Baird Soul

Graduation

2017-08-30T11:39:00.002-05:00

It's been 2 years since my last article. And yes, I said that in my head as if confessing to a priest. Since I am not Catholic, my confessions stay mute and my articles unwritten. The unquenchable need to write is anguish when the words refuse to come. However, if I am honest, I think the real issue is I have refused the emotions needed to reach into the creative pit to find those words, because that pit also houses the power to destroy me.

So today, I will start with a small story about perspective.

So much has occurred in the last few years, so much I wouldn't even begin to attempt to explain. In May, my middle son graduated high school and left for the Army. I would not spend his 18th birthday with him. I would not get to spend an 18th birthday with either of my sons. I was overwhelmed with emotion as I was preparing the photos and such for graduation parties and all the "lasts", thinking of all the have-nots and didn'ts. I was lost for awhile in the loss of time and innocence. But as I sat there with my tear-stained face missing the young boy that this young man once was, I realized the last time I put pictures of a life together, we didn't get to move forward. The last time I gathered pictures from birth to age 17, it was for a funeral.

If you think that was a sobering thought, you'd be right. When I put pictures together celebrating a life that was gone too soon reminded me that my oldest son, Austin, the boy who came from me, who I loved for 17 years and will love forever, the boy who was now gone from this earth unexpectedly, I was suspended in the things that were lost. I was lost in all of the things I didn't do and now couldn't do and would never do. I was lost in all of the arguments and the missed opportunities and all of the things that were taken from him and the world. Putting those pictures together for his funeral made me, for the briefest moment, remember that my son LIVED. That life wasn't perfect, but I loved him so entirely and I tried. We had millions of happy moments. I struggle daily to remember that and not the things that were lost. Most days I lose the battle. But the war rages on.

When I put pictures together for my middle son, Brandon's, graduation, without realization or comparison, I was wrapped up in the loss of his childhood and all of the things that I did not do. But when I realized the last time I had put pictures together was for a funeral, it changed everything. Where all my mistakes and shortcomings still there? Yes. Will they always be there? Yes. Can I change that? No. But I saw the boy who came from me, who I loved for 17 years and will love forever and gets to go forward. That little boy who I loved so entirely grew into a young man and overcame more obstacles than he should have had to. We, as a family, were broken and then nearly destroyed, and we rebuilt. We struggled, we still struggle, we fought, we cried, and we are still here. My middle son GETS to go on. I get to see him do whatever comes next for him. And what is even more important, I know, without a doubt, that this son knows how wholly I love him. I was able to put pictures together for something so wonderful and see his life and the man he has become AND I am able to see where we go next. There is a next. Nothing is promised. Not ever. So even though this next chapter is hard as hell too, I am so thankful for the time to come.

I am not healed. I will never be. I am not ok. I will never be. There is a pain and hole in my heart every single day that I feel. It will never go away. I am a master at adapting and cloaking. But perhaps, I've also graduated.

40

2015-09-09T01:43:00.001-05:00

Today was my 40^th birthday. 40. Wow. I arrived at this day, kicking and screaming, dragged through the mud by life the whole way.

I want to be graceful. I want to look at 40 and say “Hell Yea! I made it here. No one, including myself, thought I would! I understand so much more about myself and embrace the next 40 years. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and been through a lot, but now I have so much more knowledge and so much to offer others! I look and feel great!” But, I cannot. Grace and I don’t really get along. In fact, the heavy depression that is my shadow has been stalking me heavily, as of late. It has been whispering in my ear all of the things I have not done, have not accomplished, will not accomplish. Speaking in hushed tones of the time that is slipping, so quickly, away from me. Reminding me my babies are not little anymore. That one has left this earth, untouchable. And every day, I must fight this dark passenger (a joke for you Dexter fans), and it is exhausting.

Most of my friends are between 38 and 50. I know several, really great people in their 60s & 70s as well. They are good people. I do not look at any of them and think they are old. Or that they should have it all figured out by now; that they should never make a mistake or get off track. Quite the opposite. I try to offer them understanding, and second chances and support. Most of them are in the prime of their life. Most of them are the most beautiful they have ever been, inside and out. And the ones that aren’t, well…those aren’t really people I associate with anymore. Because I’ve learned something, at least. But, that beauty, in the good ones, it shines so bright. Maybe that is what scares me. The fading. The downhill. The slope. Moreover, the fact that I cannot do anything about that. And, somehow, all the things I forgive and feel about others, I fail to apply to myself.

At the end of the day-I may not have the amount I want in my savings account; I may not be or ever see my ideal weight or have the cup size I wish for; I may not always have the best health; I may not have the helicopter, the house with a staff and a lazy river; the endless vacations or any of that fluff.

However, what I do have is priceless. I have a home, a family, food in the fridge and clothing in my closet and a job I love. I am surrounded by the absolute best people. They may not cure cancer or solve world hunger (although they might), but they are amazing individuals. They are smart, thoughtful, caring, funny people who continuously show me love and support and loyalty. They, for some unbeknownst reason, care for me and understand my brand of crazy. They show up at 40^th surprise birthday parties 40 days before my birthday, like that’s not weird. They stay up late at night planning something so special it will pull a tear from my restrained dry eyes. They are there when the days are dark and rainy. They are there when the sun shines, and it is time to celebrate. And they are beautiful, inspiring and astounding. I have the most thoughtful, considerate husband in the world. Who puts together a birthday party with a million balloons and reminds me every day that I am loved, and that there is always hope. That I am not alone. I could write a book on this man, and perhaps one day I will. He could give lessons. He is the definition of amazing. And more.

And so…with all of those amazing people surrounding me, with all of that hope and positivity, I put my 30s to bed. They are gone. I cannot do anything about this. I have lost more important things. It is beyond my control and I will accept defeat, this time. I will take the advice I gave today and realize life never makes sense to us. You can wish for what you want or you can work towards a goal, you can fast forward through the crappy stuff, but in the end, you miss all the important things if you do this. All those heartbreaking moments where you share a tear, all the ordinary moments of making dinner and laundry and homework, all the times you lend a hand or offer friendship, or the sharing of humor and a cup of coffee, they add up to an important life that touches many.

I have seen so very much in my 40 years. Not as much as most, and more then some. 40 years, think about it. The Bears won a Super Bowl. Spaceships flew and fell. Wars have broken out. Wars have ended. The state of the Union has changed drastically. I lost a classmate in 2^nd and 4^th grade. I still miss them. The Soviet Union dissolved. Cults have murdered their followers. I have seen 7 presidents work their way through the White House. I made lifelong friends. I lost friends who I thought would be lifelong friends. I got married. I got divorced. I had 3 beautiful children. I buried my father. I watched my nieces and nephews grow. I played Volleyball on a bar league. I raced my Trans Am at Byron Speedway. I rode horses. I loved Heavy Metal. I traveled to Ireland. I used a Commodore 64 as my first computer. I skipped a lot of high school. I got in a lot of trouble. I remember the sound of the internet modem dialing up. I got my motorcycle license. My first cell phone was a bag phone. I have seen the emergence of technology beyond belief. I have walked in a Suicide Awareness fundraiser. I remember our first VCR. It was about the size of a microwave. I ran/walked, but finished a 5k and tore my meniscus in the first 30 seconds, which led to the removal of 75% of it a few months later.I have been a friend. I have been an enemy. I have watched the debate on abortion, GMOs, stem cell research, cloning and civil rights. I have learned to cook well. I have watched the towers fall and a nation mourn. I have stepped on Ellis Island where almost all of our ancestors came through. I have fallen in love. I have married. I have seen the fall of the Berlin Wall. I have seen my children do things they didn’t think they could. I have witnessed miracles. I have watched their first steps and held them to my chest. I have seen compassion where it was not expected. I have found music that touches my soul. I have rolled my jeans. I have learned to drive a stick shift. I have made people laugh. I have buried a son. I have seen the most beautiful sunsets. I have swam in rivers, lakes, pools & the ocean. And probably a puddle. I have seen puppies, kittens, foals & babies born. I have been the partner for a friend in a Lamaze class.

And along the way, there were those people. You people. Thank you all for loving me, even when I am unlovable. Or at least tolerating me. You mean more to me than you could know.

Here is just a little insight into what 40 looks like on me and what the year leading up to the big 40 looked like.

Grief. It's what's for dinner.

2014-07-28T11:16:00.003-05:00

I was asked recently for advice on how to cope with grief. How to rationalize and make it stop hurting so much after x amount of time. This was a very personal conversation and I wish to not take away from it. But it made me think of the things I wish someone had said to me. This may not flow as well as it should, given it was a response to specific questions/situations, but I think you can follow along. It made me think maybe someone else needed to hear it... so here it is, paraphrased and edited for privacy.

Ok, so first of all - You are not crazy. So stop worrying about that. Grief makes us think we are. It is a raw emotion.

Unfortunately, 3 1/2 years later, I still don't have a good answer for you on how to cope, or how to get through. I cope, just one day at a time... I go days and can muster through, sometimes there are really good days and then other times, I can't get out of bed. I cry and wail and scream and hate and cry and love and am a huge disaster. A huge ugly ball of mess. I search for meaning in everything. But, it's all part of it. You can't love someone so entirely, have them mean so very much and then just one day be ok with them being gone, being out of your life. They were too important, too special, too meaningful for it to be easy and pretty.

Honestly, I can't believe that there isn't a heaven. There is. There is a connection between the worlds. It is real. Dreams where we get to see our loved one again and they tell us something meaningful can mean two things - either they are speaking to you directly, telling you exactly all of the things you hear them saying in your dream, or you are telling yourself those things, because it was all the things you know in your heart that person would be saying to you. Either way, its their voice. Don't belittle it. It was meant to comfort you. Embrace that. But every time we "feel" the presence of someone that has left, it leaves us wanting more, and it makes us (or me anyway) go through the loss a little bit again. I am grateful for the time, but its so bittersweet.

Grief does not have a definite beginning and end date. It is a lifetime process. It never goes away, unfortunately. I truly believe that our loved ones go to a better place. One without suffering or pain. But that doesn't make us miss them any less. It doesn't fill the void they left behind. It doesn't stop the hurt.

In times of turmoil, we think of the person we are missing even more. But the truth is, our futures are always uncertain. That doesn't change, just our perception of it does. The only way I have survived is to keep breathing. Even when the air in my lungs hurts. Even when it stabs my chest. It is the only requirement. Give it 24 hours.. and then another and then another. Until it doesn't hurt so much. And forgive yourself for whatever it is that you think you shouldn't forgive yourself for. You are doing a wonderful job being you. You are amazing. And it is ok to cry and be a wreck. And then you pick yourself back up and try again. Sometimes through vulnerability we build strength.

Shards of hope.

2014-05-07T00:38:00.000-05:00

Written May 7, 2014:

On my way to sunny Las Vegas for the annual conference for Arbonne. I am so very excited and humbled by this opportunity. It is not just the products, the company, or the motivation and inspiration. It is being surrounded by people who get it. Who understand. Who are content and happy and full of gratitude but still striving to do more, be more and to enjoy their path.
So many wonderful conversations with amazing individuals that I would have never had the opportunity to meet if not for Arbonne. But one reoccurring theme this week and today is allowing yourself to be you. Last year I had this amazing story about the the marine who felt he needed to meet me, because I was being myself in a sea of people who were not. I get caught up in this cycle too. I want to be everything and I want to be everything well.. It is an impossible task and I am unforgiving of myself. I have yet, still, to treat myself as a friend. Learning to be enough is the new challenge. But let's talk about what was just said...
I am not putting this out there for compliments or for comments but rather the idea that we all struggle with this. And we all need to get over ourselves already.
When I look in the mirror I see a middle age woman who feels like a fake. I see unruly hair that is turning white. I see eyes with lots of lines, a nose that's too large and a crooked smile with crooked yellow teeth. I see excess weight and stretch marks everywhere. I see white pale skin with red blotches, thanks parents for those genes, and I see someone who will never be the same. I see a broken heart and scars that will never heal. I see every mistake ever made and every bad choice or wicked thought. I see imperfection, heartache and despair. But wait...what is that.. Right there in the corner of my imperfect eye...that small bit of twinkle, that tiny shard that still glows. It is HOPE. It lives still in all of us, even when we don't realize it. It's the quiet whisper that says "maybe you can".
I do not understand how the Laura I see and the Laura everyone else sees can be so different. Others talk about inner strength, beauty, charisma, love, magnetism and compassion. Perhaps they see who I wish I was? Perhaps they just don't see all of the dark webs, or perhaps that is all I can see.
How truly tired it is too carry around this much disgust for ones self. Vulnerability. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable and open even though you have been hurt, is where true character and true strength come from. Not shutting everyone out, not hiding yourself away, but being able to say here are my flaws, but I am still worthy, I am still amazing and I am not perfect, but I am awesome. And I am worth your time. Allowing someone in when it would be so much less painful to keep them out is strength. Allowing your heart to be on your sleeve even though it gets stabbed repeatedly is courage. Telling someone you care for them, and taking a risk, is worth it. It is not weakness, but faith and caring. My point is that we are all so similar.. We do not see all the good things about ourselves. We do. Not allow a imperfection. But we do not expect that from others, how can we expect it from ourselves. Be who you are, hot mess and all. You will find a greater peace and reconcile the two opinion ions of yourself.

Sent from my iPad

Not too late

2013-08-23T11:04:00.000-05:00

I just posted this on my Facebook:

When it seams as if all you hear are horrible things, awful accounts of violence and sickening events...remember all is not bad in the world. Look for the beauty and the peace and the people who love unabashed. Look at the teenagers who are curing cancer, smiling through horrible times, writing poetry and still have hope. The world is not as awful as it seams...The change in the world, the beauty, starts with each of us.

But I felt like there was more to my statement. This week, I have read at least 10 articles about horrible things that have happened in the world involving teenagers. I have read an article about 3 kids who were bored and shot an athlete, I have read a story about kids who broke another kids arm and yet another that states that a group of teenagers beat an 88 year old man, who defended our country, to death. It honestly makes me want to vomit. It makes me want to curl up inside my home, crying and just wait for the end. But then I remember, there is more.
Sensational, horrible news is less than 10% of what happens in the world. There are teenagers curing cancer, developing products that we will use well into our retirement years, and there are teens every single day making a huge difference in the lives of everyone around them. Those teens grow up and become "us". When my son died, and all was lost in the world, the one thing that I remember that keeps me going on those dark, dark days is kindness and hope. That there is goodness & kindness in the world still. His schoolmates, his friends - they all reached out. All of them. Even if they did not know what to say or do. They reached out and shared a word or a story with me. Most of the grown adults I know, were unable to do that. They didn't know what to say, so they said nothing. These kids could not be silenced by "etiquette" or "saying the wrong thing." The youth of the world are polite, they are considerate, they are hopeful, they are caring, they are full of ideas and beauty. They are full of creativeness and have not been beat down by life yet. They are fresh and energetic and passionate, because no one has told them they cant be. What a disservice we do to ourselves and to the world and to these kids when we squash those things. We attended a memorial at my son's high school days after his death. I really don't know how. I don't know how I got there, or stood up in front of those kids, or spoke. But the thing I took from that experience is what I needed most. Hope, Love, Kindness. Those kids came from different backgrounds, had lots of their own problems, did not know me, some did not even know my son, but all of them reached out, said a kind word and took something from the experience. They might not have all been eloquent, but they all possessed true caring and generosity. Some were more in tune and sensitive than many adults I know. I have had the gift of knowing some of those kids more in the last few years, and I am better for it. I have said many times, that we are blessed to have this generation to turn our world over to. They will make a difference. Yes, there are the bad events, yes, there are even some bad people. But those have always existed. WE can choose to talk about all the awful things that happen, or WE can choose to point out the kid who is a first generation immigrant, who takes care of her family so there is no time for social or athletic events and yet manages to get straight A's and get a scholarship to college. WE can choose to rave about the teenager who is working on identifying certain cancer strains earlier. WE can choose to point out the kid that should have turned out "bad" but chose to rise above and do better for himself and his country. WE can choose to point out the kid who brought a smile to the face of someone who desperately needed it. WE can choose to talk about the kid who volunteers after school and weekends because they KNOW they can make a difference, even if it's in the life of just one person. WE can choose to talk about all the kids every day who make good choices and do the right thing. WE can choose to admit we weren't and aren't any better. So instead of bashing the next generation, why don't we give them a hand. Tell them how wonderful and truly unique they are. That they aren't all just products of bad parenting, bad environments, or a bad world. The world can be whatever they make it. And we can help. It's not too late.

Mother’s Day 2013

2013-05-16T11:47:00.003-05:00

Mother’s Day 2013. What a bittersweet day for me. It was too emotional to write that day, although that is when my creativity flows the strongest.

On one hand, I am extremely blessed. I have been a mother for more than 20 years. I have given birth to 3 beautiful, healthy children that have taught me so much, given me so much joy and filled my heart with more love than I knew physically possible. I have felt the sweet snuggles of babies, the joy of first words and steps, the pride of seeing my child do the right thing, the sweet sticky hugs that never go away, and the life lessons. On the other, I have one son who will never call on Mother’s Day. Or, any other day, for that matter. And while it is apparent every day, special occasions are harder to ignore. I have felt the pain of loss so intense my heart still hurts every single day. I have felt the detrimental ache of what ifs and if only’s. I bore the weight of knowing I will never see my oldest son do any of the things he should have done. I have heard things I have never wanted to know, and seen things I never wanted to see. And yet, I am still breathing.

But this post is not really about my bittersweet day, it is about something else entirely. It just happened to manifest itself on that day. I have been thinking about how I can get involved with helping an organization that I felt passionate about. Perhaps something with kids, self esteem, teenage pregnancy, suicide, something along those lines? Something I knew a little something about, and could give back from the hard lessons I have learned in my life? And I kept looking at my calendar, thinking I was unsure how to fit it in, but not letting that deter my thinking. However, I was unable to settle on a “cause”. And then I received this message in my inbox from a very special girl in my neighborhood. And she shared with me her post about Mother’s Day. And seeing me through her eyes was the most wonderful gift I could have received that day. It truly touched me. And as I was discussing this with my husband, after I was done crying, of course, he said to me…"Laura, maybe the problem isn’t really what organization you should get involved with. Maybe, looking for a cause is not the right thing. Maybe you need to realize that living your life every day, and being you, touches more people than you could possible realize." (This is paraphrased, he words things much smarter sounding than I). So after I picked myself up from bawling again...I realized I had lost touch with the original idea of this blog, this purpose I have. It was the very reason I had set out on this blogging journey. For myself, and for all of us to remember that each and every one of us has the power, every single day, to give, to make a difference just by being you. You may not realize people are watching, or even realize they know you exist. But they do. And you freaking matter. A lot.

Happy Birthday, son.

2013-03-26T16:37:00.001-05:00

Honestly, I have no words. I have nothing new to contribute or even say. I tried to write a poem to read tonight as we released balloons in my son's honor. He would have been 20 today. But no words came. I posted words that were inadequate on Facebook. I sat and stared blankly at the screen waiting for some poetic words to come to mind to share with friends tonight. I sat and stared while trying to write something meaningful here today. I am spent. I have nothing. There are no words of encouragement, no words of regret, no words of sorrow, no words of understanding. There is just nothingness.

I scanned pictures to Facebook of birthdays past. We only got to share 17 of them. I looked at his smiling face, searching in his eyes for when something changed. I looked for demons, I looked for sadness, and I looked for answers I knew I would not find. And I was right. I found nothing but the beautiful face of my son. I felt anger for things I would never get to know. Things that I must know, but can not. I watched us sing happy birthday to him and heard his beautiful laugh and saw his smiling face. And for just a moment, it was as if he was here, and never had gone. But then he blew out the candles and the picture went dark. Never had there been a better scene. No director could have timed it so perfectly, no writer could have written it better. In one moment, we went from happy, joyous moments of smiling people and love filling the room to utter darkness.

Numb, please.

2013-02-21T16:24:00.001-06:00

The dreaded date is upon us. Only a few more days until the day marks 2 years since my son died. I have been playing a losing game of cat and mouse with the acknowledgment of this fact. In the last two years I have been trying to work on so many things. Forgiveness, mostly of myself, understanding, love, growth, tolerance, etc. But there seems to be no end in sight. It seems when I get over one hill, there is another large hill behind it that I didn't quite see. In two years, I have lost a son, gained really great friends, lost friends who I thought would never walk away, learned to depend on a man who has yet to let me down, gained a husband (the dependable man and the husband are one of the same), taken two great trips, had my world ripped apart again and again, been attacked by words of people who need to tear people down, been harassed and misunderstood. And loved. I have been loved. And I have tried to find those bright spots in the world, in each day. Because they are there. And they are magnificent, even through the pain. I have tried to smile. I have loved a little deeper. I have tried to brighten someone else's day and try to remind people how much I care. If anything else, to make sure I avoid so much guilt, next time. But as this week approaches, all I want to be is numb. I don't want to feel anything, I don't want to be. Even my body knows it, with its aches and pains and crushing gravity. It has been incredibly difficult to get out of bed each day. Perhaps I should just acknowledge my pain and the date. But its an odd thing. Why would this date hurt more? Every day my heart hurts. Every day. It's unlikely that it will hurt more on the 24th. But the approach of the date brings the flashbacks a bit more prominently to mind, and as much as I try to avoid or deny it, the date is significant. I remember the day the world stopped turning. Even if I don't want to. I remember what I was doing, where I was, and every event after that. I remember the searing pain in my chest. Because it is still there.
For someone who is sentimental and feels the passing of time like a huge grandfather clock echoing in her ear, the date is crushing. It forces acknowledgement and remembrance of things I would like to forget. I don't want to forget he lived. I just want to forget he isn't still living. I almost wish I could go absolutely bat shit crazy and invent a nice little story. That would hurt a lot less. I'm angry, and in constant turmoil, and in constant pain. I really cant relinquish, quite yet, to submersing in that feeling, because, as always, I am afraid its not one I can come back from. There have been so many things that have happened, in the last 6 months even, that I can not comprehend. And I am tired. I am so freaking tired of aching. And trying to understand. And trying to go on. I just really could use a rest. Maybe in March I will feel better. Or perhaps not. His birthday is the 26th. He would have been 20. Perhaps April? Perhaps I can just plan to live from April through Thanksgiving. And then from the holidays through March 31st, I will just exist. My entire life has been spent smiling through the pain, but I fear my smile is broken.

Quit wishing away your time

2013-02-13T09:28:00.002-06:00

Every day, during the week, I count down til Friday. I always say there is a 10% mood increase each day. So Monday I come in and I am at 50%, Tuesday 60%, Wednesday 70% etc, etc. Saturday and Sunday are at 100%. Somewhere between 9pm Sunday night and 5 am Monday morning we reset to 50%. Today, 9 days away from the 2 year anniversary of the worst day of my life, that has shattered my world and left a gaping hole in my heart that will never heal, I realized that is such a stupid way to live. I am wasting every day waiting for the weekend. I am wishing away most of my life. Those are times I can not get back, not ever. I am working towards changing the part of my life that makes me most miserable (the things within my control) but it will take awhile. And that is how it will be. But it really is a sad thing to just wish most of your life away because of your circumstance. Work on changing it, yes! Start today, yes! But most of all, enjoy all the in between. Because that is where life happens and memories are made. They aren’t only made on Saturday and Sunday. They aren’t only made when you are not burdened. They are made every minute. Every moment, so enjoy those times. It will be what carries you through the bad. It will be what lights the darkness, even if its just a little. Trust me.

Dear Blog...

2013-01-16T22:46:00.000-06:00

Dear Blog,

Please quit nagging me. I know you are here. I know you are being neglected. I know the moments have passed and the words and their insightfulness have died while you were waiting for me.

In December, I was going to write about the tragedy in Connecticut. Even though every person on every soap box was also writing about it. I did not want to write from a political point of view, or even from a loss point of view. More of a simple statement, said with love. Which is get off our soapboxes and love. Make better people, not better rules. Then I decided the issue was too raw so I would write about family and loss during the holidays. Then it was a reflection on the year. Its major blissful events, and its turmoil, its losses, its abandonment. 2012 was a busy year. Engaged, starting a business, kids, work, getting married, going to Ireland, renewing great friendships and having ones end unexpectedly. Then it was a lengthy discussion of what a parent is supposed to do when a member of her bruised and broken and hurting family, tells her he does not want to live anymore. The tremendous pain and anguish, of knowing what is on the line, of being fearful that every day, maybe one of your amazing, brilliant, absolutely beautiful persons who you love more than anything in this world, may not wake up, because they chose not to.

But it was all too much. I used to wonder if people who went crazy knew they were going crazy. The answer, in my most humble opinion, is yes. They see it, they feel it, but there isn't anything they can do. Just as no matter how much you love someone and how much you want to fix everything for someone, you just cant make them do what you want. It is all still too much. Every day I work on trying to find purpose and energy and POSITIVENESS. Every single day I try. So the problem now, you see, is in order to be POSITIVE, I do not know how to balance the things that I need to write to you about. It causes me to avoid you like the plague (funny how people use that saying still today in 2013; I mean, really, the plague was over 600 years ago). I have always struggled with middle ground. Meaning I do not have one. I do not know how to balance.

So, you see, dear blog, it is not you, it is me. I hope to return to you soon, as I do so miss you.

Your's Truly,

Laura

Thankful.

2012-11-02T14:00:00.003-05:00

I spend a lot of time being angry and disappointed about the things that were taken from me or that have happened to me. I think most people do not realize how INCREDIBLY thankful I am for the gifts in my life. I have never participated in a 30 days of Thanksgiving, but thought I would just see how long it took me to come up with 30 things I was thankful for. It took me 2 minutes to write 30 things. They are heartfelt and meaningful even if they seem vague. They all mean something very personal to me. I could have written 1000 more things I am thankful for. Every moment of almost every day. Childbirth, the good night kisses, footsteps in the hall, kids climbing into bed with you to wake you up, all of it... but here is what I came up with:

1 The chance to know and love my first born son, Austin
2 The chance to look at things through my daughter, Carissa's eyes
3 The wonderful

humor of my son, Brandon
4 The reassurance and love from my husband, Kevin
5 The gift of good friends
6 The lessons from bad friends
7 Second chances.
8 Family. With all the good, bad and ugly that comes with it.
9 The feeling of dreaming and possibilities
10 Sunrises
11 Sunsets
12 Birthdays (even though I don't like the age that comes with them)
13 Movies & books - the thoughts and creativity of others taking me into a different world
14 Music. Always music. For putting a beat and some lyrics to a feeling I feel. For making my heart happy with the right words and for pouring out my anguish I can not speak.
15 A home to call my own
16 My own creativeness, especially when it is expressed
17 Laughter. Without it, the world would be too cold.
18 The light in my child's eyes.
19 Sunbeams pouring through windows on cold days
20 Rainy days and a blanket
21 The world's beauty, it still catches my breath
22 Christmas Eve, when the world is quiet and full of magic
23 Christmas morning, the family togetherness and Christ
24 Good deeds done for people who need them the most, by the people least likely to give them
25 My children's smiles
26 The laughter of my loved ones. Especially if I was the reason they were laughing
27 Opportunity
28 Forgiveness
29 Love - the really, really, really good kind.
30 Reminders to be thankful for what we have, always.

Searching for a face in a crowd

2012-10-24T13:44:00.000-05:00

It has been an emotional month with getting married to this most perfect (for me) man and having a dream honeymoon to follow. Lots of love and emotion flowing, with an undercurrent of loss. Noticing there is someone missing at every major event does not come easy and without heartache even in the most joyous of occasions. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind there is a young mom screaming at me wondering where he is, how he would look and how he would be reacting. There is an old, tired mom telling her to shut up, for she can not take the screaming nor the pain. We are back to reality after a blissful honeymoon, which has been a very harsh adjustment. Trying to hold on to the strings of joy and happiness in a fast paced life is difficult. It seems as if people really try to rip that from you. Not wanting to let go of those good positive feelings but yet adjusting to everyday life again has been a challenge.

I have lived in or near a college town since I was 14. When I was young, it was cool, a little older - it was a place to party, yet older still - it was an annoyance to deal with people in MY town and now I just avoid that side of town. Its inconvenient with the masses of students and traffic it brings, but I have learned when to avoid certain areas. I really have never given it much thought, until yesterday. I drove to get some Jimmy John's for lunch (they are so freaky fast, but they don't deliver across town to my office!). I had a couple of stops to make, so the route took me through the campus area. I was, for once, enjoying my drive, thinking what a beautiful fall day it was. How even though this campus has been named one of the most dangerous now, it is still a small town, nice campus, where girls and boys (who look younger every year) can walk to classes in general safety and enjoy such a fine day with the leaves changing and falling and the crisp air in their lungs. And then it hit me. Like a Mack truck running me down like something out of Maximum Overdrive. My son would have been one of these kids. Not this campus, not this town, but he would have been one of them. I looked for the young men in hoodies and earbuds, slouching down the sidewalk without worry. I looked at every face I passed as the tears rolled down my face. I looked for him, knowing I would never find him. Not on this campus or any other. He would not feel the crisp fall air on his face. He would not have a conversation with the pretty girl walking next to him. He would not attend class, or graduate. Or go to keggers, or be part of a fraternity, or be part of anything but our hearts & memories. I had to pull over in the parking lot of the bookstore (where I worked when I was 15), where I bawled like a crazy person. I miss him so very much. Every day I can go through the motions. I can feel joy and pain, happiness and loss now. But I miss him with every breath. I feel robbed of my time with him and I feel so very sad that he did not get to experience these things. I feel differently about everything. But mostly, I just feel loss now, more than anything. Just a hole in my heart that will never heal. Wondering and searching, but never finding.

I do think that day changed my view of the campus. In the future, instead of being annoyed by these rowdy kids taking over MY town, I shall try to welcome them, smile at them and not be angry at their youth and ignorance (for I am not any more wise). They are far away from home, in new places with new faces, scared and excited about the future. I would want someone to do that for my son, so I shall try to do it for someone else's.

For ever after...

2012-09-24T11:15:00.002-05:00

It has been so long since I’ve written, I am almost not sure I remember how. I have no agenda for this post, or any thought to where it may go. I miss writing. I am not sure I remember how to dig down deep and examine the broken shards of my heart & soul & put them onto paper. But, tragedy & loss affect us so deeply and entirely that we must force ourselves to examine those shards periodically or we fall apart all together. They start forcing their way out into everyday life if we refuse them. There is always an underlying sadness and ache that is within everything we do. It is important for me to realize this and try not to mask it, but to let it co-exist with happier days. To deny this sadness is to let it overtake the happy. To recognize and acknowledge it allows them to be together but separate. But it is so hard. The memoires flood back at the most unexpected moments, violently and without warning. Hateful are they, in their attack on my vulnerable emotions. Vicious in their relentlessness. I don’t want to remember, but I don’t want to forget either. Is there no middle ground? I understand the meaning of trauma and torment much more than I wish to. And then there is just ache. I miss my son, so very much. I miss the sound of his voice and the happiness in his laugh. I miss every single thing about him. And even with time, that doesn’t get easier or the feeling of loss less severe. It seems like yesterday he was standing in my doorway, yet it seems like 100 years since I have heard his words. Time is a bizarre thing. Grief, even more strange. It interweaves itself into every aspect of life. So that every day, every instance you feel more removed from other people. More different, more unlike them. More capable of understanding others, but yet less capable of being understood. Every action and reaction is affected. Life is changed in death.

Memories

2012-07-24T22:14:00.000-05:00

It has been an incredibly tense and stressful week or so. Not that all weeks aren't tense and stressful, but this one more than others. The stress and frustration burdens the pain and grief so much more. I feel so motivated to write, but I have myself blocked off too much to dig that deep. Some days it is just too much to feel. But reminders of my tragic event pop up when I least expect it. A visit to a doctors office that seemed innocent enough left me rattled and unsettled. He, too, had recently lost his son. We shared the pain with words unspoken and it was good to not have to say anything. However, it still blindsided me. My dreams are frequently both blessed and tormented for entire nights by memories and thoughts of my oldest son. My middle son's laugh is starting to sound exactly like his brothers. Plus with his hair growing a little longer, he resembles him more and more. It is both a blessing and a curse, for both of us. A few days ago I stumbled upon a notebook, while cleaning. It contained the speech I wrote and delivered at the memorial that was held at my son's high school. Since I have no new words at the moment, I wish to share with this with you now. This was written and delivered two or three days after his death.

"Some of you may already know this, so forgive me for being redundant. When Austin was young he went to North school here in town from kindergarten through half of 5th grade. He was the sweetest kid with his blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was such a ham, loving to make people laugh. He was always so sensitive to other peoples feelings. He loved his friends and he loved playing AYSO soccer and being a boy scout. In the middle of 5th grade, we moved to our new home in a new town, where he became part of that community, playing soccer, acting in a middle school play, doing all the stuff middle schoolers do. He was a bright and funny boy who loved people and tried to make them feel good. He spent a year and a half at the high school playing varsity soccer & hanging out with friends, getting his license and growing into a bright, caring young man. When his dad and I separated and his dad moved back to Sycamore, Austin jumped at the chance to go back to those schools. That is where he felt at home, where he felt he belonged. He loved being here. Playing football was his dream. While playing soccer he tore his meniscus and couldn't play football his senior year. I think I took it harder than he did. Last summer he went to Europe and had the best time of his life. When he got back, he had grown. Independence and worldliness was under his skin and I started to see the man he would become.

So now, I have no words of understanding and I have no explanation. If you are feeling hopeless, reach out! And hug your mom. She loves you more than you will ever know. Austin, my beautiful, smart, funny boy ended his life with a permanent solution to a temporary problem. As teenagers, we have no concept of time and how life does get better with age. We also do not realize how many lives we touch, even as adults. Austin loved a lot of people, but I don't think he understood how many people loved him. How many smiles he brought to faces, how many days he made better. I know he would be touched. I know he also would have made some silly joke right now. He would have loved the Zorro tribute. We often laughed that Zorro was his Latin alter ego. I appreciate the extensive outpouring of support from the community. But I am truly overwhelmed at the maturity and thoughtfulness of the students. Austin chose great people to call friends. And I thank you all so much for being a part of his life. I know you made it brighter."

Re-writing these words now, I have no concept of how I spoke these words to these kids, teachers, friends & family. I don't think I could speak them now. Austin's death was ruled an accident, we would find out days later. We can hope, but we can never know. And regardless of whether it was intentional or not, he is still gone, and that is what breaks my heart.

Falling

2012-07-02T06:30:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me the other day that you can tell a lot about people by the way they fall down. Now, most people try really hard not to fall down, but it happens to us all occasionally. Sometimes we stumble, sometimes we fall, sometimes we are gently nudged and then trip and sometimes we are shoved violently down the stairs when we were least expecting it. But how people react to the fall is where their true character shows through.

Some people lay at the bottom of the stairs broken and bloody and just wait to die.

Some people lay there screaming until someone comes to help them, needing someone to bear witness to their pain and suffering, incapable of pulling themselves up without the help of someone else, needing constant reassurance that they can get up and it will be okay.

Others get up on there own but take their time, all the while being patient and forgiving of themselves and others -usually these people have some good friends that they lean on for support and their inner strength shows through on a daily basis.

Some people jump right back up because they don't realize the gravity of what just happened to them. They just move on not realizing what just happened and never think too deeply about it.

And some people jump back up, look around and hope no one saw them fall. They tend to bruise deeply, needing time to understand and fully feel the pain.

It is the latter group in which I am most familiar with and since I can't resist a good analogy and am the writer of this blog, it is this group I will discuss.

These people fall down & jump back up. Not even sure how injured they are until they've walked around a bit. They walk tall when people are watching & limp when not observed. They have internal bleeding that someone should fix, but they put a bandage on it so no one will see it. Sometimes they even get angry that no one notices how much they are in pain. The gaping hole gets coverd with gauze & cosmetics and they gasp in pain when others look away. They smile good morning while clenching their teeth. They do not allow others to see that they were hurt, that they are vulnerable. Especially if you were the one that pushed them down the stairs. They refuse to give you that satisfaction. Its a silly thing. Really. Now don't get me wrong, there are times we need to hold our guts in and carry on but usually we need to get somewhere where we can be sutured up.

My whole point to all of this is I have always resided in this group, which I'm sure you guessed. When my son died I could not contain it, I could not pretend I was okay. I could not move. I relied heavily on these skills though when I was poked & prodded to find a "new normal." It was survival. But I try really hard not to allow myself to revert to these ways as I realized the mistake in these ways. I realized I may have taught my son how to do this without meaning to. That it may have left him unable to reach out or know it was okay to be hurt and to show that hurt to others. That I taught him to hide it all but never how to process it. And I'm so injured. So devestated by his death and his loss of life. It feels like betrayal to not show that. Plus I do not want to miss opportunities ever again to tell people how much I love them or go out on a limb to tell people what they mean to me, or even to tell them they hurt me and affect me. That they do matter to me. That everything we do affects someone else. Never do I want to miss that opportunity again. I need to know I said what needed to be said and did not assume someone knew how I felt.

But sometimes old habits die hard.

Hopeful?

2012-06-25T16:07:00.001-05:00

On the never ending search for my “purpose”, (insert funny “The Jerk” reference here) I have been praying. A lot. Trying to hear what it is that I am supposed to be doing. Trying to figure out what path I am supposed to take spiritually, emotionally and financially to get me to where I am supposed to be.

Let me start by saying I am not what you would call inspirable. I do not see other people doing something and think – I can do that too. That is not me. I do not want to run a 5K just to say I can, or climb Mt Everest because some other person did. I am intrigued by what inspires people, or what drives them to go on, even in the face of adversity, but I am not inspired by them. This is a new concept to me. I am a realist (often referred to as negative). Realists do not generally get inspired easily.

I tend to be a bit obsessive and sometimes drive myself crazy. Sometimes I have to just shelve ideas as I cannot think about them anymore without making myself crazy and annoying those around me. Just about the time I shelved the idea of a new path in order to save my sanity, or what is left of it at least, I had lunch with a friend. I met this remarkable person a couple years ago and we became friends. She presented me with an opportunity that spoke to me. It would not leave me. The possibilities of success and freedom from my 9-5 excited me in a way that I was afraid were gone for good. The possibility of movement from my current position to something new keeps the negativity at bay. Moving in a good direction, instead of just being miserable where I am whispered to me when I said no to the idea. Now, just moving in itself is not always good. I have analyzed, rationalized and thought thoroughly through this plan.

But, I decided to listen. For once in my life, throw away the naysayers, the negativity, the “security” and just listen. To actually think I could just allow myself to be happy. To think positively. What’s the worst that could happen if I tried? I fail? I have failed at a lot of things I was sure of, why was this so bad? And failure isn’t so bad. I feel like at least I can say I tried then, that I would know it wasn’t right. But I have this feeling in my gut that this opportunity is going to take me far. Not necessarily that this is THE thing, but that it will take me on the right journey. That through this I will discover that thing, or it will at least open another door that will take me closer. Maybe I need to listen with an open heart, and an open mind, and be less skeptical and I might make the right move. This is so very scary to me. I am based in security. I am a naysayer. I am too critical. And here I am saying to hell with it, throwing caution to the wind, not caring what someone might think and giving it a chance. It’s very liberating!

The one thing my friend said to me that stuck in my head and will until I die is “Who am I to say I can’t do something?” I don’t think she even realized the significance of what she said. But I did and it will not leave me. It makes me question why I think I know so much. Why I think that I am in control? Has it not been proved to me that I am not? Who am I to question what God has in store for me? Who am I to tell him I don’t think I can do something He has granted me the possibility of doing? I cannot even put into words what this statement says to me, but I can feel it. It inspires me in a way I have never been inspired before. It feels good to feel confident that the path you are about to embark on is the one you are supposed to be on. Not necessarily that it will be easy or triumphant, but that you are one step closer.

Maybe it’s just the change of doing something new, something with potential that is fun and energizes me. Either way, it feels ok. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t scary though. I continuously wait for the other shoe to fall. And crush me. Not in the way of the little bumps in the road knock you down, but the huge life altering ones that gut you and leave you on the side of the road paralyzed, writhing in pain and fear. I don’t expect people to understand, at least most people. Not unless they have gone through life altering traumas. But I am excited about the possibility of a re-invented life! I just hope I can keep up some positivity. But for today, being hopeful and excited about the future is good enough for me.

Lyrics

2012-06-05T15:17:00.001-05:00

"For me, singing sad songs often has a way of healing a situation. It gets the hurt out in the open into the light, out of the darkness" ~ Reba McEntire

I love music. I can not carry a tune, but I know what I like. I have a very eclectic taste and while I love nonsense music, I really love the music that moves me. The kind that makes me cry, makes me listen over and over again, makes me think that it was written by me or for me, makes me appreciate all the artistic talents that culminated to express something I could not or have not been able to before. The music that touches me, is soulful and real. That's my favorite. It always amazes me how I will sing along with the lyrics of some random song and realize that I have never really listened to it. And I am ashamed because it is powerful and it should be heard! This occurred the other day while on my way home while listening to Nikki Sixx's "Accidents Can Happen." I was going to post the lyrics, but as I am not sure of the laws of copyright infringement and knowing he has a lot more money than me to fight that battle, I will not challenge him. You may look it up on your own. I think people should listen to it and hear these words.

I'm a big fan of Nikki Sixx. I loved him back in the day, when I was too young to love a rock star, and through the years my adoration has changed and morphed, sometimes wondering why I do not listen to more of his music, sometimes sickened by the rock star life and sometimes wondering why I do not listen to more of his music. After reading the Heroin Diaries I was in again. I identified with him in a way I wouldn't have thought possible. I think it made him more human. The pain and suffering when he seemingly had so much, made him real. I am sure many people feel this way, especially after reading his books. I, in no way suffer any delusions, I do not think we will meet and become friends, nor am I sure I would like him now. He is no longer my type as a romantic interest, no longer the idol of my youth. Don't get me wrong, I still think he is great, but its because I find him a fascinating, unique and intriguing individual and appreciate his music, talent and attitude. I have never been addicted to narcotics. I have never walked his walk. Or the walk of many like him, from all facets of life. But what I do identify with is the brokenness, the shame and the pain.

What I found most touching to me on this day was the honesty and love that this song portrays. It speaks volumes, not only to addicts, but to anyone suffering. There is no one who has suffered through a problem, tragedy or addiction who hasn't needed to know they are not alone and they will continue to be loved. That they can start again tomorrow and do not have to throw everything they worked so hard for down the drain. That they have not failed, only stumbled. And that everyone, and I do mean everyone, stumbles. Everyone falls. But there are those who are there to help you up, to remind you that it will be ok again. To hug you when you need it, even if you don't want to ask for it, or even acknowledge that you need someone to tell you its ok. Especially from someone who has been in your shoes. I know I needed to hear it that day. And it reminded me to make sure I share that with the people I love and the lives I touch. Even after everything that has happened in the last few years, I still need reminders.

We forget that the [insert disaster] will pass. This may be the most important thing for us to keep in front of us. I do not know what went through my son's mind in the moments before his death. I will forever agonize over this lack of knowledge. And I will forever be tormented by wondering if I had called at that moment and reminded him that stuff happens but it will be ok, that this too shall pass, would have meant he was here today.

You just can't give up. I need to be reminded of this too, as you can see.

Can you imagine?

2012-05-30T14:30:00.000-05:00

Awhile ago I was involved in a conversation about texting while driving. This is a huge debate and not really what I want to write about. I really try not to look at my phone while I drive. I try even harder when my kids are with me knowing they are watching what I am doing every minute, even if neither of us realize it. The conversation was offensive to me though because of the thoughtlessness of someone who knows me well enough to know how much I suffer, but apparently doesn’t pay as much attention as I would to them. It was offensive because I never take people getting preachy with me well, especially when I am agreeing with them, but they aren’t really listening. So when I said “I try really hard not to text or do anything like that” it apparently meant “I text all the time without regard for anyone” and then even though I was trying to say I agreed with her, she kept talking and talking about it and every time I tried to explain myself it just ended up sounding as if I was backtracking, even though I really wasn’t. I really hate conversations like this. I end up overly frustrated and for no reason. But then she said to me, rather passively “I mean, really, could you imagine if you were the cause of your own children’s death?” I just looked at her and ended the conversation. What I really wanted to do was punch her in the face and scream at her. A younger Laura would have. I wanted to scream “Really? You are asking me this? Yes, I can imagine what it would be like to feel responsible for your child’s death. I can imagine my heart being ripped from my chest, put in a blender and stuffed back in so that it can ache. I can imagine the feeling that you could have done something to prevent such a tragedy but didn’t. I can imagine them laying there lifeless knowing there is nothing you can do to help them. No matter how much you love them, no matter how hard you want, you can’t do anything. I can imagine that. I can imagine the horror in which has become daily existence. I can imagine the self loathing one would feel. I can imagine a loss so great, you will never be the same again. The question is can you!?” This is the edited version of course, as in real life if I were to scream this there would be a lot more expletives. I don’t know how to make people not be stupid with what they say. If anyone has any advice on that one, please let me know. I know the answer is really that we cannot control what other people do, only our reaction to it. But sometimes that is not enough to quiet my mind.

Callings

2012-05-23T14:50:00.001-05:00

Life is a funny thing. Grief even more ridiculous. You will be driving along, singing a song, feeling like today might be good for something and enjoying the sunshine and then a memory flashes across your brain; sabotaging your momentary happiness. The image of cop cars surrounding your son’s fathers home, confirming what you refuse to believe. The lifeless body of your first born child drills through the sun and crushes you all over again in an instant. Images and past conversations run through your head at the sound of someone’s voice. There are constant attacks of brutal images and feelings on your soul. It is often the times you least expect that to occur that it hits you the hardest. We (my family) are trying. We are trying to dig ourselves out of the hole we are in. We are immersing ourselves in life and trying to live.
However, it exhausts me. I am exhausted. It has been a whirlwind 5 months already this year, with task after task needing to be completed. Work is absolutely crazy. There is so much piled on my plate right now, I am positive it will break. And it becomes more and more apparent that I am not the same. I cannot handle the same things, nor do I want to. It doesn’t matter But, I seem to be unable to step off the ride, make things simpler. My job is nuts. I know, in the way of someone who has lived through trauma, I am not where I am supposed to be. When things like this happen to you, you realize what is important. And if you were unhappy with something before the tragedy, you certainly will not be happy with it afterwards. This is not what I am supposed to be doing.
The question that I cannot answer is what is it that I am supposed to be doing? I feel this pull towards something, and the push from the other side. But I cannot identify where I am supposed to go so that I may work towards it. For the first time in my personal life I do not feel like running away, I know I am where I am supposed to be and with who I am supposed to be with. I do not long for something greater, because there is nothing greater than what I have. But my professional life is something different. So I sit and think for hours if I could be anything, what would it be? And I cannot answer it. Something creative and something I have a passion for is all I can come up with. And all of the things I think of sound not so bad, but it is not “it.” What would you do if you could do anything?

Happy Birthday

2012-03-26T21:15:00.000-05:00

Today is my oldest son's birthday. He would have been 19 today. I am incredibly sentimental and nostalgic about birthdays on a good day. This is, to no body's surprise, not any easier now. I was trying to think how I could write about my plethora of memories, the flooding of glimpses of years of birthday parties, the idea of maybe expressing how I was only a child thinking I knew a lot more than I did, getting ready to be a parent for the first time, not having any idea what was ahead. But in all of the recollections and thoughts that came about in the past few days, the following article that I kept in a draft status kept creeping back in to my mind.

The idea came to me on the 9 month mark of my son's passing. It struck me to the core. I remember sitting there for over an hour in the realization of the simplicity of the idea.

God gives you 9 months to carry a child for a reason. Your body changes, your instincts change, your priorities change, your mind changes, your overall outlook changes. Preparing for life to begin. You try to prepare, You read books, you talk to people who are parents, who are expecting also, you talk to health care professionals, you prepare yourself for all the ways your life is about to change. And then at that moment when you see your child for the first time, you realize how unprepared you are. How woefully unprepared. How very little you know. You knew your life was about to change, but you didn't know how much. You are no longer the person you were, and will never be again.
I realized at the 9 month anniversary of my son's death, that these 9 months were so similar. My body changed, my priorities changed, my instincts changed, my mind changed. I talked to health care professionals, I talked to people who had lost a child, I talked to friends and loved ones, I tried to prepare myself for how my life was forever changed. It took my body 9 months to realize the extent of the damage, if you will. And I am still woefully unprepared. But I think it was not a mistake that this struck me on this particular date. 9 months is the time it takes for your body and mind to connect and realize that life is going to be totally different for you, even if it doesn't understand how much. It is the beginning of a new era. Whether you wanted it to come or not.

Tested, Tried, Prevail.

2012-03-23T13:11:00.000-05:00

Some days I feel especially vulnerable and fragile. This really has nothing to do with losing a son. Well, sometimes it does. I mean to say, I have always felt this way. Since losing Austin, it has been heightened, deeper and occurs more often. Waves of grief, sadness, despair, self hatred and all these other emotions wash over me and it is really hard to push through them. Crawling into my bed and staying there is what I feel like doing most. Last night, I had such an episode and my bed was not readily available. As I was waiting for my daughter’s class to get over, I came up with a mantra to keep these feelings at bay. To keep from crying in the hallway of a public place (which I do frequently now), I recited: “I am strong, I am powerful, I will fall and I will pick myself up, I will succeed, I will conquer, I will be tested and I will be tried, but I will prevail. I am beautiful, I am loved by the people who I love most, I am important, I have changed lives, I have lots left to do, I have strength and I have character. I am strong. I am powerful. I will prevail. I will succeed. I will prevail. I am funny and strong and beautiful. I have gifts from God. I am worthy.” Do I believe these words? Not really. Not yet. But I am trying.

The difference....

2012-02-23T21:35:00.000-06:00

A year ago today was the last time I saw my son alive. We attended my middle son's school play, where there was a small ceremony for the students to honor someone who has inspired them or made a difference in their lives. My son chose his older brother. And I sat there watching the two of them, tears running down my face, I knew that no matter what happened in my life, they were there for each other. That I had raised a son, who was inspiring to his little brother, even if they did fight and argue all the time. That night, after the play, we filled out college scholarship applications and just had a good time with good conversation and a lot of laughs. Around 10 he needed to leave to go to his dads for school the next day, and we stood at the door saying good bye. I hugged him and didn't want to let go. I still remember the hesitation in his goodbye. Like there was something he wanted to say, but then decided not to. Maybe there wasn't anything there and it was in my head. But now, I will never know. My imagination gets the best of me. Every day I relive the last year, then the last 18. I hear the phone ring, i feel the pain, I see the events of the next week/month/year run through my head. I feel sick, my heart breaks. I hear my sons first cry and the last conversation we had. But to realize this day, last year I spoke to my son. I held him in my arms, I told him I loved him. I heard his laugh. We were about to realize his future. The gravity of knowing how much and how little difference a day and a year make is a heavy, heavy burden. I tried so hard not to take things for granted. I knew they were only little for a short time. Life changes in a moment. The things you thought you'd hear forever, like the sound of his laugh, are now mute. The things you prepare yourself for - the leaving of the nest, family, growing older, all gone in a second. And never to feel the way his hair felt in your hand again, to never hear his beautiful laugh, never to listen to his stories or opinions, to never see those eyes again is heartbreaking. A year. Such a short time. But its like an eternity.

Today's Sadness

2012-02-16T20:04:00.000-06:00

I counted today. There are 11 posts that I have not finished. Some of them have the potential to be very powerful, thought provoking, worthwhile posts. Some do not. I should finish them either way. And publish them. Not writing is not helping. But today, those posts have to wait. Today is a week away from the one year anniversary of my son's death. A lot has changed in a year. A lot has not.

Today I went to the visitation for a co-worker's twenty year old son. We are casual acquaintances, but I knew I needed to go. The feeling of aloneness and sadness is too great for her to not know there are other people in the world who grieve like her, and for her. And I am glad I went. But it was really hard. I knew how she felt. My stomach wrenched like hers did, because I know that pain. I know that moment. And it hurts alot. It hurts still that much.

And now, at this moment, I am very angry. I am angry for her. That she has to know this pain. That she has to join the others who share this pain. That she has to feel different. That she has to hurt every moment from here on out. That she has to carry this. And I am angry that I understand this. I am angry that I have to know how this feels. That I can understand it and not just sympathize from afar. I am angry because I do not feel it was my son's time. Because I was not ready for him to go. Because I didn't have a choice. Because I gave him life, and was on the cusp of seeing all my hard work pay off only to have the rug ripped out from underneath me. And 357 days later my heart still hurts. I am angry that I see my son's face where it will no longer ever be. I am angry that this has been an extremely hard year, and there isn't an end in sight. I am angry that my friend has to now start down this same journey. And I am sad. Sad that looking for a happy moment should be so hard.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-27T09:44:00.000-06:00

It has been so long since a post has made it from mind to computer to publishing, I feel like today is my first day posting. I apologize for my time away. I have probably a dozen articles half written. I am sure they will make it here eventually, and even if the time line is off, I hope you will understand. And if you don't, that's okay with me too. Time seems to be accelerating and fast forwarding itself so much, I feel as if I do not have time to finish writing. To put things in perspective. To dig through the pain to form words. To feel.

I have made it through Thanksgiving and Christmas. Mostly on auto pilot with a lot of tears, frustration, pain and confusion. I am not sure there is really anything else I can say about that. It was just less. Less joyous, less fun, less heartfelt, less... everything. A lot of time gets spent avoiding the large void in the room. I try to skirt around it, as to not acknowledge it, for fear it will suck me in entirely. Christmas is no different. Another day. One less stocking to hang, one less person to enjoy, but all the while there is this horrendous vortex swirling through my life trying to make eye contact with me, trying to make me engage with it, all the while I refuse it.

The year is ending and I am happy it is. But I am afraid to let it go as well. I am afraid of what 2012 will bring. I am afraid it could be worse. And everyday without my son takes me both closer to him and further away. Its agonizing. I have done what has been asked of me this year. I have come to work, I have done extra projects this year, I have fulfilled my obligations, I have suffered through the "firsts." I have pretended through birthdays, holidays, vacations and every day life. I am tired, but there is no end.

But really, all I wanted to say was "Merry Christmas & Happy New Year"

Business of Death

2011-09-13T15:25:00.000-05:00

I spoke about expecting too much from people last time, I believe. I have been saving these sentiments for a time when I was a little further from February, to make sure I was not completely fueled by raw emotion. Not that the emotion is less raw to be honest, but here goes anyway. Before the bitterness that follows starts, I would like to stop and say thank you to the people that did help, that were wonderful, caring and compassionate. I have not, nor will I ever, forget your hospitality.

I am well aware of the way businesses are run. Even the businesses of death. I understand these things, I get it. I am also aware that I have extremely high expectations of people, especially in a professional environment. So with all of that being said, I have been absolutely floored in the way a lot of businesses handle grieving parents. Almost to the point of considering a career in the field so that people who are at their worst moment would not have to deal with the things that I find rude and unacceptable. Unfortunately I have no knowledge or interest in that field. I understand it is a for profit business, I am not disillusioned there. I also understand there are things you have to be clear on and sometimes a little blunt. But if you can not gauge the reaction of people, if you can not be couth about it, if you have been in the business so long you actually become offensive, its time for you to step aside. Its time for you to cash in your own chips. Just a couple examples – the funeral director was in a hurry, he obviously had an agenda that was not ours. I understand you have to keep things on track, sometimes you have to say things bluntly so people understand. But there is a caring way to do this and a rushed, uninterested way of doing this. I felt we received the latter. The first headstone person we contacted made us go out to the cemetery weeks after burial, while she roamed around and inspected graves and asked us how we were related to so and so. I will never forgive her and hope God has some special punishment for her (even though I know that's not the way it works). And the one we finally went with has called my son by 3 different names, none of which was his. There are several similar occurrences that left the same foul taste in my mouth, some of which I have blocked, some of which I have let go, but none of which were good. People need to think, they need to care. I realize they cant get involved in every persons life, but they can at least be compassionate. They can be professional. If your business is death, you should be damn good at it, because it matters to the living.