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.