Define me

On one strong, determined day (or part of a day) after Greg died (there was probably some "Greg-anger", too, mixed in with the "strong and determined"), I remember saying that I would not allow Greg's death to define me. How naive.

Greg's death does define me. Of course it does. I'm a different person than I was the day before he died.  It's not a choice - it's a fact.

I will forever be the mother of a child who died - a child who took his own life.  Forever.

My heart will always be broken.  It won't heal.  It won't be "okay" in five years - or ten years - or a thousand years. 

I hope there will also be joy - and gratitude - and laughter.  But underneath it all, my heart will always be irreparably broken. 

I can't imagine a day that I won't cry.  Someone says something.  I run into something that belonged to Greg - or that Greg gave me.  Or I just... remember.  And I cry - not always for long, but tears are always just behind the next breath.  Every day.

So, forgive me for my innocence.  Forgive me for my hope.  Forgive me. 

I'm the mother of a son who died. 

By Way of Sorrow

17 months.  You are in the music in the air - in the rain that falls on the window - in the stars that shine through the darkness - and in my heart - forever and always. 

Way of Sorrow




You've been taken by the wind
You have known the kiss of sorrow
Doors that would not take you in
Outcast and a stranger

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

You have drunk a bitter wine
With none to be your comfort
You who once were left behind
Will be welcome at love's table

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

All the nights that joy has slept
Will awake to days of laughter
Gone the tears that you have wept
You'll dance in freedom ever after

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

                 Performed by Cry Cry Cry
                 Written by Jamie Miller

We have a lot of things going on in our house.  Our business has outgrown it's assigned spot and is just kind of oozing deeper into the basement.  

The ooze is causing a necessary cleaning up and purging of "stuff" in the next part of the basement.  A dear friend (let's call him Aidan) came to help us today with the heavy lifting that we just can't do. 

We (99% Aidan) moved shelving units, a huge work bench, too many cans of paint, miscellaneous furniture (like the first end tables Rich and I bought in 1970), remnants of a successful, but long retired candle business that occupied the area we now need for our current business (10 years after the close of the candle business), lamps, boxes of "who-knows-what" - just endless. 

I was navigating that part of the basement (which looked more like an obstacle course than a basement) just kind of trying to get a feel for what's down there.  I was drawn to a tired-looking cardboard box with something red poking out of the top.  When I got to the box, there were 2 stuffed toys - both super heroes - still with tags on them.  I took them out to see what was underneath,  There were miscellaneous glasses - I found a Seagram's glass and a couple other glasses with writing on them - obviously not new.

My breath caught in my chest when I realized it was Greg's - probably a box of treasures from a garage sale - the toys... probably intended gifts for his two nephews, my two youngest grandchildren.  I held the toys to my chest and sobbed quietly.  Aidan was moving shelves, Michael was moving paint - and I was sitting with my back to them both - holding two stuffed super heroes and washing them with my tears.

It's always hard to see things that were personal to Greg, but when I run into them by surprise, it bends me to the ground.  When I see remnants of the life he was living before he died... the pain grabs my heart and squeezes until I think I can't breathe.

Before I could gather myself, Michael was standing behind me.  He can often tell when something isn't quite right.  Maybe I was too quiet.  I don't know.  But there he was - to take the toys and the box and to ask me what I wanted to do with them.

"Later please, Michael.  I can't do it now."  I left the box and went over to where Aidan was working.

"How's it going, buddy?"  I asked as cheerfully as I could manage.

"Great!" answered Aidan.  "Do you want these chairs in the garage,"  Aidan asked.

"That would be great, Aidan.  Thank you," I answered quietly.  "I'll list them on Facebook and try to sell them.  I'm done for now," I said.  "I'm going upstairs. If anyone needs me... yell."

I went upstairs - closed the door to the den - and cried.

When I held the things from the box, I could see Greg - kneeling on the floor - looking at the things in the box. I could see his clothes - his shoes.  I could see his face with that crooked smile he saved for things like garage sale treasures - and jokes on me. I could hear his voice and see his worn hands.  It came all at once - the second I realized it was his box. 

How can such small things cause such crushing pain?

I hate surprises. 

Chicken Soup

I'm reading Chicken Soup books.  I have several around the house:  Chicken Soup for the Cancer Survivor (it's all about attitude, people), Chicken Soup for a Better World, Chicken Soup: Grieving and Recovery (Don't get than one.  It's a weep-fest), with  Chicken Soup:  Random Acts of Kindness waiting in the wings.

I'm all about hopeful messages - happy endings - stories with a positive point of view - anything that's quick - doesn't require much of me.

I can't tolerate anything sad - can't stomach violence.  Before I read a book (or watch a movie), I check reviews and specifically search for spoilers that will tell me about the ending.  Then I decide if I'll read - or watch.

I don't like surprises. 

17 Months

I've been through the 4th of the month 17 times so far.  

I keep thinking that if I don't post on the 4th... or even think about posting on the 4th... it won't be so bad.  I can get through the day (or actually three days) without this crushing ache of mournfulness. 

It's not true.  Nothing helps. Trying to sleep through the day doesn't help. Being busy doesn't help.  Distraction doesn't help.  Nothing helps. 

Woowoo says it's my nervous system.  "Your nervous system knows these things." she says "...knows the cycle - feels the days.  Even more than your brain knows... your nervous system knows." 

And my heart knows.

Rainbow Connection

Jason Mraz

Why are there so many
Songs about rainbows
And what's on the other side

 
Rainbows are visions
They're only illusions
And rainbows have nothing to hide

 
So we've been told and some chose to
Believe it
But I know they're wrong wait and see

 

Someday we'll find it
The Rainbow Connection
The lovers, the dreamers and me

 

Who said that every wish
Would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star

 
Somebody thought of that
And someone believed it
And look what it's done so far

 
What's so amazing
That keeps us star gazing
What so we think we might see

 

Someday we'll find it
That Rainbow Connection
The lovers the dreamers and me

 

Have you been fast asleep
And have you heard voices,
I've heard them calling my name,

 
Is this the sweet sound that calls
The young sailors,
The voice might be one and the same.

 
I've heard it too many times to ignore it
It's something that I'm supposed to be,

 

Someday we'll find it
The rainbow connection...
The lovers, the dreamers and me

 
La lala la lala la la la lala la la la

 

Songwriters: Kenny Ascher / Paul Hamilton Williams

New Phone

I got a new phone that arrived with all the "new phone" issues of losing log-ins, saved passwords, sometimes apps, and in this case, a whole lot of randomly missing contacts. I lost old contacts, new contacts, all kinds of contacts.

So!  Last night, I decided to go through my text messages that just had phone numbers - no names - to see what contacts I could add back through text messages.  Pretty doggone clever, eh?

I was feeling pretty good about myself - glad that I tend to use people's names in text messages - finding numbers - reading texts - identifying the texter - and re-adding them to my contacts.   I was finding my lost contacts with great glee (and gratitude) - when I ran into a string of text messages with Greg's phone number.

My breath caught in my chest and the tears came before I could stop them.  The words were there - demanding that I read them.  I read as much as I was strong enough to read.  The tone of the messages I read was warm, light, tender at times, loving without question, easy, comfortable (sober).  It was the way you talk with someone that you love dearly - and know better than they know themselves - in both directions.  In both directions.  I could hear his voice in each message - see his face.  For a few minutes, he was alive again.

Oh God, I miss him.
 
I didn't sleep last night.  I cried.

But the new day starts, whether you're ready or not.  I try hard to be ready.

Today I regrouped as best as I could, went through my day (quietly), made bracelets, answered customer's emails, did some bookkeeping - just normal "stuff", but I didn't have much voice - not many words.

While making bracelets, I remembered the recording I made with my phone of Greg's voicemail after he died.  I grabbed my phone immediately to make sure that the recording transferred to my new phone.  It did not.

Panic

I haven't listened to the recording in quite a while, but it has to be there when I need to hear his voice.  I was afraid I'd forget how he sounded, but now I know there's no chance of that. 

I looked for the recording off and on all day, positive that I saved it somewhere on my hard drive.  No luck.

Tonight I found it in my email (I'm an email hoarder) and saved it on my computer.  I can't lose it. 

The only way to be sure it works is to listen to it.  As I close my eyes and listen, the hurricane of pain and sadness that swirled around me all week nearly breaks me in two.

My sweet son - is gone.  How will I bear it