Christmas Eve Gift

Christmas Eve gift. A tradition that has been in my family long before I was born. The object is to call your family members and be the first one to say Christmas Eve gift. My oldest aunt was an especially early riser and since the time I moved out on my own would call me at 4 am so she would catch me asleep and not ready. Every year the the night before Christmas Eve I would vow to be awake waiting for her call. But always she would call before my alarm would go off and get me every time. She died several years ago by my family carries the tradition on. I being so much nicer waited for my family members to be a little semi conscious. My first aunt beat me to the punch, my mother was still asleep so I won. My other aunt is so hard of hearing that screaming Christmas Eve gift four or five times quite loudly just somehow lost its appeal so I spared us both the agony. I called my cousins in CA and NV and much to my surprise they had turned their phones off the night before. Finally, I called Kyler and before he could say anything shouted Christmas Eve Gift. What? he echoed in surprise. Christmas Eve gift. Suddenly I realized I had never included my children in the game. This was the first time they had been away from me on Christmas Eve morning and they had no idea of the tradition. So I began the process of explaining the history and the point to which I got a less than enthusiastic response. I don't think he will be waking up at 4 am next year to call me. But it made me stop, traditions. Do I really want another tradition to begin. For the past three years I have run from tradition. I have run from the memories of what Christmas use to be. I demanded we not spend our first Christmas without Jacob at home. My precious inlaws indulged me and left their families to spend the holiday on a cruise. The next year still running, still fleeing from the memories I said we would make the "sacrifice" and go to Florida and spend it with Zachary's girlfriend's family. It was not great sacrifice it was my salvation. To spend even one moment in our house which holds so many memories and traditions was too unbearable, too heart wrenching for me to comprehend. As the holidays drew closer my children demanded this year we stay home. Home where the memories of so many glorious Christmas' and so many fun filled traditions were held. The one place I did not want to be. To be in the home where once three boys excitedly huddled every Christmas morn while dad and I stumbled down the hallway putting on robes while fumbling to get the movie camera going. Where we sat in the living room ready to capture each moment while three little boys soon grown men would rush in with bated breath and squeal with delight at the bikes or drums or the car stereos. The look of excitement in their eyes was such a thrill and worth getting up early the day after Thanksgiving to get that special edition of James Bond game. The last Christmas we had at home tradition was broken, the blizzard. We were unable to go to my mom's and have Christmas Eve. We spent it together at home. At bedtime Jacob grabbed his brothers and said they were all going to sleep in the same bed. The twinkle in his eyes, the giant arms around the other two, I knew would be a long night of laughter, of farts, of wedges and more. That imagine still haunts me. I want that laughter, the twinkle in his eyes. I want the giant arms to circle around me and hug me once more. I would even take the farts from him now. To come back tonight after my mother's and there only be two boys going to bed, one with his wife, one alone. To lie down in our bed, the silence piercing through my heart, the seconds ticking away toward morning. The morning coming and before my eyes can even open the memories the thoughts will come flooding in. And with that my heart will slam to a stop to know that he is not here. To walk down that hall and know when I open that door he will be gone. To try and do the traditions that once were filled with happy memories and will be no more, how, how does one do that? How does one participate in a life that seems so unfair? A life where your arms ache so to hold him one more time, to feel his embrace, to hear his laughter and the smile on his face. Traditions that once brought comfort now bring tears and such pain. I want to come to a time when I can cherish those memories. But right now the memories cut to my very inner core with salt pouring in and the scalding effect takes one breath away. So how do you do tradition? I run. I run far far away, a cruise, Florida, my closet, my mind, until I can run no longer. I still have two precious boys that want to be home, that want to do tradition. I want that stability for them. I love them more than my life itself so you put on that face, your raise up your head, you laugh, you talk, you do life while inside you die a little more each day. Hoping the farther you can run that maybe someday you will outrun the hurt. But until then yes, you go on with traditions and even start new ones. Ones that can be passed down to their children because that is what family is. Memories and life together, here and now. Christmas Eve Gift.

A loss far greather than death.

Loss. There are so many forms of loss. The most obvious is death. From the first breath we take we begin the dying process. Our body immediately begins to age. Each breath is one second closer to death. But there are so many many other losses we have to endure in this life time. We lose friends, articles of clothing, contact lenses, teeth, hair and the list could go on. But with people there are a few other losses. Sometimes there is loss due to divorce. Two people who were so in love and could not bare to spend even moments apart begin to loathe the sight of each other. What once was enduring is now agonizing. The thought of being in the same room is so appalling that this couple so once in love is willing to rip their family apart and make the innocent children choose and suffer loss. To that child it is like death. The hope and future of their family is so dim they grapple with a loss so huge that it many times will affect them for life. We have loss in friends too. We share late night secrets and chocolate laden gripe sessions with people we cherish like they were our own blood. But with graduation, jobs, children, moves and general business of life we lose contact. We send Christmas cards with signatures dotted with hearts but throughout the rest of the year we never speak. That time seems so long ago and those girlish memories are like faded roses left to wilt and crumble. But there is still another loss of people that sometimes I feelis far worse than death itself. It is the loss of the person sitting right next to you. The far away look that stares right through you. The woman, the mom, the caregiver who now wakes up and wonders where she is. The one whose strength picked you up not just from physical falls but emotional caverns when no one else could reach you. The woman who held you tight when love seemed to slip through your hands with that first boyfriend and continued to hold you tight when you buried your first born son. The woman who knew all the answers and advice matched any columnist now sometimes forgets your name or how to make her feet move. Who some days says yes, a very nice lady was here yesterday and it was you. That loss creeps in like the fog from the ocean in the middle of a coal black night. It surrounds you before you know it and cuts off any recognition of the past, present or future. Once it is there it moves fast. Faster than you can hold it all in until it has consumed everything in its path. Then when it moves silently back to where it came from the damage is rampant. The worries and fears of how to rebuild, how to get some semblance of normalcy are gone and survivor mode sets in. How do you keep that person who managed a household and went to battle against so many to keep her family safe how do you get her to remember to lock the door, to eat, to take only one set of meds at a time or turn the phone off so you don't worry that something has happened and race over to find it sitting there, the world oblivious to the tone. How do you sleep at night thinking the one who tucked you into bed and said prayers over you might wander out into the night and never come back? How do you sleep? That loss is far greater. As you sit on the sidelines helpless to heal, helpless to make it all better. And watch the woman you love, admire and have worked so hard to keep alive is living without living. How do you sleep? How do you watch that woman slip away while sitting there right next to you? That loss is by far the greater loss. One in which you feel so helpless, so small, so weak so very very sad. I love you momma.

Happy Birthday Sweet Jacob

I stand at the Wal Mart counter and quietly ask the kind young man to blow up balloons for my son's birthday. Yes, this many, no it doesn't matter the color of the string, no I don't mind waiting, yes thank you very much. As he puts the first balloon on the helium machine and slowly fills it with air, I too slowly lose my breath as tears stream silently down my face. Balloons for your son's birthday, what a happy occasion it must be. How old? 25 Big party? Yes Is he excited? I don't know he has celebrated the last three in Heaven. The look. The look of shock of I don't know what to say, let me hurry so you can go on. No, this time the look is of sadness not pity, but sadness as he silently blows up the balloons. He ties each one tenderly, puts them in my hands and says, "No charge." I look into his eyes and search for the pity, the shock but I see kindness as he nods and I go out the door. The gesture is more than I can take. The tenderness of that sweet young man makes me yearn for my sweet sweet boy. I go back to the first day we held you. So little and helpless. So perfect. So happy. So ours. I play back the years of birthday parties, swim lessons, starting school, playing ball then playing guitar. The late night conversations and the giant hugs that you could never get enough of. How I long for one of those hugs tonight. The night before your birthday. What I would give to just look in your eyes and see the joy and love that abounds from them. To hear your laughter and teasing. To feel you close to me. I walk into the darkness of an empty house and fear I will never hear laughter again. The quietness is deafening. What happened to it all? I want my life back. I want the laughter, the life the continuous revolving door. I want my boys back in my life. I want the simpler times back. I want us to all wake up in the morning and have a birthday scavenger hunt. I want to text you all day Happy Birthday. I want to come home and the family go out and celebrate. Come home and pile together to find the laughter. But tonight I will sit in the dark and breathe, tears streaming silently down my face and even though I can't see your precious baby blue eyes, I will remember the kindness of one young man tonight as I bought balloons for your birthday. I miss you more than imaginable my sweet sweet boy. Happy 25th birthday tomorrow. I know your celebration will be magnificent being in the arms of our sweet Lord. But God, hug him tight for his momma, and tell him how much I love him. Send me a kiss on wings of the wind that I might feel him with me tomorrow. Happy Birthday sweet Jacob.

My father's death

I tried to make the 3 year anniversary date of my father dying August 23. It wasn't. I tried to make it today, August 25. It isn't. When I went to the cemetery today I realized it is August 28. I guess I am wanting the day to be over so desperately that I keep trying to make it happen. The actual event, the anniversary date or birthday, is always much easier than the days leading up to it. So even though it is next Wednesday I am honoring it today. You see, today I will allow myself the luxury of grieving my father's death. I say luxury because I seldom allow myself to go to that place. Whenever a person has experienced a traumatic event such as the death of a child, that takes precedence over any other life event. My father passed away almost 6 months to the day before Jacob died. The 6 months following my father's death I could think of no other pain greater than losing a parent. I was numbed by it but was just making headway in my grief when Jacob died. That event collapsed all relevance to my normal thought process. Nothing made sense or was following the natural order of life. So following February 20, 2010 that grief has taken over every emotion in my life. Yes, I miss my father terribly and long to hear his voice and see his sweet smiling face but I can't allow myself to feel those feelings because it means I have to go through my grief of Jacob again. I have to let my guard down, allow myself to feel, to think to be alive again to emotions. I don't allow that yet. A dear friend whose son has died several years before Jacob, Theo, once tried to explain to me how a mother goes on living. I wanted to know how she continued to breathe and just get up in the morning much less go to work and enjoy life. She said there comes a time when you take all that emotion and you put it in a little box hidden away inside yourself. You are constantly aware it is there. You know all it takes is one little peak and it will come rushing out. But for that day you put it away and don't go there. You don't dwell on it so intensely that you are sobbing without control. You don't sit and stare at the wall wondering how many more minutes left in this day until you can go to sleep and not think. You put all that emotion tucked safely away until you allow yourself to go there. I did not get it that day. That pain was too intense. I could not fathom making it through a day without tears, without a stabbing pain in my heart and a desire to quit living myself. But slowly I have found that even though that extreme heart break and sadness is ever present in my life I have safely tucked all emotions into that safe little place. Oh, it tries so hard to break free. You will notice it if you look closely. You will see me swallow hard and try to keep my eyes dry. You will see me excuse myself from the room only to return with red rimmed eyes. You will notice that far off look in my eyes only to be brought back to a startling reality with a jolt or even my reluctance to be with people. It is always there I just keep it safely tucked away. I go home some nights and sit in my closet and open that little box and let the tears flow. I sit at the stop light and heave uncontrollably until I can't see the road. I try to keep that box tucked safely away so no one sees. But to get to the box of my father's death I have to touch Jacob's. Not something I can do without tears flowing and my heart breaking. So I leave my grief for my dad to days such as this when I sit at his cemetery and tell him how I love him. How I miss him so much, How I want to hear his laughter and feel his tender hugs. I miss you daddy every day and even more when I see mom all alone. I sit in your chair and work in you flower beds. Trying to feel a piece of you with me. But I come up empty. I know where you are but I miss your presence here. Then I look over and see my son's headstone just a few feet away and it all comes rushing in. The pain, the hurt, the questions and it is all too much. My senses shut down, I can no longer hear or feel the sun beating down. All I can feel is that immense hole in my heart. With all my strength I stand and turn away. I tuck those two little boxes back in their place, get in the car and drive away. I put that shell back around me try once again to focus on living, on breathing, on being a mom and a wife. That is no luxury of grieving today. I miss you daddy.

One day...

Another life changing day for a momma and dad. My cousin called to say a friend's 22 year old son had died the night before from an accidental drug overdose. How many will it take? How many senseless deaths before we wake up and realize the dangers of drugs? Maybe it is not getting worse I just notice it more now. Maybe every time I read an obituary for a young person my heart wonders if they died the same senseless death. Maybe I still cringe whenever I hear an ambulance wondering whose life will be changed by that one phone call. So in hearing this news I looked back over my pages, my rants, my cries for help, my seeking answers and wondered if it truly has gotten any better. Does a mother ever recover from this type of devastation? I noticed a reoccurring word in my writings, breathe. Breathe. Why was that so important then and now? Breathing is a involuntary action of your body. Even if you pass out and have no control of your functions your body automatically will continue breathing. Your heart will automatically keep beating. So why was I so concerned with continuing breathing? The pain is so great in the loss of a child that even involuntary functions of your body do not want to continue. I remember walking down that hall and seeing the chaplain. Immediately, my blood pressure dropped me to my knees. My heart contracted so hard I felt like I was dying and my ability to breathe was non existent. My body was in shock. It was shutting down and my brain was unable to signal it to keep working because the news that my son was dead short circuited all pathways. You are teetering back and forth between trying to grasp for air and giving in to the urge to die. To close your eyes and not fight. To cease breathing, to cease living all in that moment. But slowly, someone pulls you back. That day in the hallway of the hospital it was the chaplain who picked me up and made my body move, made my heart keep beating and my breath to gasp out painfully. Later when time and time again when my body screamed out enough, no more pain, quit breathing, heart quit beating Bart would pull me back. He would remind me to breathe. To move, to will my heart to keep beating even though it was broken to pieces. Even today when I go to that place of pain I feel my heart constrict and not want to release. I will sit for seconds on end not breathing making my self slowly take a breath. I will myself to keep functioning keep breathing and heart beating because even though the pain is still so intense I see hope. No the pieces of my heart will never fit neatly back together. No, I will never cease to have my son at the foremost of my thoughts. And yes, I will still fall apart, and yes, I will still have to be reminded to breathe. But I have hope that one day it will get a little easier. One day one day.

Don't Cry Momma

I looked up in the evening sky, that time when God gives you a little glimmer of how beautiful Heaven will be. I noticed the giant orange ball of fire setting with streaks of red and gold shooting up as if the sky will open up right there before you. As I stood for a moment looking at God's beauty I heard myself saying, "Sweet boy, do you miss me?" As I continued watching the setting sun I felt a small small whisper deep deep in my heart, Oh mamma yes I do. I miss your laughter, smile, warm comforting hugs. I miss the family at dinner saying our highlight of the day. I miss the warmth from my brothers and wisdom from my dad. Oh yes, mamma I miss you, but mamma it is so much more than we ever imagined. There aren't words to tell you of the beauty and joy. I feel like that wide eyed little 5 year old who so innocently asked Jesus into my heart not really knowing what was in store for me. It is so magnificent. I came that morning and the joy and warmth I felt was so immediate. I knew I had come home, my real home, momma. Jesus held me in His arms, Himself. He walked the entire way with me. Oh, momma, it so amazing. I know you miss me, mamma. Jesus watches as you cry and He hears each and every prayer. His heart breaks with you and you know those days when you just can't go on? Momma, He is right there with you, some days, carrying you each and every step. But please don't cry for me. I am so at peace. I am happy. I know what true love is. And please don't wish you were here right now. You have so much more to do. I know, I see. But remember though it may seem like a long time, but before you know it we will all be together. I can't wait until I see you and give you a giant bear hug. But until then keep working, keep praying, keep sharing, keep trying to bring people to Christ. I want them to see what I see, feel what I feel, and be where I am. So, yes, momma I miss you and can't wait to see you. I love you momma. Then as quickly as it came it went away and the sun set.

Another momma and daddy

Another momma and daddy are laying their heads down tonight with broken hearts and swollen eyes. This very morning a 21 year old man, David, laid in a bed attached to tubes but breathing, heart beating, body and soul still working. Then like a whisper of wind it is gone. Life. Heart seizes to beat, lungs empty out and life as we know it is no more. Quiet, empty. To watch someone die is unforgettable. One moment there is life and the next it is gone. How does that happen? But more importantly why? Why does it happen? Why does it happen to people so young, people who are someone's precious child? I know the politically correct thing to say is Why shouldn't it happen to me? Why not me? No, that is not the question we ask. Why our family? And in all the grieving and counseling and books there is no answer. And so tonight another family is broken, an empty space is left at the table, a bedroom door is left closed, hole is torn through the hearts of brothers and sisters and people quietly go in and out of the house trying to find the perfect words to mend the mess. But there are no perfect words. There is no soothing salve. There is just pain, raw pain. Tonight in the silence as the momma and daddy lie side by side not knowing what to say. Afraid to reach out and touch for fear of feeling. Numbness creeps in but still yet sleep will elude them. A cry will ring out as the total reality of what has happened settles in around them. No more will they see their precious child. No more. But tomorrow will come and as the momma and daddy get up the pain settles in their bones. They push wearily around the house as they struggle to put one foot in front of the other knowing this is their new life, their new shuffle. But hope is on the horizon that someday when they too draw their last breath and their heart slowly stops beating they will leave this place called home and enter into a kingdom where they will once again hold tight to that precious child and as Jesus comes to wrap His arms around them all He will show them the why, the beauty of what one life did for others, the entire picture and what was once darkness will become light. That is day they cling to. My prayers go out to David's family and may the peace and love of Jesus surround them as they lie there tonight, weeping.

Been through hail?

I saw several signs today as I was driving, Been through hail?, Have hail damage?, Get hail recovery. I got to thinking about that and realized those signs represent life too. All of us have been through hell, have hell damage, and need hell recovery. I know in my own life I have walked through the deep depths of hell. I have so many dents and broken parts to my life because of the hell damage. And I constantly need hell damage recovery. It is a part of life, everyone will at some time get hell damage. Some people put their cars in the garage to prevent hail damage they same way they try to prevent hell damage in their life. They live in fear and don't get out of their comfort zones but stay close to home so they don't ever run the risk of getting caught in hell. Problem is life happens and they get caught out in the downpour of life and go through hell totally unprotected. Others buy insurance for their car's eventual hail damage. We too try to buy insurance. We try to prepare our self for bad times. We put aside money, we stock up on drugs, surround ourselves with support. But when you go through hell money can't buy you out, drugs won't make it go away, and people tend to flee. Still others try to outrun the storm. But time catches up and the storm hits you full force while you are running hard. Then the damage is done. We walk around living life with dents and broken parts. Some people have little bitty pecks, others huge caverns and pieces of their life completely broken off. We can get the quick fix, the ones who pop out the small dents but the strength of metal is never the same. We can buffer and polish and try to make the outside look perfect again, but still it is never quite the same. We can try to buy new parts but the model is different and somehow it just doesn't fit right. Or we can accept our dents and broken pieces and go the Master who with will walk hand in hand with us as we go through our own private hell. He will hold the dents and bumps and broken pieces right along with us. And when the hell becomes so loud and damaging there seems no hope that anything can be salvaged He will hold us in His hands and see the beauty and worth of who we are not what we are. He will gently carry us when we can't go any farther because we are so broken down. Then He will bring out the sunshine so things look brighter and begin the hell damage recovery, one day at a time with Him. I hope your days are all sunny and bright but no one escapes hard times. You must walk through the shadow of hell and back at some point. When my storm hit I am so glad I had insurance. I am so glad I kept my car in the garage a lot. But when I was caught in the ultimate storm of life I was saved from my hell by Jesus, my comforter.

No place like home

I have always loved to travel but even more so now. I recently had the opportunity to explore Canada. I could hardly sleep the night before as mixed emotions ran through my head. Excitement to visit an unknown place, anxiety of leaving my loved ones, fear of flying. But morning finally arrived and I approached the journey ahead with much anticipation. The flight was uneventful and the landing even more so. So why this mixed feeling as I walked off the final flight? A fleeing feeling of leaving behind my broken life. An accepting feeling that I was moving towards a week of unreality. I was in Canada where I was me, Shelli Selby. I was free of the past and baggage that goes with it. I was Shelli Selby, wife of a loving husband, mother of four amazing sons, mother in love to two beautiful daughter in loves, the Princess Grandma to four precious grandchildren, daughter to an unbelievable mom and dad, and part of an incredible extended family. Me, that was me, and there walking down that ramp I could be all of those things. I could for a short time pretend that I walked like the rest of the world without a care, without any fears, without the burden of grief. I could pretend. I could laugh, play, and breathe as I did before. Yes, the pain was there but tucked safely away that week. I could pretend. I could pretend all was right in my world. It was wonderful. You can see in the pictures the relaxation on my face, the carefree spirit that had long been replaced with the tiredness of every day facing a life without my child. So began an adventure, I could be me. And while I longed to be home I dwelt on the thought of what if. What if I never returned home? What if I never had to face reality again? What if I could stay here and pretend my life was once again complete? Do I dare think this could happen? But as the days passed by and I began to long for home I knew that could never happen. Pretending is child's play and reality an adult's albatross. As I felt the plane descend into OKC I felt the heaviness return. I put away such childish thoughts and looked once again at my life. I walked that ramp and felt the pain return full blast. I held the tears at bay as I was face to face with the fact that my world was still the same. My child was still dead and pretending could never last. I walked the corridor and turned the corner to see my husband, my life line waiting for me with open arms and those eyes that have brought me through so many long long days. I am home. I am surrounded by his love and know that even though my little world is bent and dented beyond recognition I am home. I am back to the ones who love me and will get me through another day. I go by the cemetery to see, yes, it is still true. I am the mother of four amazing boys but one is no longer here. No longer able to hear his laughter, the playful hugs and thoughtful talks. No more pretending but back to the reality of my world. I shed a few tears, tell him I love him, pray to God to get me through the day and return to my house, my home, and just as Dorothy said, There is no place like home, it is true.

The sunshine

I would like to apologize fo the bleakness of yesterday's post but I won't. I promised to always be real and that was real. Grief is like that. You go along smoothly and then fall into a deep dark valley only to go through a tunnel and find sunshine and beauty on the other side. Today, I ecxperienced that beauty. As I sit here on the porch surrounded by the beauty that can only be found in the hills of Virginia I am reminded of God's expertise touch on even the smallest details of life. The birds speaking to each other from one tree to another, the richness of the vines and greeniery lapping at the foot of evey tree. The stillness, the quietness reminding that God is everywhere. Reminding me that I do not travel this journey alone. That He who placed every vine every branch every spider web which is crafted on the dew of the morning is too crafting in me a peace, an assurance that I am not alone and He is still on His throne. That while I may have dark and dreary days the sun/son is with me and so too the sunshine. This morning I am thanking God for years ago placing this family, the Stitelers, in our lives. When Zachary went away to college and was placed with Nathan as a roommate never did we dream how similar our paths would be and how God would design a morning like today in the hospitality of their home to find my way back to sunshine and beauty. That He would give me a night of rest I haven't experienced in months. Yes, God does have a plan and none of this ever catches Him by surprise. This morning, this evening the wedding was all planned before we were ever knitted in our mother's womb. God is so good.

The Abyss

I run to you today. I can't stop myself I run to you. I have to write it down get it out because I feel a chink in the armor. I know if I ever let a crack into it the walls will come tumbling down. I feel but I don't because feeling means I will lose control. Control is what keeps me together. I am not hopeless because I have hope, no assurance, that I will see Jacob again. But it is for today this moment that I feel helpless. I don't know how to be this person. It has been over two years and I still don't know how to do this. How to be the mother of a child who has died. Just saying the words is enough to push me over into that abyss of depression if I don't keep control. I live on the brink of falling deep deep into that abyss every moment of every day. Every cell in my body craves to go there. To just fall head first and stay surrounded by that depression. It would be so comforting. So isolated. So numbing. But instead I fight. I fight with every breath I have to keep that wall of armor up so I don't feel. Don't feel anything good or bad. Bad feelings like Why? What did I do? What could have been done? How do I live without you in my life? How do I keep breathing? That my life is incomplete? 4 not 5. 2 not 3. Emptiness everywhere I turn. But I fight and fight hard. I keep that armor up so I don't fall in. Then good feelings. How proud I am of Zachary for graduating. How amazed I am at Kyler's talent last night when he sang his heart out about that day. That sad sad day. I have so much but feel so lost. I am happy, proud, amazed, excited about my family and life but constantly it is there wanting to tell me no, you can't be happy, proud, amazed, excited. He is not here to celebrate and share and it is not FAIR. I pick up the phone to text you about your brothers' lives and you are not there. I look up anticipating you walking through the door and you aren't there. I turn onto our street looking for your car but it is gone. I wake in the middle of the night thinking it is a dream and have to relive every moment to believe. So I stay in control. I don't let you close. I don't let you near the pain, the fear, the anguish, because if I do I might break. I might lose control and fall deep deep into that abyss. I am not cold, uncaring, rude, or unfeeling. I am just teetering on the edge and don't want to fall in. So I dry those tears, put on a clean shirt and face, face the future as a person I don't want to be. The mom of child who has died.

I ran across some old song lyrics today. Not sure whose handwriting they were. Not sure if they were created by one of my boys or copied from another song writer. When I sat and read them I cried. I cried for a long time. My heart broke over and over. Were they written by one of mine? Were the harsh cruel words directed at me? My middle son reminded me gently that whomever wrote them was probably in a middle school angst. It was probably in a heated moment after a fight that was senseless. But was it? Even if they were written not by one of mine but some wealthy song writer my heart struggled with the idea that a some child felt this way at any time. It was entitled Dear Mom. (See why I took it a little personal?) It spoke of trying to live up to the mom's expectations but they changed every day. How they felt they could never be good enough to please the mom's face in front of her friends. How they were sick of trying to be good enough. Yes, this could have been one of mine. It could have been one of yours. Or it could have been the emo words of some famous writer. But today it struck me. Did I criticize you too much? Yes, I probably did because I was trying to help you see the potential I saw in you. Yes, I probably did because I did things wrong. Did I change my expectations? Yes, I probably did because my life was on a constant roller coaster. I didn't know what I wanted for me much less anyone else. Was I controlling and obsessive? Yes, probably because that is the way I was made. But did I do any of it to hurt you? NO. Would I, could I, should I have been a better mother? YES. Do I have regrets? Yes, every night when I close my eyes and think of every conversation we ever had and how I handled it wrong. Do I feel responsible? Yes, very much so. And I will carry that weight until the day I die. But you didn't come with a manual and I didn't have a clue what parenting was about. I just knew I loved you with all of my heart. If I could only go back in time. But I can't so I live in a self imposed exile of feeling like a failure. Yes, we looked good on the outside but I did so many things wrong. But one thing I didn't do wrong was love you, unconditionally even if you didn't feel it. I can't change my past but I can look forward. I can't undo what I did to Jacob but I try so hard now to be a better mom. But then I begin to believe that voice in my head that says I can't do it. Why try? I taught last week's Bible Study on being a Godly parent. I dreaded that week. I watched as I talked to ladies their the self imagined looks between each other when I spoke of raising them up in the Word so they won't stray. I did but mine strayed. I spoke of unconditional love and support. I did but mine didn't feel it. Who did I think I was to speak to other moms about raising children. My child died from a drug overdose. I heard the talk turn to kids who had turned out "bad" and the wonder at what the parent did wrong. Were they talking about me? Did I cause my child to turn to drugs? Did I drive him to his death. A teen once asked me if I ever thought maybe Jacob used drugs to escape from me? Did I ever think that? Yes, every night when I lay down and every morning when I rise. Did I cause my child to die? I spoke of the need to pray constantly for your children to protect them. My brain screams out silently I did that every day over and over. Was my faith not enough? Did I do it wrong? Is it all a joke God that if you pray for your children a hedge of protection that You will protect them? I scream with every fiber of my being God I prayed I believed and You let him die. Why? Do You really exist out there? And then I fall silent. Feeling like a total failure in life. What right did I have to speak to these ladies if I was questioning You, God. Slowly a flickering from the back of brain, a nudging to stop and listen. To remind myself that Yes, You exist. Yes, You protect but You give us free will and sometimes life is hard. I know Satan is behind my doubts and my fears. And that he pleasures in making me question God's existence. The warming of the heart comes back as I remind myself I loved all of my children unconditionally with all of my heart. Yes, I made many many mistakes but I did the best I could. I will continue with my other boys to constantly love them and do the best I can. I am so sorry Jacob if I ever made you doubt what an amazing person you were. I am so sorry Chris, Zachary and Kyler if I ever made you doubt what amazing men you are. But I know beyond a shadow of doubt I love you and God hears and answers prayers. But for every little child out there how ever old you are now, please know your momma loves you. You momma cares. She is doing the best she can. And sometimes it doesn't make sense what she says or does. But sometimes you have to forgive her so she can forgive herself.

Numbers

Valentine's Day. A day for loving, kisses and hugs. Not a day for grieving or tears but to me it is once again a reminder of numbers. Numbers, not 3 valentines but 2. Not a family of 5 but 4. Only 2 daughter in loves someday not 3. Two sets of grandchildren not 3. 2 people home alone. Two people in the cemetery. One person standing barely breathing struggling to see the beauty in the day of love. One in the frozen cold ground. Wait, no the body is there but the soul, the being, is with God in Heaven. One person alone in the cemetery. Numbers.

Don't let me forget

Wednesdays are always hard for me. They are my busiest day of my work week. I leave and go straight to my mom to do what has to be done around her house and take dinner. Then when I kiss her goodbye a sadness envelopes my heart as she sits in her chair with her feet tucked up under her and tells me to be careful. I am sad because I know when I leave she will be alone. She has been alone all day with me possibly being the only human contact she has had face to face. It hurts to leave her alone and by then I am so tired that I get in the car and I cry. I cry for her, for me, for Jacob. I have learned over the months to grab my phone the minute I get in the car. I call my cousin and talk. She talks to me about anything. Anything but what my mind is screaming. As I near my house I will tell her I am home and it is ok. She tells me she loves me and I go in. Another Wednesday night saved from swollen eyes and a hoarse voice from screaming out to God. But tonight I cried. (It is ok Becca. I know you were busy. So please don't take offense. Sometimes I just need to cry) But tonight was different. I usually cry because of memories but tonight I cried for fear of forgetting. I had a five year old little boy tell me last week he couldn't remember his step dad. He couldn't remember what he use to play with him. He looked up at me with those big brown eyes and said I can't remember. His step dad was killed just 3 months ago. My heart broke but it stayed with me. I began to worry. Would I forget? No, I would never forget my son but would I forget his smile, his laughter, his smell, his touch? I began to panic. His room. What did his room look like before he died? I couldn't remember it. How could I forget? My heart is racing trying to remember. Have I tried to erase you? Was that what I was doing? Just four months after you died your brothers and I went through your clothes. What to keep, what to wear, what to give away. Why had I done that? So I didn't have to look each time and be reminded that you would never wear them again? Where were your clothes with your smell? Where was your blanket that smelled just like you? Why had I tried to put those memories away? In our home I have taken most of your pictures down because they are too painful to see. They make me physically hurt. My arms ache to hold you. The pains in a place so deep in my heart that I seldom go. I will double over from the realization that I will never look at that face again. So I don't look. I don't look at your picture. Have I tried to erase you from our home? I have the videos of you growing up and your shows but I can't watch them. You are so alive and it makes my body convulse into sobs at the mere sight. I want to remember every inch of your face, your musky smell of cigarettes and cologne. I don't want to forget. But remembering is just so hard. We cleaned out the building where you spent hours writing and playing. I scream at Bart don't touch one thing of his. Leave every momento on the wall. I grab for your writings, your handwriting, your thoughts. I snatch them away so no others can read them. I can't bear to part with even one piece. But I can't bear to read them either. Please don't let me forget but I can't remember for the pain. I left the building exhausted from the memories, the seeing your face as you rapped with your every breath to help us feel your pain. But I can't remember your smell, the feel of your hair, the whisker kisses as you tell me goodbye. I don't want to forget but it is so painful to remember. I scream in the car with tears flooding my face, "God, please don't let me forget. God, please please just don't let him be dead. Please oh please." Two years after you died and I still plead to God please let me have my baby back. Please just please tonight take my pain and give me back my child. The people in the car next to me look on in disbelief as I shake from the crying for the fear that I might forget. It is just so hard to remember. Remembering is pain. Sheer pain. But forgetting is so much worse. God let me keep those memories bright and alive where someday I can go and enjoy not run from them. Don't let me forget.

I wept

I went to see you today. I stood by your grave my fingers lightly tracing the etching of your face. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I silently stood there and wept. I wept. I wept for myself. For me who even after two years the mere mention of your name brings my heart to a stop and immediately my eyes overflow with tears. I wept for myself who misses you beyond words. Myself who feels like a piece of me is always dying. I breathe to live but only because I must. Some days to stop would be easier. I wept for myself who comes home to an empty house and closes the garage door before I get out so the neighbors won't see me sit in my car and weep. I enter the house which was once filled with laughter and warmth and now feels so empty and cold. I wept for my afternoon call as you drove home from work, your text at night that you love me, your body sprawled out on the furniture while you read, ate, drank, listened to music while watching tv. I wept for your laughter and hugs. I wept for your brothers who struggle with God and fairness. I wept for your brothers who go on but behind every smile is the sadness they can't shake because you are gone. I wept for their yearning to call you, to hug you, to share you with their children, to be by your side. I wept for the loneliness that invades them when they walk through the doors of this home. Yes, glad to be here but constantly searching around every corner for you to appear. I wept for your father. Your father who grieves so silently but yet so deep. Who when he thinks no one is looking with shoulders shaking so hard he can barely stand up will let down his guard and weep until he can weep no more. Who constantly watches over us all to keep us together and tries so hard to protect us from the harsh reality that you are no more. Your father who holds us and gently strokes our head and tells us whether he believes it or that it will be alright. I wept for your family of grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles and more who miss you and see you everywhere they turn. Who want, no need to connect to you. Who want just one more hug, one more smile, one more song. Their lives a little less colorful, a little less lively, a little less you. I wept for your friends who still mourn you every day, who love you so much they tattoo your name on their chest or face on their arm. Who still come to your grave and have a smoke or a drink to tell you how heavy is their pain. I wept for their loss, not knowing what to do, how to deal with a death far too young. I wept as I looked around at the many who have joined you. The numerous who have died lately at an age far too early. The senseless of yours and their deaths. I wept for their families whose grief is far too close. Then I wept for you. Who won't go old, who won't get married, who won't have children, who won't have a future here on earth. Then I stopped realizing the grieving stops here. It stays and penetrates our lives to the very core of each one of us. But I don't weep for you. You have moved to a place far beyond our comprehension. A place where there are no earthly demons, there is no addiction, there is no sadness. Just joy and hope and a future. No, my precious boy I wept for the body lying there in the cold ground. But for you my son, I rejoice. I rejoice in knowing that 18 years ago you came to me and said, "Mommy, I want to ask Jesus into my heart." I rejoice in knowing that day you were sealed with permanent marker, a child of God for eternity. No more sorrow. No, son. I wept for those of us left here that miss you so much. Who ache for your arms, your smile and laugh. I wept.

When we all get to Heaven

"When we all get to Heaven what a day of rejoicing that will be." This old hymnal sounds in my head constantly. I can hear the piano player in our church pounding out the keys while we bellowed out the lyrics. When I was little and my grandmother would talk about Heaven and how she couldn't wait to get there. She said she longed for that day and it would a day of rejoicing. I thought to myself, "Well, I can wait. I have a whole lot of living still to do." I wanted to grow up, have my first kiss, go to college, get married, have a family, grandkids. Yes, I wanted to go to Heaven but later. Much later. I didn't understand why she looked forward to it. This world was too exciting to think about leaving to go sit on a cloud and play a harp. I have grown so much since that day when I thought we would be cloud sitting. I know Heaven is a better place. A place that is filled with the sweet sweet peace that only comes from being in the presence of Jesus. But until Jacob died I still had a whole lot of living left to do. Now, I long for Heaven. I long to see my son again. That is what I was thinking about today in church. When I think about dying and going to Heaven my first thoughts are about seeing my precious baby boy. I can't wait to see his face aglow, his hair blowing in the breeze, as he runs to wrap those arms around me and tell me how much he loves me. I can sit here right now and feel him giving me a big bear hug. Oh how I long for that. Then my daddy will pick me up with his big strong arms and twirl me around like a little girl. My aunts and uncles will be there loving on me oh so much. My Uncle Virgil will be so happy to see me he will even let me kiss his cheek without running. Oh how I long for that day. The day when I am reunited with my loved ones but especially my baby boy. But then it dawned on me how I longed for Heaven to see my baby. I had listed all the people I would run to meet. A peace passing through me. But where was Jesus, God the Father in all of this. I had lost my focus on why I truly wanted to go to Heaven. Why was I struggling so much here on Earth. I had lost my focus on God. All of my thoughts are focused day and night, totally consumed with seeing his face, not His face. The last month has been so hard. Tears slip down my face whenever I am alone. I will be fine one moment then faded memories will come racing back. And once again my heart feels empty, a giant hole that will never heal. As the 20th approaches next month, I grow anxious, fearful, alone. My thoughts go continually to that day, that moment, that ring on the phone when my life as it was ceased to exist. Why when I look back and see how much progress I have made I wonder why are my thoughts so dark and whirling. I don't remember the happy times. I replay each fight, each harsh word that came out of my mouth, each moment I chose cleaning over sitting listening to Jacob's thoughts. I dwell on the negative. Maybe the negative is easier. The negative is just filled with regrets and guilt. The good memories are too painful. Once when Jacob and I were having a fight Bart stopped us and got out a family photo album. He told us both to stop and sit down. He pointed to picture after picture where Jacob and I were laughing, hugging, loving each other so unconditionally. He looked at us both and said we fight so hard because we love so much. Jacob knew he could say whatever he was feeling to me, lash out his anger or hurt because I would love him no matter what. He was my first born, my precious child, one of my reasons for living. We fought because we loved deeply. A mother's love is infinite. There is no stopping or ending. It goes on and on and on no matter what separates the two. So I go to the fighting memories to escape the pain of separation. The pain that will only completely be healed when I see his face again. Which brings back to my reason for Heaven. God understands my preoccupation with Heaven and running to my son. He knows my human heart. He understands my loss. But He also knows my focus needs to remain on Him. I need to focus on God's being with me every step of the way and only with God holding me gently during all of this time have I been able to survive. Psalm 27;13-14 says it best, I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD In the land of the living. Wait for the LORD; Be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the LORD Yes, seeing my son will be an added bonus but God who has held me through this all, who has brought good out darkness, who walks each and every step, who weeps when I weep, who feels my pain as His own is the real reason I want to go to Heaven. It is just so much sweeter to me now as my loved ones wait. So tonight as I lay me down to sleep I will thank God for being my constant, pray He puts His arms around my baby boy and tell him his momma loves him, and ask that in the morning when I rise He will give me the courage to face another day until He calls me Home.

A Black rap singer

Now that I have ranted may I please rave? My son. Who is he? He is so much that it would be hard to write it all down. But this weekend I was reminded once again how talented he was. A friend of his posted his rap, This is Who I Am. I listened to it this weekend. His voice so alive and right there at the kitchen table with me. If I closed my eyes I could feel him there with me. I wanted to share it with you all so you could see how incredibly talented he was. But my first thought was I didn't want to put it on my facebook because of the language. You see I never fully appreciated Jacob's talent because I got so wrapped up in the language. All his life Jacob wanted to be a rap singer. When he was little he wanted to be a black rap singer. I would tell him he could be a rap singer but he could never be black. That was not the way God had made him. He argued with me constantly about that because I had always told him, "When you grow up you can be anything you want to be. You just have to work really hard." I would laugh because he had me there. He was a talented bass player and when he branched out to rapping it made me uncomfortable. I would ask him when I was there would he please tone it down. He said, "Mom, it is rap. You just can't do that." Therefore I never really listened that closely. I never appreciated his talent. I was embarrassed that people would judge him or even more so judge me. What type of parent raises a son who uses that language. Because of that fear I did not support him like I should have. He would tell me all he wanted to do was rap. I would discourage and say to go to college and then he could do it on the side. All the while hoping it was a phase. I didn't embrace who he was. This weekend too a friend shared with me the advice Jacob had given her when she was upset over her sister's drug abuse. She was tired of her sister running and using and was giving up on her. He said, "it may not happen when YOU want it to, but just don't give up on her. The 'when' part is gonna suck the most. But If you love her, just don't give up EVER because LOVE NEVER FAILS. And she will come back... she loves you guys too. She knows she messed up. And right now she's probably scared too, of the consequences and of having to see your disappointment and face all the judgment. She is scared she might be disowned. She thinks about the day when this is all over, every night and every morning she's Thinkin about it, but right now she's just more scared than she is ready. But she will get there one day, and if you can force yourself not to lose ALL of the faith you have in her, and maybe find a way to be in her corner instead of throwing stones, it might help her to forgive herself one day too. Just hang in there ... Just don't give up on her. I promise ... You'll see." Wow, what wise advice. When I read that I felt like he was talking to me. Don't give up on me mom. I am scared. I hate seeing the disappointment in your eyes. The judgment from you and others. Never give up one me. I feel I failed him. Yes, I loved him but did I truly embrace what an amazing person he was or did I get caught up in what others would think? He would try to explain his demons of drug abuse. The constant physical and emotional pain he was in. But I didn't want to hear that. I just wanted to hear he would quit. I just wanted him to look and act like others. I totally looked beyond who he was. Others got to see the real Jacob. Not the one he tried to be for me. I didn't see his talent and genius until it was too late. I wish I had supported him more. I wish I had listened closer. I wish I had said forget what people think, you are much more important. I forgot to see he was a scared young man who didn't want to disappoint. He just wanted to be a black rap singer.

Acceptance?

There are days when I dread coming to the computer. Dread having to find the words that express the depths of my soul. Days when I stumble over words that will get exactly how I feel onto the page. Today is not one of those days. Today I can't get home fast enough. My head is spinning with my thoughts, my feelings, my tears. I want to put to paper those things whirling around and make sense of them. Today I come eagerly to find out what my heart is truly feeling. Acceptance. That word has been spinning around in my head all weekend. Acceptance is the final stage in the grieving process. According to Webster acceptance is "the act of accepting" accept is "to receive willingly, to take hold of without protest or reaction" According to the Kubler Ross model acceptance is the final stage of grieving and means "individuals begin to come to terms with their mortality, or that of a loved one, or other tragic event." Come to terms, take hold of without protest. To move to this final stage of grieving would mean that I come to terms, I receive it willingly. Willingly? Will I willingly ever come to terms with the fact that my son is dead? No and I hope I never do. I think the people who write these books on grieving must not have loved and lost passionately. Yes, I will willingly accept the death of a pet, a public figure, a celebrity. But will I ever willingly accept my son's death? No. I accept the fact that my son is dead and I will never see him again in this lifetime. I know that. It is a fact. Nothing can change it. But do I have to accept it? And willingly? No. Every day I wake and come to the realization my son is dead. And every day I pray for God to help me continue breathing, moving, living, but I never pray for acceptance. For to accept means I have to willingly come to terms. I have to say it is ok. It will never be ok. I will never accept the fact that it is ok for him to cease to exist in this world. I will fight that to the day I die. It is not ok, it is not fair that my son is dead and others are walking around. Twenty years from now it will not be ok. I will not willingly accept it. Do I need therapy? Probably but I think I am very normal. I think there are others out there who are being told it is time to come to terms with their loved one's death. It is time to move on. It is time to let go. I am not being delusional. I go to his grave. I see the dirt where he body lies below. But do I have to willingly accept it? No. So am I stuck in the process of grieving? No. I have moved through and back again through the different stages, denial, anger, bargaining, depression. But grieving is not a five stage process. There is not a way to do it. There is not a 5 step process and presto you have arrived. It is a day by day hour by hour way of life that will be ongoing until I take my last breath. To the mother of a child who has died your journey will not end until you meet them again in Heaven. I will grieve until the day they put me in the ground. I will walk about and look fine to you but my heart will continue grieving every moment. I have hope that one day I will quit grieving, the day I enter Heaven. That is the hope I hang on to for every breath. So please don't tell me I need to move on. Don't tell me I need to "accept" Jacob's death. I won't. It will never be ok. Someone needs to rewrite the book on grieving.

Side Note

A little note about the Sand Dollar post. I never did find the sand dollar. I searched and dug. But I did find parts of sand dollars. It gave me hope. My whole sand dollar is out there and someday I will find it but until then I will be content with the pieces. My life is in pieces and I have hope and faith that someday it will be whole again. God has promised me my sand dollar. It may not be in this life time but I will be whole again. Love you all and thank you so much for allowing me to write and you reading it. You do not know how much that means to me. God is faithful.

Letting Go

I have a problem with letting go of things. I have always known it but yesterday it became even more apparent. When I was little I would save every memento of my life. My mom would go through my things periodically to thin things out. Now I am not a hoarder but I just hate letting go, especially of memories. My aunt and uncle lived in a white two story house with black shutters and a deacon bench on the front porch for over 30 years. They owned the yellow house with white shutters and the blue house with white shutters right next to them. I come from a large family and we all, the cousins, grew up there.We played in the yards, trees, up and down the stairs. We lay awake at night looking out the window from the second story sharing dreams of the what was yet to come. We ran in fear past the guest room which we were convinced was haunted, so many memories. When they decided to down size I was crushed. How could they sell these houses which had been so vital to our growing up. How could they let other people live in the very home we grew up in. So I decided I couldn't let them go. I bought the pretty little yellow house and the quaint little blue house. I couldn't let go. I wanted the big white house. I was going to make it a boarding house for college students who would live and share their dreams together. But Bart wouldn't let me go that far. So today I own the blue and yellow house as they are still called. Other people live in them but I still have a piece of the memories and no one can change them. To me they are a link to my childhood. I have trouble letting go. Yesterday, Kyler and Cheyanne, my youngest son and his lovely new bride, moved into their new apartment. They came to pick up all their worldly belongs from our house. Their clothes, books, tv, wedding gifts and more. It was ok. They were starting a new life. I was ok. I was letting go. I was so proud of myself. No tears. No sadness. Until. Until, they wanted their glasses. Two simple sets of glasses. I had bought them at estates sales of my Aunt Lena and Aunt Peggy. I had bought them Kyler, for that day when he set up house with his new bride. I knew they were his. I was just storing them until that day. That day had arrived. They wanted their glasses. But you see to me they represented more than two sets of glasses and a pitcher, they represented the past. A link to my aunts. A link to my past. I wanted them to have them but shook at the idea of letting go. What if they broke them. My head knew that would be ok but my heart screamed, "No, that is my past. That is my aunts." I took them slowly down from the cabinet. I looked at them and saw my aunts. I knew they would tell me this was silly. My past, my memories are not in those glasses, they are in my heart. Let go. Let go and realize you will never lose the past. My aunts would be thrilled Kyler and Cheyanne were using their glasses. That would make them so happy. Sitting in my cabinet they would do no good. Letting go. But it was more than just the glasses. I realized I was letting go of my baby boy. Yes, he had been married for almost a month now but he had still been living down the hall in his bedroom, eating dinner, playing video games, watching movies, being a part of our family. But now he was creating his own family. Letting go. He would come home to visit but that is what it would be, to visit. No longer would I be the one taking care of him. I have worked for 18 years preparing him to leave this house and create a life for himself. I should be proud, happy. But my heart screams out I need more time, I want more time, I can't let go. But I know as I take each glass down I am getting closer to letting go. I can't keep him in the same existence like I have the blue house and yellow house. I can't preserve those memories in their same state. I take the glasses down one by one and one by one I know that I am letting go. I am letting go my youngest son to become the most amazing man and husband that God has called him to be. I have faith he will be fine but my hand trembles at the thought of him and those glasses leaving this house. Is it over? Is this all there is? You bring a precious child into this world and throw your heart and soul into every being of their life? And then they leave? Yes,that is what happens. You do spend every moment of their life preparing them for this very day. And even when your heart is breaking thinking you are losing your child you slowly begin to realize as you pull the final glass down they are ready. Your job is done. They will visit, they will call, they will come to you for advice and comfort. But it will never be the same. You can not keep them at home forever. You have to let them go. You pack the glasses carefully knowing that someday one may get broken or all my shatter onto the floor. But nothing, not even a thief in the night can steal the memories. They are forever. They are in your heart. Letting go. It never gets easier to let go. I know that I will never get very good at it. But I am glad. That means I love with all my heart and even through my tears I know that letting go is the right thing to do. But precious baby boy know that I am so glad I have such happy memories and I am proud of who you have become. Take care of the glasses, take care of your wife and make your new memories as a family. I let you go.