Random stuff

Dennis swearing in for the USN.

Well, it's been awhile. I always think of things when I am not on the computer, things I would like to share, and of course, forget once I get here!

I recently had a dream with Tim in it, though I can't recall it now, and I almost think it was more of a thought of him in the dream than actually seeing him. But that reminds me of a song I want to share: I think of it as a sister song, I play it every time I get together with one or both of my sisters (we live 3000 miles apart). It's song by Chet Atkins and Mark Knopfler, called "The Next Time I'm in Town". Anytime Tim is in my dreams, I also think of this song. Sometimes when I sing it I change the words, to "the next time you're in town". As I have said before, when I dream of Tim, it is like a visit with him.

Now it's been something seeing you again

In this time we've had to spend 

You've been so good to be around

 I thank you for that special thrill 

Keep me going on untilThe next time I'm in town 

Though I won't be back here for a while 

Or hear your laughter, see you smile 

And I'll remember what went down 

I can't tell you how or when

 But I'll be seeing you again 

The next time I'm in town

 Now the places and the faces range

 'Cross the bridge of time and change

 Once again I'm homeward bound

 There's one thing I promise you 

And that's another rendezvous 

The next time I'm in town.

When I was recently out in CT to celebrate a milestone birthday of my oldest sister (oldest of 5), we played this song and we three sisters stood and hugged and cried. It makes me teary every time I hear it, but I will play it over and over again. I think it is a perfect sentiment. And when Vince Gill comes in with his sweet voice, it just makes it even better!

So, in a week and a half, Dennis will have his PIR (pass in review, or graduation) from Navy boot camp. He turned 21 last October. I am so proud of him, and so glad he has made this step to improve his life and opportunities. And yes, when he turned 21, of course I thought of Tim as well. I wondered what he might have been doing, where he might have been doing it, what he might look like, and of course, there was sorrow that he never reached that milestone.

Through the passing of time (it has been almost 10 years now), I have discovered things. Grief changes. It changes a person, it changes relationships to a smaller extent (in my case it has been nothing bad, all good), and it changes over time. The numbness gives way to feeling again, and this is not all good, the pain is immense. Grieving can open up your heart in ways you never knew. It can also close your heart off for its own protection. It eases, but it never goes away. If you allow yourself, you can think of the loved one you have lost with happy memories, and laugh and smile about them. Thoughts of them do not always have to be tearful and sorrowful. Yes, you will still miss them, every day in every way. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of Tim in some way. And yes, you will still cry. And it is still unpredictable, what might set you off. I still try to just go with the flow.

I shared with Dennis in a recent letter that parents are not perfect. We try to be consistent and fair, but we certainly make mistakes. We can certainly have regrets, "things we have done and things we have left undone", sometimes all we as parents can do is love our children and hope for the best. But when one has died, it just doesn't seem like enough, sometimes.

Tim would be 25 now. Perhaps working, or still in school, or both. He maybe would have been married with kids already. He loved kids, he would have made an awesome Dad, I am sure. And perhaps thinking of these what-ifs is detrimental to our well-being. Just try and stop a parent who has lost a child from thinking these things! Even if they have other children to watch as they grow up and start leading their own lives! It is a normal thing to do, I am certain. I read somewhere that when a parent dies we lose our past, when a child dies, we lose our future. And it makes perfect sense. This is not the future I envisioned 10 years ago. But it is reality, and I am living with it.

I can say that after the death of one child, it makes letting go of other children a little harder at times. When Dennis started high school, from where I dropped him off he had to cross a busy street and walk a creek-side path to the school. I dropped him off, drove down the parallel road, then turned around to pass again, just to make sure all was ok. I balked at him riding his bike to high school, even though it gave me, my car and gas a break. He was so little, and I worried. Tim had had a bike accident just a few months before his death. It was serious enough for the hospital (a brake lever punctured his abdomen). But, I had to let go, and I did. Dennis joining the Navy was a big letting go, but I was ready. I recognized that it was time for him to make his own way, maybe even past time. He has been away for 6 weeks at a time, so this separation was not a big deal in that regard, though there was less communication this time around. And I accept the fact that when he comes home again, it will be to visit, not likely to live here. He is making his own way, as he should. I am anxious to see the changes in him, and I worry about him getting through all the tests and stuff, but he is determined, and he has to do it himself. All in all, in spite of our concerns and and mistakes, when I look at him, I think we must have done something right. He is a good person.

 

Peace.

School bus stops near 26 angels in Monroe, CT, on way to school from Newtown.

I can only imagine how difficult it must have been in Newtown this morning. Parents of surviving children put those children on buses, or drove them to their new school in Monroe, CT. I can imagine the uncertainty, and maybe even terror, of letting those children out of their sights for the day. Kids are pretty resilient, we parents have a harder time moving past some things, being all too aware of the horror out there. On Dennis' 1st day at high school, I hung around and did a drive by or 2, making sure he made it down the trail from the drop-off ok. He was a little guy, and his brother was dead. And I worried.
Though I was usually one for instilling them with independence, I fought Dennis riding his bike to HS. The year that Tim died, he was riding to school 1 day early in the school year, he hit a rock and went flying. His helmet was cracked, but the head was fine. His worst injury was the brake handle that punctured his abdomen. As I was pulling back into garage after moving the car so he could get his bike, I noticed he did not have his helmet on, so I honked and pointed, and he went into the house to retrieve it. 3 months later he was a pedestrian struck by a car and killed. Ironically, there was no damage from the car, but his head hitting the road was fatal. Had he had a helmet on, he might have survived. But a parent can't really make a child walk around wearing his helmet all day.

Letting go, in any way, shape or form, is hard.

Peace.

Some things on my mind.

An ornament from an unknown friend.

{Chirstmas}
For many years now (9), my favorite holiday season has been Easter. The long journey of Lent, which if you do it right, can be very arduous, is followed by the hope of resurrection. I am sure I don't even need to explain why that hope of resurrection was so exciting to me. But something changed during Advent of this Christmas. Christmas suddenly became my favorite season again. I can't explain why, what was different in this 9th year after Tim's death. But only that the joy and desire of all this Holy day has to offer maybe broke through the wall protecting my heart a little. And a week or 2 before Christmas I had the thought that without the birth of Christ, there can be no resurrection (I knew this, but had put it aside for many years). And the following Sunday our priest said that exact thing. And right now, our camels and wise men are trekking through our home, on their quest to find the Baby King. It is still Christmas here, and the wise guys will reach their destination on Epiphany, Jan. 6th. (or as we sometimes call it in our house, Epi-fanny)

{Life}
Life is not easy. Life after a trauma in your life is even harder. I am guessing this is true for most people, but there is not a day that goes by that there is not some reminder of our trauma, and that brings a little low point in the day. Not that we go around moping all our days, or live our lives in a funk, we just  go down that roller coaster hill then climb back up again. And for the most part, nobody around us is even aware of our little dips. On the other hand, for me at least, I can also be raised higher by memories of Tim. The roller coaster ride never ends. But how we handle that ride is up to us. We can choose to live again, no matter how hard it might be. Or we can choose to wallow in the miry depths of our despair and never see the light of day again. Life is good if we let it be. It's just not always easy. And we all have our coping mechanisms, and they are not always healthy. It could be drink or drugs, or shutting yourself in. Or like me, eating. It might be healthy, like working through it with exercise, or art. But we can't condemn others for what they need to get through, just offer help and support if they are hurting themselves. But honestly, I am not sure if I chose to live again, or if life chose me.

{The Journey}
As a grieving parent, I have met either in person or online, a lot of other grieving parents. And we are friends exactly because of our shared journey. It is unfortunate, but there it is. I would rather not know these people, but they help me, and I hope I help them. Even if we don't grieve the same, or share the same relationship with our dead children, we know what they are going through, even if the cause of death is vastly different. It doesn't matter, you see, because the end result is still the same, our child has died. We can have more empathy, and a touch of understanding, because we have been there, done that. I have reached out more than once to others who have lost their children, just as others have reached out to me. We don't necessarily offer advice, just knowledge borne of experience. We share what helped us, and we listen. I guess maybe it's kind of like war vets having reunions, because they are the only ones who truly know and understand what the others have been through. And we hate that anyone else has to go through this, but we are so glad not to be alone.

I have other things to share, some issues I have, but am not finding the words to write it here right now, so will save that for another day. And so I leave you with this wish, as always, for


Peace.

And a Blessed New Year.