I was sharing my blog link with my college students the other day and I thought, I have lost focus of my purpose in blogging. Yes, it was to vent and journal my feelings but it was to choose joy one day at a time. I haven't been choosing joy lately. I have been filled with sorrow, resentment and anger. Sorrow, resentment and anger because my son is dead. But that will not bring him back. I know this with my head but heart keeps trying. But my focus here was to also choose joy. There was a time when I thought choosing joy again in my life would never be possible. I thought I would never laugh or smile or have any joy in my life. A time when I thought I would never stop crying. Thought I would never live again.
But I did. It came in a very strange place. I was on a mission trip in Arlington with 22 other people sleeping on the floor of a two bedroom apartment. One morning I got up before the students. Two other ladies were in the kitchen making breakfast. I was on cleanup crew so I sat in the living room and did my morning devotion. It was from Jennifer Rothschild's book Choosing Joy. As I read it she said that even in the worst of times you had the choice to choose joy and be thankful for your situation. That God had a plan and was working in your life through your tragedy so find joy and be thankful. I closed the book with a slam and thought that is easy for you to say Jennifer Rothschild. Big deal you are blind so it is easy for you to choose joy and be thankful. I will never be thankful and find joy in my son's death. That is ridiculous. I just put the book away and thought she doesn't know the pain I have.
We went to opening session and had worship and the whole time I told God that Jennifer was wrong. Nothing good was going to come from Jacob dying and I would never be glad much less thankful. We had lunch and headed to our afternoon Rainbow Express. This is like Backyard Bible Club except at an apartment complex in a part of town with at risk kids and hurting adults. My job was to linger on the outside and speak with any teens or adults who were watching. To try to get them to either come join the kids or just befriend them and show them Jesus' love. This apartment complex didn't have many teens but had a Muslim family who came every day and stood watching. We had been visiting with them but really not doing a lot of talking about Jesus. I knew the grandmother's sons had died and when she spoke of them there was such distraught anguish. She wailed and pulled at her face and clothes. I was sitting this day on the steps of their apartment speaking with a young man and his sister. He dad stood close by listening. I asked him about his mother who had died. Finally, I got the courage to ask him if he would ever see her again? The dad spoke up and said, "No, she is gone, dead." I told him I knew she was dead but what did they believe happened when someone died. In his broken English he told me, "Gone, no more, nothing." Tears formed in my eyes and I shouted at him, "No, you are wrong. That is not what happens. You need to know my God. My God." I looked him straight in the eyes, which by this time were not looking that friendly towards me but I continued. I told him no, that my God was alive not dead like his and because my son had a personal relationship with my God then I would see him again. I would see him again in Heaven. You have to know my God. Please." He looked rather shocked and our pastor walked over wondering what was happening because I was talking loudly and pleading with these people to know my God. I asked them what how do they get to Heaven. The son spoke up and told me you had to do many things to get into Heaven. Certain requirements you had to fulfill. I asked him if had done them all. He laughed and said no one could do them all. What? You mean when you die you will go to Hell? He just stared at me and then nodded. I told him no, no that doesn't have to happen. You can have a personal relationship with my God, Jesus Christ and you didn't have to do anything, just believe and he could go to Heaven. He could live again. He dad said we do believe in Jesus Christ. I questioned him, You believe he existed or you believe He is the son of God and your personal Savior. Again, I could not believe I was talking this strongly to this Muslim man who has little value for women. He went inside and got his video called Jesus. He said, "See, we know your Jesus. He was a great teacher, we know him. My pastor at that time began explaining God's love and grace. The grown daughter was translating to her father now because we were talking so fast. As he explained how none of us deserve God's love, none of us can ever "do" anything to get His grace but He gives it because He loves us. All we have to do is have a personal relationship with Him. As the daughter translated she became very excited and began talking even faster to her father. She was getting it. She told us no one had ever explained it to her like this. Her grandmother, whose sons' had died walked up and the daughter began excitedly telling her grandmother about Jesus and His great love for us. She was getting it. The father was quiet and listening. The son was sitting at my feet. I looked at him and asked him if wanted to hear more about my God. The Living God. He said yes and I told him about the apartment church that met there weekly. I told him I would tell them about him and they would come find him so he too could go to Heaven and live forever. We planted seeds that day. We spoke courageously. I got in the car and we began our drive back. As I sat there I began to realize how boldly I had spoken to these people. Before I was afraid of offending them but because I couldn't stand the thought of them believing that death was it. That people died and then they were no more I had gotten out of my comfort zone and spoke to them with great honesty. I realized I would not have done that if Jacob hadn't died, if I hadn't felt so passionately about my God and Heaven. I said, "Oh my, I am so glad Jacob died so I had the courage to speak like that." WHAT? What did I just say? I was laughing and crying. I was thankful my son had died so I could witness with fervor and maybe plant seeds that would take. I had found joy in his death. Joy.
We got back to the worship center and they always have praise time. This day they were running late and only had time for one praise. I literally jumped out of my seat and said, "Then pick me. I have an unbelievable praise." The man laughed and said go ahead. I told them the story of the Muslim family. But I told the group that is not the whole praise. The rest is that today I found joy and thankfulness for the death of my son a month earlier. That God showed me He does have a plan and even though I do not like it and miss my son beyond comprehension I can find joy in knowing that good is going to come from it. That God is still in control. I laughed I cried I felt so at peace.
Now I tell you that not to say that I accepted my son's death that day or was never sad again. My grief today is still as strong as it was that horrible day in February. But I have a choice each day. I can be miserable or I can choose joy and know that even in tragedy God is in control and good will come from it. I know that I will have bad, horrible days and that is ok. I will try to find joy in even those days. Some days it is hard to find joy in anything. But it is my choice. Somedays, the only joy I can find is in the sun peeping through the clouds, or I got green lights all the way to work. I will find joy even if it is the smallest thing. Each day I will wake up and ask God to show me joy in the day. And He does.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
I am Mad.
I am mad. Alright I have said it. I know the stages of grief and I know anger is part of it but I wanted to skip this part. I wanted to be the upbeat Christian woman who saw God's plan in it all but I am mad. And while I know that it is normal it doesn't feel good. I am a believer if you can say it you can handle it. Also I have promised on this blog to be honest. To give my perspective as a grieving mom straight forward whether it was pretty or not. So if you offend easily you might want to quit reading because unless you are a saint I am probably mad at you. Yes, you. Please don't take it personal but I am mad. I am mad that your life is wonderful and mine isn't. I am mad that you get to complain about your adult child and all I want to do is kick you in the mouth, I told you it wouldn't be pretty, and tell you to stop, at least he is here, you can hug him, talk to him, see his face. I am so mad you get to do that and I don't. I am mad that I will never plan his wedding or have sweet Tori as my daughter in law. I am mad that I will never get to hold his first child and see what a wonderful father he would have made. I am so mad I could scream right now. I am enraged. I want my son back and I am mad that God allowed it to happen. And yes, it is ok to mad at God. He will let me pound on his chest until I fall lifeless from exhaustion but God, I am so mad at you. Why didn't you save him. Why does my family have to go through this. Why???????
I am mad that life is going on and I am at a stand still. I am mad that today I found out my ovaries are all shriveled up and a young woman looked at me and said I am so glad I am not old like you and falling apart. I am mad that my body is falling apart. I am mad that I haven't died and I am mad I am dying daily from a broken heart. I am mad people treat their pets better than their children. I am mad I wasn't a better mom. I am mad that I am not a better wife or friend. I am consumed every waking moment with my pain and I am mad that I have to live this way. I am mad that you are tired of hearing my story. I am mad that I have to tell it or I will explode. I am mad that I make you uncomfortable because you don't know what to say. I am mad that I have to be so positive and upbeat all the time. I am mad that my sister lives 3 blocks from my mom but hasn't been to see her in 2 weeks. I am mad that the responsibility of taking care of her falls on me. I am mad that that makes me mad. I mad my dad died and left my mother alone and sad. I am mad my mother's health is failing and I don't have long with her. I am mad she can't do things with me. I am mad I can't crawl up in her lap and have her make it better. I am mad that I have to be a grown up and wear my big girl panties when all I want to do it lie in bed and cry. I am mad that I work three jobs and am so tired. I am mad I don't rest. I am mad that my children are grown and don't need me. I am mad that I am not the center of their world. I am mad that cancer robs small children of their life. I am mad my sister and her family can't stand me. I am mad their isn't a pill that makes this all better. I am mad that I cry so easily. I am mad that I hear the pain in my husband's voice when he calls and says have you been crying. I am mad I can't make it better for family. I am mad the life is just sometimes too painful. But most of all I am mad at Jacob. I am mad he didn't think clearer. I am mad at his friends for not stopping him. I am mad at Justin for selling his the pills. I am mad at Tara and Tyler for not calling an ambulance. I am mad that the chaplin met me in the hall and told me he was dead. I am mad the police were not called. I am mad that his friends go on with their lives and he won't. I am just so mad. I could scream, hit, kick or throw something. I want to wake up and it be over. I want my life back. I want my child back. I am so tired of the pain. I am so tired of the sadness. I want to choose joy again but sometimes it is just too hard.
I know this is negative but I also know it felt good to type with deep hard strokes to the keys. It felt good to say it is not all perfect here. I am not always happy, I am not always doing fine. But anger is a stage and with it comes acceptance. Acceptance that he is not coming back and learning to live with my new normal. I think maybe the anger will be easier.
I don't want to accept this new normal. I want to push it out of my mind.
Yesterday, at Bible Study at work, a friend said we need to be still and listen to God. I realized then how angry I really was. I think that is why I don't stop. I haven't truly stopped and listened for God's voice since I heard it the week before Jacob died. I thought God was preparing me for my mother's death. I cried and pleaded no please no God it has only been six months since my dad died. That Sat morning I thought to myself I must have heard you wrong God. And I did. It was Jacob not my mom. I haven't wanted to hear God's voice since then. But even though I haven't wanted to listen He has been here. And right now as I sit here so very very mad at Him and the rest of the world I know He is here and he is holding me gently saying it is ok my child. Cry it out. Scream it out. Get it all out of your system. And that is ok with Him. I am thank you God for letting me beat on your chest. I thank you for listening to my anger and letting me get it out. Letting me say for the very first time Yes, I am angry. Letting me pound away at the keys rather than a person. So if I have offended you I am sorry. But even little Christian girls can get mad. Holding it in and denying it worse. Thank you Elaine for helping me see how my angry was holding me back from experiencing true joy again. I know I won't experience it for a while but their is hope that while God lets me pound away he holds me ever so gently and cries with me.
I am not going to reread this for fear I will not send it. Because I think as a mom who is a part of this special group who have experienced such loss I speak for us all. We must go through the stages regardless of how much education or experience in grief we have. And we have to vent it somewhere either verbally, physically or spiritually. I would rather deal with the anger verbally. To my fellow moms please don't hold it in. Exploding on your friends might not be the best to do but let it out or it will begin to eat away at you. I didn't realize the how hard I was trying to keep the anger inside. Please love on my fellow moms out their. Let them explode and hold them close to you and whisper in their ears let it go, cry it out I will be right here. God, please hold them close to you today even if they are pushing you away or staying too busy to listen to your voice. Let them know you will still be there when they are finished and moving on to acceptance. Put people in their lives that will help them through this journey.
I am mad that life is going on and I am at a stand still. I am mad that today I found out my ovaries are all shriveled up and a young woman looked at me and said I am so glad I am not old like you and falling apart. I am mad that my body is falling apart. I am mad that I haven't died and I am mad I am dying daily from a broken heart. I am mad people treat their pets better than their children. I am mad I wasn't a better mom. I am mad that I am not a better wife or friend. I am consumed every waking moment with my pain and I am mad that I have to live this way. I am mad that you are tired of hearing my story. I am mad that I have to tell it or I will explode. I am mad that I make you uncomfortable because you don't know what to say. I am mad that I have to be so positive and upbeat all the time. I am mad that my sister lives 3 blocks from my mom but hasn't been to see her in 2 weeks. I am mad that the responsibility of taking care of her falls on me. I am mad that that makes me mad. I mad my dad died and left my mother alone and sad. I am mad my mother's health is failing and I don't have long with her. I am mad she can't do things with me. I am mad I can't crawl up in her lap and have her make it better. I am mad that I have to be a grown up and wear my big girl panties when all I want to do it lie in bed and cry. I am mad that I work three jobs and am so tired. I am mad I don't rest. I am mad that my children are grown and don't need me. I am mad that I am not the center of their world. I am mad that cancer robs small children of their life. I am mad my sister and her family can't stand me. I am mad their isn't a pill that makes this all better. I am mad that I cry so easily. I am mad that I hear the pain in my husband's voice when he calls and says have you been crying. I am mad I can't make it better for family. I am mad the life is just sometimes too painful. But most of all I am mad at Jacob. I am mad he didn't think clearer. I am mad at his friends for not stopping him. I am mad at Justin for selling his the pills. I am mad at Tara and Tyler for not calling an ambulance. I am mad that the chaplin met me in the hall and told me he was dead. I am mad the police were not called. I am mad that his friends go on with their lives and he won't. I am just so mad. I could scream, hit, kick or throw something. I want to wake up and it be over. I want my life back. I want my child back. I am so tired of the pain. I am so tired of the sadness. I want to choose joy again but sometimes it is just too hard.
I know this is negative but I also know it felt good to type with deep hard strokes to the keys. It felt good to say it is not all perfect here. I am not always happy, I am not always doing fine. But anger is a stage and with it comes acceptance. Acceptance that he is not coming back and learning to live with my new normal. I think maybe the anger will be easier.
I don't want to accept this new normal. I want to push it out of my mind.
Yesterday, at Bible Study at work, a friend said we need to be still and listen to God. I realized then how angry I really was. I think that is why I don't stop. I haven't truly stopped and listened for God's voice since I heard it the week before Jacob died. I thought God was preparing me for my mother's death. I cried and pleaded no please no God it has only been six months since my dad died. That Sat morning I thought to myself I must have heard you wrong God. And I did. It was Jacob not my mom. I haven't wanted to hear God's voice since then. But even though I haven't wanted to listen He has been here. And right now as I sit here so very very mad at Him and the rest of the world I know He is here and he is holding me gently saying it is ok my child. Cry it out. Scream it out. Get it all out of your system. And that is ok with Him. I am thank you God for letting me beat on your chest. I thank you for listening to my anger and letting me get it out. Letting me say for the very first time Yes, I am angry. Letting me pound away at the keys rather than a person. So if I have offended you I am sorry. But even little Christian girls can get mad. Holding it in and denying it worse. Thank you Elaine for helping me see how my angry was holding me back from experiencing true joy again. I know I won't experience it for a while but their is hope that while God lets me pound away he holds me ever so gently and cries with me.
I am not going to reread this for fear I will not send it. Because I think as a mom who is a part of this special group who have experienced such loss I speak for us all. We must go through the stages regardless of how much education or experience in grief we have. And we have to vent it somewhere either verbally, physically or spiritually. I would rather deal with the anger verbally. To my fellow moms please don't hold it in. Exploding on your friends might not be the best to do but let it out or it will begin to eat away at you. I didn't realize the how hard I was trying to keep the anger inside. Please love on my fellow moms out their. Let them explode and hold them close to you and whisper in their ears let it go, cry it out I will be right here. God, please hold them close to you today even if they are pushing you away or staying too busy to listen to your voice. Let them know you will still be there when they are finished and moving on to acceptance. Put people in their lives that will help them through this journey.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Post It Notes
I have post it notes everywhere. By my backdoor right now there are numerous post it notes. Take mom to Sat luncheon. Check on Weezie. Make banana nut cake for Monday night. Take Maycie shopping for shoes Thursday.
At work my computer is covered in post it notes. Check on ______. Help Mrs _______ with test.
Call Mrs_______. Mentor meeting Monday. Follow up on attendance with ______. Pray for Molly.
Pray for C Thomas. Text SC students room change. And more.
You might think I am just forgetful. But the truth is I am busy so I have to remind myself to do simple things like pray, take someone shopping, go to luncheons. I stay busy. I do not like idle time. I do not like silence. Last night as I laid in bed I thought, Girl, you talk too much. I had gone to a wedding and talked my sweet friend, Theo's ears off. Then at the reception I talked to my co workers barely letting them get a word in. Then again precious Theo had to listen to me all the way home. I have always talked a lot but it seems more the last two years. I came to the conclusion, I don't like silence so my mouth never closes. I don't like the silence. I never have. When I come home from work the first thing I do is turn on the tv. I never sit down and watch it. I just turn it on for noise. When I get in the car I turn the radio on to Laugh USA. Sometimes I don't hear the jokes but I need the noise. I need the noise to keep the thoughts quiet in my head. No, not voices in my head but the thoughts. If I sit for any length of time my mind goes to Jacob. I think of him every minute but I don't like to dwell on my grief. I don't want to fill the pain of looking up in the sky and watching the clouds so beautifully formed and feel my heart breaking into a million pieces. I don't want to lie in bed in the silence of the night and cry myself to sleep because my arms ache to hold my precious baby boy. I don't want a lull in the conversation so my mind slips to that place that I can go to in flash where I can't control the tears. I can't catch my breath. I feel like my heart will explode. I want to run, run fast and far far away from this reality that my child no longer exist in this world. Where sitting in a restaurant enjoying a simple meal with friends and for a moment no one talks and I want to stand up screaming, How can you all sit there eating and laughing when my world has fallen apart. But no I talk. I talk so that there is no silence. There is no moment of letting those feelings fall into place. I turn on the tv, the radio, whatever can keep me from going there for fear of never returning.
No, I am not in denial. I know my son is dead. No, I am not suppressing my feelings. They are right there. I go to that place when I know I won't be needed by the world. When I can sit in my closet with the lights turned off and the door closed and cry my heart out. When I can let every fiber in my body feel the pain and emptiness. But the rest of the time I keep the silence out. I talk and talk and talk.
At work my computer is covered in post it notes. Check on ______. Help Mrs _______ with test.
Call Mrs_______. Mentor meeting Monday. Follow up on attendance with ______. Pray for Molly.
Pray for C Thomas. Text SC students room change. And more.
You might think I am just forgetful. But the truth is I am busy so I have to remind myself to do simple things like pray, take someone shopping, go to luncheons. I stay busy. I do not like idle time. I do not like silence. Last night as I laid in bed I thought, Girl, you talk too much. I had gone to a wedding and talked my sweet friend, Theo's ears off. Then at the reception I talked to my co workers barely letting them get a word in. Then again precious Theo had to listen to me all the way home. I have always talked a lot but it seems more the last two years. I came to the conclusion, I don't like silence so my mouth never closes. I don't like the silence. I never have. When I come home from work the first thing I do is turn on the tv. I never sit down and watch it. I just turn it on for noise. When I get in the car I turn the radio on to Laugh USA. Sometimes I don't hear the jokes but I need the noise. I need the noise to keep the thoughts quiet in my head. No, not voices in my head but the thoughts. If I sit for any length of time my mind goes to Jacob. I think of him every minute but I don't like to dwell on my grief. I don't want to fill the pain of looking up in the sky and watching the clouds so beautifully formed and feel my heart breaking into a million pieces. I don't want to lie in bed in the silence of the night and cry myself to sleep because my arms ache to hold my precious baby boy. I don't want a lull in the conversation so my mind slips to that place that I can go to in flash where I can't control the tears. I can't catch my breath. I feel like my heart will explode. I want to run, run fast and far far away from this reality that my child no longer exist in this world. Where sitting in a restaurant enjoying a simple meal with friends and for a moment no one talks and I want to stand up screaming, How can you all sit there eating and laughing when my world has fallen apart. But no I talk. I talk so that there is no silence. There is no moment of letting those feelings fall into place. I turn on the tv, the radio, whatever can keep me from going there for fear of never returning.
No, I am not in denial. I know my son is dead. No, I am not suppressing my feelings. They are right there. I go to that place when I know I won't be needed by the world. When I can sit in my closet with the lights turned off and the door closed and cry my heart out. When I can let every fiber in my body feel the pain and emptiness. But the rest of the time I keep the silence out. I talk and talk and talk.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Welcome to my party.
Come on in and pull up a chair. I am having a party tonight, a pity party. I try so hard to be upbeat and positive but sometimes a girl just needs a good old fashioned pity party. So sit right down and stay a while.
Tonight when I was driving home I began to pray, God, I need you tonight. I need help. I miss my boys. Then I thought boys? Yes. Grieving is not just for the dead but for the living. I miss Jacob so very much but I miss my two other boys too. I miss being a mommy. I am a mom who is here to listen when they need an ear and do things for them but what I really miss is being a mommy. I miss them needing me. I miss being their everything. When did all this happen?
I know the day they were born we begin preparing for them to fly the coop but it went way too fast. Just yesterday I was tripping over them listening them to say, mom, mom, mom, listen to this, watch this, hey look what I can do.
Today, it is quiet. I get up in the morning and there are no longer any lanky boys with smelly feet sprawled all over my living room. There are no longer Dr Pepper cans and pretzel bags strewn throughout the house. I get up in the morning and the house is just like I left it when I went to bed. I go into the kitchen and the sink is empty and the stove is clean. Even the milk is the same. No one drank out of the carton. Isn't this what I longed for? To have my house my own again? To do laundry every three days not three loads a night? To wake up and the beds are all made and everything is in its place? Yes, I dreamed of the day I could sit in my own living room and watch what I wanted to watch on tv. But it is here and dad gum it I don't like it. Not one bit.
There I said it. I want my babies back. I want to go to bed with the sound of laughter and guitars playing down the hall. I want to go to sleep with the sound of Call of Duty blasting from the living room. I want to wake up to dishes in the sink and stinky boys everywhere. I want to be a mommy again. I want to be needed and loved on. I want to pick up after my boys. I even want to hear doors slam out of frustration because I asked them to shower and brush their teeth. I don't want to sit in my living room watching tv by myself. I want to fix dinner for a house full and sit at the table and argue and debate the world affairs for hours. I want to hear corny jokes and even some I can't repeat. I want to hear the words mommy I need you and watch their eyes light up when they believe I can do all. I miss being a mommy.
I am proud of who they have become and am grateful for the unbelievable years we had together as a family. But it went too fast. I am not ready to let them go. I am not finished being a mommy. I know I will get use to it but somehow I know my heart will always yearn to pick them up and kiss their boo boos. I will miss the nights when we were all under the same roof and thanking God for their precious hearts. I will always want to be mommy to them. And no matter how far they go or how grown up they get. They will always be my sweet baby boys.
Now, you go. I want to stay here for a short time and feel sorry for myself. I need a good cry. Tomorrow morning will be a new day and I will put my big girl panties on. But until then I think I will just sit here and wallow in my sorrow for just a little longer just because I can.
I miss being a mommy.
Tonight when I was driving home I began to pray, God, I need you tonight. I need help. I miss my boys. Then I thought boys? Yes. Grieving is not just for the dead but for the living. I miss Jacob so very much but I miss my two other boys too. I miss being a mommy. I am a mom who is here to listen when they need an ear and do things for them but what I really miss is being a mommy. I miss them needing me. I miss being their everything. When did all this happen?
I know the day they were born we begin preparing for them to fly the coop but it went way too fast. Just yesterday I was tripping over them listening them to say, mom, mom, mom, listen to this, watch this, hey look what I can do.
Today, it is quiet. I get up in the morning and there are no longer any lanky boys with smelly feet sprawled all over my living room. There are no longer Dr Pepper cans and pretzel bags strewn throughout the house. I get up in the morning and the house is just like I left it when I went to bed. I go into the kitchen and the sink is empty and the stove is clean. Even the milk is the same. No one drank out of the carton. Isn't this what I longed for? To have my house my own again? To do laundry every three days not three loads a night? To wake up and the beds are all made and everything is in its place? Yes, I dreamed of the day I could sit in my own living room and watch what I wanted to watch on tv. But it is here and dad gum it I don't like it. Not one bit.
There I said it. I want my babies back. I want to go to bed with the sound of laughter and guitars playing down the hall. I want to go to sleep with the sound of Call of Duty blasting from the living room. I want to wake up to dishes in the sink and stinky boys everywhere. I want to be a mommy again. I want to be needed and loved on. I want to pick up after my boys. I even want to hear doors slam out of frustration because I asked them to shower and brush their teeth. I don't want to sit in my living room watching tv by myself. I want to fix dinner for a house full and sit at the table and argue and debate the world affairs for hours. I want to hear corny jokes and even some I can't repeat. I want to hear the words mommy I need you and watch their eyes light up when they believe I can do all. I miss being a mommy.
I am proud of who they have become and am grateful for the unbelievable years we had together as a family. But it went too fast. I am not ready to let them go. I am not finished being a mommy. I know I will get use to it but somehow I know my heart will always yearn to pick them up and kiss their boo boos. I will miss the nights when we were all under the same roof and thanking God for their precious hearts. I will always want to be mommy to them. And no matter how far they go or how grown up they get. They will always be my sweet baby boys.
Now, you go. I want to stay here for a short time and feel sorry for myself. I need a good cry. Tomorrow morning will be a new day and I will put my big girl panties on. But until then I think I will just sit here and wallow in my sorrow for just a little longer just because I can.
I miss being a mommy.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Remembering
The air feels crisp today. It reminds me of Jacob and how he loved to wear hoodies. But the weather could be hot today and it would remind me of Jacob and how he would start stripping off clothes when he would come through the door. It doesn't take anything to make me think of him. I think of him all day long, all night long whenever I am breathing.
The other day I was sitting in a meeting with the Sp Ed director, Assist Director and my Principal. I heard everything they said but in my mind I was thinking of Jacob and how funny he was as a child and how I miss his jokes. I don't know where that came from. They come all day long. I can be eating lunch and sniff a smell that somehow reminds me of him. I can be in Wal Mart and see a food which reminds me of Jacob. I can be driving down the street and be reminded of Jacob. Somedays those reminders are just too painful. Somedays they are comforting.
Whenever I am worshipping I try to focus on the image a friend, Cheri, gave me after the funeral. She told me during the final song she saw him sitting high on a wall watching us. He had on his blue and white stripped shirt that I loved with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of baggy jeans. He was so skinny his jeans never fit right and always showed his crack. He was barefoot and his hair was long and silky. She said he was smiling then said, "It is beautiful but I have to go." He had someplace even far more beautiful to be and he was off.
Sunday I was trying to focus on that image at church. The tears were flowing and I prayed, "God, hold me up to day. I so desperately need some comfort. Please God show me he is happy." I could feel a voice in my head saying it is ok mom. It is ok. About that time they began singing How Great Is Our God. This is the song at Jacob's funeral we all stood and sang at the end. The part where my friend saw Jacob smiling and said it was beautiful but he had to go to a place far more beautiful. With tears streaming down I thanked God for that reassurance that he is ok and that through it all God is Great.
I wish I could stop right here and tell you it is easier. The pain is better. But I won't lie to you. The pain is different but it isn't better. Sometimes I ache so hard to feel his hug or hear his voice. Somedays, I stand and think did this really happen? How could it be? Why did it happen to our family? I try so hard to remember those days and maybe just maybe I dreamed it. Maybe today I will wake up and he will be here. But those days are still so vivid I know it did happen.
I know several months ago I said I would get to the funeral but it is such a painful place. I don't remember a lot of it. When we got to the church after the burial I remember all the people who came and helped with the dinner. I worried about the dinner amidst all things. I have a very large family. Two years ago we changed churches and I worried how it would all be done with our small church family. But people came and brought food. People from work, friends, Trinity, our old church, SWC and our own church family. We were so blessed. I went from person to person thanking them for doing the dinner. I socialized with people who were there. Was I really going inside in just a few moments for the final celebration of my son's life. No, if I could just act normal then this would not be true. But Bart came and gently placed his arm on my shoulders and told me it was time. I put my head on him and begged him no, please no, lets just not do this. He stroked my hair and said we had to. This rock, this mere man who had so much strength during this time was still standing strong holding me up. I worried when would he break?
As we lined up the funeral director told us to look straight ahead and not to make eye contact with people or we would get stopped and it would stop the line. Did he not know these were my friends, my family? As we entered the foyer of Old Trinity, CCY, I noticed the people just standing there without seats. They had no place to sit but still wanted to stay. We entered the back of the church. Oh the memories of raising my children in here came flooding. Such happy happy memories. I saw the mass of people who filled the church to the brim. There was no place left to sit. The church was packed. This many people loved our son, our family. Don't let anyone tell you if you don't attend a funeral you won't be missed. You will. The importance of all those people willing to take off work, class or just take time from their life was huge.
We walked down that aisle. The aisle I had watched Jacob walk down to get saved. The aisle I walked down to sit behind him as a youth to make him be quiet. The aisle that I had always dreamed I would watch as Jacob and his bride got married. But instead we walked and walked. It seemed so long to the front. We saw his precious picture surrounded by flowers. We sat. No one tells you how to do this. How do you encompass all of your loved ones into your arms to protect them. I wanted my boys and Bart as close as they could get. I wanted my mom closer. She sat on the end in her wheelchair. I wanted them to touch me and let me know this was real.
I don't really remember much after that. His friends showed such courage in playing a song he had said when he died he wanted play. Hank did his eulogy. Clint preached his message. Then Zach got up. Bart had told me as we walked in that he had just found out that Zachary was going to speak. He waited to tell me so I wouldn't tell him no. No, that I couldn't watch this young man stand and speak with all the hurt and pain etched into his face. His shoulders which days before were square and straight had now fallen with such sorrow. As he got up, I shook my head no. Please don't let him feel this pain. But he continued on. This young man who is so incredibly shy he won't call to order pizza. This young man who feels so comfortable in his own silence was walking to the front to honor his brother. This is what he said.
Struggle.
Where the cold, relentless earth meets the fiery, human spirit, here is where my brother lived his life. He kicked and screamed the whole way down. But this struggle is not something to be ashamed of, it is what it is. It is the dirt under a young boy's fingernails, showing that he has lived life. It is the broken bones and battle scars that tell stories of a warrior's glory. Our struggles show that we have lived.
My brother's struggle consumed him to such a degree that it not only shaped him, but was him. He struggled with faith, with rules, with friends, with foes, with music and with his mind. But he struggled not to get by in the world, but to wring every last drop of truth and life out of this world that he could. Settling into a life someone planned for him had the tasted of drinking vinegar. So he struggled against what the world told him he had to be. Go to school. Get a job. Settle down. Remain the same, Remain mediocre. This didn't appeal to him for one minute. And so, he fought back. He was one of the few who thought, "I don't have to judge, I don't have to hate. I want to love. I want to relate, help and always be true.'
But this struggle didn't come without a cost. He fought so hard, that if the world ever won, part of his world would crumble. He would fight back however he could. He would question what was, and fight for what he wanted. My brother didn't always win the battles. And a lot of the time he lost. But he never gave up. And he never lost the will to fight for long, And in this fight , he was always true.
He struggled in a way that was more pure and true than a single thing I've done in mine.
That is why I ask you not to be sad. The life of my brother was cut, tragically, short. And his genius was not developed or conveyed, but in his life he left a legacy of ceasing turning our backs and running. Instead he asked us to stand and fight against what we've been told and been fed. The cards dealt to us are not what we have to play with. My brother's was true in his struggle, and peace, in death, belongs to those who fight rather than those who hide and survive.
His life was worthy of that title, something mine doesn't yet deserve. His existence was truly authentic and the way he struggled and coped was nothing to be ashamed of. He was a stand-up-sit-down casualty of the world. And no one thought this would ever happen.
My big brother doesn't get hurt. My big brother doesn't die. All he does is live, and he lives in every single one of us.
The hole left by my brother is not something to be filled, but something to see. And when we see this, let us remember how he lived. I could have told a funny story about my brother's life, but I think he would be ashamed if that's all his life meant to me. He was it.
Theology and Philosophy lived among the dirt and dirty. Listen to me when I tell you that, "If his death keeps you down, for very long, then you don't truly grasp his life."
Let us mourn his passing, but all the while remember that our lives can be the tools to change our world.
When we do this Jacob will have finally accomplished his goal. He will have changed the world to be more how it's supposed to be. So let us cry, and then laugh. Despair and then rejoice.
Let's crawl out of this mess and change the world and make a difference. Stay true, fight hard and struggle with everything you are, lest you lose your true life.
And don't ever give up. For my brother's sake and for our sakes. Don't ever give up.
I can say no more The tears have fallen hard today. The drain has been hard on my heart. It aches. I know I have to revisit these places but this is enough for today. Pray for me as the 13th approaches. The day my baby would have been 24 but will forever be 22.
The other day I was sitting in a meeting with the Sp Ed director, Assist Director and my Principal. I heard everything they said but in my mind I was thinking of Jacob and how funny he was as a child and how I miss his jokes. I don't know where that came from. They come all day long. I can be eating lunch and sniff a smell that somehow reminds me of him. I can be in Wal Mart and see a food which reminds me of Jacob. I can be driving down the street and be reminded of Jacob. Somedays those reminders are just too painful. Somedays they are comforting.
Whenever I am worshipping I try to focus on the image a friend, Cheri, gave me after the funeral. She told me during the final song she saw him sitting high on a wall watching us. He had on his blue and white stripped shirt that I loved with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of baggy jeans. He was so skinny his jeans never fit right and always showed his crack. He was barefoot and his hair was long and silky. She said he was smiling then said, "It is beautiful but I have to go." He had someplace even far more beautiful to be and he was off.
Sunday I was trying to focus on that image at church. The tears were flowing and I prayed, "God, hold me up to day. I so desperately need some comfort. Please God show me he is happy." I could feel a voice in my head saying it is ok mom. It is ok. About that time they began singing How Great Is Our God. This is the song at Jacob's funeral we all stood and sang at the end. The part where my friend saw Jacob smiling and said it was beautiful but he had to go to a place far more beautiful. With tears streaming down I thanked God for that reassurance that he is ok and that through it all God is Great.
I wish I could stop right here and tell you it is easier. The pain is better. But I won't lie to you. The pain is different but it isn't better. Sometimes I ache so hard to feel his hug or hear his voice. Somedays, I stand and think did this really happen? How could it be? Why did it happen to our family? I try so hard to remember those days and maybe just maybe I dreamed it. Maybe today I will wake up and he will be here. But those days are still so vivid I know it did happen.
I know several months ago I said I would get to the funeral but it is such a painful place. I don't remember a lot of it. When we got to the church after the burial I remember all the people who came and helped with the dinner. I worried about the dinner amidst all things. I have a very large family. Two years ago we changed churches and I worried how it would all be done with our small church family. But people came and brought food. People from work, friends, Trinity, our old church, SWC and our own church family. We were so blessed. I went from person to person thanking them for doing the dinner. I socialized with people who were there. Was I really going inside in just a few moments for the final celebration of my son's life. No, if I could just act normal then this would not be true. But Bart came and gently placed his arm on my shoulders and told me it was time. I put my head on him and begged him no, please no, lets just not do this. He stroked my hair and said we had to. This rock, this mere man who had so much strength during this time was still standing strong holding me up. I worried when would he break?
As we lined up the funeral director told us to look straight ahead and not to make eye contact with people or we would get stopped and it would stop the line. Did he not know these were my friends, my family? As we entered the foyer of Old Trinity, CCY, I noticed the people just standing there without seats. They had no place to sit but still wanted to stay. We entered the back of the church. Oh the memories of raising my children in here came flooding. Such happy happy memories. I saw the mass of people who filled the church to the brim. There was no place left to sit. The church was packed. This many people loved our son, our family. Don't let anyone tell you if you don't attend a funeral you won't be missed. You will. The importance of all those people willing to take off work, class or just take time from their life was huge.
We walked down that aisle. The aisle I had watched Jacob walk down to get saved. The aisle I walked down to sit behind him as a youth to make him be quiet. The aisle that I had always dreamed I would watch as Jacob and his bride got married. But instead we walked and walked. It seemed so long to the front. We saw his precious picture surrounded by flowers. We sat. No one tells you how to do this. How do you encompass all of your loved ones into your arms to protect them. I wanted my boys and Bart as close as they could get. I wanted my mom closer. She sat on the end in her wheelchair. I wanted them to touch me and let me know this was real.
I don't really remember much after that. His friends showed such courage in playing a song he had said when he died he wanted play. Hank did his eulogy. Clint preached his message. Then Zach got up. Bart had told me as we walked in that he had just found out that Zachary was going to speak. He waited to tell me so I wouldn't tell him no. No, that I couldn't watch this young man stand and speak with all the hurt and pain etched into his face. His shoulders which days before were square and straight had now fallen with such sorrow. As he got up, I shook my head no. Please don't let him feel this pain. But he continued on. This young man who is so incredibly shy he won't call to order pizza. This young man who feels so comfortable in his own silence was walking to the front to honor his brother. This is what he said.
Struggle.
Where the cold, relentless earth meets the fiery, human spirit, here is where my brother lived his life. He kicked and screamed the whole way down. But this struggle is not something to be ashamed of, it is what it is. It is the dirt under a young boy's fingernails, showing that he has lived life. It is the broken bones and battle scars that tell stories of a warrior's glory. Our struggles show that we have lived.
My brother's struggle consumed him to such a degree that it not only shaped him, but was him. He struggled with faith, with rules, with friends, with foes, with music and with his mind. But he struggled not to get by in the world, but to wring every last drop of truth and life out of this world that he could. Settling into a life someone planned for him had the tasted of drinking vinegar. So he struggled against what the world told him he had to be. Go to school. Get a job. Settle down. Remain the same, Remain mediocre. This didn't appeal to him for one minute. And so, he fought back. He was one of the few who thought, "I don't have to judge, I don't have to hate. I want to love. I want to relate, help and always be true.'
But this struggle didn't come without a cost. He fought so hard, that if the world ever won, part of his world would crumble. He would fight back however he could. He would question what was, and fight for what he wanted. My brother didn't always win the battles. And a lot of the time he lost. But he never gave up. And he never lost the will to fight for long, And in this fight , he was always true.
He struggled in a way that was more pure and true than a single thing I've done in mine.
That is why I ask you not to be sad. The life of my brother was cut, tragically, short. And his genius was not developed or conveyed, but in his life he left a legacy of ceasing turning our backs and running. Instead he asked us to stand and fight against what we've been told and been fed. The cards dealt to us are not what we have to play with. My brother's was true in his struggle, and peace, in death, belongs to those who fight rather than those who hide and survive.
His life was worthy of that title, something mine doesn't yet deserve. His existence was truly authentic and the way he struggled and coped was nothing to be ashamed of. He was a stand-up-sit-down casualty of the world. And no one thought this would ever happen.
My big brother doesn't get hurt. My big brother doesn't die. All he does is live, and he lives in every single one of us.
The hole left by my brother is not something to be filled, but something to see. And when we see this, let us remember how he lived. I could have told a funny story about my brother's life, but I think he would be ashamed if that's all his life meant to me. He was it.
Theology and Philosophy lived among the dirt and dirty. Listen to me when I tell you that, "If his death keeps you down, for very long, then you don't truly grasp his life."
Let us mourn his passing, but all the while remember that our lives can be the tools to change our world.
When we do this Jacob will have finally accomplished his goal. He will have changed the world to be more how it's supposed to be. So let us cry, and then laugh. Despair and then rejoice.
Let's crawl out of this mess and change the world and make a difference. Stay true, fight hard and struggle with everything you are, lest you lose your true life.
And don't ever give up. For my brother's sake and for our sakes. Don't ever give up.
I can say no more The tears have fallen hard today. The drain has been hard on my heart. It aches. I know I have to revisit these places but this is enough for today. Pray for me as the 13th approaches. The day my baby would have been 24 but will forever be 22.
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