I use to love the holiday season, the bright lights, tinsel, crispness in the air and the ever playing Christmas Carols. Decorating was an event. A time to be treasured and savored. A time I looked forward to all year long. A tree in every room, even the laundry room and pantry. Such fun, such memories. Memories that I don't look back fondly on. Memories that are too painful to bring to mind. And today I go through the motions of decorating. Decorating for Christmas. But what once brought joy now is dealt with on a has to basis. The first year after Jacob died I made our entire family go on a cruise. We left Christmas Eve morning and stayed gone for a week. No decorating, no wrapping, no Santa to deal with. The second year we crashed Zachary's brand new girlfriend's family Christmas in Florida. Yes, they had only been dating a short time and I invited us all to Tampa. Again, we left Christmas Eve and landed in sunny Florida with no Christmas tinsel near. The sunny beaches with sand Santas made it feel less like a holiday and more like an escape. The third year the boys said NO. No more running, no more ignoring, no more acting like Christmas doesn't exist. We are staying home and we are decorating and exchanging presents. So up went a tree. One lonely tree with haphazardly placed ornaments that matched no Christmas theme. Just a tree with presents. No joy, just existence. Going through the motions. Now year 10 have gone by without you Jacob. Isn't any easier. Yes, I put up more trees and I see a theme running through the house. But it goes up without though, because thought would be too painful. Thought would bring up past memories of happier times. Of a house filled with kids and laughter. Of a house filled with anticipation for Santa. So this year, yes, the house is decorated and presents are being ordered. No department stores with piped in Christmas music and small children waiting in line for Santa. No. Just online shopping with wrapping done to mystery movies rather than Hallmark. I will go along with the plans and keep a smile on my face. But friends, know behind that smile is a breaking heart, for the one who isn't here. For the one whose stocking is left in the box, for the one who no presents are wrapped, for the one who doesn't get to celebrate with us again this year. My son, we celebrate because it is Jesus' birthday and for that reason alone I still breathe. But my son, it will never be the same without you. We put up the tree, wrap the presents, sing Christmas Carols, and eat holiday meals but a part of me is missing too. The part that died when you died. So forgive me friend, if I stand alone for a while, or tire from holiday parties. Know that I am present, still believe and love you dearly but a part of me is missing and I could use an extra hug just to know you still remember and maybe just maybe a little part of you is missing too. Thinking of you my sweet momma friends as the holiday season approaches.

To go someplace far far away where no one knows my name.

I am struggling today. Really struggling. That is a hard thing for me to admit. I try so hard to present a “have it all together woman.” But I don’t. This past two weeks I have forgotten so many things. I missed appointments, forgot to go to the hospital to pray over someone, phone calls weren’t returned, bills left laying on the table and my house has lacked in the area of cleaning. I even left the house for dinner with family and realized I had forgotten to put on makeup. Forgot to put on makeup!! I have never done that. I have tried making excuses for my forgetfulness, thoughtlessness, my apathy, my sometimes down right rudeness on my busyness. I have been short with people, cried for no reason, and felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. At times the anxiety has been crippling to the point of not being able to get up off the couch. My busyness. Started a new job, City Council, church responsibilities, mom, wife, Jacob’s Cupboard, homeless ministry, and redoing a rent house. But that is all an excuse. Today, I looked at the calendar. September 4. September that month that brings so much emotion. I think back to that first September after Jacob died. That first month that I had to realize for the first time in 23 years I wouldn’t be planning a birthday party. I wouldn’t be planning a birthday morning scavenger hunt for your present. September. That month that was once filled with joy not brought dread. And it still does. I want so desperately to escape. To go someplace far far away where no one knows my name. Where no one knows my pain. Where for a moment I can pretend my life is complete once again. Where sadness does not exist. Where when the month of September comes I can be happy and hopeful. But instead I sit here. With meetings, work, phone calls needing to be returned and a family that needs me to be a mom and wife. But linger here for a moment longer where tears flow and I miss you. Longing for you to walk through that door, pick me up in a bear hug and tell me how much you love me. Just to hear your voice one more time. To look into those beautiful blue eyes and be able to see through to your soul. Just one more time. I miss you. I want to go someplace far far away where no one knows my name. But I don’t because life calls. So I continue to plan your Birthday Celebration, number 10 without you. I worry no one will come, no one will remember, that no one will care. I worry that you will be forgotten. Your life will hold no meaning. But son, know that you lived so much in your 23 years and touched so many lives. And that in your death more lives are being touched. But for today, right now, I struggle. I miss you so much. I just want to go someplace far far away where no one knows my name.

The Valley

When out of the blue the pain rips my heart in half and the panic ensues to where my breath can not be caught, my heart is pounding out of my chest and anxiety paralyzes my very movement. When it comes out of the blue so unexpected, it hurts just as fresh as the first day. The pain is paralyzing but duty calls and you have to continue with your life when all you really want to do is lay down and cry. Then you cry out, "Why, why today do I have to relive this? I've been so careful to keep the pain tucked away, out of sight. Then from nowhere it came as if to consume my life. No person or drug can take that feeling away. The only thing left to do is to cry out to God. Please, God take my pain. I slowly feel His arms go around me, tenderly and whisper in my ear My child I can't take your pain. You must go through it but I will be here by your side. As I cry and beat my clutched hands against His chest I feel the wetness. The wetness from His own tears as He grieves with me. Yes, even though you walk through the valley of death- I will always be with you.

One day closer

Happy 29th birthday son. I went to visit you at the cemetery today. Oh, I know you aren't there but that is the last place I saw you. I left you there. So I go to visit and remember. As I pull in I look across the jagged granite tops of the stones that mark the lives of those gone by. I see a tent and watch as people dressed in black pick there way across the terrain, being careful not to step on a grave. I watch as they pull closer so they can hear the hollow words of comfort being said. Slowly, it begins to rain. Little tiny raindrops all around me. As I sit in the grass next to you and watch the mourners from across the way, I realize how right it is to be raining. As the wife, children, aunts, uncles and cousins say good-bye the angels are so touched their tears pour down around those left behind. I sit and stare at your face so perfectly engraved in the stone and feel each angel's teardrop on my arms, face and head. I've shed those same tears. I think back to the years before that I have sat in this very same place and cried. I have probably cried a million tears. I have cried, I have prayed, I have pleaded, I have bargained with God for this to be a dream and for me to wake up and you walk into the house and surround me with those arms and greet me with a great big bear hug. But as I watch the people slowly leave the graveside. They linger just a little bit, hug each other one last time, then make their way to their own individual cars. I realize that to them, the freshness of grief is just starting, the physical pain of a hole in their heart. 6 1/2 years later that hole is still just as big for me but I know I am 6 1/2 years closer to seeing you again. I don't want to go back to that first night, first month, first year. I know you aren't coming back no matter how hard I cry. I know the hole in my heart will never heal. But I am closer today to seeing you again. So, until the day when God says it is time, I will tuck the pain away at the end of the day and start tomorrow knowing I am one day closer to seeing you again. Happy Birthday sweet baby boy. Your momma loves you so much.

6 years

I can't believe 6 years have passed and we are still standing as a family, that I am still functioning. I know it is through God carry me all the way and people's prayers. But still it has been 6 years. 6 years that is 2, 190 days, 52,560 hours, 3,153,600 seconds that I have felt this pain. I wonder will it ever go away? Will I ever discover something new or experience happiness without feeling like something is missing. That something is you, sweet Jacob. I think of you with every breath. I still live, go to work, love, entertain, and exist in this world of ours. But I think of you every minute. I am so afraid that I will forgot your laugh, your hugs, your precious smile. I don't want to ever forget you. I don't want you forgotten. I worry about that. I worry that there will be a world that never knew you. Twice a year I host a party for you, Jacob. A party to help our Jacob's Cupboard's empty shelves, but please know it is much much more that than. I hold the parties so we don't forget your life, the impact you made on us all. I am scared. I am so very scared that there will come a time when people will say enough. Enough talk of him, enough remembering, enough with the parties, enough with the Cupboard. Move on. Every year the group gets smaller. People are busy, people don't want to be sad, people don't want to remember. Move on. It is awkward, uncomfortable. That is enough sympathy move on. Is this the year to stop and go about our day as if this were any other day? For others, maybe, it is easier to go about with their lives and pretend this didn't exist. But for me son, I will never forget. I may go silent but I will always remember the day you were born, the day you died and all the precious time we had in between. Because in the scheme of life, 6 years is not too soon to forget.

A momma's heart

This week, two families’ lives were shattered. Two families found out their child had died. Two families. One family I know, the other I know only by name. But even if I didn’t know the names I would know the devastation that this death is wrecking havoc over their lives. Both families went to bed praying when they woke in the morning this would all be a bad dream. Both families woke up with a start that this is the new reality, their child had died. They will wake up every morning for the rest of their lives with that realization. I know this because it is my reality. My son’s death has blessed and cursed me. I feel the pain for them. I remember the long walk down the hallway and falling to my feet screaming out “God no”. I wake up at night reliving that first night and crying for these families. I go to the store and stand there in the middle of an aisle remembering my anger when the world kept spinning and my world had come to a screeching halt. How could these people shop and smile and walk through life without a care when I carried this much sorrow in my heart? I physically get ill when I think of them having to go to the funeral home to pick out the casket for a life cut too short. I get on my knees and prayer for God to spare them but it is too late. So, I walk this journey again. Reliving the moments knowing that others have walked it before me and others will come behind. I am thankful that God placed people in my life February 20, 2010, to guide me through. To walk along beside me if only just in prayer. Even though these two families' situations are so different, the pain is the same. Because of my journey, God has shown me how to pray, how to minister, how to sit quietly and listen. I know the realization that praying is just too hard and others need to intercede for you. I know to remind them to keep breathing and live one moment at a time. To not get too far ahead of their grief, don’t think about the future and how will you live without that child. Just get through the next 10 minutes, the next second, just keep breathing. And for that I am blessed. To know that some good will come from my son’s death. Oh, believe me, that does not take away the ache and the tears but gives some validity for the pain. Just to be able to go before God and pray for these families from the heart means maybe, there was a reason. Maybe some good will come. So I come to you, and ask you to pray. To lift these families up to God and wrap them both in His sweet arms. To put people in their paths that will continue to reach out even after the funeral is over. To know that even though they may be angry at God, He has big shoulders to pound on and will pick them up when they are done. To help them find a blessing somewhere in the midst of the curse. To know that even 6 years down the road the hole will still be ripped through your heart but that God’s grace will see them through. I ask too that you pray for my family this week as we celebrate the healing of Jacob’s soul. Today he walks in Heaven where he is free from his demons and focused 24/7 on God. To help us to remember that this is just a moment in time until we see him again. But that every morning when we wake and before our eyes are open, we wake to the realization our child is gone, pray we have the strength to stay strong in our faith and help others. To help all the mommas and daddies who buried their children, I pray for strength. I miss you sweet Jacob. I long for your precious hugs and infectious laugh. You will not be forgotten. Love you.

Maybe just maybe I have begun to heal.

Last week in an attempt to destress my life, I read an article about decluttering and how it can create a more serene environment. I cleaned out the bookcases in our bedroom and simplified what I filled them with. It did create a better atmosphere. But something was missing. I needed a picture. I found myself searching and searching through the boxes of pictures I hadn't been able to go through. Pictures that took my breath away and made my heart skip beats. Pictures that created a hollow pit in my stomach because I knew they were the last. The last pictures of my son, gone far too soon. But today, I searched, searched for that one picture I knew I needed. At last I pulled it out. It was him, the beautiful eyes, the charismatic smile, the wind tossed looking hair, my Jacob. But this time it was different. I longed to look at it and remember. Something had changed. It was peaceful, comforting and for the first time in 6 years I put his precious picture on the bookshelf. I begin to look at his face every morning when I first came to the shelf by the door to let the dog out. I begin to look at his face every evening when I went to bed. I begin to feel his presence and it was peaceful. Today, I went to the cemetery to put new flowers on the graves, graves of my parents and my Jacob. I had made Valentine's arrangements, hearts and I love you's filling them . I busied myself putting them on the different graves while Bart secured the arrangements with wire. We both worked quietly but peacefully. Feeling like we had a sense of purpose. I realized something was different. There was peace. Soon I found myself walking through the cemetery putting flowers back in empty vases, straightening wreaths that the wind had tossed about. As I walked past my cemetery friends, the grave sites I always check on, people whose lives should not be forgotten, I felt such a peace. A peace that doesn't come so very often. As I sit here I realize that even though I miss my Jacob so very very much, with a longing that physically hurts my heart, that not a moment goes by that I don't think of him, that slowly very slowly there is a peace. I realize that in the 6 years since his death maybe just maybe I have begun to heal. Will this pass and the anxiety and pain start again? I don't know. I pray it won't. I hope you pray it won't but for today I want to sit here and enjoy the peace that God has given me. I love and miss you my precious boy but look forward to seeing you again. I will hold you in my heart until I hold you in Heaven.