocks we have been collecting for him, and flowers I might have dried throughout the year. This year we will celebrate his 24th birthday. And in spite of what I wrote earlier about not having so much anxiety, as I type these words, as I contemplate his 24th birthday, and the fact that he is not here in person to celebrate, I cry. It just seems so unfair. 

Perhaps I should have waited until after his birthday to type this, because I might have created some emotional turmoil for myself just now. But who knows, if not this, maybe something else would have done it. I am glad I have a short work week this week.

I lalu Tim, and I miss you so very much.

Peace

William Wordsworth & Garth Brooks

Tim and his cousin Jordan, July 2003

Someone I love very much once asked me the following question: "If you had the chance to do it again, to have Tim again, knowing you would only have him that short time, and how he would die, would you?" (It's been a long time, those perhaps were not the exact words, but you get the idea). I didn't hesitate, I said, "of course!". I was not offended by the question, or put off by it in the least, but the answer was a no-brainer. Still is. Yes, we only had Tim for 15 1/2 years, but we had Tim for 15 1/2 years! I would not trade that time for anything. His death hurt so much precisely because we loved him so much, and it would be worse not to have that love, that boy. William Wordsworth, in a favorite quote of my husband's, said;

 "I loved the Boy with the utmost love of which my soul is capable, and he is taken from me—yet in the agony of my spirit in surrendering such a treasure I feel a thousand times richer than if I had never possessed it.."

We could not say it any better than that.  And that reminds me of a Garth Brooks song, "The Dance" (written by Tony Arata)

"And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance

 I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance"

As I write this, I am thinking of dear friends of ours. Their oldest son has Duchenne's MD. It is very rare for children with this disease to make it to 30 years of age. They know that every day they have is a gift. 

Peace

At the Cross Her Station Keeping

At the cross, her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother weeping,
Where He hung, the dying Lord;
For her soul of joy bereavèd,
Bowed with anguish, deeply grievèd,
Felt the sharp and piercing sword.

Oh, how sad and sore distressèd
Now was she, that mother blessèd
Of the sole begotten One;
Deep the woe of her affliction,
When she saw the crucifixion
Of her ever glorious Son.

Who, on Christ’s dear mother gazing
Pierced by anguish so amazing
Born of woman, would not weep?
Who, on Christ’s dear mother thinking
Such a cup of sorrow drinking
Would not share her sorrows deep?

For His people’s sins chastisèd,
She beheld her Son despisèd,
Scourged, and crowned with thorns entwined;
Saw Him then from judgment taken,
And in death by all forsaken,
Till His Spirit He resigned.

Jesu, may her deep devotion
Stir in me the same emotion,
Fount of love, Redeemer kind,
That my heart fresh ardor gaining,
And a purer love attaining,
May with Thee acceptance find.

Indeed, how can we not share her sorrows? When I saw The Passion of the Christ, which came out the year after Tim died. I was overwhelmed by the whole thing. And what affected me most deeply was Mary, his Mother. I was still new in my grief, and I very much related to her as a mother, her sorrow and her pain. The way she rushed to him when he fell as a child, and the sorrow all over her face as she watched her son die. To her, He was more than God incarnate, more than the Messiah, more than Jesus the Christ. He was her son. So much did she have to suffer. 

Looking forward to saying the Hallelujahs tomorrow, and savoring the joy and the hope of the resurrection, and  what that means for me in my own journey of grief.

Peace.

Faith the size of a mustard seed

A hillside near my home starts to bloom with wild mustard after winter rains.

Jesus told his disciples, If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it will obey you." Luke 17:6 NIV

I am often at odds with myself over faith. It is a constant struggle, but I know I am in good company. I question, "why did this happen?"  "Why me?" "Why us?" "What have I done to deserve this?" I wish I could recall who said this, but I once read about a woman with the same questions who finally said, "why not me?"

Sometime after Tim's death, we watched the movie "House of Sand and Fog". A teenage boy was shot and was in the emergency room. The father was on his knees pleading with God for the life of his son, making promises, etc. I found myself thinking, maybe I should have done that. I was not on my knees pleading, though I was pleading, in my head. And the only thing I could think of to pray was "Out of the depths I cry to you, oh Lord". I don't recall even being able to articulate, in my head, or aloud, what I wanted. I am sure I thought more than once, "please don't let him die".  Of course, he did die. And that led me to all sorts of doubts and concerns. Was my faith not enough? Not big enough, not strong enough? How could it be smaller than a mustard seed? I never was angry at God, though I could have been. I feel I would have been justified in ranting and raving at Him, and He can take it. But I never did. Instead I questioned myself, how was I lacking that I had to lose my child? What did I do wrong (plenty!). That period was its own special hell. What I came to realize, and perhaps it was my faith, or my understanding a little more about my faith, that helped me see this; perhaps God did save our son, just not in the way we would have wanted. And I have found I can live with that. Though I miss my Tim terribly.

I still run hot and cold as far as my spirituality is concerned. There are times, when I am feeling unhappy about myself, for whatever reason, that I tend to distance myself spiritually. I recall quite clearly, as recently as a year ago, not wanting to go to church. More than once I used the fact that I had hospitality duties, as an excuse not to sit in the church during service. We got there plenty early enough that I could have the coffee and everything ready to go, and still sit in most of the service, but I wouldn't. I didn't want to be there. I quit doing my daily prayer and bible, I just kind of shut myself off. Because mostly I didn't feel worthy. And certainly not deserving. But I made myself go, and tried to open myself back up to God and the church again. I told someone recently that I have a hard time with "let go, and let God". I am a hoarder of my regrets, my pains (self inflicted or other inflicted), and I hold them to me and stew over them. And with that, I will leave you with the words from one of my favorite hymns we sang recently in church. It all pretty much sums up what I was feeling at the time. So undeserving.

Ah, holy Jesus, how hast Thou offended,
That man to judge Thee hath in hate pretended?
By foes derided, by Thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.
Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon Thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone Thee.
’Twas I, Lord, Jesus, I it was denied Thee!
I crucified Thee.
Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered;
The slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered;
For man’s atonement, while he nothing heedeth,
God intercedeth.
For me, kind Jesus, was Thy incarnation,
Thy mortal sorrow, and Thy life’s oblation;
Thy death of anguish and Thy bitter passion,
For my salvation.
Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay Thee,
I do adore Thee, and will ever pray Thee,
Think on Thy pity and Thy love unswerving,
Not my deserving.

Peace.

Roadside Memorials

Tim's Roadside Memorial

Roadside Memorial for 3 Marines who died in a single car crash in my town.

Every time I see a roadside memorial, I make the sign of the cross and say a little prayer. Some roadside markers are quite permanent, I see them almost every day. Some, like my son's, not so much. His was, after all, on a sidewalk in front of someone's house. Who wants that kind of reminder out their front door every day? I wonder about the souls who died at those sites, and the loved ones they left behind. And I think about the people I have met since, and because,  my son died, who have or had roadside memorials for their loved ones (one of the ones I see nearly every day). I have lost touch with some of them, and wonder how they are faring, 6 or 7 years past the death of their precious child. I think I have a pretty good idea, though I can't know for certain. My heart breaks for them, and for the young lives lost.

I wonder when this practice started, people setting up memorials like this. I recall reading various books about settling the west, and how there were often deaths during the journey from the east. People were buried by the wagon trail, sometimes with a crude marker of some sort, sometimes with nothing. But the markers are long gone now, and nothing to show that someone's loved one died there. And how about people in the armed forces killed in war? Some were buried where they fell, and there is no marker there for people to remember them. But the markers and memorials are all for the living. May all those souls rest in peace.

Peace.

Heart stoppers

Yosemite, one of my favorite things. I could live here.

Shortly after I got home today, after work and picking up kids from HS, 20 year old son borrowed the car to go to band practice. There was a knock on the door about 15 minutes after he left, and I know it wasn't the girls' friend, she was not home yet. I opened the door, and there stood a sheriff's deputy. Yep, that is a heart stopper! He was just looking for a person whose name I did not recognize. My adrenaline kept pulsing for about 5 minutes. I chastised him too, in fun, explaining why I was so startled to see him. He laughed and apologized. He was young, when he has grown kids of his own who are going out with friends, or borrowing the car, he will understand that moment of panic.

In the year or 2 following Tim's death (I know it was in this time span, because said 20 year old was still at the middle school where I work), I showed up to work in the morning and there was an ambulance in front of the school. It's a wonder I didn't crash my car. Looking back, I can rationalize with myself that there was a 1 in 1800 or so chance that something awful had happened to my son, but it was too soon on the heels of the death of his brother, that I was not rational. The teacher who had a heart attack in front of the school that day retired a year and a half ago. I am glad he was ok. But more glad that my son was ok. I think Mr. N.   would understand.

Above mentioned 20 year old graduated HS in 2009. I think it was sometime during that school year, maybe 1 before it, he was riding his bike home from school. I had just pulled into to a parking space at home when he called me, and said he had been hit by a car! I immediately got the shakes, and cold all over. It took a few minutes to suddenly realize, "he called me, he is ok." and I had to keep repeating that to myself as I drove the short distance to where he was (maybe a mile from home). "He called me, he is ok." And he was ok. Some sore knees, and probably a little pumped up from the adrenaline himself, but he was ok. Oh, I hugged him so hard, I was afraid to let go. The woman who hit was was very upset (as she should be), and very apologetic. I assured her that as long as he was fine, that was all that mattered. I had all her information, and her insurance company called me the next day, but there was never any need for that. My son was ok. He is ok. Thank God!

A couple of summers ago, I was sitting here at my table on the computer. An e-mail came in from church. Urgent. A young girl, 15 1/2 years old, the daughter of a dear friend, had been in a serious accident, with serious head injuries. Another heart stopper. I got chilled, and was covered from head to toe in goose bumps. (not sure if I mentioned this previously or not, but I could just not get warm in the 5 days to a week after Tim's death. I was cold all the time, and nothing was warm enough for me. This felt like that.). I found out where she was, and thought, "I must go be with L___. But I second guessed myself and just did not know how I could be there for her emotionally. I was afraid I would fall apart. I did not take long to decide to go anyway. It was not about me and my emotions, it was about being there for someone who needed me. And so I went. And I was cold. And in shock I think. I first came across her 2 sons, who were trying to find out where they had moved their sister while they were gone briefly from the hospital. Once they found out, we all went over there. Lots of family was already present, and friends. I hugged my friends, and cried with them. It was all I could do. That and pray. And I rejoice daily that this young girl just turned 18, and will be graduating with her class in June. Hers was a massive head trauma, and her life is a miracle.

{Am I jealous that their daughter/sister is alive and well, and my son is not? I'd be lying if I said no. Of course I am, a little. Not jealous of them, no anger or animosity toward them, just jealous that my son did not survive his massive head trauma. But oh, so happy for this family, for this girl's life. And feeling this way, being able to rejoice in their happiness, makes me know I am still alive. For a long time, I felt dead inside.}

Peace.

love you L___

One day at a time

After a storm, a rainbow promises a new day of hope.

And see? A lovely day is dawning. 

{thinking of you today, MW}

The AA motto, "One day at a time" is a good one. It can be put into practice in so many instances in our lives. Sometimes, when you are grieving, you just have to get through 1 minute at a time. And then the next minute, and so on. Sometimes the days just loom too large to even consider tackling in one fell swoop.

And some days loom larger than others. Birthdays and anniversaries. Since I am talking mainly about my own experiences here, please note that anniversary does not mean marriage. It is the anniversary of the death of a loved one. Some parents call it the "angelversary". Whatever you call it, it's a tough day to face down. I honestly don't remember the exact dates of death for my parents (or my Grandparents, my 1st experience with death). Well, no, not entirely true, my Sweet Grandmother died on New Year's Day. Maybe I remember that because it was a significant date, I don't know. But I sure remember the date my son died. And I think every grieving parent must be the same. 

What hubby and I have experienced about these dates is that the weeks leading up to them are far worse than the actual date itself (usually). I start getting edgy, moody, etc, a week or more before his birthday or the anniversary of his death. Sometimes a month in advance. The grief is suddenly fresh again, all those emotions come flooding back. The dates themselves, well, by the time they arrive, most of the bite has been taken out of them, used up in the previous weeks. I don't work either of those days, and spend each of those days differently. On his birthday, we (the whole family) usually go up to the meadow where his ashes are. We bring flowers sometimes (usually dried, hard to hike up a mountain with fresh flowers), and cupcakes and candles. We sing Happy Birthday to him, and leave a cupcake. We visit for awhile while Daphne explores the area. On the anniversary of his death, since it is 3 days before Christmas, the last two years I have spent the day making Christmas goodies to share with friends and neighbors and coworkers. I have found this to be very therapeutic for me. I think of Tim, I listen to Christmas music, and I put my love into these goodies to share. Both days have tears and laughter, but they do not have the stress and anguish that the days leading up to them did. At least not for me.

And on neither of those days do I ever have thoughts and memories of the night he died. Those dark things come to me in the darkest times of the night, when my heart and soul are unsettled. Not something I care to dwell on ever, but especially not in the brightness of day. Sometimes I try to pray them away, sometimes I let them in. And I roll with the punches some more...

Peace.

Rainy days

Misha was very curious about her 1st rainy day.

I enjoy a good rainy day. Maybe because we don't get a lot of them here in Southern California, unless we are having an "El Nino" winter. But sometimes the weather can match my mood. Not always. Sometimes I can be dark and stormy, or just depressed, on a sunny day. No silver lining here. And I can be equally upbeat and happy on a rainy, stormy day. Today I am blue, for different reasons, and we are supposed to have rain.

And that brings me to the subject of triggers. Those things that set you off, releasing new waves of grief. A trigger can be anything. A song, a scent, a movie, a particular day (and I don't mean the obvious birthdays and anniversaries, I mean how a day feels, weather wise and such). And sometimes, a song that might make me cry one day will bring happy memories another. Hormones can play a huge factor as well. Sometimes it is just events in life, a disagreement with someone you love, tension because willful children. And sometimes, it seems nothing at all triggers the onslaughts. There is usually no build up of feelings or awareness (except for the weeks leading up to the birthday or anniversary of their death), just suddenly you are struck down to the depths again. 

Will these things continue all my life? I don't know, but I would guess that yes, they will. Each time I learn a little something new, like how to take care of myself and others around me when they hit. As they say, you just have to roll with the punches.

Peace.

Grief support

Sunrise Feb. 6, 2012

Having long been an amateur photographer, I was reminded today that not all perfect days are sunny and cloud-free. Clouds give an interesting impact to photos, and create magnificent sunrises and sunsets. Perhaps I have found the silver lining!

I have spent some time in online grief forums. And some chat rooms. I found enormous help from people who have been through what I had been through, who were walking the same walk as me. And in spite of the fact that, as noted in an earlier post, we all experience grief differently, there are still enough similarities to understand. I think also that grief makes one very empathetic to others grief. It certainly had that effect on me. We get it, sort of. 

Hubby and I each found different grief support forums, both with pages for parents who have lost a child. It was a blessing. It was a place to go and air our troubles, without upsetting our spouse further. We were there for each other still, but sometimes we just didn't want to bring the other one further down to our depth of despair. He is my rock, and he has held me up to keep me from falling too far. He has said the same of me. But still, those forums were handy. After awhile, when I found my footing again (and I could not tell you now when this was), I found that I was the one doing the supporting for others in the forum. It was a natural progression. I rarely visit the forum now, just stop in once in awhile to see how some are doing, or to post if I have something of big significance to share. But I guess I have mostly moved on. That is not to say I don't still grieve my son, or hurt anymore. But I guess I have learned how to stand on my own again. Sort of.

Peace.

Daddies

  Tim & his Daddy

Do you remember me talking about everyones grief being different? The following thoughts are kind of an extension of that. I think it is true that most of us, if dealing with a family that has lost a child, really pour a lot of our compassion and sympathy out on the Mom, not as much for the Dad. I believe this stems from the old-fashioned thoughts that the father/husband is the strong one, the bread winner, the fixer, the hunter/gatherer, the mother is the nurturer. And "men don't cry". That's a lot of BS. Men cry. And maybe people are uncomfortable with a man crying. Men miss their babies just as much as women do. Maybe more in some cases, depending on the relationship.  And for that reason, the Daddies need love and compassion as well. They need someone to put their arms around them, and let them cry. They need to know that they also counted in this relationship. They need to hear you remember their child, and say his/her name. They love that child with all their heart, and they are in deep agony.

A thought just occurred to me as I typed this out; as I stated in an earlier post, hubby suffers from some medical issues (nothing serious), that cropped up since Tim died. He certainly cried, and even wailed, over the death of our son. I know he still cries. But maybe he wasn't able to let it all out, and/or maybe didn't get the level of sympathy and caring I received, and so his grief manifested itself in certain physical, medical ways. I could be way off base, I am certainly not a doctor or scientist, but I think it's a possibility. It would make for an interesting study for some medical group.

And anyway, the point I want to make here is: Don't forget the Daddies! They love their children so much, and they will miss them, and their hearts will break for these lives cut so short. They need the care and comfort just as much. I have seen grieving fathers, and been held by them so hard, as if they thought that if they let go, they would be lost forever. It's a powerful thing, this grief. Give them your time and your love. They will appreciate it. Even if they can't show it.

Peace.

A beautiful day

It's a beautiful morning outside my window. The sun is coming up, the sky is blue with some pretty clouds. I am blessed to be able to enjoy it.
This morning, this beautiful morning, some people are so deep in the throes of grief they will not experience the beauty. People are beginning to get up and get about their day, maybe sorry to have to go to work, maybe excited about what the day might have in store for them (and even if your job is a drudge, try to be excited about what your day may hold, you never know!). Maybe someone is heading out on vacation, or just returning home. Certainly someone is anticipating with great joy the birth of a child. Life is beautiful.

But there are some people right now, who will see people around them going about their busy lives, and wondering, "How can they? Don't they know the world has stopped?" Believe me, this is a very real thought. How can life be continuing, when life as we know it has come to an abrupt halt? The griever may want to yell, "Stop it! Don't you know what has happened? How can you be laughing, and shopping, and living?"

Life goes on. And it will go on for those in grief as well, they just don't know it yet.

Peace.

Tunnel View, Yosemite. April 2011.  Yosemite is probably my favorite place to be. There is a spot, off Tioga Rd in the Tuolomne Meadow, right near the river, that is my quiet place where I go in my head when things get to me. It is so beautiful and peaceful. When I die, I want most of my ashes with Tim up near San Gorgonio, maybe some with my Mom and Grandparents in RI, and some near the Tuolomne River in that beautiful spot.

Grief can manifest itself in physical ways, not just emotional. I have never felt the pain I felt when Tim died. I can't describe it, but I hurt. Medical, physical ailments arose as well. Not so much for me as for hubby. I truly believe these issues were brought on by grief. It will mess with your sleep cycle for sure. And we forget to take care of ourselves as we should. I can sit here and tell you to get regular checks by your doctor if you have gone through a traumatic loss. But why? Our brains don't work so well either!

I read an article that I wish I could cite here, but I have been unable to find the article again, so I won't put numbers down here. This study was about the number of car accidents that involved people who were suffering deep grief. I get that. I recall on more than one occasion going someplace, arriving at my destination not remembering any of the trip to said destination! I am not kidding. Scary to think about. Our minds just get so absorbed in our grief, thoughts of our loved one, etc, that we just don't absorb what is happening around us. I recall reading in different grief forums of parents who could not concentrate on a book or even tv show, something they enjoyed before their loss.

My own experience; I got lost in stories, but honestly couldn't tell you if I read anything significant. I slept a lot, hubby lost sleep. And once I got over the initial shock and nausea, I fed my grief. Still feeding it 8 years later.

A notion or 2 about grief

When Tim was little, he loved watching Alice in Wonderland. When he saw the crescent moon one night, he thought it was, as he called it, the Treshire Cat. I tried to take a picture of the one I saw tonight, but my little camera would not do it justice. I took this one in the summer of 2010 while staying at a monastery in Santa Barbara with my sister. Every time I see the Treshire Cat moon, I imagine it is Tim smiling down on us. It gives me a smile every time. Sometimes there is a star near one of the corners, that is one of Tim's dimples!

Grief is different for everyone. Just know that. Men and women are different, and they grieve differently most of the time. That is just a fact. And what is true for one man or woman may not be true for another. Will not be true for another. My husband and I shared this beautiful boy. We made him together. But we also had different relationships with him, each of us. And we grieve his death differently. It affects us differently, and we behave differently. And none of it is wrong. It's just different. One may keep all their grief inside, the other may wail out loud, often. One might sleep a lot, the other might not sleep very well at all. One may want to be alone, another may become more clingy. As long as one person isn't upset because someone else is not grieving as they are, all will be well. Just be patient with them if they are having a bad day, give them more of whatever they need; space, closeness, etc. And if you think someone should be crying more, grieving more, remember, you don't know what is going on in their heart or head. Or the breakdown they might be having when they are alone in the car everyday, or the shower every night.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross brought us the 5 stages of grief. Unfortunately, it was misused and misunderstood. It was never meant to be a manual for grief. There is no such thing. But, these stages are frequent symptoms of grieving people. Not in any particular order, nor will each person even experience each of the stages. It was several years in fact, before I felt any anger. Not sure I ever really felt denial. Though I certainly said "I can't believe he is dead", I still knew he was.  This goes back to grief being different for everyone.

There is no timeline for grief. There is not a cut off when the pain and crying finally stop. But for most people, especially I think if they have a good support system, there comes a time when you find yourself living again. It might even shock you to realize it. You are laughing, enjoying yourself and being a somewhat "normal" person. And it's ok to live again, laugh again. But it won't happen at any particular time. Don't let people tell you it's time to get over it. Maybe they can't handle the grief, and that's ok, but you have to let it happen. Let the tears happen, let the smiles happen, anytime you feel them. The people who tell you that you need to get over it want it for their sake, not yours. Don't let it get to you.

I think I blabbed enough for tonight, but in the next couple of days I will talk about the physical side of grief, it is not all emotional.

Peace

In Memory

At the middle school where I work a tree recently was taken down. High winds had brought some limbs down, and when the tree people came out, found rot in it, and had to take the whole thing out. This tree was planted in memory of a young girl who was struck and killed by a drunk driver. I learned about her one time when a brother and sister of hers was there to put flowers in and around the tree on her birthday. When I saw the tree was gone, my heart broke for the family. And I know they were devastated. Yesterday the family was there, and a new tree was planted and the plaque re-seated. I was happy to watch the planting. I hope it brought them more peace.

Monday was rainy and very chilly for So Cal, with a raw breeze. Today was about 30 degrees warmer, a slight breeze blowing in the afternoon. It was a beautiful, gorgeous day, perfect weather! Unfortunately,  today I saw very little of the snow that Monday's storm left in our local mountains. On the other hand, Saddleback was lovely this afternoon. It was a good day to be working outside, which is what I am lucky to do!

Out of control

This is Boomer, back when he was a playful kitten. The same cat that gets so tormented by our kitten Misha. Poor, put upon old man. He is 10 years old. Tim wanted a black kitten for Christmas, named Zaboomafoo. What Tim did get for Christmas that year was a kitten collar with a tag that read Zaboomafoo in his stocking.  I think we found Boomer and his sister Ginger in March. Zaboomafoo is his name, but we call him Boomer. His sister died almost a year ago. The collar and tag Boomer never liked wearing is in a box with a few other special items, which had held Tim's ashes. I think of that box (which sits out here in our living/dining area) every time I read The Littlest Angel on Christmas Eve.

I have been in a bit of a funk the past couple of days. No reason that I can pinpoint, it just is. Sometimes I am still on that grief rollercoaster. Ups and downs, and you never know what will set you off. it can be the most innocuous thing. Last spring on the way to church one Sunday I got weepy, I don't recall or know what set it off. It continued the whole day, I remember having a crying spell in the bedroom at one point. That evening as I prepared dinner, Hugh and I had a small drink, plus we had wine with dinner. I did not drink anymore than I usually do on such occasions. I rarely get even tipsy. But I think with the crying I had been doing that day, it just got the better of me somehow. I broke down during dinner, Hugh ended up taking me to the bedroom. I recall wailing even, I was a mess. And I am ashamed. I recall feeling like I was out of control, like I was a messy, sloppy drunk. As I said, I had no more than usual that night (and we really only have drinks on weekends, maybe 1 night a week. I don't know why it hit me so hard, but it was quite a display, and I hate that I lost control like that with the kids around. It was awful. I remember it all, and I had no hangover, so why was I such a mess? I don't know. But I shudder every time I think about it. Hugh was really good to me that night, I am sorry I put him and the kids through that. I went to bed early and slept til alarm. But I know next time I have a slightly weepy day, I won't drink at all. I wish I could forget that night. I feel very ashamed when I think about it.

thoughts on an earlier post

Around this same time last year, a hummingbird nest was discovered in a bougainvillea outside our patio wall. It had 2 eggs in it. In early February, these babies were there. It was so sweet to watch them grow. When I took a picture later as they were outgrowing the nest, one of the babies got startled and flew away. A couple days later the other baby was gone. I wonder where the hummingbirds are nesting this year? I hope I get to see them again.

Going back to an earlier post, where I remarked on a comment in my old journal about "God having His plans" and "wanting another voice for the angel choir":  Maybe God does have his plans, I don't think the death of my son was one of them. I do think that God took Tim home, because he was too badly hurt to stay here. In death he was healed as he could not be in life. And the notion that God needed another voice for the heavenly choir, well, that's just trite bullshit. It sounds nice, and pretty, but when you get down to the nitty-gritty, that is not what it is all about.
Most people(and I was one of them) will say things like this when trying to comfort a grieving person. It doesn't help. One that really ticks off grieving parents is: "He/she is in a better place". Really? What can be better than here, with his family who loves him and needs him? At our advanced age we were spared the "well, at least you can have another baby". I have read on some forums some parents raging about comments like that. It never really bothered me. I guess in someplace in my heart I knew that they were trying to comfort me, and were really just at a loss for what to say. I feel sorry for them. We grieving people have our own pain and sorrow and fear, but so do the people who have to deal with us, especially when the loss is that of a child. People are suddenly faced with the fact that it could be their child and that is scary, and they just don't know what to say. Or do. I get it. And it's ok people.
From my own experience, and the writings of others, here is what I found works best: If you feel you must say something (I know it's hard for some of us to keep our mouths shut!), a simple "I'm sorry" is usually sufficient. "I miss him too" "We love him too". Maybe a memory you have (these are always welcome!). And just sitting in silence is absolutely fine. Just knowing that someone is there can be enough. If you want to do something, it's usually best not to ask, "what can I do?" or "call me if you need anything". People who are  used to doing for themselves usually won't ask, and usually won't call (we learned to, and it was not easy). If you are there, feed or walk animals, do dishes, anything you see that might need doing. Bring groceries, dinner, etc. Check the fridge to see if they need anything. It is all appreciated. Call first, but come over some morning with bagels or donuts. This stuff is still helpful even several weeks after, believe me. Even years down the road, we still want to know that you remember our loved one. We still want to hear you say his name and share a memory.

Christmas Cactus

At Hugh's work, someone brought in some Christmas cactus shoots sometime in September or October I think. They were all potted in small pots. Hugh missed getting one, but on his way home, he found several limp shoots that got left behind in the parking lot. He picks some up and brought them home to plant. They put out some new shoots, and this beautiful bloom showed up in November. It lasted a long time, and I enjoyed its beauty every time I passed our patio.

The rest of the journal:

March 29, 2004

Tim was born on May 10th, 1988.  We had tried for a few years to get pregnant, at least two, anyway. I was doing the temperature thing and tracking everything, and every once in awhile, I would be a few to several days late, and get so excited, then get a test taken, only to have it come back negative, and start my cycle within a day or two. It was sad and depressing. Tim was conceived on August 15, 1987. I know the date, because the pregnancy kind of snuck up on me. Hugh was scheduled to go to MA on business, and was leaving a couple days early to visit with our friends up there. But I determined from my calendar that he was leaving too early. So we took care of things before he left, and I remember that day well. He had a schedule for the shuttle that left from a nearby hotel, so I didn't have to drive him all the way to DC. We were living in Fredericksburg, VA at the time. Well, he was used to leaving on a weekday, and this was a Saturday, and the schedule was different. So on a hot, sticky summer day in Virginia, I had to drive him to DC, his flight was leaving National Airport, now called Ronald Reagan Airport. I was stuck in beach traffic heading back, with no A/C in the car, and figuring I was going to be late to work, and fuming! I was late, but not too much. Some time the next month, I realized I was about 10 days late, and went and had a test. I was going crazy when they finally called and told me it was positive! I screamed in the poor nurse's ear! I couldn't wait, and called Hugh at work. He was not surprised. Then I called my Mom at work. I was so excited.

I recall so much about my pregnancy, Tim's birth, and his younger years, milestones. More than I remember about Dennis. I think it is just the newness of it all, it remains very sharp in the memory, even a poor memory like mine. I recall the first time I heard his heartbeat, I cried. What an incredible miracle. I had an ultrasound early on, and there was some concern about the placenta lying across the cervix. At that point it was not a problem, only if it did not move by the time I was at term. We opted to be surprised about the sex of the baby. I remember the first time I thought I felt anything, it felt like butterflies in my stomach. It was on Thanksgiving, we were at Steve's wife's family's house outside of Virginia Beach. Poor Hugh never felt either baby move, or saw it. Every time I would take his hand and put it on my belly, the baby would stop, or it would be so subtle that he did not feel it. But I sure felt it. And I recall lying on my stomach on the floor at home reading the paper. It was still early on, but far enough along that Tim let me know I could no lie on my stomach any longer. Not while he was in there!

I had very little morning sickness, and it was not relegated to just morning. Anytime I had gone too long without eating. In fact, I recall being at work and thinking that I was feeling kind of nauseous, maybe if I ate an early lunch, I would feel better. This was before I knew I was pregnant. Some smells would make me sick, like the smell of gasoline at a gas pump. If I ate too much, I got ill too.

Hugh had started a new job shortly after I got pregnant. So he was not as available to take time off to go to appointments with me, and one time he did, I was so caught up in things, I forgot to ask if he could come back and hear the heartbeat. I was so sick over that, I felt awful about it, very guilty.

I had a healthy pregnancy, no problems. We bought a townhouse and moved in February of 1988, in Manassas, VA. So I had to get  a new Dr. My first Dr thought at first I might be carrying twins, because my uterus seemed larger than it should be for as far along as I was. I remember the fright I got when he asked if there was a history of twins in my family! Yikes, twins?? There were some instances of it in Hugh's father's family, but not mine! But it was only 1. Another ultrasound at the new Dr, in February revealed that the placenta had moved, and was no longer a problem. Hugh was there for that one, I am glad. He had to show us in sections, because Tim was so big in there, and he was trying to be careful not to show us what the sex was. He asked a few times if we were sure we didn't want to know, because he said it was very apparent what it was. I figured that could mean anything, not necessarily that it was a boy. It could have been equally obvious that it was a girl.

I was due on May 8th, which was Mother's Day. After seeing me on Thursday, the Dr said that if I had not gone into labor, he was going to induce on Tuesday, May 10th. I have a small pelvic opening, small all around, and he didn't want the baby getting any bigger. Because of how big I was, he thought I was going to have a 10 pound baby! He had never seen me not pregnant, so he could not compare anything.

March 29, 2004 part 2

Just a few different things to say here, I will finish up with the birth and stuff at another time.

The past few days have been hard. Well, really, since last Monday. It was the 22nd of March, and it was a Monday. Three  months to the day that  Tim died. That was hard. Then Tuesday night five boys in the troop made Eagle. That was awfully hard too, though I tried to remain happy for the boys. I know I will never pin an Eagle medal on Tim's uniform. That hurt so so much. He had worked hard to get to Life Scout, and I was so proud of him for getting that far, with some coaxing, and yes, some nagging. I know he would have made it, though Hugh was not so sure, and he(Hugh) was ok with that too.

And lately, even the memories that are happy make me sad. I have been feeling so down for a week now. I am sure I will come out of it, but I just feel very depressed, and uninspired.

I have at least started walking. Last Wednesday I walked 2 miles, over 4 on Thursday, and about 1 ½  on Friday. Today I walked about 2 miles, plus whatever I do at work. It was too hot to walk to work today, I did my walking in the morning. It was supposed to hit 90 today. It didn't feel that hot, but it was pretty warm.

On Sunday in church, we were saying The Lord's Prayer, and I was thinking of Tim, and my Grandfather, whom I used to kneel beside and say my prayers with when I was a little girl. I got emotional, and my voice caught during the prayer. I felt a pressure against my arm, and I figured Dennis heard my voice, knew I was having problems, and leaned over to give me some emotional support. Well, I looked down to kiss his head as it leaned against my arm, but it was not there, he was kneeling more upright, and I was kind of back against the pew to give my knees a break. It was not him, so I have to figure it was Tim. That was nice, but even that can not pull me out of this funk I am currently in.

That was the end of my journal. Now I guess I will have to come up with some new thoughts. More another day!

The girls own a lot of books, and the tiny bookcases in their room were outgrown. So I bought this kit today at Target and put it together. Kind of huge for their room, but it will hold both of their books probably. The shelves are not in yet, obviously. The back is cheap cardboard crap, but once shelves and books are in it won't be noticed. I enjoy being able to do things like this. I know anybody can follow instructions (well, actually, according to Dennis, they get people in all the time who can't put their stuff together), but I still feel a satisfied sense of accomplishment. I put together a small bookcase once, and a large computer desk. That's right; I am woman, hear me roar! (when I am not whimpering)

So, more journal:

January 31,2004

Thank God, January is over. Only 11 more months of this year to endure. We got a check today from the hotel where we stayed, to replace the Game Boy and games, but they have not done anything to convince us to stay there again. And I will inform them of that at some point.

Side by side I see them kneel

My Grandfather and my son

Saying their prayers

As Grandpa and I have done

"Our Father, Who art in Heaven"

As they bow at the Good Lord's

I hear their voices speak as one

The Timmer and Grandpa Sweet

written 12/27/03 by Annette

I wrote the above while in the car on the way to The Producers. I left it for awhile, thinking there might be more to it, but that is all that came, so it is enough.

I miss you, Tim.

February 10, 2004

It is hard for me to sit and write the following, but I know I have to. On December 9, Tim had what was to be the first of 2 part ear surgery to restore hearing to his right ear. The hearing was very bad, bones in middle ear badly damaged from chronic ear infections as a baby. The surgeon cleared out the disease, like a cyst in there, and found all 3 bones fused together. He separated them, and found one of the bones just was not moving at all. The plan was, sometime in the summer of 2004, go back in, and replace that bone with a prosthetic. The surgery went well. However, sometime during the week before the surgery, it may have been the day before, I was nervous and edgy. It was after all surgery, and things can go wrong. People have died during surgery. And I can have a very over active imagination sometimes, it takes me places that just aren't good. I found myself imagining something happening to Tim, how I would feel (agonized). There were some pretty horrible thoughts. {Thoughts that I actually deleted from my journal as I copied and pasted here, I just could not face them again.} Maybe I was in bed, fell asleep and dreamed some of it. That is what I would like to think, rather than my imagination came up with such  scenarios. It pains me so much that Tim is gone, and that he might have been in pain before he died. I certainly never made either of my kids sick or kept them sick. I hated it when they were sick. But still, that imagination scenario I had makes me ill. Did I bring something on, because God saw what was in my thoughts? And that leads me to wonder, was it my fault, did this awful thing happen to my son because of my many sins? That seems extreme, because then the child is being punished for my sins, but only God knows his ways. I hate these thoughts, but I can't always suppress them. All I can do is ask God to forgive me, for Tim to forgive me. {I have moved past this, thank God. I feel pretty certain Tim did not die for my sins (that was Christ"s job}

Tomorrow, Hugh and I are meeting Renee Brandt, the girl who hit Tim. Her mother is unable to be there(if it were my kid, I would be there, even though she is 18 and an adult), but we are still meeting her. It will be hard, but a good thing. We have our grief recovery(yeah right) in the evening, then my sister, Karen, and her son Pat, arrive at 10:30pm.

 

March 12, 2004

I keep thinking of things I want to write here, during the day as I go about my business, or at night as I am going to sleep, but I have been avoiding sitting down here and writing anything. The past few weeks, I have been hiding in books.

The scholarship is all set up, and what a wonderful tribute to our Tim. The web site to go with it is beautiful! What an incredible person Ed Leard is. We had a lovely dinner at their house a couple of weeks ago, enjoyed meeting his wife, and Alex, and Danielle, their 2 year old. Dennis had fun with Alex, said he is "cool" and "awesome". {We have recently dissolved the foundation. It was just too much for our small, busy "committee" to run it the way it needed to be run. I am sorry for this, but am finding other ways to honor Tim}

Simonson Photography kindly called In January and offered us the original of his last school photo, I thought that was so kind. I took it to DigiPhoto, the place he recommended and got some wallets, 5x7 and 3x5 made. I picked them up, and ordered an 8x10 at that time. I got them home and was not happy with the color, so I brought them back with the original so they could match it. He also said he would redo the 8x10, it's color was a bit off too. He said they were all paid for, and I said that I had not paid for the 8x10. He said it was paid for by Jessica. She works there part time, and is in the Madrigals at Aliso Niguel. I thought that was so sweet. I was so overwhelmed by her kindness that I started crying there in the store.

More journal

This is Tim. He was a handsome young man, and generally happy. He had a gentle and compassionate soul, and a fiery temper at times. I love Tim.

January 13, 2004S

Timisms: gaugy(gaw-gee) was hungry, va-va was bunny... we would make kind of a sucking noise with our front teeth over our lips, and Tim came up with va-va from that. He had a frog he got from the fair once, he called it Um-Green. Penglins= penguins, callapitter=catipillar, pine-noodles=pine-needles, pine-corns=pine-cones, by your hind you=behind you. I lalu FACE! We never knew what this meant: oooor, the botnot pickle! When he got the chicken pox, he called them chicken honks.

January 27, 2004

More Timisms came to my mind last week, but I did not write them down, and have forgotten now, but they will come again. Some days are so dry, some days the tears don't stop. My hardest times come when I think of the accident itself, and I wish I had been there with him. I know I could not have done anything, but I still wish it. And I would not change it at all, but I have a hard time dealing with the memories of him in the hospital. I am thinking of calling the hospital and seeing if they were able to use any of his organs, I would like to know that. (Interesting to note here on Jan 18, 2012: I know they could not use any of his organs because he had too many blood transfusions. We talked to someone about this at the hospital that night. I know that I was very forgetful and scatterbrained in the months that followed, this is proof of that. Apparently when I was writing the journal I did not remember that at all. Grief and trauma will take a toll on your mind, I know this.) Though I don't recall if anything got signed, and I think you might have to sign papers for things like that.

I was listening to Mark & Brian this morning, and thinking how much he loved that show. I wish he could have gone to one of the Christmas shows like he wanted to. I have not stopped eating, but am going to try walking more, and go easier on the eating. I had been doing so well, and I know I need to take care of myself. Hugh is finally sleeping better most nights, and his stomach upsets have calmed down some.

We went away to Palm Springs this weekend. It was nice to get away. We wanted to go to the summit of Mt. San Jacinto, but by the time we got there, there was snow. When we made plans a couple weeks ago, there was no snow. There is a log book up there to put you name in, Hugh wanted to put Tim's name in it. We did do some hiking, slogging through snow. The trails had been slightly cleared, by rangers tromping through them on snowshoes or skis I guess, but the further we went, the less easy it was. We probably hiked a little over 4 miles that day. It was a nice tram ride to the top too. I got a bit leaky once as we sat in the cafeteria enjoying hot drinks and our lunch, and thinking that Tim should have been occupying that empty chair. While we were at the top, the Game Boy Advance Dennis had brought was stolen from our room. It had been Tim's bought for his birthday last year. Plus 2 games, one was Tim's for this past Christmas, on Dennis's. I still need to call the hotel owner. We filed a police report.

Speaking of police reports, the deputy who was by to ask some questions, and said he would call us every week, has not called yet. I really hate when people say they will do something and do not follow through. And I have not heard back from the counselor at San Clemente High about meeting with Renee and her parents. I called about a yearbook from the high school, left a message, nobody has called me back. I sent a nasty letter yesterday reaming the lady who does the life stories for the Orange County Register, who never had the decency to call me back when I left 2 messages.

Last week, the cards stopped coming in the mail. Almost a month to the day that Tim died, the last card came. That was kind of hard, I looked forward everyday to hearing some words of comfort from someone new. We have gotten another few cards that have been hand delivered. Life goes on.

Oh my God, it is so hard, and this year stretching out before us is so long. I wonder some days how I will get through the days, how we will get through them. AA's creed, One Day At A Time, works well, often it is one moment, literally. Why did he have to die? Why my Tim? I would have been happy if he had to have a spleen removed, or something. Or even if he ended up in a wheelchair. I would gladly have him here with us. But I guess, though maybe God didn't have a plan for him, perhaps he took him because what laid before him was too much. He had already been through a lot in his short life, and the road was never easy for him. But he embraced it fully, and enjoyed life. Perhaps God saw what was in his future if he had survived, and thought it best to bring him home. He is certainly better there than in a vegetative state. But what nasty hand of fate turned this accident into this result? Being hit by a car going 25, or even 35 miles an hour is certainly survivable. What quirk was there, that instead of being hurt by the car, he landed on his head hard enough to do all that damage? I will never know the answers, I am sure, but will always have these questions.

A black and yellow butterfly has been on the walkway outside the past two mornings when I left for work. As I walk by and disturb it, it flits around me a bit before settling back down again in the sun. I like to think that it is Tim, coming to say Hi to me, and it makes me smile.

I spoke to a man named Ed Leard today. I have spoken with him before. His son rode the bus with Tim last year, and they became friends. His son, Alex, has a form of autism, which makes him at times socially awkward, and unacceptable to others. But Tim befriended him, and that meant a lot to Alex and his Dad. Ed is starting up a perpetual scholarship in Tim's name, the Tim Jackes Voice of an Angel music scholarship. It will be for graduating seniors who are going to continue in music education in college. What an unbelievable man this is. I cry every time I talk with him, and he cries too, for our loss for a boy he never met, for the kindness Tim showed his son. Once he has everything in place, he wants to take us out to lunch. God Bless this man. One of those every day angels.