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___