46th Birthday

Today would have been Greg's 46th birthday.

I don't go out to the cemetery often.  So far, just twice a year.  I go at Christmas because Scott buys a tree (live) and takes it to Greg's grave.  He had hoped that everyone would go out and add something to the tree, but as I've discovered, we are not a "come together" family. No one was willing to participate, so Michael and I put ourselves in charge of decorating the tree.

It's hard.  We both cry.  I buy the decorations - all kinds. I write messages to Greg on the little Christmas balls.  Michael wires the decorations to the tree so that they don't blow off.  We leave heartbroken and disconsolate.

I'm glad Scott buys the tree.  I wish more people participated.  It would make it easier.

Greg was Christmas itself.  He and I shared a crazy love for Christmas and all its traditions.  We felt the same way about so many things.  He was a kindred spirit - a bright light in my life - truly born of my spirit and wrapped in my love.

I don't feel close to Greg at the cemetery.  I don't "feel" him there.  I feel him most on the front porch or in the basement where he created a beautiful business area for us.

Greg had a heart that was open to all - with a huge capacity for love.  Animals felt that gentle side of him. It was an other-worldy thing to watch.

Which brings me to the 2nd time this year that I visited the cemetery - Greg's birthday.  I gave Greg a birthday present every year of his life.  I can't stop now.  The cemetery is the only place I know to take him a gift, so I take it there.  Last year it was a big pinwheel.  This year, it was.... the following.

Say "hi" to Freddy!

When Greg lived here the summer before he died, he would go outside after dinner, sit on the porch and smoke a cigarette.  Very often, I would to with him to sit and talk.

One night we were sitting there and a big old frog hopped around the corner and sat on the porch floor in front of Greg.  Greg talked to the frog, Freddy (I think is what he named him) and the frog sat there and appeared to be listening.  Soon, Greg and I went into the house and we watched the frog hop around the corner toward the garage.

Greg (and I) went back out to the porch later and shortly after sitting down, around the corner came Freddy and sat, once again, on the porch facing Greg.  When we went back into the house, Freddy again, hopped around the corner toward the garage.

This went on all summer.   Greg talked to Freddy - Freddy listened.   Greg would reach down and pet Freddy with his index finger.  Freddy just looked up at Greg.  I just sat and watched, mesmerized and feeling privileged to watch them.  I called Greg the frog whisperer.  He loved it.

This year for Greg's birthday, I took him the garden frog in the picture above (he looks like Freddy) and left it on his grave. I wish the cemetery would just leave it there, but they won't.  So I got a second frog and I'm going to put it in the flower bed at the edge of the porch - where Greg used to sit.

When Michael and I got to the grave, it was evident that Scott had been there on the 4th and left a small pinwheel that was moving like crazy in the wind.  The headstone had also obviously been cleaned within an inch of its life.

I texted Scott and told him the pinwheel was spinning like crazy, how great the headstone looked, and I thanked him for taking such good care of Greg's grave.

"What makes you think it was me?" Scott asked.  It was the first time I laughed all day.

"Who else?" I asked, laughing.  This was definitely Scott's M.O.!

Some people show their love by spending time with you.  (Richard will do that) Some people show their love with gifts.  Scott shows his love in service.  Yes, this was definitely Scott's work.

Some days I feel that I should go to the cemetery more often.  Most days I just feel I can't.  Maybe that will change.  I don't know.

He knows I love him.  He knows I'm looking for signs of him everywhere and anywhere.  He's always with me. 

2 years

Two years ago today I found out that my precious boy had hanged himself.  I screamed. I made noises I can't even describe.  I pounded my head with both fists.  The pain was so unbearable, I thought (wished) I might explode.  I couldn't imagine  living another day without Greg.

Today is not all that different.  I am amazed that I wake up every day.  I put one foot in front of the other every day, hoping it makes a difference to someone, but I don't think it does.  I feel that I have less and less reason to wake up. 

Someone recently recommended a book to me on loss, grief, and recovery.  Recovery?  Really?  How do you ever "recover" from losing your child?  I wish I could recover.  I wish this pain would stop.  I wish this grief would stop killing me a little more every day.  Or... I wish that it would just take me.  But recover?  There is no recovery. 

I had hoped I might see one or both of my other children today or a grandchild or two, but they are wisely taking care of themselves and their own grief - busy - off with friends.  And I am alone with my grief.  Again.

I'm having a hard time dealing with the fact that my grief is mine alone - not to be shared - no comfort anywhere. I have to live it alone.  I guess everyone has their own grief that they have to deal with. 

It seems to me, though, that tragedies like this either bring families closer or split them apart.  I was sure we were a "come together" family, but we are not.

How will I make myself get up tomorrow?  Why should I? 

dun-dun-dun-dun-dun

The days approaching the anniversary of Greg's death come with the same sense of foreboding as a visit from Jaws.

dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun

I feel the tension - the dread - in the air.  It surrounds me and at times, consumes me.

Yesterday was hard - lots of tears.  I ordered something to put on Greg's grave for his birthday (July 8th) and it arrived yesterday.   Michael opened the box and when I saw it, I sobbed.  It was just SO Greg.  (I'll write about what it is - and why - in the next day or two - including pictures)

Today, every time I walked by it (okay... okay... it's a frog) - I smiled at the memories.  In fact, today has been a relatively good day - at least so far.  I'm surprised, but I'll take it.  I'm grateful for every hour of sanity this week (actually, every day since Greg died, but especially this week).

I don't know what this afternoon will bring, but I'm grateful for a calm morning with some heart-warming memories.

 

The week that was

It will be two years, on July 4th since Greg took his own life.  If you had told me two years ago that I'd be alive today, I would have told you it wasn't possible.   Without God's mercy and grace, I wouldn't be here.

I keep waiting for grieving to get better - to get easier - but it never does.  People talk about healing.  There is no healing.  There is no day - no time - that this will ever be gone.  It's permanent.  It changes from day to day, but it is never gone. 

I found this "thing" below on Facebook (cartoons, pictures and "inspirational" sayings are what Facebook is becoming, it seems).  This is all very nice, but I don't think the "bench in the sun" day ever comes.  It sounds like you reach some magical point where you take a deep breath and say, "Whew!  The awful part is over!  Now I can move forward.  I'm okay."  Really?  This all hinges on one unknown cure point in the future - and once you hit that point... you're okay???  I don't think so.

 

Whoever wrote this didn't lose a child.  They couldn't have.

Do I sound angry?  I suppose I do.  I suppose I am.  I am every emotion you can imagine - every day.

An hour from now (or 5 minutes), I'll be drowning in sadness - unable to stop the tears.  Then I may get a text from a grandchild and my heart will lift, and I'll be overcome with gratitude for that text - and love for that grandchild.

This week is the worst.  I'm struggling to find any equilibrium.  Holidays, Greg's birthday, his wedding anniversary, his son's graduation from high school, his children's birthdays - all those things push me to the edge of my endurance.  I try to survive until the wave washes over me and then returns to the sea and I can regain some footing.

Every time another wave comes, I wonder if I'll be swept back to the ocean with it and drown,

Today I am weak - with no "fight" left in me.  Below is the "Bible verse of the day" in my devotional.  I'm staking my life on it. 

"The Lord will fight for you.  You need only to be still."  Exodus 14:14

A Star is Born

Two nights ago we watched A Star is Born with Gaga and Bradley Cooper.  I had no idea about the ending - was not prepared for Bradley Cooper's character to hang himself.  In the previous version, Jackson Maine (played by Kris Kristofferson) died in a car accident (still sad, but more appropriate).

I enjoyed the movie up until that point, but when the character pulled his truck out of the garage and then walked back into the garage, carrying a black, leather belt, my heart started to pound.  No... no... no...    I could hardly breathe - definitely couldn't watch - couldn't listen - and couldn't escape.  Thankfully, Michael saw what was happening and fast forwarded, muting the sound.  All I could do was look at the ground and sob.  It's taken two days for me to be able to talk about it.

I plan for the big things - birthdays - holidays - events.  Even though they're painful, they're not a surprise.  I know I'll have to deal with them.  It's the things that show up unexpectedly - the surprises - that crush me and leave me breathless - searching for a way out - some way to avoid this shattering pain.  And there never is a way out.

The only way out - is straight through the middle of the pain.  I know it.  I'm just not always brave enough to do it - especially when it comes out of nowhere and slams me in the chest like a runaway freight train. My guard was down.  I wasn't ready.  I'll never be ready.

Why did the movie need to end that way?  The choice to have Jackson Maine take his own life is, in my opinion, a poor one.  With all of the substance abuse issues currently drowning us - with so many lost souls committing suicide - with depression running rampant, is it wise (or necessary) to romanticize suicide? The ending of this movie disappoints, to say the least - and causes me to relive the heartbreak of Greg's death.

You can  be sure that from now on, I'll check the spoiler alerts for the endings of any movie I see in the future.  I don't want to relive this.

My "go-to" guy

My garage door broke - again.  It's been repaired at least four times that I know of.  I know Greg fixed it more than once.  I think it's time to replace it and stop patching the problem.  So... who do I call this time?  Greg would know.

I can Google things like anyone else, but that won't really tell me who's good - who's reliable - who should not be called. Getting advice from Greg was way better than online reviews.  He knew!

And... I need stone (crush and run, I think it's called) on part of my driveway.  I don't even know where to begin.  Do the people who deliver the crush and run also spread it - or do they just dump it?
 
For any question - on almost any subject, Greg was always my "go-to" guy.  He knew more things about more things than anyone I've ever known.  Not just pretended to know.  He knew.  If he didn't know, he'd find out.

"Hey Greg!  Who do I call about crush and run - and what's the process?"

"Hey Greg!  I think I need a new garage door.  Would you mind taking a look?  Or tell me who to call?"

Greg would have an answer.  After talking to Greg, I'd know who to call.  I'd know where to start.

Today, I'm lost - overwhelmed by the tasks ahead of me.  (I know!  I know!  I overwhelm pretty easily these days)

I'll figure it out.  I may not get the best price - or the best person, but I'll get it done.

I miss Greg for more reasons than I can name, but today... I really miss my "go-to" guy. 

23 months

Today is the 4th.  23 months.  1 month short of a year.  It's been almost 2 years since Greg died and the pain still cuts me in half - like a sword - clear through my bones - I bleed tears. 

I still don't understand.  I'll never understand.

I looked in the mirror today - it doesn't happen often - and all I could see were purple circles under sad eyes.  Is that who I've become?

I don't have the energy today to be more.