One Breath at a Time

whispers of love and kindness

2016-02-24T00:10:00.001-06:00

It seems very little time goes by before I hear something about you or see your hand clearly in something going on.

After 34 months I am still overwhelmed by the love you shared with others and how that love seems to cross all kinds of boundaries, age, time, distance, to come and bear hug me when I need it. But not just me, so many. So many.

On the 19th...
As Caylea and I waited to donate blood, we were sitting next to a woman who, when she heard our last name, said her son played football with you (over seven years ago) and she recalled how fondly her own son spoke of you and cannot believe how long it's already been.

On the 19th...

Your Aunty dreamed you were playing with her daughter. You've not met yet here on earth, only in her dreams.

We started a Bible study and one of the parent's kids is a sophomore at TAMU and of course her senior boyfriend knows a friend of yours who speaks highly of you. That's info three times removed, yet still this mom still knows your name and of your kindness.

And that says nothing of the Facebook posts, the texts and emails, and that it is just my perspective. I know the rest of the family have stories too.

Son, brother, friend, a whisper of love and kindness passed around. You are greatly missed and loved more and more everyday. Everyday Ian.

my heart will continue ;

Broken

2015-12-22T03:34:00.001-06:00

I close my eyes and I see your face.

I open my heart and feel your embrace.

One day long ago I was broken.

One day soon I will be whole.

Until that day I will close my eyes and keep my heart open and carry you with me.

I did it once before. I carried you in my body, my baby, my love.

I will continue to carry you in my mind and my heart, my son, my love.

One day long ago I was broken.

One day soon I will be whole.

And then I will know I'm Home.

MADD letter 1 year before

2014-11-01T17:32:00.001-05:00

Ian participated in MADD reenactment at high school in 2012. He was one of the walking dead and we had joked he was picked at the end of the day because there is no way he could have gone all day without talking! Anyhow, this is the letter I wrote. I had it in his Bible on the day we celebrated his life, just one year later.

Tomorrow

2014-09-03T00:29:00.000-05:00

My sister has suffered for eight years with debilitating migraines. I remember when they just started to get bad and consistent -- each day there would be an update on how she was doing. I thought for a long time why not report on a weekly basis how things are going instead of daily. I didn’t realize she really could only live day to day -- and each was different -- there was no way to combine them. Now I know.

Both of us were planners. We thrived on organization and schedules and busyness. You needed something done, not a problem. Not enough hours in the day – well, you hadn’t seen what we could do. We easily tackled life and did not let it tackle us. But then, one day happened – a debilitating migraine that would not subside, a child who would not be coming home. No, not the same, but each life altering nonetheless. We understood each other anew. Her physical pain and my emotional pain paved a new way to bond.

So, in one day we learned that tomorrow is too hard. Tomorrow I will still wake up with part of me missing. Tomorrow I will still go through my day wondering if this is all a bad dream, a nightmare that I can escape from if only I would wake up. Tomorrow my child will still not be here to hold, to hug, to kiss, to talk with. How do you face tomorrow when today is almost more than you can handle already?

You don’t.

You face what is right in front of you and you pray that you can manage whatever that is.

Matthew 6:34

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Philippians 4:6

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.

Ian's Brag Sheet

2014-07-05T18:11:00.001-05:00

When Ian was in high school his dad and I had to write a brag sheet. This one was written in October 2011, two months before he turned 18. Here is what we wrote based on the prompts. I cannot bring myself to read it again today, but thought I would share it anyway....

____________

Over the past few years Ian’s greatest accomplishment has been to continually strive to improve himself. He left a private junior high environment that was more concerned about clothing than education and voluntarily chose Anderson High School to be more mentally challenged, and he was! He dove in and worked hard all that first year to conquer a level of education that was significantly more difficult and each year since he has improved. He also attempted various sports that first year in order to improve physically and after several concussions began to focus on overall health and a non-contact sports regimen to keep in top physical form. As a consequence, all of us in his family have learned about better nutrition and exercise. Among his greatest accomplishments is his dedication to learning music. In the past four years Ian has taught himself how to play the guitar, the bass and the upright bass. And, one last accomplishment, time management. Ian has managed AP/IB classes, sports, music (including participation in several bands) to also work part-time for the past two years. The dude is accomplished at everything he sets his mind to.

Ian’s greatest challenge in meeting obligations to high school has been to overcome undiagnosed narcolepsy for ten years. Like most people, my family and I thought narcoleptics slept all the time, we could not have been more wrong. Narcolepsy is the inability of the brain to distinguish between sleep and awake, so while a narcoleptic is asleep the brain will try to wake them and while they are awake can cause them to fall asleep. After having Ian tested we learned that he has approximately 30 interruptions (like an alarm clock going off every few minutes) during a typical eight hour sleep cycle. For approximately 10 years Ian has been sleep deprived. We knew that he never slept “well,” was always exhausted and suffered headaches as a result. Just this past summer Ian obtained a diagnosis and began treatment. For the first time in August of this year did he begin to feel rested. So, what did this mean for meeting high school obligations? It meant that despite excessive daytime sleepiness, restless nights, and migraines, Ian simply worked harder, with more determination, while maintaining an amazing attitude. Even today he refuses to acknowledge that narcolepsy may have held him back educationally, that there was likely more he could have done. Seriously, one headache or one night of bad sleep and you can excuse me for the rest of the day!

I steal liberally from Fyodor Dostoyevsky and his book, The Brothers Karamazov, through short excerpts to describe the heart and soul of Ian Pogue via a description of Alyosha:

Here is perhaps the one man in the world whom you might leave alone without a penny, in the center of an unknown town of a million inhabitants, and he would not come to harm, he would not die of cold and hunger, for he would be fed and sheltered at once; and if he were not, he would find a shelter for himself, and it would cost him no effort or humiliation. And to shelter him would be no burden, but, on the contrary, would probably be looked on as a pleasure. (Kindle Locations 369-372)

Every one, indeed, loved this young man wherever he went, and it was so from his earliest childhood. When he entered the household of his ...[friends]..., he gained the hearts of all the family, so that they looked on him quite as their own child. Yet he entered the house at such a tender age that he could not have acted from design nor artfulness in winning affection. So that the gift of making himself loved directly and unconsciously was inherent in him, in his very nature, so to speak. It was the same at school, .... he was a general favorite all the while he was at school. He was rarely playful or merry, but any one could see at the first glance that this was not from any sullenness. On the contrary he was bright and good-tempered. He never tried to show off among his schoolfellows. Perhaps because of this, he was never afraid of any one, yet the boys immediately understood that he was not proud of his fearlessness and seemed to be unaware that he was bold and courageous. He never resented an insult. It would happen that an hour after the offense he would address the offender or answer some question with as trustful and candid an expression as though nothing had happened between them. And it was not that he seemed to have forgotten or intentionally forgiven the affront, but simply that he did not regard it as an affront, and this completely conquered and captivated the boys. ... He was always one of the best in the class but was never first. (Excerpts from Kindle Locations 335-356)

Ian’s contributions to activities in the past few years has been extensive. See his resume! He is devoted to school (AP and IB classes). He is devoted to music as mentioned previously - oh, and he is exceptional at the bass, truly. He has devoted himself to health and sports - ask anyone on his Ultimate Frisbee team or ask him to bench press 300 pounds (he only weighs 150). He never misses a shift at work. He is devoted to his church through missions and plays bass for the kids program every week. And he is devoted to all of his relationships - see excerpts above from The Brothers Karamazov.

A Haiku for My Son from His Mom

Ian rocks screaming

Heart flows with deep empathy

Full of fun, joy, love

A Song that Comes to Mind Chosen by Dad

Better Man

Pearl Jam á la Ian Pogue

Waitin’, watchin’ the clock, its twelve o’clock, it’s got to stop

Tell him, take no more, he wakes the neighbors’ sleep

As we open the door, notes ring over...

We hear him sing, scream, play the bass over

We know and declare our deep love for him, can’t find a better man...

We see his present, we dream his next, can’t find a better man...

Can’t find a better man

Ohh...

Talkin’ to ourselves, there’s no one who feels love so…

He feels our feelings, oh…

Memories back when he was small and young

And waiting for the world to come along...

Now he is becoming, seeks fresh answers

We know and declare our deep love for him, can’t find a better man...

We see his present, we dream his next, can’t find a better man...

We know and declare our deep love for him, can’t find a better man...

We see his present, we dream his next, can’t find a better man...

Can’t find a better man

Yeah...

We love him, yeah...We can’t wait to see his way

He’s becomin’, yeah...that’s why we’ll keep on watchin’

Can’t find a better man

Can’t find a better...man...

Ohh...ohh...

Mother's Day Survival

2014-05-12T01:50:00.001-05:00

Dearest Ian,

Josh's mom commented at the end of my second Mother's Day without all of my children to hug and kiss: "Another special day survived. Hang in there." Survived. I think that is what we all feel like, survivors. Survivors are defined as people "who survive, especially people remaining alive after an event in which others have died." And that is about all we do.

We have not really started living again, much of the time we are just hanging on. And time is moving so slowly, yet at the same time too fast. We go about doing our daily chores, but I don't think any of us recall much about our days even the special ones. Everything is still surreal and devastating and heartbreaking. We don't really allow ourselves to slow down too much because that is when life comes crashing in all around.

So, slowing down this Mother's Day weekend was no exception. Your dad, Caylea and Danny did such a great job keeping it low key. I appreciated the casual brunch and the gifts we could all share and all the time just hanging out. But I missed you. And it was especially hard because very few people wanted to mention you. I know they all believe it would be hard for me to even hear your name, but what they don't realize is how much harder it is to not hear it--and even more difficult for them to mention Danny and Caylea and not you. I believe because there will be no new stories with you, I am clinging to the old ones and and I am desperate to hear them, even over and over again, despite whatever tears may come. But I also struggled, because how do I reach out to other moms and talk to them about our beautiful kids without causing them to be sad on their own special day? So, I didn't. (I can hear you chastising me, but since this conundrum is all your fault, I am not listening.)

However, since I do have such an urge to tell your stories, I have started a brief list of topics I plan to write about you and that way if people want to "hear" they can "listen" when they are ready. Stories about your earrings, Taco More and Java City, April 20 Columbine song, station wagons, keys, your special jacket, spatulas, 9/11, your nicknames, superlatives, friends, work, school, narcolepsy, hair, beards, girls dresses, the vageena club, scavenger hunts, ear infections and tonsillectomy, "right there!", my last dream of you, "it's Ian's fault" among many others.

Here is one such quick story (already blogged as you may recall) of my gift last Mother's Day 2013: At 6am Dad and I were lying in bed talking. We talked often about your Homecoming…we wanted to be with you…and then I heard “Mom.” Dad and I both stopped in the middle of our conversation and looked toward the bedroom doors. We waited and waited. I finally said, “Did you hear someone call Mom?” Dad looked at me and said, “No, I heard someone call Dad.” We laid there for a few minutes soaking it in. Then Dad got up and checked the house. All five pets were sleeping as was Caylea. We believe without doubt, God opened Heaven so we could hear you call our names. We look forward everyday to our next visit with you.

Until then, I will say that even if your "chatter" this weekend made me cry, please continue to chatter away and know that I feel honored that God allowed me to be your mom for 19 years here on earth, honored that he allowed me three beautiful children who turned out to be wonderful young adults.

I miss you son. I love you.

Mom

Mother's Day 2005

Homeward Bound

2014-04-24T22:19:00.001-05:00

Hey Sweet Child of Mine,

I've been out of words for the last two months. I have just been filled with immense and overwhelming sadness that is indescribable. I heard this tonight. Doubt you had, but thought of you. I love you son. I miss you profoundly.

Mom

Simon & Garfunkel: "Homeward Bound"

http://youtu.be/7z9wd9bS1FM

I'm sittin' in the railway station

Got a ticket for my destination
On a tour of one night stands
My suitcase and guitar in hand
And every stop is neatly planned
For a poet and a one man band

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

Everyday's an endless stream
Of cigarettes and magazines
And each town looks the same to me
The movies and the factories
And every stranger's face I see
Reminds me that I long to be

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

Tonight I'll sing my songs again
I'll play the game and pretend
But all my words come back to me
In shades of mediocrity
Like emptyness in harmony
I need someone to comfort me

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me
Silently for me
Silently for me

Simon & Garfunkel: "The Sound of Silence" is also so damn apropos:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raO2E3cIiYM

And, Ian, you will like this one: The Beatles and "Yesterday"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ho2e0zvGEWE

Where you are is where I want to be.

2014-04-21T22:52:00.000-05:00

In the silence I hear your voice.
In the dark I see your light.
In the cold I feel your warmth.

Each answer I reach for fills me with more questions.
Each tear I cry slowly mends my heart.
Each breath I take brings me closer to you.

When will it no longer be dark?
When will it no longer be cold?
When, when, when?

What if?
Why you?
No, not him.

A shattered heart.
A longing.

Silence.

Where you are is where I want to be.

I Can't Imagine

2014-03-19T22:48:00.000-05:00

Neither can I.

It is a dream. A very bad one. He's at school. He's going to text or call soon.

"I can't imagine what you are going through" is the most common theme of conversations involving Ian. I can't imagine either. I think if the reality ever fully kicks in I will lose what is left of my mind and my heart will cease to beat.

The plain truth is, I don't want to go "there." The most peace I can find is in those brief moments when reality is elusive and I can live in denial.

Living with a broken heart

2014-03-17T22:50:00.000-05:00

mar. 17, 2014

Hey Dude,

I am watching a movie with Caylea. This is our fourth night in a row to watch a movie "together"--her in Houston and me at home--a way for us to connect. Tonight the selection was "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days." I can't remember if you like this movie.... We hadn't seen it in forever.

As I was watching I started thinking of how people often say they would "die of a broken heart." And they refer to this relationship or that one. So many times in my own life I thought that I would, especially when I was younger and immature. But over the past eleven months it still astounds me that I can live with a shattered heart, a heart that is missing a beat every moment.

For the past few weeks the denial has been frequent and necessary to go throughout the day. But dang it if the nights aren't full of reality. The reality that silence is deafening, moments of quiet end with sobbing and an intense longing for you, all of which is overwhelming.

I keep thinking how life changed in just a nod of your beautiful head. We did not have enough time with you here Ian. I know one day we will have all eternity and every tear will be wiped away, but it feels too long to wait.

I love you,

Mom

The Navigator

2014-02-21T09:31:00.000-06:00

Ian,

I know I just wrote, but I needed to say hi again since you said hi to me this morning. Hi.

Today as I was driving I noted to Caylea that it is "big pile trash" week and it’s Friday and everyone has had their garage’s cleaned out on their sidewalks since Sunday waiting for the trash truck to come by. And, since it is Friday, all of the “good” stuff has been picked up by driver-bys, so that all that is really left is junk.

And, then on the way to work you joined the conversation to say “Hi” in the form of a Junk Busters truck. I hadn’t seen one in six months and I saw one today after having that conversation with your sister. I knew God let you in on the conversation too and I am so grateful.

Most people probably don’t know that when you were fifteen you started working for Junk Busters. In fact, just like last April, you were growing your hair out and it was bushy when we found out a job was open for a “navigator” at Junk Busters (too young to drive, so you sat passenger and told the driver how to get to people’s homes…not too young to haul trash with those big biceps though). You had an interview within a few days. The day before you cut off your hair, you put together a resume, you borrowed your Dad’s suit and you were ready. I drove you to the interview and waited in the car. Before it even began, the owner (a friend of mine) came out and said that he saw you walking to the door and the moment he noticed you had cut your hair you had the job! Add to that a tie and a resume and he was ready to promote you.

As navigator you learned all of Austin from a “map book” as you called it (hysterical that you didn’t even know it was just called a map since it wasn’t in electronic form). After starting you were near impossible to go anywhere with from that day forward. Back seat driver took on a whole new meaning. But, I would give anything to have you annoying me with how to go where now!

As I thought of my young navigator this morning I found myself in awe of how you just show up at randoms times to say hi throughout this past ten months and I realized this morning it is because of the big Navigator.

And, I know that in my last post that was filled with all the stuff that comes along with grief, that I put a line in about “hanging on my own cross.” I have since wondered if you understood or maybe even if I had when I wrote it. I think what I meant, at least what it means today, is that sometimes I allow my grief to run to the edge and I don’t reign it in and I am the one who puts myself up there on that cross instead of turning to the One who put Himself up there first.

Grief sucks and I don’t do well with navigators in my life. You drove me crazy trying to navigate from the back seat. I so want you doing that again. But I also realize that I don’t like letting God do a lot of the navigating either. I do turn to Him all the time, but I don’t allow Him to turn me nearly as often. I guess that is something you can be praying for.

Okay, well I am off to work. Thank you for saying hi this morning--I will tell Caylea you said hi too. We will chat again soon.

I love you,

Mom

The Formula

2014-02-18T22:42:00.000-06:00

Ian,

People keep saying that there is no formula for grief, but I think I have found the answer … when grief strikes and is overwhelming and more than I can handle I turn to God.

When all that I know and all that believed in has been shattered I turned to God.

When I'm in fetal position in the closet screaming into a towel I turned to God.

When I keep envisioning that first day over and over and over again I turned to God.

When I'm angry and disillusioned and bitter I turn to God.

When I am overwhelmed with life and living I turn to God.

When I feel ready to go Home I turn to God.

When I consider the future and all that will be missing I turn to God.

When I feel like I'm hanging on my own cross, I turn to God.

And these are some of the things I say:

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Oh God, please not Ian.

I am so angry.

It hurts so bad.

I want Ian.

I want my baby back.

I miss him, please tell Ian I miss him.

but most often and from day one until even now….

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

And in the moments when joy creeps in because of things that I remember of you I thank God.

When people tell me a new story of you and your craziness, your kindness, your love I thank God.

When I consider you have visited me from Heaven at least twice I thank God.

I am glad you are with Him Ian. He is our connection.

I love you.

Mom

A harsh reality.

2014-01-23T23:57:00.003-06:00

Dearest Ian,

Yep. It has been a while since I wrote you, but as you know, hardly a moment has passed when you haven't been on my mind.

A harsh reality hit me last week and as the harsh weather hits today I find myself sitting by the fire thinking only of you, of our last conversations and still praying that all of this is a nightmare I will wake from come morning. Reality is a gut punch that travels through every fiber of my being and frequently brings me to my knees. In the past nine months you have heard me say to others and to myself (and others have said to me) - "Now, Ian is with you always." The new reality is that you were always with me even before April. You are my baby. You have been with me since mid April of 1992 when you were conceived!! (Another new reality as I count back the weeks...)

The reality of life is that you saturated ours so completely that everything is a memory of you. Last week as I was driving my cruise control glitched. It does this very infrequently, but instantly I recalled the first time -- as we were leaving College Station the weekend after you started your first year in Fall of 2012. ... The little (very little) bit of snow on the ground tonight reminds me of countless memories. ... One of my favorites was during the freak three day snow storm the winter after we moved here and us walking up to Pok-E-Joes to get some lunch. There were icicles hanging all over the place and you grabbed a really long one and stuck up to your nose like a giant booger. I snapped a picture and then attempted to use said picture for your birthday announcement. A few days later I found a large stack of the pictures, torn from the invitations, in your backpack because you were embarrassed. Not less than two years later I am not sure anything could embarrass you as you entered high school, but at 13, well...enough said.

This past Sunday it has been nine months in our new reality. It hasn't gotten easier, it is just very, very different...wrong in a way that is permanent. That said, I did go 9 or 10 days without crying by keeping really busy with work and school. Instead of crying though I had a deep nagging sadness that had me angry at the world. However, on Monday I reconnected with my tears as you helped welcome Lisa to her new Home. She, like you, was not ready to go, but was Ready. I am jealous. I know that I am not suppose to be, but I am. We weren't meant for this world to begin with and now I feel the tightrope on which we walk.

Have you been watching the progress on our quilts? Yes, Dad is doing the ironing! (Even for the quilts, I was not excited about the ironing - you know my "no ironing" policy.) He is doing well, if you take out some of the words he uses when the sticky stuff is turned the wrong way. Caylea is designing our last t-shirt to go into it-one with a picture of each of our tattoos. And, last night I asked four of your frisbee friends if they have an old frisbee shirt they could donate hoping to find one and they all jumped on it and I think I have three or four coming. Their response reminded me of the sermon I heard this morning - that when you are gifted by God and anointed by His Spirit that you will be used even if you don't realize it (although it is best to be proactive). Well, you were gifted with the gift of gab, the gift of listening, the gift of being a friend to all. Yet again, your friends have responded to us in the same way. Amy even found a (dirty, gotta wash) Starbuck's apron with your signature on it for me to include as part of the border. We all agree that the t-shirt quilts will be a priceless gift for us each, but they are also another reminder to us of your absence.

Reality - we all miss you more than we can say, more than we can feel, more than we ever thought possible. Reality - you have always been with us and will always be with us.

I love you,

Mom

It isn't fair.

2014-01-07T23:56:00.000-06:00

Ian,

In so many ways you leaving is so damn unfair.

My heart, what is left of it, is hurting. I miss my baby. And it seems lately I have become the person to contact when others are experiencing tragedy. Maybe because I understand and can hurt with them...experience empathy in the way you always did. But it isn't fair, I am already hurting!

But then I was thinking I am fairly sure people told me of tragedies before, I just didn't get it. I would "pray for the family members" and go on about my day, my life. Now my heart weeps for them over and over and breaks all over again for you. It isn't fair to feel this much pain over and over and over again.

And on a daily basis, sometimes hourly, and sometimes with every breath I take feel sucker punched, out of breath and nauseous as I recall that I won't see you this weekend, that you won't be texting about your activities, that I can't call you and tell you about new happenings. It isn't fair. It isn't fair. It isn't fair.

And sometimes I am angry at you or God or you both because the pain feels so unbearable and I know it will be with me my whole life, which already feels like 264 days too long. It isn't fair Ian. It isn't fair God.

So, that's it, that is all I wanted to say--it isn't fair, life that is.

I love you Ian.

Mom

20 years and glimpses of Glory

2013-12-31T01:34:00.003-06:00

Ian,

Hey dude. I couldn't write on your birthday. It was already hard keeping it together. We really don't know how to do life without you. Should we do our traditional birthday (or any holiday) celebration? Should we do things altogether different since life is altogether different? Dad struggled with whether to even cook bacon for breakfast (he finally decided to cook it as you probably noticed), we all struggled with whether we should have a family meal (and, as of yet, we haven't). We ended up with cookies and then a conversation about to sing or not to sing. Instead we shared a brief story each and ate cookies and cried.

Oh God, how? How are we suppose to do this life now?

As I write 2013 is coming to an end and I am losing it! This will be the last year in our earthly home in which we got to hear your voice, in which we laughed with you, in which we hugged, in which we lived life, the good and the bad, together. I don't want this year to end.

Oh God, where? Where can I find Your peace that surpasses all understanding as we move into 2014?

Everyday forward is so hard. My sorrow, my love song for you, is something I still wear like a warm blanket, but it is also burrowing deep into my being where I know it will come to rest one day. This love song I sing is so damn heartbreaking, but I would have it no other way. Moreover, I want people to hear my song for you and when they see me or think of me, for you to come to their mind. I desperately want this. Because my fear is that as we move out of 2013 and into 2014 or 20-whatever, people won't see you anymore.

Oh God, why? Why Ian?

Ian, you have helped me realize what C.S. Lewis says best: "At present we are on the outside…the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the pleasures we see. But all the pages of the New Testament are rustling with the rumor that it will not always be so. Someday, God willing, we shall get “in”…We will put on glory…that greater glory of which Nature is only the first sketch." And, as we stood at the top of Emerald Bay on your birthday Saturday and saw the majesty of God's creation, His first sketch being nature before us, I can't imagine now that you are "in" how glorious your new life must be. And, how much better it must of become since your arrival.

Oh God, when? When will it be my turn? Waiting has become impossibly hard.

Until my turn, I will pray Psalm 27:4-5.

One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple. For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock.

Love, as we learn new ways to celebrate, as the days and months and years pass, as I sing my song for you, may I see glimpses of the glory and beauty in which you now live and be able to wait out my turn with peace and joy.

I love you, Ian.

Happy 20th Birthday.

~ Mom

The First Christmas

2013-12-25T03:23:00.001-06:00

Ian,

Does Merry Christmas sound weird to you given you can celebrate in person with Jesus? How magnificent that must be! I have wondered what you must do in Heaven, who you hang with, what you talk about, but also what you are aware of here for those of us who must go on.

Do you walk and talk with your Grandpa Eddie who called you Rooster, or your Grandma & Grandpa Edwards who lovingly made your quilt that I cherish, or Grandma Fickess who loved you like one of her own, or Uncle Curtis who couldn’t wait to get to Heaven?

Do you have chats with Baby Boy about your mommas and their funny jokes that make each other laugh? Because, lezbehonest, we are a hoot.

Do you and Josh hang out and pray for us as we wonder why and as we hurt deep and know that we forever will until our own time comes?

Did you meet the Boston Marathon bombing victims who passed just four days before you or the West, Texas victims who passed just two days before you, the ones you prayed for?

What about Nelson Mandela? Just today I was wondering if he is there. I know if he is, the line is long to talk to him!

What about your Christian brother from Austin Stone, Ronnie Smith? (Click orange links for more info.) Please pray for Anita and Hosea - actually - you guys already know best how to pray for them! But the pain must be excruciating today for all those that love him as it is for all those who love you.

Have you talked to Mary yet? How did she watch her perfect child, her baby boy, die for us all? How was she able to continue? Today I listened to a sermon (Born to Die) that chimed in about the song “Mary, Did You Know?” and all the evidence from the scriptures indicates that she did know the ending from the very beginning - even before Jesus' birth. She must be one tough momma.

And I know you have talked and walked with Jesus, that He must have been the first to greet you when you arrived Home. This is what keeps me moving forward—Jesus greeting me when I get Home (unless He wants to come and come soon!), and of course, seeing you. Have you had all your questions answered? Did you find out if “God died?” as you had asked me as a four year old. [I said no, God was, is and forever will be, but Ian replied, “but Jesus died.” … huh … good question, go ask your dad.] Or are the questions no longer important?

I know God’s promises to be true, that you are living eternally with the “fullness of joy” and "pleasures evermore" (Ps. 16:11); that you are in paradise (Luke 23:43), a paradise we can’t even imagine, one in which "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Rev. 21:4).

But today, Christmas day, the tears are flowing here on earth from your momma. The mourning is great. Crying and pain near constant. But somewhere, somewhere deep inside, intermingled with all the anguish, is joy for your own eternal joy--the peace and rest you must have now; a gift beyond all gifts. How great it must be worshipping our Savior who will one day unite us again. Please bear hug him for me as only you can and tell him Happy Birthday.

As we attempt to 'celebrate' Christmas in a few hours with your California family, you must know the best gift I was given this year (and that moving forward I can’t ever imagine being outdone until my own Homecoming) was my glimpse of Heaven and of you in May; your arms around me, your words of comfort and of love, that smile. Please thank God for me and let Him know that we want you to come again and visit—anytime and often, tonight even! But even if you don’t, you are always with us, always and forever.

I love you, Rooster.

Mom

p.s. Your dad's blog post made me cry today - To run or not to run - back in Vacaville. Okay, everything makes me cry, but he captured so much of our lives here in Vacaville that I found myself longing for those days.

Also, for all others, see Yours Alone for the miracle of my visit to Heaven with Ian and other miracles God has given each of us this year. May you each have a blessed Christmas.

Ian, Our Christmas Baby. We miss you.

Collectibles vol. 1

2013-12-15T16:58:00.004-06:00

You know your an Aggie when...
April 13, 2013 - We are at Texas A&M for Parent's Weekend. We are sitting at breakfast for study abroad and a dad at the table asked Ian where he was going (his own son was going to Qatar in the fall). Ian replied "Texas A&M." So proud!

Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.
...a text from Ian one week before. I didn't listen to it until Friday December 6, 2013. Why did I wait? I also have two movies he gave me last Christmas I haven't watched and several books. Why have I waited?

Stranger...Friends.
I was walking to my last research tax class on December 4 and a sweet, beautiful blond girl was waiting for me outside the door. She introduced herself as a friend who played frisbee with you. The last time she saw you was in Norman, Oklahoma a year before in September 2012 for a college frisbee tournament. She recalled you came running from behind and when she turned around she was greeted by you and a big ol' hug. She wanted to hug me all semester and her mom finally encouraged her to do so. I am so glad she did. I felt you hugging me in that moment. I miss your hugs and am so thankful you never met a stranger and your friends carry you in their hearts.

I've got a big bottom, I cannot lie.

Homeless.
During the first week of this month as I was about to leave Starbucks with a drink in hand when a homeless man approached me. He told me he knew "my son" and was sorry to hear that he passed and that his own wife and daughter had died in an auto accident ten years prior. We chatted a few minutes and then he wanted to introduce me to another homeless man. The three of us chatted for an hour and a half in Randall's about life, about comedians, about all kinds of things. I knew each of them by name from things Ian had said, but now I had faces and stories and their lives in front of me. After an hour of talking I was showing them a photo of Ian and the first man just started crying and kept saying "that isn't your son, that boy is just at school and is coming home soon." It was clear that he wasn't connecting that the "my son" was actually Ian. After a good five minutes of him crying and attempting to convince himself that we weren't talking about the same boy, he shared with me why he was so distraught. Ian had provided him with free coffee, free food and when Ian noticed his hands shaking, with money (for alcohol--both knew, never said). But mostly Ian provided him all of this without judgment. "He was a good kid." In my opinion, he was the best.

Porn Star.
Ian sent me this picture and asked if he looked like a 70s porn star. I replied that, yes, indeed.

Shopping and Sugar.
We both hated shopping. We both wanted to figure out what we needed and where before leaving home, go bag it and get back home. But when we were out we talked and talked and talked. You had an opinion about everything. EVERYTHING. You always expressed yourself and always had to be different--sometimes even if you expressed a "different" opinion that was down right odd or wrong, you would stand behind it. Then a couple of days later it was clear you had been thinking through the conversations and come back and mention that you could see the other side (i.e., admit you were wrong without admitting you were wrong).
You were always the BEST at researching beforehand. But I recall the last time we went shopping for jeans in January of this year. None of your jeans fit well. Your thighs and behind had become quite muscular and all of your jeans became super "skinny" jeans on you. We ended up going to the Domain, Target and finally Nordstrom Rack and found only one pair that fit. They were a foot too long, but they fit where it was important...
We did also shop for sugar containers while we were out (you didn't want to, but you wanted an opinion and so you came along). I had accidentally bought two little itty-bitty ones for $125 (yes, I overspent initially). But we then laughed and laughed when we saw how ridiculously small they were (2.5 ounces...must have thought 2.5 liters?). We ended up at the store Crate and Barrel and you chose the ones we have. I think of you every time I see them. You are literally in and part of every thing in my life.

Good Monsters.
As your dad said - one of your favorites by Jars of Clay. Somethings I have noticed in each song as I listened to it over and over this past week.

Work - "I have no fear of drowning, It's the breathing, It's taking all this work." These lyrics resonate very strongly with me as of late.
Dead Man (Carry Me) - This particular song Caylea wanted us to play at your celebration service. It was vetoed by the worship crew...for good reason. It is haunting, but I see why you loved it so.
All My Tears - Weep I shall, but to be home and free must be something wonderful.
There is a River - It ends "For all of those nights, you cried all alone. For all of your tears... love will atone."
Oh My God - "Oh my God, can I complain? You take away my firm belief and graft my soul upon your grief. Weddings, boats, and alibis, All drift away, and a mother cries...."
Take Me Higher - "My soul is waiting, Lookin for a place to hide, I need a little peace tonight."

577.
My heart hurts in ways completely indefinable when I think of this number. 577 untold stories of a hero.

Selfie.
Ian's last known photo of himself was taken by himself April 17, 2013. Goofball.

Dad remembers...
Ian’s reputation and impact has been seen in many ways. Two brief studies from Muster show the extent of this in the lives of people he knew and didn’t know in the A&M community. One student was given Ian’s hole punch during the room clean out before the Muster event. This student brought the hole punch to Muster and down to the floor – because it was Ian’s! He had to keep Ian close. The A&M choir director who had lead the choir in a series of beautiful songs during Muster waited 20 minutes quietly on the floor of Reed Arena to speak with us. The director said that he had to speak to the family of this young man that he had hear about from his choir Friday night. One of Ian’s friend’s (Tim Watson’s) brothers – who he knew at Great Hills Baptist – was in the choir and heard of Ian’s death. Apparently others knew or knew of Ian in the choir. During a concert break, the word came that Ian had died in the car crash. Those who knew him gathered around to pray, cry and reminisce. The director was amazed at this spontaneous reaction to the death of a freshman not associated at all with the choir. Getting the choir back on stage was apparently a chore. The director wanted to know the parents who raised such an influential person.

Big Brother Danny remembers...
The last night we hung out I was barely able to get off work. I had to beg my manager. Ian stopped by for about 5 hours and we half played video games/half talked about life, love and relationships. It was one of the best talks we ever had.

Sister Caylea remembers...
Ian always got obsessed with different topics. I think one of the most annoying obsessions he had was when he decided screamo was the best music and he would learn to scream. I remember so many nights where I would not sleep well because of him blaring his music in his room and me yelling over the music in the hope he would turn it down. Then he would spend hours in the garage screaming, which resulted in a constant demonic yelling coming from the garage. I remember laughing many times when my friends would come over when Ian was practicing his music and always wonder if a horror movie was going on in the room next door.

Sister Becky remembers...
While driving today I laughed out loud thinking of how Ian used to LOVE to help us TP or saran wrap your cars - all the while knowing he'd have to help clean it up in the morning. That boy was so funny.

Momma Mundell remembers...
I put out my Christmas manger a couple days ago. I remember when you were two years old: you and your family came over one evening in December. I had our ceramic manger under the Christmas tree. You went straight over to it, picked up the baby Jesus, and broke off his arm! Lol. The baby Jesus is fine - nothing a little super glue couldn't fix. But every year when I put up the manger I think of you, and I always will. I miss you E-man.

Aunt Mandi remembers...
I was at your house and Ian and I had found a funny app that told you silly facts. So we both downloaded it on our phones and would read out facts to each other. One of them was that an onion really has no taste it's more the smell you are tasting. So we went to your kitchen, cutting up onions, plugging each others noses, eating raw onions.

Aunt Shelley remembers...
On one of your visits Ian asked if he could have a hot pocket. Of course we said sure. After his first hot pocket he was still hungry. We insisted that he eat until he was full. Well, a box of hot pockets later Ian was full. We shop at Sam's where food is sold in bulk. Yes, Ian ate a bulk load of hot pockets.

Aunt Stephanie remembers...
I miss Ian...I love your smiling, handsome, funny, always talking son. I see Ian IN my kids everyday...and then I see my kids IN Ian everyday...I think of him before and after I make any decisions with the kids. I adore your son. He brought joy and laughter into every room he entered. I love him very much.

Aunt Khristina remembers...
I remember very vividly coming to California and spending time with my sister, brother in law, and the kiddos. .this was the first real time I got to spend with the two youngest since they were born. Well after roughly two days there my sister had shown me several times Ian's obsession over his plaid jacket and sunglasses. He went to take a shower and Nettie attempted to wash then hide the two items, needless to say her attempt fail through after a long diligent argument from Ian who was just a toddler at the time. I told my sister then he was going to do something and be something amazing. He has left his mark on EVERYONE he has EVER met...gosh he is loved and missed by too many to count..love you Ian

Aunt Megan remembers...
There are many memories I have but one that stands out is about Ian's body and how he was good with the older ladies. One night I was over at ya'll's house and I talked Ian into letting me straighten his hair while I wait on my friend, Brandi to come pick me up. I had him sit on the bar stool at the kitchen counter where many of the Pogue's hair cuts, colors, and styles all began. We sat and giggled and conversed about what the girls at school like to do to his hair. We were both in awe of how long is hair looked when it was all straightened. My friend Brandi pulled into the drive way and immediately sent me a text saying, "Who is that sexy guy?" We both looked towards the window at her lights shining through the open shades. I laughed hysterically and showed the text to Ian, who of course instantly blushed with his adorable shriek of a giggle. He was only 15 at the time and she was 21. I always laugh over that and his goofy giggle. That night, I realized just how much he had grown up on me and what a good looking young man he was becoming. I miss our talks, that smile, and that laugh. But forever, I will hold onto his memory.

We all will Ian.

**Stories from friends are being collated! I asked for a few and received LOTS. Coming soon.

Advent Longing

2013-12-12T00:51:00.001-06:00

Ian,

Your other momma passed me an article on Advent and "the ones who know longing." That is one way to describe how I feel: longing. Longing for 237 days.

Christmas has always been my most favorite holiday. Oh, how I long for you to join us this Christmas. I remember very distinctly going to Christmas Eve service with you at the Stone when they decided to only read scripture and sing. It was a beautiful worship service where all glory was focused on God. It was your love of that service that helped us as we prepared your own service to celebrate your life here. A little talking, scripture, sing, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Now all I have after nearly 8 months repeating in my mind over and over and over again is April 19. Various aspects of that day. Our last conversations, three of them that morning. Oh, how I long for things to have gone differently. My frustrations over stupid things like your broken phone, over when you were going to arrive and over your school paper all seem so petty. I drove my self crazy initially wondering if our last words were "I love you." But I know they had to be. They always were. Always, even if you were hanging up with me as you walked into the house and greeted me in person. But, I keep wondering how things may have gone that day if only ... if only ... if only ... It makes all the days after different, trying desperately to avoid the if onlys.

I won't lie. It isn't getting easier. I think I have cried more these past two weeks than I have in the month previous. And I have noticed a definitive change in my crying. Up until about a month ago it was mostly tears, wailing, and guttural moans. Now it is just sobbing. FYI--with sobbing there is so much snot! Did you know that? I can't breathe after a few minutes. It makes the muffling more difficult. Yes, I prefer to cry alone and without notice. It is how my conversations start with you and end with God. When others are around the conversations are interrupted. This crying surge...well I kind of did it to myself (but I still blame you). I posted a picture of you with your 2012 Christmas ornament on your Facebook page and that one just sets me off for a good spell. Someone said the other day you are "beautiful" and every time I see that picture I think the same. I have three beautiful children and one of them I long to see, I long to hear, I long to hold.

I also posted to Facebook someways to donate through the holiday's in your honor and have been blessed by the response of those who love you. You have awesome friends and family. Really. In your wake they have rallied and blessed others. Little girls will have beautiful hair. Funding for education. Funding for ministry. Life-giving blood and the offer of organ donation. Stories and pictures for your dad and I to treasure and T-shirts to keep us warm. The deep and agonizing longing of our hearts for you cannot be filled by these acts of kindness, but they soothe the pain and leave a lasting legacy.

As I end, the song "O come, O come, Emmanuel" is an old favorite and as I listen to the words they have new meaning and for the first time in my 40+ years I believe I understand the author more fully.

Ian, I love you. I love you more. I love you most.

Mom

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel