OUT OF THE FLAMES AND ASH THE PHOENIX IS REBORN

Like a thief in the night you came.
Black shadowy creature
silently walking on tiptoes,
slipping and sliding unseen along walls and through the shadows
Determined in your goal
you sought out and stole from me that which I treasured
Giving no thought to the toll to those that loved him.

I scream out at you but
You care not for my sorrow and anguish.
Or the long nights and empty days
When I cry out and beat my pillow.
What of the blood that spills upon the ground
From my crushed and broken heart?
Evil and contemptuous! Calloused and uncaring!
He was my child! You took my child, vile one.

I was not ready. I had no time to prepare.
Like a thief in the night you came
Robbing him of his desire for life
Ripping him from my motherly arms
You did not hear or heed my prayers.
I prayed and prayed. Heart wrenching prayers
Prayers of desperation. Didn't you see my tears?
Why didn't you care? Was my faith not strong enough?

Words of comfort are offered but they mean nothing
How can they when death has arrived uninvited
And stolen your child? I am overcome with feelings of
Anguish. I want to strike out at this invisible, formless
Void. I want to hit and kick and scratch and knock to
the ground this Thing. This Thing I cannot touch.
Frustration! Irritation! Madness!

In the middle of my torment a calmness begins to settle upon me
I fight against it. I don't want to be calm. I want to be angry!
Anger is an emotion that I can understand.
But despite my efforts, my tears stop and I am at peace.
I lay exhausted and spent upon my bed with no desire
To do anything but lay there.

In a dreamlike trance but fully awake
I am transported to the most beautiful garden
Flowers and trees reflect in a crystal clear lake
The melodious songs of birds are heard overhead
The air is clean and fresh. The sun is bright but not harsh or hot.
The temperature is perfect.

I suddenly realize that I am not alone.
A man - at least I think that it is a man -
Cloaked in white is walking beside me
His voice is the voice of an angel
Neither male nor female
Clear and strong but soft, mesmerizing and hypnotic
Like a voice somewhere deep inside my own head
It consumed me and overwhelmed me
But was comforting and calming at the same time.

""Be at peace my child.
Your beloved son was not taken from you. He lives on.
He was gift given to you for just a short while.
He was entrusted in your care to raise, and to love,
and to bring up in righteousness. To teach to be
compassionate; to respect and love his fellow man
and to help those in need, to extend a helping hand.
His trials were difficult, his pain great.
Both he and you were tested to see if you
could withstand all the hardships you were dealt.
In his anguish would he cry out against the God that made him
Or in love quietly and gently give up his soul?.

He learned his lessons well and when his work on earth was done,
To his Father in Heaven he did return. His departure was not unplanned.
He gladly gave up his earthly life to fulfill a greater plan.
A plan put in motion before the beginning of time
Before the earth was formed and life breathed into it.
I know your sorrow is great. For He made you as your are.
Grieve as long as you must and weep when you will
But remember this, he is with Us now and is greatly love and is at peace.
When you need him, he'll be near to guide you along your way
And when your time on earth is done, he'll he there to take your hand
Lift you up and bring you back home once again to US."

Next I knew I was alone and once again lying in my bed.
I felt like a Phoenix that had been consumed in flames
And rose reborn from the ashes.

No longer do I view death as a thief in the night
For I know it to be a bright and glowing light
That leads us from the darkness of earthly life back home
To the peace and comfort of Heaven's pure love.
Loved ones are not left behind and alone by those that go before us
They continue to watch over and guide us when we try to do what's right.
They are here to comfort and aid us in our times of pain and despair.
They are here when we call out to them in the middle of the night
They are closer to us now then they ever were before.

I still cry and miss my precious son terribly.
I miss his sweet voice and his gentle touch.
The grieving will never be done. But the anger is gone.
New understanding has replaced the blame.
When the game of life gets too hard, I know that my Christian is sitting beside me
Invisibly holding my hand and whispering in my ear "Everything is going to be alright."
I still have bad, bad days when missing him is almost too much to bear.

But on other days I see him in the rising and setting sun,
In the dew on the grass in the morning.
In softly falling snowflakes and in the rainbow in the sky.
I hear his voice in the rustling leaves
And in the rain as it falls on rooftops and taps on my windows.
I see him in moonbeams and star light on warm summer nights.
I see him in sunbeams as the break through the trees in early morning.
I see the twinkle in his eye when light reflects and dances like fire in diamonds and crystals.
I am reminded of the wonder that was him when I see a shooting star.
I feel his presence when bulbs break through the soil in Spring and the first flowers emerge.
I feel the force of his love in the thunderstorms and wind that bends the trees.

I am filled with peace knowing that he surrounds me in the innocence and beauty of Nature. I can almost feel the gentle caress of his fingertips on my hand.


"Life on earth is but one brief moment in time,
I am finally home, Eternity is mine."
~~~Author Unknown~~~

COLOR OUR CHRISTMAS MERRY AND BRIGHT - December 25, 2011

This is the time of year
When thoughts turn
To Christmas cheer
Bells ring, songs are sung
Tinsel on fragrant trees is hung.

Town squares are brightly lit
Manager scenes before churches sit
"The children were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads."
Traditional poems and stories of Christmas retold.

Hot chocolate, hot toddies, cold winter nights
Snow covers the hills and dales in cold frosty white.
Families gather, fires in fireplaces burn warm and bright
Gifts under the tree, colorful twinkling lights
Childhood stockings on the mantle are hung
In hopes that dear Santa soon will come.

Christmas morning in our baby's first

Like another baby when he first arrived on earth
Long, long ago in a far distant land
This is His birthday, let's not forget
If not for Him, no gifts would we give.
So stop for a moment and give thanks
For Him, earth's most precious gift.

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord."


Children rush down the stairs
Laughter and excitement fills the air
For a moment they stop as the sight is taken in
Shiny paper, bright bows. Packages lie
Under branches bright with Christmas tree lights.

Gifts are distributed by the designated elf
Paper goes flying. Oohs and Ahhs ring out
As newly received presents are held up
Hugs around necks and kisses on cheeks are placed
As the neatly kept living room is laid to waste.

The tree is quickly devoid of its splendor
Gone are the ribbons trappings, and bows
Eager, hungry eyes still desiring more
To the decorated mantle their attention goes
Where to their delight the stockings are stuffed full
Candy canes peek over the top, tangerines fill the toe.

Toward the dangling treasures they quickly rush
When suddenly together they all stop.
Like a wounded soldier one stocking
Hangs empty amongst the rest.
Silence fils the room as in reverence they stand
Each reaches out and takes another's hand
Tears slide down each and every cheek.

Tears for the loved one that use to be here
The father, the brother, the uncle, and son
Who we never guessed wouldn't always be near
To fill our lives with his love and warm cheer
To tell stories that made us laugh till we cried.
Never, ever would we guess that he would die.

From the silence a sweet voice is heard
"Uncle Christian, I love you and I miss you."
We repeat "dearest Christian, we love and miss you too."
Laughter rings out as the children gleefully rush in
And with great zeal their stockings they plunder.
As we sit happily watching with childlike grins.

The presents are all opened. It's time to clean up.
Gathering up paper I suddenly feel a cool breeze on my cheek
And do you see it? Over there a white feather gently floating down
Signs from above! Our hearts are filled with love, our faces glow
The stocking may hang empty, his absence strongly felt
But deep in our hearts each and everyone of us know
He is here with us and his love and caring he continues to show.

I feel something brush my face like the gentle mist of Spring rain
My hand goes to my cheek as I gently press into my soul his kiss
This Christmas day I will leave behind the hurt and the pain
And with arms held high I will give thanks in His Holy Name
For the blessings of family and for God's greatest gift -
The promise of Life Everlasting.

John 3:16 For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.


To my wonderful, amazing family and friends and to everyone everywhere I hope you had the merriest of Christmases and I wish you the richest of blessings in the New Year.

MERRY CHRISTMAS MY DEAREST CHRISTIAN. I miss you every moment of every day. Thank you for sending us reminders that life is eternal. I love you, love you, love you! Momma

Ding dong, Ding dong, Ding dong Ding

I've been wondering of late and hope you know
It seems as though I did a long, long time ago
But do I really, honesty and truly exist?
Or over the water am I only the mist
Am I a vapor trail high up in the sky
Or just a shadowy reflection in your eye?

Perhaps I am the fog rising up from the cold, damp ground
Or one of the invisible friends that no longer comes around.
It seems I can remember once being whole
A real live person with a heart and a soul
What happened to that person, where did she go?
Sometimes people guess but they don't actually know.

I look in the mirror and there's no one there
Am I only a dust particle floating in the air
Or am I the spooky sounds you hear in the night
The ones that wake you up in a state of fright?
If you reached out to me with your loving touch
And couldn't find me, would you miss me very much?

You look at this shell that once housed the living
See, it's walking talking, laughing, smiling, singing
But I'm not there. I've gone away and took with me my mind
Which is funny because that's the part of me I still can't find
When last I saw it, the poor thing was in sad, sad shape
It just wanted to hide in the back of my head and escape.

My mind hid away and took my eyes and ears along
It wanted to shut out the decorations, lights, and songs
It wanted to turn off Christmas bells ringing out "ding dong"
"Ding Dong" "Ding dong" all of that noise is so wrong
For a grieving heart the holiday season is too prolonged.
It was nice for a while but now it's time to say so long.

This time of year is too painful; heart, mind, soul disconnected
How do you insulate yourself, make sure you're protected
When every where you go there's reminders that break your heart
Remembering the one you loss and how it tore your life apart.
To protect others from my sorrow, I hid myself away
Crying, screaming, weeping, then I come out and act like its just another day.

When we are so broken, how do we put our lives back together again
You will have to ask someone smarter than me ... perhaps a wise friend.
As for me, I'll go on pretending and dreaming and wishing upon a star
That someday, no matter who we are, that our dreams will all come true
And we will find the wholeness that we all once knew.

******************************************************************

The holidays will soon be over and as hard as it is, I'll be sad to see parts of it go. I sincerely do love the lights illuminating the houses and streets and store fronts. Everything looks so festive and happy. This seems to be a contradiction to all that I've said but I am a person to which contradiction is no stranger. It comes from trying to see the issues from all sides and since the sides are all different, so is my thinking.

This one thing I know to be true and without contradiction: the holidays are unbelievably difficult if you've lost someone that you deeply love. Instead of embracing old holiday traditions, we run away from them because the absence of the loved one is too strongly felt during those times. It is sad for us and for the rest of family that look to us to be their strength and to fill in the empty places in their lives.

On January 18, 2012, I will be entering my third year in this loss process. I'm told it eventually gets easier with time; but for me, this holiday season is harder than the last one. I suppose it's easier in the respect that I don't dread the arrival of Christmas because I survived last year and will survive this year and many more Christmases too come - God willing. There are just so many things I still can't do but I'm hoping that in time the pain will lessen and I will be able to enter a store or go to the mall without having a melt down. I don't know how long it will take but I'll patiently wait until the day I can walk through the doors and not be sadden by the sight of Christmas decorations. Today I am going to put all that aside and just sit back, relax, and "wonder what Christmas in Heaven is like."

"And I wonder...
Is the snow falling down on the streets of gold?
Are the mansions all covered in white?
Are you singing with the angels Silent Night?
I wonder ....
What Christmas in Heaven is like."

Are you kneeling with shepherds before Him now
Can you reach out and touch His face
Are you part of that glorious Holy night?
I wonder.....
What Christmas in Heaven is like."

` Christmas in Heaven, Music by Jeremy Johnson and Paul Marino ~

CHRISTMAS TIME ONCE AGAIN - 2011

We have a Christmas tree this year. My husband bought it and put it up while I was in Nevada visiting my mother. It isn't tall or beautiful. It's small and it isn't real. Truthfully it's kind of a Charlie Brown tree with paper pine needles but it has lights and brightens the parlor and makes the entryway cheerful. The only thing I've hung on it so far is a single candy cane. It looks lonesome hanging there all by it self. Why does that solitary candy cane remind me of Christian and how much I miss him? But then everything seems to remind me of how much I miss him this time of year. There are so many reminders: Thanksgiving, his birthday, Christmas, the anniversary of his death. Too many. I don't have time to get over one before another arrives and comes crashing in on me.

I want so badly to enjoy the holidays but I can't even bring myself to go to the store and you can just forget the mall. I've tried it twice now with bad results. When I was in Nevada, my Mom wanted to go to Target to walk around and get some exercise because it was a cold, rainy, windy day - windy like it can only be in the desert - and she didn't want to be outside. Reluctantly I went with her and came home with such a heavy heart. I don't know why Christmas shopping makes me so sad but it does. I suppose because Christian took such pleasure in it. Every gift was selected with the greatest care. It made him so happy. So full of joy and anticipation of the moment when his gift would be opened. He was a man but so much like a little boy on Christmas morning. My heart would overflow with love watching him.

This year we have a Christmas tree. Last year - Christian's first Christmas in Heaven - we had no tree and no presents. No ribbons or bows. No lights.

I like our little tree. I love the way the baby crawls over to it and it lights up his beautiful little face in different colors. With two little fingers he gently grasps the paper pine needles and the lighted bulbs. There is such magic in watching him discover the beauty of Christmas. I find my joy in watching him. He is such a happy little guy and he brings so much happiness into our lives.

He lives with his Uncle Ken and Auntie Stephanie now and only comes for visits. He was here this weekend. How I love taking him out of his crib in the early morning when he is still warm and cuddly from sleep. He gives me the biggest smile and then lifts his little arms out to me to pick him up. How that warms my heart. I know that they love him and take really good care of him; and they may love him as much as I do but they will never love him more.

Now I dreaded Christmas last year but it arrived right on schedule as it does every year. Each family unit made their way to my daughter's house, and not only was it not bad it was wonderful. Such warmth, such love. We talked about Christian but we were not consumed with sadness because our memories of him were full of laughter and good times spent together. That is why I don't dread Christmas this year. I just can't get excited about it. This emotion isn't exclusively mine. I know survivors all over the world are feeling the same way.

I wish we could all get together and give each other a giant warm group hug. We could cry a little if we wanted to, laugh if we felt like it, and then sit in silence and be reflective. And it would all be okay because we would understand; and there would be no need for explanation.

WHAT IS A HOLIDAY?

WHAT IS A HOLIDAY?

Is it a date on a calendar?
Is it a cause for celebration because the merchants tell us it is?
Or is it a time of year when family lovingly gathers together
and special foods are selected and prepared?
Is it a religious day of remembrance
and a day to give thanks?

OR IS IT MORE THAN THAT?

How can it be more you might ask
Let's reflect for a moment on that special time of year and what it means to each of us.

HOLIDAYS PAST


MY MEMORIES OF THANKSGIVING:

a trip into the mountains
to see the turning leaves
crisp apples hanging on trees
red and green ready for harvesting
applesauce, apple pies, and cobblers.
Falling leaves
red, yellow, orange, green, and brown
walking through crisp leaves that crackle and crunch under foot
enjoying Indian summer
piles of raked leaves, resisting childlike
urges to fall face first in the tall piles
Planning the Thanksgiving feast
Who will make what
Days of preparation
Cleaning guest rooms, opening windows briefly to freshen the rooms
in anticipation of family
Cars pull into the driveway
Rush out with hugs and kisses
And expressions of welcome
House fills with the aroma of roasting turkey
Family around the table
One chair left vacant
Our Christian gone too soon
Tears
Candlelight dances on china plates and reflects off crystal glasses
The special silverware reserved for holidays laid out
Flowers on the table
Love fills my heart
Laughter, stories, happiness
The first snowfall of the year.

DECEMBER 9TH, 2011:

CHRISTIAN'S SECOND BIRTHDAY IN HEAVEN SOON TO COME
A full Heart and Joy that he was my child
and gave me so many years of happiness
Many, many memories of him as a precious little baby,
my sweet, special boy
my cuddly, adoring mommy's boy
the teenage years when he wanted me to park in the far, far end of the mall
so no one would know I had driven him
Strict instructions that if I saw him while shopping
I would pretend that we didn't know each other
I was a good Mom and didn't even give him a glance
although I had to secretly smile.
You loved your birthday more than anything
And wanted everyone to remember and call you.
without your knowledge I would call the family
and your friends to remind them.
You would have been so sad if no one remembered.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS' PAST:

The celebration of the birth of our Savior
I always wanted that to be the focus of the holiday
sometimes I was successful and sometimes not so successful
I loved pulling out the old decorations
(even if I didn't hang them on the tree)
and oohing and ahhing over each one
and remembering their special significance.

I loved doing a different theme for the tree each year.
I even wanted the wrapping paper to match my color scheme.
If the family brought packages that didn't coordinate,
they had to sit on the buffet and not under the tree.
My gosh! I was obsessive compulsive!
You always wanted a mismatched tree like "normal" people have
but your crazy Mom had to have her special tree.
I liked the neighbors coming over to see what it would be each year.
One year when I had pneumonia and was so sick
I couldn't get up off the couch
I ask you to wrap the presents from Santa
You were so proud! I hated to dispel the Christmas
fantasy but when I saw your gleaming face
I knew all was well. You knew a secret your sister didn't.
How many times over the years did you retell the story
with that same secretive, gleeful smile on your face?
You had a way of warming me through and through.
You had this wonderful way of seeing things differently than others.
That's what made you such a marvelous, humorous storyteller.


In years past just the thought of Christmas would fill me with a special kind of joy that is hard to explain. The first Christmas lights, the first carol, the scent of garlands and wreaths. Santa ringing his bell in front of Salvation Army kettles. All I know is that it put a smile on my face and a spring in my step. I was a working single mom so the thought of coming up with the extra cash to pay for gifts for my five children certainly wasn't it. There was a special feeling in the air that renewed my spirits and made me happy. How I loved the glitter, the ribbons, and the bows. The hustle and bustle of the shoppers. Hot chocolate and marshmallows.

We would go to a Christmas tree farm every year with my friend Diane and spend the afternoon picking out just the right tree and then cutting it down with the less than sharp saw the farm provided. How wonderful it smelled! and how damp the ground was under our knees as we sawed away. It was comical watching me trying to recut the bottom couple of inches off once we got home. Many a time I knocked the bucket of water over when trying to lift it in so it would soak up water before bringing it inside. And how many different concoctions did I make trying to prolong the life of the tree.

I loved driving the children around to look at the houses and yards decorated with lights and yard ornaments. How special that was! One elderly gentleman always put up a little Santa's workshop and handled out candy canes. He was our favorite. Our little town always put the same old battered ornaments up each year on the light poles and across the streets. They had long ago lost their splendor but somehow the town wouldn't have been the same without them. Then there was a large brightly lit tree in the city square with covered gift boxes all around. And, of course and without question, we stopped by the various churches to look at their nativity scenes and later that evening I would read the story of the first Christmas from St. Luke and we would place our own nativity scene on the hearth of the fireplace.

Then there was Christmas morning. It seemed I had just gotten into bed after my all night heroic efforts to put together toys with horribly written instructions and a butter knife (why didn't I buy a screwdriver?) and wrapping presents until I hated all of them. It seemed I had just closed my eyes when happy little children were jumping on my bed and pulling down the blankets. Who ever decided that 4 a.m. was the beginning of Christmas morning? Finally we reached a compromise … they could open their stockings and play with those gifts if they'd let me sleep another hour or two. As much as I love Christmas and what it stands for, Christmas morning really, really, really wasn't fun. Not fun until I'm finally able to focus my eyes and drag myself out of bed. Then everything changes and it becomes magical.

January 7th and time to take down the tree. I have to wait until the twelfth day of Christmas has past. The night the animals are given the gift of speech. It just wouldn't be right or feel comfortable in my mind of fantasy and fairy tales. Remember how the pine needles went everywhere when I tried to force the dead and dried tree through the door and into the field next to the house. I think that's the reason - plus the fire hazard - that finally got me to use an artificial tree. Disappointing but safer.

THOSE WERE THE OLD DAYS. THE OLDER HAPPY DAYS. NOW THE CHILDREN ARE GROWN AND MY DARLING, FUN LOVING CHRISTIAN IS GONE. We had no tree or lights or decorations last year. I was too sad. We did have a wonderful Thanksgiving even though I had initially dreaded it. We threw Christian a birthday party on his first birthday in Heaven. There were tears but also lots and lots of laughter. I wish I could say I remember last Christmas but I don't. Not one thing.

My grandchildren are the delights of my life. A couple of days later Kristen brought Benton and Brandon over to visit Nana and Papa. They had a grand time together. Benton and Persephone, had the most fun together. Benton loves spending time with his brother. His little face just glows when they are together. That gladdens my heart.

This year I missed Thanksgiving. I passed out (I don't know how long our precious baby was alone before someone showed up), ended up in the hospital, and slipped in and out of conscious all day. All I wanted to do was go home and late that evening they finally agreed. Do Doctors ever apologize? I barely remember him saying something to me about over medicating myself and trying to commit suicide. I was too unresponsive to answer but when my tox screen came back totally and completely clean, Patrick said he never even came back into the room. Patrick was pretty upset because he knew that under no circumstance would I voluntarily leave the baby uncared for. And let me make it perfectly clear ... I do not use drugs! I was too sick to care then but it makes me mad now. Why do they automatically think drugs are the cause of every illness?

I slept through the entire day of Thanksgiving - in my own bed, in my own bedroom - even though I had family all around. Even my sweet, sweet Kristen (the mother of Christian's second son) drove two hours from North Seattle with my grandson Benton to be with me. Benton wanted to have a sleep over with me in my bed. He is six and is so precious. He said to the family "Enny meanny, mighty moe, I stay and the rest of you go." How I love that little boy. His mommy had to take him home and begin cooking for Thanksgiving with her family. Stephanie and Ken took the baby home with them to spend the night so I could rest.

On Saturday the family returned and we had our turkey dinner - prepared by Tiffany. After dinner we were playing this game where we picked what our names would be if we could select our own. It was my daughter Stephanie's turn. Let me tell you first, Stephanie is beautiful, classy, and sophisticated. She should have been born into royalty. Before she could answer little Persephone called out "Your name should be Bisquick." I still laugh at the thought of it.


If I'm well enough, I'm suppose to go visit my Mother in Nevada from November 30th to December 14th. If I get there, we'll light a candle for Christian on his birthday and send up a balloon with love notes attached.

I don't know what Christmas will hold this year; but we do have a baby that will be celebrating his first Christmas. His Papa and I will have to get a small tree that we can put on a table or that little pudding head will pull it over.

I try so hard to be thankful for all I have but there is nothing that can fill that empty place inside of me. I see the lights and sounds of Christmas and I feel nothing. I will do everything I can to make this a special Christmas for baby Christian. I truly can hardly wait to see his little face when the tree lights are turned on for the first time. But where is the joy and excitement I use to feel? I try and try and try but I just can't find it.

I can't end this without telling you about Easter when Christian was just four. I remember it was on a Wednesday morning and little Christian came to me and said "Today is Easter". I tried to explain that no today is Wednesday and then we have Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and finally Easter Sunday arrives. He looked up at me with his beautiful clear blue eyes and a face of pure innocence and says "Mommy you know no big rabbit comes and brings eggs and a basket so Easter can be any day we want and today is Easter." I then had to explain what Easter really was but I never forgot his logic at the tender age of four.

EMPTY ARMS, BROKEN HEART

When you have lost a loved one, there is nothing that can fill that empty place in your heart. When the departure is sudden and tragic, the impact is horrific. Death by suicide is impossible to totally come to terms with. Knowing that someone you love dearly has chosen to leave you and die by their own hand is devastating; and when that someone is your precious child, words are inadequate to describe the depth of the pain. That empty place inside feels as though it is sucking the very life out of you. I don't mean in any way to minimize the loss of a loved one by other causes. Nothing ever prepares one for the loss of a loved one. Even when the loss is expected. There is nothing that ever could and nothing that ever will.

Somewhere in the midst of all that pain, sorrow, and confusion your arms begin to feel overwhelmingly empty. I cannot explain what it feels like to walk about with a big, vacant hole in the center of your soul and the emptiness your arms feel when they can no longer hold the one you so desperately need to hold just one more time. You breath in and all the air seems to escape through that hole. And all the warmth. I can only say that it feels somewhat like trying to live inside a empty, cold shell.

We may be surrounded by caring, loving people but still we are alone in our cold, empty existence. I am not one to verbalize my feelings. For me, writing about it and not having to interact or explain or relive it vocally is much easier and I suppose another way I isolate. I'd rather put up walls and pretend everything is fine. I keep my feelings buried pretty deeply.

My sister, Debbie, knows this about me and would say "it's okay to cry". But still when in the presence of others, I don't. She wanted desperately to help me. One day while both of us were visiting our Mother in Nevada, she said to me "You need something to wrap your arms around, something to hold on to when you are alone and lonely and hurting."

The next day the three of us went shopping. We weren't shopping for anything in particular. It was just an afternoon outing. Deb and I came upon a display of Dr. Seuss stuffed animals. I love the oddity of his characters and the creativity and rhyme of his stories. I am a big, big fan BUT I am not a big fan of stuffed animals. I like stuffed animals for children and I think it's really sweet when an older person still sleeps with a treasure from childhood. It just isn't me.

When my sister suggested that I select one of the characters for myself and she would purchase it as a gift for me, I was uncomfortable with the thought But since she said that it had helped her get pass a difficult time in her own life and had been suggested to her by a counselor, I decided that maybe I could at least try. I selected "the Lorax". Mostly because he had arms that I could wrap around my neck, a soft chest I could press my face into, and sad eyes I could relate to. So "the Lorax" was purchased and taken home.

The story might have ended there. After all I'm far too old for the comfort of a stuffed animal but the story did not end there. This is what happened: That night I got into my nightgown, fluffed my pillows, snuggled down beneath the crisp, clean sheets and under the soft, warm blankets, and turned off the light. The moonlight reflected on the Lorax which was sitting next to me on the bed and leaning against the wall. Reluctantly I picked him up, put his little arms around my neck, and settle my cheek into his little body. I hadn't noticed that I was holding my breath but as I pulled him close I began to relax and breath. It was so comforting to hold this soft, yellow creature close to me. Amazingly he did fulfill that need to wrap my arms around something and hold it close.

For more than a year now, the Lorax has been not only my nighttime companion but my anytime companion as well. Any time I'm feeling so sad and so empty and feeling the loss of Christian so deeply that I can't bear it, I pick up my little yellow fellow and hold him close.

I'm sharing this with you - and I do so with much hesitation - because it is something that has helped me so much and might, I hope, help someone else too. I almost didn't tell you because it is embarrassing for me to admit that I sleep with my arms wrapped around a stuffed animal every night. I can feel the warmth of my husband's body lying next to me but this fulfills a different need. A deeper need. A grieving mother's need.

I would suggest this for anyone but especially for those of you that are emotionally reserved and unable or unwilling to share your feelings and thoughts with others. Get yourself something to hold on to and share your tears with. They never offer advise; never tell you how to live your life; never judge the way you grieve or the length of your grieving process. They just give comfort.

DID YOU EVER.......

The following journal entry was written June 13, 2011, and was an accurate depiction of my feelings during that time period. Today is November 11, 2011. It is amazing to me how life repeats itself over and over again. And it doesn't take but an instant, one memory to careen us back into heartache. Sending us spiraling and crashing down.

Of late I have been waking up with a smile on my face. I feel so up, so on top of the world.

Our little grandson fills my days with sweet little smiles and baby chatter. He goes from one toy to another playing and then looking up at me to be sure I'm watching, smiles, and then goes on to another toy. Our days are pretty much the same ...busy - especially now that he can crawl like the wind - but happy.

I rarely ever get the opportunity to go out by myself so today going to the mall alone was a treat and something I haven't done for the past twenty-two months. I've been somewhat of a recluse since Christian died. I haven't had any interest in going any where where I might have to interact with others. At first it was a need and then the need became so comfortable that it became a habit and then a way of life.

The trip to the mall wasn't planned. It was merely something to do between doctor appointments. I walked through the automated doors expecting nothing. I stood there momentarily frozen. It truly felt like I had left a black, white, and gray world and walked into dreamland. There were huge Christmas ornaments dangling from the ceiling and displayed in spectacular arrangements everywhere I looked. Sparkle and glitter and tiny white lights. The store windows were festively decorated with "snow" and frosty blues and silver. The artificial bushes and trees were aglitter with frozen branches and colorful birds.

I wandered through the stores and looked at the displays of clothing wrapped in ribbons with an underlay of tissue paper. I especially liked the arrangements of bone china and crystal. It reminds me of holiday dinners with my family back in Maryland. Eventually I found myself in the men's department of one of the high end department stores. I drifted between the aisles of expensive men's wear letting my hand softly caress the fabrics finding joy in the luxury of the different textures.

At last I stood before a beautiful arrangement of men's sweaters. I picked up one of the cashmere sweaters and pressed it against my cheek and breathed in. Cashmere has a scent that is softer and cleaner than heavy wool. As I stood there enjoying the moment in a world that I can no longer afford, my eyes fell upon a sweater that I know Christian would have selected had he been standing next to me in his earthly body. Tears suddenly sprang to my eyes and began to cascade down my cheeks. It was all I could do to not fall on the floor in a sobbing heap and cry my eyes out. The assault of emotion was so sudden and so unexpected. I had crashed and fell spiraling down to earth.

I was emotionally exhausted. I left the store. My body felt heavy and my steps were slow and labored - like those of an old person that was tired of living and felt life had become a burden. Outside the store and in the middle of the wide corridor were two couches and two large chairs centered around two equally large ottomans. I slowly lowered myself into the side of one of the couches. It was covered in a soft, brown vinyl and I sunk down into the overstuffed cushion. I wrapped my arms around my purse, leaned my head back on the back cushion. I was suddenly so, so tired. So tired, so emotionally exhausted, so weak ... so sad ... that I fell asleep. I fell asleep in the middle of the mall, in the middle of all that beauty, surrounded by people. I slept for one-and-a-half hours. Occasionally I would open my eyes and see someone sitting on one of the chairs - usually an elderly man, probably waiting for his wife to finish up her shopping. One would think that with someone else sitting in such close proximity that I would have sat up straight and woke up; but I was just so tired that all I did was close my eyes and go back to sleep. I have never been so tired.

When at last I woke up and left the lounge area, I realized that I was right back to the place I had been in the months following Christian's death. All the feelings I had experienced then and off and on for the past twenty-two months were back stronger than ever. I felt empty and alone. The same way I felt on June 13, 2011, when I made this journal entry:

DID YOU EVER......

wish you could just go to a place where all the decisions were made for you? Not forever but for just a little while .... a week or two or three. No decisions at all. Not even the tiny ones. No deciding what to wear or what to eat or when to get out of bed. No pressures. No cooking dinner at the end of the day unless you wanted to. And if you do cook something, not worrying about if it was a balanced meal. Eat only protein or starch or vegetables if you want. One night when Patrick was gone, I only ate hummus and fresh carrots and red bell peppers. And it was good.

Watching the channels on t.v. that you wanted to or not watching at all. Music, no music. If you were so inclined, stay up as late as you wanted doing art work or writing or journaling or scrapbooking or woodworking or whatever you enjoy doing. Even sewing.

I don't sew anymore. Once upon a time I found great pleasure in taking a long piece of fabric and creating something wonderful with scissors, pins thread, and sewing machine. Not anymore - too much effort. For that matter I don't scrapbook anymore either. Poor little Christian is not going to have a scrapbook of his baby years. I feel bad about that but not bad enough to do anything about it. No energy.

I care that I don't care. Sounds strange doesn't it? I know I should care about things - people. But I don't. And it worries me just a tiny bit that I don't. It just takes too much effort, too much energy. Depression really sucks!

Yep! just lock me away some where and make all the decisions. Just don't try to make me talk, or leave my room, or make nice. I only want peace and quiet and solitude. I'll do all those things when I'm ready. I'm just not ready now. Not today anyway. Not today or tomorrow or the day after that either.

I thought after more than a year following Christian's death that I would be well on my way to recovery but it only seems to get worse. Maybe the moon is in some strange phase and is affecting my mental status. Maybe tomorrow will be better. I can only hope.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME

Little baby, so small, so perfect. I look down at your sleeping face as you lay cradled in my arms. Your sapphire blue eyes closed; your downy hair and soft cheek pressed against me. Your tiny hand wrapped around my finger. You are everything to us. So much so that it is hard to imagine that you have only been here on this earth, with us, for nine months. The other day you fell asleep on our bed. Your Papa and I watched you sleep. Occasionally you would wake up, lift your head, look at us and smile, and then lay your head down and go back to sleep. Just when we think we couldn't possibly love you more, you steal our hearts all over again.

When you are awake, I see in you the beginnings of who you will be - your sweet, loving, cuddly side; your determination to go after and get what you want; your temper. Yes, at nine months you have a temper. You also have a sense of humor and laugh when you see that we are charmed by something you have done. And you are smart. So smart. You watch us and imitate sounds we make. You even try to repeat words. Very basic simple words but the beginning of words nonetheless. You were so pleased with yourself when you looked at your Papa and said "pah pah" - almost as pleased as your Papa was. Some day you will master "Nana" and I will be beside myself with joy.

Today has been a difficult day for both of us. You have the beginnings of a cold and aren't feeling well. You've never been sick before and you are a very unhappy little boy. Tonight you didn't want to go to bed. You just want to be held and comforted. At long last you have finally settle down in my arms and fallen asleep. I dare not move incase my movements cause you to wake up.

As I sit with you in this dimly lit nursery looking down at you and marveling at the wonder that is you, I am reminded of another baby long ago that I held in my arms just as I now hold you. Another baby so small and so perfect. I remember wondering and worrying about all the things I needed to teach him to give him all the tools he would need to not only succeed in life but to become a loving, caring, compassionate man ... to love God and respect his fellow man. God puts a lot of faith in us when He gives us a child - a lot of faith and a lot of responsibility.

I remember so clearly watching him go from being a sweet baby to becoming a sweet little curly-haired, dimpled boy. He, too, was so full of charm and personality. So happy, so loving. He was my little boy. As the years passed, he became a school boy, then a teenager, and finally a young man finding his place in the world. We had our trials during his teenage years but he became a fine, independent young man. His own person - just as you will. But regardless of his age he was always "my boy". Neither circumstance nor time will ever change that.

When I began this journey in January 2010, I thought my relationship with my son was unique. No one had every felt about their child the way I felt about mine. No one had ever shared the same magical moments with their child/children as I had. No one else had sprinkled their children's lives with fairy dust and taught them to fly.

I was both sad and happy to learn I was wrong. Happy because others had the same joy with their child as I had had with mine; and sad because I realized their pain was as real and every bit as deep as my own.

For all mothers and fathers everywhere that have shared the wonder and magic of childhood with their child, I would like to share this poem written by Patsy Gaut.


When Was The
LAST TIME

When was the last time I tucked
you in tight? The last time I held
YOU in the middle of the night?
Or read you a story of pirates and
Kings or COWBOYS and dragons
and fairies with WINGS?

When was the last TIME I dried
your sad TEARS? When was the
last time ... Has it been years? A
MOTHER recalls first times but last
times may fade, so I'll cherish these
moments and the MEMORIES
WE'VE MADE.

So I'm remembering the last time
we stood in the RAIN and counted
the cars on a choo-choo train.
Leaving a note for SANTA to see
And your wide eyed wonder of our
CHRISTMAS tree.

If I could have last times just once
again I'd WRITE them all down
with paper and pen and read when
I'm old of those SWEET precious
times we sat on your bed and read
NURSERY rhymes.

You would throw kisses to the
man in the MOON, my little one
you've grown up too soon.
So I'll search my dreams and SWEET
memories I'll find, as you close the
DOOR and leave a BABY behind.


I thought my sweet boy and I would have years and years and years together. That we would watch his own boys grow up and have families of their own. I thought that we would continue to make memories and have cherished moments together; but at 31 years of age he was gone and I was left with an enormous hole in my heart.

I thought that I would never be happy again; but then you came along little Christian and filled my days with happiness and excitement as I watch you grow and develop new skills. I will not try to make you him. I will not try to substitute you for him. You are NOT Christian Sean Jorgensen. You are Christian Michael Jorgensen born on January 27, 2011. You are beautiful and you are perfect. You will always be entirely and uniquely you. You will be loved greatly and cherished every day of your life so sleep well my little one. Tomorrow is another day.

BE DARING, BE DIFFERENT, BE IMPRACTICAL

Consumed with just trying to get through each day, I had forgotten the thrill of trying something daring, something different, something impractical. Something just plain old fun. I was holding onto grief so hard that I was afraid to let go of it. Or even lighten my grip on it. Afraid that if I did, I might somehow be letting go of a part of my son.

So I decided to try to let go of part of my grief. Hopefully that will equate into waking up with a smile on my face instead of a tear in my eye. My Christian wouldn't want me to be sad. He'd want his Mom back that would break out in spontaneous song whenever the mood struck - which was often; the Mom that laughed all the time; and had a smile on her face most of the time; the Mom that looked for and found goodness and happiness in life. I may or may not be successful but I'm going to try to achieve some sort of forward momentum in that direction.

So with that in mind, I made a list of the things I love. I'm happy to report that it is a rather long list. Two of the things on my tattered list - I carried it around for several days adding things as I thought of them - were yellow rain boots and a red umbrella. I don't know why they give me a warm fuzzy feeling when I think about them but they do. Happy things don't have to have a reason.

Two more things are crosswalks and big blue mailboxes. I like pulling open the trapdoor on the mailbox. It's like a big blue mouth opening on a Sesame Street moppet. It opens big and wide and I drop my letters onto its tongue. I shut the door and imagine them falling down, down, down into the belly of the mailbox. Then, of course, I have to open and close it a couple of times to make sure it swallowed all my letters. I try to peer inside but can't see down inside. I always wonder if they fell all the way down or got caught on some metal thing-a-ma-jig half way down. Crazy, maybe; childlike, definitely. But it makes me happy. And crosswalks quite simply keep me from getting run over and I like that - a lot.

I have put it off but now I must think about my new goal. But before I can progress on my journey, the first and hardest thing to do is to overcome my fear. Fear that I might not remember how to live again. I know that my "normal" will never the normal that I once knew. I will never again be that person so I'll have to adapt and accept and learn to live with my new "normal" - whatever that may be.

Be daring, be different, be impractical,
be anything that will assert integrity of
purpose and imaginative vision against
the play-it savers, the creatures of the
commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary."
~~~~~ Sir Cecil Beaton ~~~~~

Be daring, Be Different, Be Impractical

I am uncertain and fearful about moving forward.
I tell myself I will be brave and I will be courageous.
Today I will walk a tight rope between
What was and what is
And tiptoe toward what can be.
The raging River of Life races on far below.
When the current slows and I am ready
I may want to be part of it
But I don't want to fall unprepared into it.

So today I will BE DARING
I will BE DIFFERENT
I WILL TAKE A CHANCE
I will walk a tight rope in bright yellow rain boots.
My beautiful, beautiful bright yellow rain boots
And I will carry my favorite red and white umbrella.
It looks like a miniature circus tent and it makes me smile
But it also gives me balance and makes me feel secure.

I WILL BE IMPRACTICAL
Throwing away convention
(and my mother's words
About always being practical)
I am free to be totally, completely, wildly me.
I will wear pearls and a flower in my hair
And dress in a flouncy iridescent tutu
That looks like the colors of fairy wings.

I begin slowly, carefully
I am still close to the beginning
I could turn back.
I take a deep breath and continue on.
Tentatively I reach the middle of my journey
With a great leap of faith and
Fighting back fear, suddenly I jump
Spinning and twirling in the air.

Landing gracefully, gingerly on one foot
The wire bends beneath my weight
And springs taunt once again.
Momentarily fear seizes me as my foot leaves the wire
Involuntarily I gasp for air and hold my breath
But my bright yellow rain boot lands and holds firm.

I am safe! I scream with delight!
I am jubilant in my victory.
I have come half way
And I did not falter or fall.
Tomorrow there will be a new victory
Because today I was no longer afraid to let go and try.

*******************************************************

Carpe diem - Seize the day

Live your truth. Express your love,
Share your enthusiasm.
Take action towards your dreams.
Walk your talk.
Dance and sing to your music,
Embrace your blessings.
Make today worth remembering."
~~~~~ Steve Maraboli ~~~~~

WILD, BEAUTIFUL, AND FREE

Soaring with the wind ----- feeling so gloriously free ----- wondrous, adventurous, and daring
Silhouetted against the blue of the sky ----- the whiteness of the clouds
----- majestic
----- beautiful.

You knew each wind --- the sound and smell of the rain --- the warmth of the sun --- the cold of the snows of winter --- the luminous light of the moon and the stars.

The sky, the trees, the meadow were your playground.
----- wild
----- beautiful
----- and free.

There is music in the air --- joyous songs at daybreak ---vesper lyrics at sundown --- harmonious melodies --- songs without words. Your songs.

No song was more sweet --- more joyous than yours. No feathers as bright --- none more beautiful --- no flight more graceful. Life holds so much beauty.

Spring arrives on gossamer wings --- love songs carried on the breeze ---- a mate is chosen.

Bits of twigs and straw gathered --- a nest is built. Seeds and berries fed to your mate as she sits upon the nest --- warming eggs which will hatch new life --- the ancient rhythms of life repeated --- so full of promise --- all is well. All is good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A sudden change in the air ----- omens of things to come. An unwelcome stranger is lurking, hidden in the trees ----- The morning sky turns dark ----- a warning cry rings out ----- White turns black ----- Fear stills the skies and silents the forest -----

........ waiting
........ waiting
........ waiting

AND THEN......

Gunshots ring out across the meadow --- the first bullet strikes and rips apart your nest --- The second hits its mark --- And you fall spiraling to the earth.

You lay bleeding on the cold wet ground --- blood spills down and stains your downy breast red --- your heart beats weak --- soft sounds can be heard from somewhere deep within your throat --- and then life slips away and you are gone.

In a moment all is changed. The wounded innocent suffer. Never knowing why life can be so unfair. So brutal. Can be so sorrowful.

Your mother didn't know when she lifted her protective wing and pushed you from the nest, watching you and feeling pride in your new found freedom of independence, that this would be your fate.

Never knew that you would not always be the most brilliant bird in the forest. She could not know that your nest would fall --- your babies would be lost. Your mate, frightened, flies away into the distance. Everything gone in an instant.

Silence.

A sudden eruption of sound echoes through the trees --- the other birds cry out --- mourning their fallen brother.

And your mother looks on numb, making no sound. Not understanding the cruelty of some of the two-legged creatures that walk the earth. The ones that kill or cause harm and hurt just for the pure joy of doing so. How can they be so cruel? Questions do not always have answers.


She only know that her wounded bird is gone. No more will his beautiful song be heard. No more will she enjoy watching him fly with breakneck speed through the trees with such jubilance ---
living life with youthful intensity --- urgency --- living life fully. Never again will she see him lead the other birds in flight Or humbly feed another.


She gathers some of his precious feathers --- places them gently into her own nest --- she will keep part of him forever close. These cherished feathers that were once his pride. All that she has left of her beloved child. She tucks her head beneath her wing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"In the cathedral of the woods
Where the slanting light shines through

The song of a bird enchants the air
and fills the soul with tranquility."
~~ Gwen Frostic

..... She tucks her head beneath her wing .....

....Once Wild - Beautiful - and Free

HOW IS TIME MEASURED?

June 20, 2011

How is time measured? Is it by a clock or by the beats of the heart? What is an eternity? Is it measured in time or in breathes taken? Five a.m. to ten-thirty-one a.m. As measured by a clock that is only five hours and thirty-one minutes but for me it was an eternity. Five a.m. Christian calls me in Nevada; 5:10 a.m. the first gunshots are heard. Time becomes a blur. Only the pounding of my heart tells me that time is passing.

I do not know how much time past between the sound of the first gunshot, a second gunshot, and the phone going dead. I called the home phone over and over and got no answer. How long until I was able to reach my ex-husband to have him contact the police in the town I live in to notify them that shots had been fired. I had tried to call them myself but couldn't get through to the Washington State 911 operators. How much time wasted in that attempt.

How much more time past until Patrick called me to say that he and Christian were okay and were driving out to the ocean to avoid a confrontation with the police. His exact words were to "avoid a shootout with the police". (What am I hearing? The possibility of my baby exchanging gunfire with the police? The world is upside down and has gone crazy!) How long before the first cell phone call from Christian and the second call. When did his girlfriend call and say that she could talk him down. It seemed only minutes before she called back and said she thought Christian had shot himself. I know at least 45 minutes past between the time I spoke to Patrick and he confirmed that Christian had indeed shot himself and the medics were working on him but it didn't look good and the time that I called Patrick back and he told me Christian had died. The coroner pronounced him dead at 10:31 a.m. It would have taken him at least 30 minutes to get from Shelton to the place on the side of the road that would become Christian's Memorial Site.

Five hours and thirty-one minutes burned into my memory. I remember every detail, every sound. But when my mind plays it back, it only takes minutes. All the waiting time is deleted. Those hellish minutes and hours. Time when I was aging and dying, struggling to breathe, and praying my racing heart wouldn't fail. Did I pray? did I stop praying even for a minute? A prayer without words - only agony and fear, no words. The type of pain that only God can understand and feel.

I can remember what happened the first half hour after learning of my beautiful, cherished son's death - making the necessary telephone calls to his sisters and brother - but the hours after that are like I was sleep walking. I was looking at my self from a distance. I could see myself washing clothes and packing but I no longer felt connected with my body. I don't remember being that person getting ready to return home. The next thing I remember clearly is being seated on the plane flying home late that night. I was seated next to a very nice, pleasant man. A compassionate man. That is where my memory picks up again.

It was only today, one year, five months, two days, and forty-five minutes later, that my mind opened up enough to wonder what had happened on that day or the day preceding that made him choose that particular day to die. I had heard from other parents of children that died by suicide that their child was not themselves on the day they made their final decision. That was true of Christian. I had never heard him sound the way he did during that first phone call that morning. His voice was so full of rage and hurt and determination as he screamed into the phone, "Today is the day. Everything ends today!" Later he would sound more composed, more gentle, more quiet, more himself. He told me in his gentle voice that he was going to do it but I began to think that maybe he would change his mind and everything would be okay. He no longer sounded enraged or out of control. He sounded good and as loving as always.

I do not know what his girlfriend said to him that made him get out of the car, put the gun to his head, and pull the trigger. She told me later that she had talked him into it. She said he wanted to die and she had just helped him along - that she had done nothing wrong. Did him a favor actually. I know that she had bragged to others that he had killed himself over her. It reminded me of big game hunters who, after they had bagged their kill, hung their trophy on the wall for all to see. But her trophy was my child ....my beloved child - my heart, my soul, my sun in the morning, the moon in my night, the twinkling stars in my mind's eye. My everything. My son that I had loved and nurtured since his conception suddenly gone. And I wasn't there to cradle him in my arms and look deep into his eyes and tell him I loved him and everything was going to be okay. To press my lips against his warm cheek and close his sleeping eyes.

How is time measured? Is it by the number of times a heart is ripped and torn and left battered and bloody? What is an eternity? Is it the time that passes between one breath and another? One heart beat and the next? When does time end? With the last heart beat and the last breath. I will love you forever my treasure and miss you everyday of my life. Momma

A MIRACLE: A CHILD SAVED

Robert "Bobby" Jorgensen, October 8, 2011

As a mother there is nothing more frightening than sitting beside the hospital bed of your child, regardless of age, watching him lying there unresponsive and still. The only sounds I hear besides my own rapid heartbeat, are those of monitors and machines, his raspy breathing, and an occasional moan coming from somewhere deep inside his chest. Face and neck swollen, lacerations cover his face, arms, and chest. This is all I can see. He is covered by blankets. He lies upon an inflated air mattress to support and protect his broken body. The Doctor says he shouldn't be alive; that only one in a million survive his type of injuries.

It is only today, October 14th, six days later that he is finally able to tell me what happened. The person responsible is aware of how her actions caused the accident. While I might like to rant and rave, I won't. It would serve no purpose but to hurt someone that is already haunted by guilt. My son is alive and will heal from his injuries. His recovery will be long and slow but should be full and complete. The passenger in the car only sustained a sprained wrist.

I sat next to his bed and listened to his story and as the details unfolded, I learned about the miracle of his survival. A miracle. A real modern-day miracle. He had been extremely ill with a high fever that Saturday morning and should not have been driving. He knew it, I knew it, but she was relentless in her demands. (Perhaps I am not as kind about not blaming her as I intended to be.) He got into the car and did not put on his seatbelt - something he always does but on this morning failed to do. About eight miles from home the accident occurs. The steering wheel is grabbed and jerked by the passenger. The car slams into the hillside and goes into the ditch. My son is thrown halfway through the front windshield.

The car is on it's nose and begins to fall over on top of him. He is watching knowing that he is going to be crushed. He thinks "I am going to die." As the car is falling, it is as though a hand from Heaven reaches down, grabs the car, turns it on it's axis, and then drops it down onto all four wheels.

At this point Bobby is fully ejected from the car. His lung is punctured, five ribs, and both collar bones are broken along with numerous internal injuries. His tongue is bitten almost entirely off. He is unconscious and unresponsive and lying in pools and pools of blood. The passenger, who has called me from the accident scene, tells me she thinks he is dead; and thus begins another hellish nightmare of waiting by the phone to learn if my child is still living or has died from his injuries. Just as I did on January 10, 2010 - waiting by the phone for someone to call me and tell me if Christian had died from his self-inflicted gunshot wound.

Almost an hour later the paramedic talks to me from the ambulance. He says while Bobby's injuries are extremely serious, he doesn't believe they are life threatening but will not know until they get him to the hospital for evaluation. I am thinking that his voice is too cheerful and I believe that he is just trying to reassure me. I can hear my son moaning in the background.

Not being there, not seeing with my own eyes is horrible. I don't know who or what to believe.

When he regains consciousness, the panic of not being able to breath sets in. I don't know if the tube was inserted into his chest in the ambulance or at the hospital. At the hospital he is immediately taken into surgery.

Today I sit next to him and we discuss his "miracle". He should be dead. The car should have crushed him. The Doctor said that the bones that were broken on both sides of neck and upper chest should have severed his jugular veins. She said she doesn't understand how he avoided a catastrophe fatal injury. She said it is a miracle.

Twice he was saved from death. He believes that his brother, Christian, saved him. I agree. Christian told me in the note he left for me that he would watch over us and protect us. I believe that he did.

UNDER THE WILLOW TREE

I sit with my back resting against the rough bark of the willow tree - weeping. As the branches fall toward the earth so do my tears. A dove high in the tree coos it's mournful song and my heart mourns in return.

In the beginning my heart, mind, and soul only mourned for the loss of my son. He was the heartbeat of my existence. For days, weeks, months, a year and more my thoughts have been only of him and what was taken from me to the exclusion of everything else. (Of course, if one of my other four children had gone before me, I would have said the same about them. They are each different and I have a different relationship with each. But one thing is the same. I love each of them with all my heart and they are all equally important in their own unique way.) But now I want to be set free from all of this sadness. I want to stretch my wings and fly. I want to soar into the sky and leave this heavy burden behind.

I don't want to forget my son or my love for him - never that - but I do want to cast off these oppressive feelings that wrap around me like some alien strangling vine. Squeezing the life out of me. This isn't natural. Children do not die before their parents. My son should not have died in my lifetime. He should still be alive. Alive and happy and successful. This is all wrong. So contrary to the forces of nature.

You should be here to bury me. I would be old and it would be the way things are intended to be. The natural course of events. You would be sad when thinking about me but you would go on with your life because that is how it is suppose to be. On Mother's Day you might shed a tear for me but is it fair that I break down and lay in my bed depressed on that same day because you are no longer here and my heart is broken? There I have said it. It is not fair. I have struggled to not say anything negative about the way you died or when you died but now I have said the words. It is not fair. Somehow I thought it might be liberating to say them; but it isn't. In fact it just makes me very sad.

I know that you were hurting. I know that life did not always treat you fairly. I understand that you were living a life of depression and quiet desperation. I even understand the feeling of being unable to cope and the desire to escape. And I know what it feels like to be a mother that loves her child desperately and the feeling of helplessness and uselessness because I couldn't find a way to help you. And from this understanding comes the chains that bind me to this earth and to this pain.

Hidden inside me is a woman struggling against herself to be set free. But my love for you cannot be abandoned. I must remain earth bound so I can make sure that no one ever forgets you. I must be here to honor your memory and to keep your memory alive. No, not just your memory but to keep you alive by telling your story. Not the sad, unhappy one but the one where you were so full of life. So full of love. So full of goodness and tenderness and kindness. To keep your laughter alive and your smile and your sense of humor.

To remind your sons of what a great man you were. To tell them how much you loved them. If I am not here, who will do this. I am your mother and it is my job and I will do it willingly and lovingly. This is not a burden. You are not a burden. You were an awesome son and we loved each other so much.

Dry your eyes you silly woman. Get up, hold your head high and be thankful for all you now have and for all you have had in days past and for all you will have in the future. You are blessed. You can relive the joy of past memories and create new memories to serve you well in your old age. Life is good. You have beautiful children, a loving husband, amazing grandchildren, an incredible mother, great siblings, and the best of friends and extended family. You live in a home that you love in a place of breathtaking beauty. Yes, life is good. Very good. And you were part of that goodness. You complimented my life. I love you so much and I am so thankful that you were my darling son. "Oh yes sweet darling. So glad you are a child of mine."

I MOVE IN AND OUT OF SHADOWS

I lay in the darkness trying to will myself to sleep
But images and sounds of that last day play
Over and over in my mind like it was yesterday
I try to will it away but still it remains
And sleep, impossible sleep, evades me and eventually
As hard as I struggle against it
The time of day I hate the most arrives.

Light begins to tinge the darkness
The sky becomes an ugly muted gray.
And with it the birds awaken and begin
Their morning songs.
When the day is bright, I love the
Songs of the birds - songs melodious and cheery.
But not now. Now it is just a reminder
That once again I have failed at sleep.

I give in to my failure and accept
What is coming. Not only will I be
Sick to the far reaches of my soul by my memories-
Memories so tragic they rip my heart out-
I will be exhausted. Emotionally
And physically exhausted all day. Every minute.
I will drag myself along wanting nothing more than
The comfort of my bed and deep, peaceful, dreamless
Sleep.

As I begin my day with dread
Thinking that nothing good
Could possibly happen
The sun begins to rise.
The gray sky slowly becomes a mixture of gold,
And varying shades of rose, orange,
yellow and crimson.
I cannot turn my eyes away.
Too quickly it is gone.
But for a short time
I see it in all its glory.
Such breathtaking beauty.
A miracle that happens each day.
Each morning.
And then again in the evening.

Clouds may obscure it at times
But it is still there.
Temporarily hidden from our view.
The songs of the birds
Suddenly sound sweet.
I close my eyes and
lift my face towards the heavens
A soft smile plays upon my face
I want to remember the joy of
This moment. The peace. The happiness.
The contentment.

I move in and out of shadows.

Then it happens. As soon as I begin
To find comfort and joy in my little
Piece of personal real estate
Guilt creeps in. Guilt that I am happy.
I suddenly find myself back in that
Dreaded gray place
Where everything is shadows and illusions.
You left me. You died and left me.
I no longer exist as I once did.
Do I exist at all? I mean really exist.

I look at my hands and arms
I see my barely visible image
In the mirror.
I am almost translucent
I am without substance in this
Strange empty place I live in - alone.
I pull my collar tight
Around my neck as if to keep
What is left of ME inside.

Like the shadows formed by the sun
And that lay upon the ground
Or shadows that climb up walls and ceilings
I can pass effortlessly through
Them and they through me.
We are layer upon layer of
Gray, oddly shaped shadows.

I hate this colorless gray world.
I long for the sunrise and sunset
For the blue of the ocean
And the green of the forest.
Such beauty. Such amazing beauty.


I move in and out of shadows.

Darkness. Light.
Depression. Joy.
Tears. Laugher.
Friendships. Isolation.
Grief. Sorrow, Sadness.
Gray skies. Gray days.
Gray Life.

But if I wait, color will return.
Unexpected and glorious.
And I will savor
And drink in the joy of the moment.
I will lay upon the grass
With my arms spread wide
Allowing the colors
To fall upon me and the Sounds
of Movement and life to fill me.
I will capture each second
Of this amazing gift.

Until it disappears once again and
Sadness covers me like a wool blanket
In summer - heavy, hot, and uncomfortable
And unwanted.
I do not have the strength
Or the ability to turn away
When the darkness of the night
surrounds me and sleep evades me
And memories of you push
Everything else away. My tears falling
Endlessly. I'm barely able to
Catch my breathe.
Heart beating so rapidly
I fear it will explode.

I move in and out of shadows.

Darkness. Light.
Depression. Joy.
Tears. Laugher.
Friendships. Isolation.
Grief.