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.