HOW GRIEF STOLE CHRISTMAS - ALMOST!

All during the year we, as a nation, are bombarded with bad news.  People doing harm to one another.  Countries at war.  A Congress that can't seem to find common ground and serve the people as they were elected to do.  Selfishness and self serving seemed to abound.  The darkness in the world was dragging me down even further into my own dark depression.

Then, almost miraculously, between Thanksgiving and the New Year the media changes direction.  We begin to hear more and more news stories about the love and generosity of the human heart.  This year I was deeply touched by the kindness of strangers.  It began with a police officer purchasing a pair of shoes for a homeless man and moved forward from there.  Tragedy brought us together not only as a nation but as a world-wide family.  The senseless deaths at an elementary school in Connecticut touched the hearts and collective conscience of the world.

As fall ended and winter approached, I found myself in a struggle for existence.  I was ready to give up.  It was not that I really wanted to end my life; it was just too hard to go on living.  I was in a depression so deep that I could find no way to pull myself out of it.  I was buried alive beneath its weight.  It physically hurt to put one foot in front of the other.  I made a plan and knew just what I would do when the time came.  And that time seemed at hand.

I knew I was in trouble and at a doctor's appointment I ask my doctor for the name of a counselor.  He ask what was happening in my life.  I was honest (even though every nerve and brain cell in my body told me not to be).  This resulted in me finding myself locked up in the mental ward at the hospital to be evaluated.  That is a story unto its self but I'm thankful that my doctor cared enough to do something.

I don't know if it was divine intervention or a crazy impulsive act but one morning in early November I found myself at my computer sending an email to Child Protective Services.  I was writing to them to say that I was making doll clothes for my granddaughter's American Girl Doll for Christmas and if they had any little girls in their program that had American Girl dolls, I would like to volunteer to make doll clothes for them as well.  Before I even had time to think about it, I received an email back saying how grateful they were for my "kind and generous offer" and yes she knew of three little girls that would love to have American Girl doll clothes for Christmas.  I was also ask to sew a dress-up play dress for a little three year old if it wouldn't be too much trouble.

I sat there at my computer overwhelmed at what I had just done.  How was I going to sew doll clothes I wondered.  I wasn't even sure that I would be around at Christmas and now I had made a commitment and I would have to honor that commitment if I wanted to or not.  Dang, dang, dang I thought.

There would be many, many days during November and December when I had to make myself get out of bed, walk downstairs, and turn on my sewing machine.  It was so unbearably difficult but I was driven to complete my task and not disappoint any child.  Heaven knows they had faced far too many disappointments in their young lives or they wouldn't be in the Foster Child Program.  I wouldn't, couldn't disappoint them too.  I poured my heart and soul and every ounce of creativity inside me into those little outfits.  It became the motivating factor in my daily life.  I would sew from early morning until late into the night - every day.

As the days passed and the days turned into weeks and eventually the weeks became months, without even realizing it my depression slowly lessened.  On the day that I bundled up my little treasures and the little dress and sent them off with my son for delivery to CPS, I realized that I was smiling and life felt good.

I was suddenly aware of how one of my favorite Christmas stories "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" related to my own life and the lives of so many that have survived the loss of a loved one.  Grief tries to rob us of the joy in our lives - especially during the holidays and birthdays or any time that was special to us and our departed.

Remember how the Grinch (or Grief) slipped into Who-ville on Christmas Eve.

"It was quarter past dawn...
All the Who's, still a-bed
All the Who's, still a-snooze
When he packed up his sled,
Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons!, The wrappings!
The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings!, The trappings!"

He even "took the Whos' feast!
He took the Who-pudding! He took the roast beast!"

Grief did that to me and to so many of you too.  It took from us even the smallest, most basic things and left us with nothing but our heartache and our tears.

But remember what happened next:

"Pooh-pooh to the Who's!" he was grinch-ish-ly humming.
"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!"

For two years the spirit of Christmas passed me by.  The third year without Christian might have been a repeat of the first two.  My grief was too great.  Too big, too wide, too tall, too deep.  Grief had wrapped it's icy arms around me, planted my feet "ice cold in the snow", and held on tight but Grief had not counted on a lesson I had learned in Sunday School during my childhood.   A lesson that would warm my heart and release me from the bondage of depression.  Three simple words:  "Love one another".  The making of gifts had set me free.

"Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!

He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming!
IT CAME!
Somehow or another, it came just the same!

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling! "How could it be so?"
It came without ribbons!  It came without tags!
"It came without packages, boxes or bags!"
And he puzzled three hours, "till his puzzler" was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store,
"Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

Indeed, it is a bit more - a lot, lot more.

Mark 2: 8  "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

9:  And, lo, the angel of the Lord, came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them; and they were sore afraid.

10:  And the angel said unto them, Fear not; for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

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

13. "And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

14. Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."



The grieving process is different for each of us and the length of that grief is unique to us individually.  My grief is not over - it never will be but hopefully, through service to others, I can manage it better than I have.

This year the Grinch (Grief) did not steal Christmas.  The thought of three little girls opening the gifts I made with my own hands brought a glow and a warmth into my heart that I hadn't felt in three years.

"And what happened then...?
Well...in Who-ville they say
That the Grinch's small heart
Grew three sizes that day!"

I feel as though my own heart has grown at least three sizes from where it was in October.  On January 18, we will memorialize the third year of Christian's passing.  It will be a hard day.  I cannot pretend it will be otherwise; but I know that I will be able to get past the tears a little easier and celebrate his life with more love and understanding than I have previously.  Hopefully Grief will not be able to steal any more holidays or any other special day that should be celebrated with love and warm memories.

This was sent to me by a dear friend from high school, Bob Chance.  It comes from the Book "The Dean's Watch":  "To Love and to Understand is the Key to Life."

I hope that each of you were able to celebrate Christmas with full hearts;  and that the warmth of season found its way into your lives.  May the joy of the season be with you all year long.  I send to each of you love and warm hugs.

CHRISTMAS - ONCE AGAIN - 2012

I thought I'd never have a Christmas tree again - except for the tiny tree my husband Patrick put up for our one year old grandson last year.   However, the baby loves it so much and Papa loves the baby so much that Patrick never took it down.  One day I felt the need and took it down but then the baby came for a visit and back up it went.  Crazy maybe but he loves touching the lights with his little finger and saying "Pretty" each time.  The baby rules.

For me that barely counts as a Christmas tree because it wasn't our family tree.  It was just a replacement tree that took no effort.  I think we only put three ornaments on it last year.

In years past the tree had been my big "project" of the year.  Each year had a different theme and was quite elaborate and took much planning (and expense).     One year it was peacocks and the tree was in beautiful shades of iridescent blues and greens.  Another was a Victorian theme and still another was a woodland theme and the tree was covered in different birds, bronze sparkling pinecones, etc.  Oh, how I loved my Christmas tree.

Then Christian left us and with his departure went my joy and my energy.  I had no interest at all the first Christmas without my son and there wasn't an ornament or any sign of Christmas or celebration of the holidays.  Last year was much the same except for that little tree for the baby.  Only last year the family came once again and filled the house with their laugher and warm hugs.  Still, I had little Christmas spirit.

This year would have been a repeat of last year but my husband decided to change that.  On Thanksgiving he had our son, Bobby, and sons-in-law, Ken and Matt, go down to the shed and haul the tree and the boxes and boxes and boxes of ornaments into the house.  It was fun going through the boxes but then I just put them aside and forgot them.

December 9th was a combination birthday party for Christian and an unplanned tree decorating party.  We did our annual balloon release in Christian's memory, sang "Happy Birthday",  and had his favorite cake.  Then I watched as the children decorated the tree.  Something I never would have done left on my own.

The magic of Christmas on a little boy's face.

Persephone carefully places a nesting bird.

Our little Christmas angel.

Persephone and baby Christian

Auntie Stephanie and Persephone

So now we have two trees - the big one and the baby's small one and I must admit they do bring a measure of festivity into the house.

I wish with all my heart that I could say that I'm enjoying the holidays but try as I will, I just can't.  I look around our house and remember how special and joyful it all was when Christian was here.  Each room holds a memory of his unique sense of humor and tells a story.  Now the house feels empty and I feel even more empty.  I wonder what it will take for the warmth I use to feel to once again fill that empty, cold place in my heart.

The tree is a start this year.  Maybe next year I will find joy in the season once again.

The Tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School

Today, December 14, 2012, at Sandy Hook Elementary School, Newtown, Connecticut twenty young innocents and six adults lost their lives in a crime that is barely comprehensible. And although we may be able to grasp the facts of what happened, we may never understand the reasoning behind such a devastating tragedy.

The shooter, a young man just twenty years of age, who according to those that study the development of the brain was almost a child himself.  He is gone by a self-inflected gunshot wound leaving us with no clear answers to our questions.  No one will ever know what happened this morning at the home he shared with his mother which caused him to end her life.   We will probably never know what happened that set into motion the horrifying events that followed.  We can guess.  We can hypothesis but the truth lies cold on the floor of Sandy Hook Elementary School locked away forever in the mind of a delusional young man.

What we do know is that his brother stated he had a personality disorder and was autistic.  As a mother who had a child that suffered from severe depression and eventually ended the pain by taking his own life by suicide, I know a little about mental disorders.  Therefore, I will not rush to judge this young man.

Was what he did reprehensible?  Was what he did to so many innocent victims unforgivable? Absolutely.  Was he mentally capable of understanding his actions?  That is yet to be determined.  I cannot imagine that anyone capable of taking the lives of twenty tiny children could be sane or in touch with his feelings or mental reasoning.

Tonight twenty sets of parents will go to bed knowing that never again will they be able to safely tuck their little ones into their beds, pull the blankets up around their small necks, and kiss them good night.  Loved ones of the teachers and administrators that perished will struggle with their loss, their unanswered questions, and their heartbreaking grief.  All have been robbed of future happiness with those stolen so cruelly from them.

In wake of this terrible, terrible tragedy it makes the happenings in my own life seem very small in comparison.

Tonight I lit a candle in memory of those that loss their lives today and for their families, friends, and the entire community of Newtown.  Tomorrow the President has set aside as a day of mourning.  Again I will light my candle.  I hope all of you will do the same.

We will grieve together as parents, as survivors, as tender hearts, and as a nation.  The faithful will pray; but regardless of our beliefs, we will hold our children a little tighter and stand a little closer together.

Those of us that have lost loved ones, especially when the loss was sudden and unexpected, understand what these families are going through.  We feel their pain because that type of pain has touched our lives too; we understand the empty place in their hearts;  and we know the numbness they are currently feeling.  We also know that the really tough days lie ahead when that numbness begins to wear off.  Let us hope that others will be there in the days, weeks, months, and years ahead to support them and love them and to understand that the pain they are feeling will never end.

Let us fervently hope that the surviving children that had to endure this horror receive all the love, understanding, and counseling they need to be mentally and emotionally healthy.  May the community as a whole come together and find the resources that will be needed to help them.

Heroes will surely come to light.  For me any teacher that reacted quickly to keep their students out of harms way are heroes.  Let us not forget that they, too, have been forever impacted by today's events.

Bless the first responders and crime scene examiners that had to face the carnage they found as they entered the halls and classrooms where the shooter left his victims and ultimately himself.

May God hold each victim, both living and deceased, in his loving Arms.

HIDDEN WITHIN

IN LOVING MEMORY OF

JOSEPH ANTHONY EDGAR

July 13, 1972 to October 15, 1993

Early this month it was my very great privilege to have lunch with the most extraordinary woman and my dear friend, Patricia Edgar.  I had met Patty through a mutual friend on an online survivor of suicide support group.  Both of us had lost a son to suicide.  Her natural warmth and loving, compassionate heart drew me to her from her first post.  So when she messaged me that she was going to be in the Oregon/Washington area visiting family and wanted to meet up with me, I was thrilled.

She was everything I though she would be ..... and more.  She was so warm, so open.  There was never an awkward moment.  It seemed that I had known her far longer than I had.  She was the loving friend that my lonely heart needed and yearned for.  I didn't need to explain what I was feeling or what I had gone through because she already understood. She and I had traveled the same road.  She much longer than I.  We were kindred spirits.

First, let me tell you that I have never had a face-to-face conversation with another survivor before.  All my prior connections had been online.  I was deeply touched on many levels and affected in a way that I had not expected.  It has taken me almost a month to process it.

As our visit at the restaurant progressed, Patty shared with me about her son.  What a remarkable, wonderful young man.  It was easy to tell that they had had a close, loving relationship.  Just as Christian and I had.  Both of us mothers who loved their children deeply and unconditionally.

Eventually we arrived at Joey's last day.  In my mind's eye and in my heart as she shared her memories, I felt every emotion she felt: saw each act, each face; breathed every moment with her.  Her words were simple and straight forward but they reached into my heart, my mind, my soul in a way that no other ever had.  I was with her every step, every moment of that life-altering day.

Even though I wasn't thinking about my own son as she told me about her experiences of that day,  as her story reached its conclusion  I was immediately back in the moment when I learned that Christian had died from his own self-inflicted gunshot wound.  That pain, that gut-wrenching, soul crushing pain, defies description.  There are no words that can adequately express the intensity of that burning, searing pain.

After warm and heartfelt farewell hugs, I went home and quickly found myself in a depression deeper than any I had ever been in.  A depression that was so debilitating that I was totally consumed.  I didn't have the inner resources or the strength to look beyond the darkness.  I felt suicidal and was in a really bad place for quite a long time.

At the same time as I dealing, and not very well, with these emotional and unstable mental issues, I was also dealing with a health problem.   I didn't realize it at the time but I have a tortuous esophagus - meaning it snakes back and forth and isn't straight as it should be.  I also have a very large Hiatal Hernia which caused stomach acid to back up and form scar tissue at the base of my esophagus.

For a while I could eat and swallow by taking very small bites and chewing extremely well and then washing it down with liquids; but even so the food would begin to back up in my chest causing terrible pain and an inability to eat.  My condition became serious and I was off to the hospital for an upper endoscopy which resulted in a minor surgery to break up the scar tissue and a four-day liquid diet.

I'm telling you this because as the sedation was wearing off and I was waking up I had an epiphany of sorts.  I almost laugh now when I think back on it because it was just like a made-for-TV movie.  There was a bright light and bingo all these enlightening thoughts and visions entered my head and it was clear as day.  At least at the time it seemed clear as day.  Some might say it was the drugs.  I prefer to think that I'm having difficulty finding the right words because ethereal experiences have a language all their own.

I don't know if all that I learned can be applied to every survivor but I know a lot of it can.  At least in the beginning.  For me I think that a lot of my problems came about because I isolate, hide my feelings, and I'm not real with those around me and I honestly don't see that changing.  In my mind I rationalize it by thinking that I'm sparing my loved ones from my pain and sorrow.  They have their own to deal with and I will not burden them further.  Sound familiar?

I've thought about how best to describe what I want to say and came up with something kind of hokey but I hope you'll bare with me.  I'm going to liken it to my rendition of a walnut encapsulating the mind.

Upon learning of the death of someone we love so dearly, nature provides a protection so we can somehow continue to function.  It is called numbness.  Eventually and over time we develop a shell around us to shield us from unkind statements and actions by others.  When the death has been by suicide these statements can be especially hurtful.  With each wound, the shell grows a little thicker and ultimately it can become very thick and very hard.  We will not, cannot ever let that kind of pain in again.

And within that carefully constructed shell is another shell.  In there we will find all the really raw stuff.  The memories that we can't turn off.  The ones that wake us in the middle of the night in a cold chill.  The sights and sounds we wish weren't there but yet we can't let go of because they are the last memories we have of our loved one.  And buried there are the thoughts that we share with no one.  Sometimes it's guilt and sometimes blame; but whatever it is, it is ours alone.

While we are busy watching and protecting ourselves against hurtful people and painful experiences and building that protective shell, we are also busy locking ourselves in.  Until that day when we wake up in a serious depression and don't know why.  I was locked in so tight I couldn't find my way out.  But then again, I wasn't looking for a way out because I wasn't aware of what I had subconsciously been doing.

Being in there all by myself, and although I wasn't mentally aware of it, almost all my thoughts, emotions, memories, and grief centered around me.  My mind was consumed with me, me, me and I didn't even know it.  I have said it before and I'll say it again ... grief is selfish.  The danger with this situation is that when all your mental energy goes to thinking about yourself and your pain, it is easy to become suicidal.

All round me there were beautiful spirits but I didn't really see them.  Gentle souls that were on the same journey that I was on but my eyes were blind because I was only looking inward.  Intellectually I was aware that others had suffered a blow as great, or greater, than my own but somehow on an emotional level I wasn't really feeling it.

Not until the day I had lunch with Patty.  For the first time, her words, her experience, her pain cracked my hard, thick protective shell and everything she was saying, everything she was feeling, everything she had experienced rushed in and I felt it.  I felt it all the way down to the hidden inner shell of my inner mind.  And it hurt ... profoundly so.

Until that moment I had not allowed others' pain to truly affect me simply because I couldn't handle it.  It was too much for my tender heart.  There have been many times that I have stayed away from my online support groups because I couldn't handle all the pain I found there.  I feel bad about that.  I should have been there to support and comfort others as others have comforted and supported me - and continue to do so.  Just as Patty has done throughout these past few years.

What I am going to do with this new found insight?  I'm not altogether sure.  I do know that now that I'm aware of it I can begin to look outside myself, let others in, and be more giving of myself.

There are a handful of people in my support groups that possess an incredible ability to understand and give comfort.  I don't know if they were ever in the same place that I now find myself but if they were, they have evolved into beautiful, loving, unselfish individuals.  I hope that some day I can be on the same plane they are on.  That transformation will not happen over night but I'll keep pushing forward.

Thank you Patty for being one of those beautiful spirits.  Thank you for sharing your journey and yourself with me.   And thank you for being the truly wonderful person you are and for being my special friend.

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

I wasn't consciously looking for spiritual guidance but the following scripture just happened to find its way into my life today and I'd like to share it with you:

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you: and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.  When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.  For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior."  (Isaiah 43: 2 - 3)

Peace be with you my friends.

GRIEF IS A LOT LIKE THE FIRST DAY ON A PLAYGROUND

ILLUSTRATED WITH PICTURES OF ONE YEAR OLD CHRISTIAN MICHAEL JORGENSEN,  my grandson.

Today two things happened simultaneously.  In the first, the words to the chorus of the old Paul Simon song "Slip Sliding Away" popped into my head:  "Slip sliding away, slip sliding away, You know the nearer your destination, the more you slip sliding away."  You know those songs that get inside your head and won't let go.  That is how that song was.  The second thing that happened was my husband, Patrick, put together a yard toy for the grandchildren.

You're probably wondering what in the world these two things could possibly have in common - especially in a blog regarding loss and recovery.  In my case, the loss of my greatly loved son to suicide.  It came to mind that grief is a lot like a very small child's first visit to a playground.  It can be confusing, frightening, and a time of great uncertainty.  The child enters into a strange world of overwhelmingly large obstacles and challenges.  He is confused as to what others are doing and can't figure out what his place is in this strange, new environment he finds himself in.

When we lose a loved one that is exactly how we feel also.  We are lost in this strange, new place we suddenly find ourselves in.  We do not know what to do or how to handle all the emotions that come flooding in.  We feel our old lives and everything that we thought we knew about life slip sliding away. Our hearts are broken in a way that we never experienced before.  We long for understanding and answers and we want someone to give us the love, comfort, and support we need.

Our emotions swing from low to high and back to low again.  It repeats itself over and over again.  Especially the first year.  We just pray that the binds that hold us won't break and send us crashing to the ground.  Like that small child all we can do is hold on tight and hope that we will land upright and on our own two feet.  Or maybe we'll just hang there until someone comes to rescue us.

At times it feels as though we are crawling through a long, dark tunnel.  We don't know where it will come out or if we will even find the end.

The journey seems so long, so hard, and so impossible.  In the beginning we don't even want to try.  We just want to give up and be given time to feel the unbearable. Without feeling and processing, we will be lost in a chasm of despair.

There may be in our lives those that unintentionally hurt us with their words, their good intentions; but eventually we learn that we must push pass these hurtful cliches and understand that those that say them don't know they are causing more pain.  As hard as it is, we must be large of heart and accept what they say with the love they intended.

I have been guilty in the first days of rushing to judge and condemn hurtful words uttered in ignorance  even though they were kindly intended.  I came to realize that tired cliches are made because loving souls don't know what else to say.  Pain is not their intention.  Lets not purposely use our words to cause them unnecessary pain.

We may also encounter the equivalent of the playground bully.  Those that are so hurt themselves that they strike out at us.  Foolish, foolish people that sling vile words of insult and accusations to ease their own conscience.  They do it because they cannot handle their pain and, for reasons foreign to me, try to transfer their pain onto the most vulnerable.  Often they turn their backs and refuse to allow a place for us in their lives.  Then years later when they realize how they have wronged us or to soothe their own conscience, they come to ask forgiveness and for our own peaceful state of mind, we grant their pardon of sin.  We must do that or risk waddling in hate ourselves; and where there is hate there is no peace or tranquility.

Life becomes such a wild ride of highs, lows, twists, and turns.

Try as we will, there is no way to avoid that scary ride.  Just when we think that we are growing, becoming stronger, in an instant the smallest reminder will spin our lives out of control and throw us into a state of depression.  Even with all our personal triumphs,  there will be difficult times; and while we will not need to completely begin at the beginning of our journey, it takes time to regroup and begin again.  These things are normal and are to be expected.  Do not be discouraged when it happens.

If we are really lucky, there is a loved one, or perhaps more,  there to assist us when the slide into the darkness takes place.  Loving hands to help guide us and a gentle arm to hold onto.  They offer a listening ear and let us know that they are there for us whenever we need them.

There will also be those times when we find ourselves alone and having been tripped up with a rush of emotions, we are confused and can't seem to be able to get up again.

Those times can happen at the grocery store when we see our loved one's favorite food.  Or for me it was in the mall.  It was our first Christmas without Christian and as I stood before a cashmere sweater that I knew Christian would have selected for himself had he been there, I dissolved into a weeping mess right there in the store.  I could barely stand or walk.  I have never felt so powerless as I did at that moment.  I had no control over my emotions.  I questioned if I would ever be alright again.

As time passed, I began to see myself as a survivor.  I learned that within me there was an inner strength.  I realized how important hope was.  I also learned that I didn't have to make the journey alone.

There are, unfortunately, a large number of us survivors.  They have held me up when I couldn't stand alone.  Their words of love have given me comfort.  Their understanding has given me strength to carry on.  There are no words to explain what their support has meant to me.  In times of greatest need they are my inspiration.  I am so thankful my brothers and sisters in sorrow have found their way into my life.  I am blessed to know them.

I will at times, even two and a half years later, find myself back in that dark place.  Last week, for example, just for a moment I forgot my son Christian was no longer with us.  I made a statement to my other son about something Christian could do now that circumstances had changed and suddenly I was hit in the face with the realization that no, Christian would not be doing that because he isn't there any longer.   I was sick.  I cried for the rest of the day.

Life gets messy.

But that is how life is.  We find obstacles in the way of our recovery but we find a way around them.  Like a Jungle Jim on the playground we may have to go over them or under them or climb through them but with God's help, or whatever higher power you depend on, we can keep moving forward, overcoming, developing, and evolving.

This journey of recovery will never be over for us.  Our pain is like that tall, tall slide is to a very small child.  We must climb to get to the top.  How we decide to perceive it after we get to that top landing is up to us.  We can feel joyful and exhilarated that we conquered all those stairs, made it to the top, and overcoming our fears slide victoriously to the bottom; or we can live lives of desperation and guilt and be forever afraid of the slide back down into pain.  There may be those that are even afraid to attempt the climb up.  I hope there are none or very few that would place those limitations on themselves.

I say lets keep climbing that mountain of pain and arrive victorious at the top.  When those times come that we find ourselves falling, remember that each climb back up makes us stronger and wiser.

Bless you as you get stronger in your struggles to survive.

Baby Christian sends his love.

MY FATHER, I wish I knew him

Frederick James Verity with me, Maryland, 1965

We lived in the same house; we ate at the same table; we went to church together but I didn't know my father.  He was a quiet man of few words, a brilliant man, an educated man, a spiritual man, a dedicated family man, and he loved my mother with all his heart.  He was devoted to her.  She was the center of his universe.

I remember the first thing he did every evening upon returning home from work.  He would walk into the kitchen, with his engineering magazine in his back pocket, and kiss my mother on the nap of her neck as she stood before the stove cooking.  She, not he, was the voice of the family - and he liked it that way.  He was slow to anger but had the wisdom to know that his temper could get the better of him if not contained.  Usually he just let our gentle mother handle the discipline and decision making.

Sometimes we witnessed his temper.  Occasionally he took my brother and me with him to play golf.  We weren't very good being so young but he was patient with us and taught us all the fine points of the game. I remember well the day he hit his ball out of bounds and into the trees.  Three times when he tried to hit his ball out the woods and back onto the course, his ball hit a tree and ricocheted back.  My brother and I made the mistake of laughing the third time.  He yelled at us and then threw his club whirling into the air and worst of all he said a bad word.

He scared us so as soon as we got home, we told on him and you know what?  Momma didn't even get mad at him for swearing.  We were shocked.  I don't know what kind of punishment we thought he'd get but we were sure something would happen "to teach him a good lesson".

Our father usually didn't speak to me or to my siblings unless he was instructing us in one thing or another.  That sounds strange but that was his way.  I don't know if it was because he didn't want to speak to us or because he didn't know how.  I suspect it was the latter.  He was, as I said, brilliant and often times those with superior intellect have difficulty with interpersonal communication.  Their minds are so logical that issues of emotion are baffling and discussions about the mundane workings of life are to them unnecessary.

Still he made a great impact on my life.  He taught me wondrous things.  The first, and the thing that I found most frustrating at the time, was he challenged my thinking.  He made me use my mind to develop my own views on the world and the people in it.  He taught me there was beauty and power in knowledge.

He also could make me madder than any other human being on this earth.  When I learned something new and exciting at school, I would be anxious to share it with the family at dinner.  He would anger me with his questions regarding where the information came from; was it fact or was it a theory; and before accepting information that was told to me, I should check it out for myself and make a determination as to if I wanted to embrace it or not.  Hey! it's school Dad where I go to learn! The information is suppose to have already been checked out.   I cannot tell you the number of times I stormed away from the dinner table to my parents dismay.

As angry as he could make me, he did teach me to question and to seek out answers.  He showed me the value of using logic to reason through problems; and he taught me, by example of his own cold, detached logic, that there was also a place for emotion in problem solving.  Our mother taught us empathy, compassion, and how to love.  She was the one that taught us the value of communicating with one another and communing with nature.  And although my father was a deeply spiritual man, it was she that showed us how to walk and talk with God.  Together they were the perfect balance.

One of the other things my father did was teach us about the Bible.  He would read us a Bible story every night after dinner out of this beautiful old book with the most breathtaking illustrations.  He made the stories come alive.  He also showed us maps in the Bible so we would know where the stories were taking place.  It was the most wonderful of times.

Both of my parents believed in the power of education through experience.  They took us to battlefields, museums, historic buildings, national monuments, the Smithsonian, to concerts, and we learned and explored as we traveled. My sister says there was never a capital building that our mother didn't love and need to see.

As wonderful as all those things were, and as glad as I am that he helped mold me into the person I became, I am sad to report that during all those years we spent together that we never had a personal conversation.  Never had a spontaneous conversation, a casual conversation.  We never had a revealing conversation of any type.  He knew as little about me as I knew about him.

I knew nothing about his childhood, his parents, and nothing really about his brother or sisters except what his sister, Aunt Grace, told me and she told me very little.   He was born and grew up in Brooklyn, New York.  Like others in a big city, they lived in an apartment (I didn't even know what living in an apartment entailed.)  They took the subway to school (sounded really, really scary to me). They had black friends while growing up and Aunt Grace didn't even know her mother was prejudice until she was a grown woman herself.

I know how that sounds - pointing out that they had black friends - but during the days prior to the Civil Rights Act being passed in 1964, segregation was everywhere in the United States.  An ugly part of our history but it was our reality at the time.  The majority of the time it prevented interracial friendships from forming.

I never knew how much he favored and endorsed equal rights for all men until after he passed away at age 51 of a heart attack.  It was because of his belief in financially supporting black business owners that I had my first and only encounter with Martin Luther King Jr.

While traveling from Maryland to Georgia we stopped at a black gas station.  It was also the day I discovered that Dr. King had maroon-colored eyes - as he stared down at me a little annoyed.  I was blocking his way.  I was so stunned it was him, I didn't move for a minute as I stared back into those eyes.  Those hypnotic eyes.  I think my mouth might have been hanging open.  I don't know for sure but I think it was.  Picture it.  A tiny, blue-eyed girl with messy dirty-blond hair ( messy because cars weren't air conditioned, the windows were down, and air blew in at hurricane force), with her mouth hanging open blocking the doorway.  Yup! I made an impression on him alright.  Annoying little bug.

It is sad to me that even though we spent a lot of time together as a family that I never got to know my Dad.  Sad that we never got to have a real conversation.  I'm sad that he never got to know who I was.  I so wish I had had the opportunity to know him on a personal level.  I think I would have liked him not just as a dad but as a human being.


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RECOMMENDED READING TO ANYONE THAT WOULD LIKE AN UNDERSTANDING OF SEGREGATION IN THE DEEP SOUTH:

BLACK LIKE ME by John Howard Griffin

The history-making classic about crossing the color line in the segregated South.

"The Deep South of the late 1950's was another country; a land of lynchings, segregated lunch counters, whites-only rest rooms, and a color line etched in blood across Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. White journalist John Howard Griffin, working for a black-owned magazine Sepia, decided to cross that line.  Using medication that darkened his skin to deep brown, he exchanged his privileged life as a Southern white man for the disenfranchised world of an unemployed black man.

What happened to John Howard Griffin---from the outside and within himself---as he made his way through the segregated Deep South is recorded in this searing work of nonfiction.  Educated and soft-spoken, John Howard Griffin changed only the color of his skin.  It was enough to make him hated... enough to nearly get him killed.  His audacious, still chillingly relevant eyewitness history is a work about race and humanity every American must read."

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Linda Verity DuBos:  This is a powerfully written book that will change everything you thought you knew about segregation in the Deep South.  It is shocking, disturbing, and enlightening.  I couldn't put it down once I started reading.  You will find yourself immersed in a world that you didn't know existed unless you lived it yourself.  Get this book, read it.  It will give you insight that you never imaged possible.

A BLESSING IN AN EMAIL: A GIFT FOR MOMMA

Lethargic, apathetic, indifferent, bored, and a little angry.  These are all words I have used to describe my recent state of mind.  It's as though I can't find anything that excites me - makes me want to get out of bed in the morning  I've exhausted myself trying to find something that will kindle a flame.  No, a flame is too big.  All I can hope for at this point is a spark.  And for that spark I would be thankful.

I have gardened; I have baked bread; I have cooked up a storm; I have painted picture after pictures; I have done some mixed-media art projects; I have tried my hand at fabric art; and I even folded dozens of origami canoes and then had to find something to do with them.  Nothing holds my interest for long. I even get mad at myself because once I start a project I feel compelled to complete it even when I don't want to (can you say obsessive-complusive disorder?).

And I have wondered if this is how I will spend the rest of my life.  Searching and never finding fulfillment.

I have been restless before but never to this extent and never for so long.  This morning, being extremely dissatisfied with how things are going (and after shamefully yelling at my dear husband and son for no valid reasons), I decided to think this through and try to determine when and why it all started.  My first thought was I'm having Summer Olympics withdrawals.  No, can't be that because it started long before the Olympics began.  As my mind drifted back, it suddenly became abundantly clear.

A little over a month ago my mother, brother, and sister-in-law came for a visit from their respective homes in Nevada.

When they arrived, Momma was sick and progressively became more and more ill.  Ill to the point that she was neither eating, drinking liquid, or getting out of bed.  We could get her to take tiny sips of liquids but that is all she would do (did I ever mention how stubborn she can be?).  I have never seen my 88 year-old mother that sick before.  Just at the point where we were ready to pack her up and take her to the hospital - over her protests - she rallied.  When they left for the trip home a few days later, she was still extremely weak and not altogether well.

The realization that our Mother could have, and some day will, leave us left all of frightened and shaken.  My mind has always known that the inevitable will someday happen but the heart says "never".  We began to question among ourselves how much longer she will be able to live alone.  Her memory is failing quickly and is much worse than it was even six months ago.  I fear the time for a serious conversation with her about what she wants is rapidly approaching.  A conversation that will be difficult because she is unaware of her decline in cognitive abilities.

All of this has made me realize that I have begun to grieve a transition in our lives that none of us want to face.  Her illness, her memory loss, and the confusion she often experiences has forced a reality upon me that I fear and that I don't want to accept.

Our Mother has always been the cornerstone of our spread-out family.  She is that bright beacon that shows us the way home.  Home being wherever she is.  In times of emotional sorrow, she has always been there with a warm hug and words of love, compassion, and wisdom.  She is my strength and my hope.  I grieve that I may be losing that part of her long before I am ready.  My heart is heavy with the thought.  For the mind to travel beyond that is too heartbreaking.

I did not know it previously but grief does not have to follow a loss.  It can precede the actual loss and comes unawares into our lives.  At times the fear of losing a loved one can be almost as debilitating as the grief we go through when the time finally comes.  Now identified, I can try to deal with my feelings and recognize them for what they truly are.

Two days ago I received an email from my sister, Debbie.  In that email she presented an idea for a gift for Mom.  She ask that we all (brother, sisters, our spouses, grandchildren, great-grandchildren) write down our memories of growing up with or getting to know Mom and our love for her.  She'll then compile all our writings into a book which will be given to Momma (and hopefully with copies to us).

How perfect I thought.  An opportunity to tell her all the things I hold in my heart and might have never told her except for this.  Initially, because of my lethargic, apathetic, indifferent, and ready-to-give-up-before-I-begin attitude, I was a little overwhelmed with the thought of such a large endeavor but now I feel invigorated.

I can take all those sad feelings, turn them inside out, and do something good and positive.  Already I feel better.  Or I will.  As soon as I get my own time-warped mind in gear.  What a blessing my sister's email has been to me.

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SAMPLES OF ARTWORK FROM THE MIND OF AN OBSESSIVE-COMPLUSIVE MAD WOMAN LIVING ON THE EDGE:



WATERCOLORS:

FABRIC ART:  I just discovered this art medium.  Everything is made with small pieces of cloth. These are my first attempts.

I received a photograph of my grandson, Benton, walking in the rain.  I just love it and tried to duplicate it in fabric.

MIXED MEDIA ART:  The base images were taken from the website of Cloth, Paper, Scissors.  I just added the embellishments.  I thought it would be fun to show a mermaid under water with an umbrella.

I made the panels for the umbrella with alcohol ink; I braided strands and strands and strands of thread to make the braided hair; I added the shell and starfish.

I made and added the star fish, stitched in the highlights for the hair, and made and added the bands around her hair and around her neck.

ORIGAMI CANOES:  Whatcha goin'a do with a dozen handmade and painted canoes?  Paint a beach picture and add them on.

SELF-DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR

During our lifetimes we will all lose someone we love and will have to deal with coming to terms with the death of our loved one.  As we know that journey can be long and difficult especially when dealing with a loss by suicide.  There are so many questions without answers and the range of emotions the bereaved experiences is not only arduous but confusing.

Today I happened upon an article that ask the question, "What is reasonable grief?" I didn't read any further because the nature of the question suggests that perhaps grief could be "unreasonable".  The very definition of "unreasonable" means: not governed by reason; irrational or absurd.  Exceeding reasonable limits.  For me, grief and unreasonable didn't belong in the same sentence.  After I retracted my claws, I gave some thought to the question and decided that perhaps there might just be some sound thinking there and the question could have merit.

There is one aspect of grieving that no one really wants to talk about or acknowledge.  Self-destructive behavior.  I, for one, thinking of myself as a strong woman hates to admit that I have great failings and overpowering weaknesses.

When I lost my son, I lost part of myself with him.  I not only loved Christian, I was incredibly proud of him.  An emotion shared by most parents.  I was proud of the man he had become.  I was proud of his accomplishments and I was proud of the fact that there was no job too small that he wasn't willing to do to help himself and others succeed.  I was blown away with the fact that he had earned his first million before he was twenty-five years old.  He not only loved life, he celebrated it; and he loved people.  He would go out of his way to help a friend in need.  He had the most amazing sense of humor ... he could make us laugh until our sides ached and tears ran down our cheeks.  He was intelligent and passionate about those things he believed in.  And for me, most importantly he loved me with all his heart.

His passing left more than a hole in my heart.  It left a huge, huge hole in my very soul.  I could not begin to image life without him in it.  The thing that hurt me the very most and the thing that I still cannot come to terms with is the hurt and the pain and disappointment he felt for the last two years of his life.  He was disappointed in himself and felt that he personally had failed in life.  It was this unbearable pain in his obsessive compulsive need for perfection that caused him to end his life.   We, as parents, live our children's pain and I, as his mother, could not fix that pain.  I could not change it and I cannot fix the hurt within myself that I felt for him.  This hurt and pain is so monstrous, so all encompassing that it consumes me.  It is something that I have no control  over.  I am buried beneath its weight.  This, I suppose, could be consisted "unreasonable" grief .... a nicer way of saying it would be to call it "complicated grief".

Several years ago I read an article in a magazine where Paula Deen had stated that when she was severely depressed that she would go to a casino and play the slots for hours as a way of escape.  I must have stuck that comment somewhere in my memory banks because I remembered it about eight months after we lost Christian.  I was, indeed, so, so depressed and working overtime to not let anyone know.  I wanted desperately for my family and friends to think that I was okay and that I was working through my grief.  Let me tell you, I was not okay then and I'm still not okay.  Denial of emotion takes a serious toll not only on the mind but on the body.   I have all this hurt inside me and I don't know what to do with it.

So I decided to give Paula Deen's way of coping a chance and you know what, it worked.  Temporarily. I could just sit there and watch a bunch of symbols fall down into place without any thought at all and sometimes there was even a monetary reward that came with it.  But the winning of money was not the object, getting lost in the moment was.  Unfortunately, money does become the issue; or rather the losing of money to be more precise.

That escape from emotion becomes addictive - as addictive as any drink or drug.  Before I even realized it, this self-destructive behavior had become MY coping mechanism.  Cannot deal with life?  Go to the casino and forget for a while.  The darkness, the cool air,  the sounds, the personal solitude are soothing.

All that is okay, I guess, if you can afford to go gamble (goodness, how I hate that word) like Paula Deen can but I can't.  So a cycle began.  I get my check,  I go to the casino only intending to spend forty dollars but once there, I can't stop because there is not enough time in the world for the pain to end.  It is endless but for just a while I don't think about it.  I don't want to leave because I know I know what is waiting for me outside those doors.   Next thing I know I'm driving home hating myself for being so weak and for not stopping when I knew I should.  I don't have enough money to pay my bills and now I'm suicidal.  Only fear of the pain I would cause my husband and children prevent that from happening.  In my unsound mind I wonder if the day will come when even that is not enough.


I know what you're thinking - just don't go to the casino in the first place.  That would seem the likely answer.  I'm intelligent.  I know that in the same way an alcoholic or a drug addict knows that what they are doing is wrong.  All of us know that help is available - but that's for the other guy.  To ask for help means help is needed.


There are two reasons that I decided to write about this.  One is entirely selfish.  I am hoping by admitting my own weakness , my own self-destructive behavior  - and you'll never know how hard that is to do - that I will find the strength to do something about it.


The second reason is because I want to open the dialogue on a subject that is very often swept under the rug.  A subject that is seldom, if ever,  talked about.  I want other wounded souls to know that they are not alone.  I want them to know that we can, if we're willing,  reach out and help others if only by admitting we are out of rhythm with life and have a problem.  There is strength in that.


What I have been doing to cope isn't working; but it is only one example of self-destructive behavior that survivors can find themselves becoming involved in.  I know that I am not alone in trying to find an escape from pain and I know that it's a hard subject to talk about.  I give praise to those that are strong enough to avoid the pitfalls of hurtful behavior - and there are many; but there are, I fear, many more like myself that find themselves in a bad place in their lives and are doing things that they never thought possible and facing weakness within themselves that they didn't know were there.  Grief can do that to people.


Self-destructive behavior comes in many forms.  Some seemingly innocent.  It can be anything that prevents us from a healthy involvement in life and puts our quality of life in jeopardy.  At least that is my definition.  Medical professions probably have a different definition altogether but for the sake of pleasing me, lets go with my definition for now.  If we're neglecting our family and living an artificial life then I suppose spending far too much time on websites like Facebook might fall into that category as well.   Escape can be found there too but each of us will have to make that determination for ourselves as to how much is too much.

Seeking escape and relief from pain can be done in positive ways.  We need to study our talents and resources to find avenues of self-fulfillment.  We need to find a vehicle or container for our emotions but we must take care that that container does not have the words "Self-Destruction" written on the side.

It isn't going to be easy but I must learn to deliberately reconstruct my life WITHOUT the negative behavior that is destroying my quality of life - before it ends my life.


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I don't want to end on a negative thought so I'm attaching a picture of an art quilt that if I quilted, which I don't, I would love to make.  The designer is McKenna Ryan of Pine Needle Designs.  She is an amazing artist and quilter.  She can be found at:   http://www.pineneedles.com/

SHAKEN OUT AND EMPTY

The time has arrived in this journey of survival where words seem inadequate to clearly and accurately describe what it means or how it feels to lose someone you love dearly.  I have in my lifetime lost many loved ones.  Death has come in many forms - natural deaths, a murder, the untimely and devastating passing of a precious five year old little girl that lived next door;  miscarriages; but nothing, nothing , nothing compares with the loss of not one child but two.

Christian, the sunshine and joy of our family, died by suicide on January 18, 2010.  Heather, although not my biological child, was my daughter by her choosing and mine - and who I could not have loved more - died a needless death on June 19, 2012.  Both were 32 years old at the time of their passing.

Both could have been saved if only the universe had opened the gates to the heavens and revealed to me the mysteries and the wisdom found there.  The answers certainly were not to be found within myself.  If love had been enough, I wouldn't be sitting here tonight writing these words and feeling this pain.

In the past words have been my friend.  They flowed as freely as did the tears that streamed down my cheeks......but no more.  Words fail me.  I feel so empty.  I feel as though someone has opened the top of my head, turned me upside down, and shaken all the emotion out.

Having experience it before, I recognize what is happening.  It is the same numbness I felt when I lost Christian.  I know, too, there are no words that can fix it.  It must be struggled through with all it's varying emotions ...... and questions that have no answers.

There is the inevitable guilt ... could I have done anything to make a difference in my sweet girl's life?  I KNOW guilt is a worthless emotion but I have felt it nonetheless.  I have questioned my worthiness to be called her "momma".  She never told me about the pain she was in.  All our conversations were loving and sweet but looking back on it now and knowing what I have learned, they were not honest conversations.  I know that she loved me in the purist and sweetest way and wanted to protect me from additional pain but still I say to myself "I should have known something was wrong.  I should have felt it."  How many other survivors have questioned themselves in the same way?

I learned a lot of valuable and hard lessons when my Christian left us.  I learned that life is a journey and in that journey there are many special moments but there are also times of hardship and heartache.  I learned that regardless of which experience you are dealing with if we put aside anger, guilt, and blame we grow and progress even when we are not aware of it.  I also learned that without love in our hearts and a willingness to reach out, help, and support others that our own healing slows to a crawl.

I learned that more love is received than given when we allow others into our lives that have lived through (to a degree) what we are now going through.  The amount of love and caring that is showered upon us by our fellow survivors is both humbling and our source of greatest earthly strength.

Even with all I have learned in the last two years and six months, I know this one last thing.  Knowledge is not enough.  Experience is not enough.  With the loss of each loved one, the pain and the journey begins anew.

ANOTHER SEASON OF MOURNING BEGINS

Looking back on it now, the weather seemed oddly appropriate.  The first day was sunny and bright and warm.  Not warm by some standards but warm for those of us use to cooler temperatures.  On the second visit,  it rained and although it had stopped in the afternoon, it remained gray and overcast and dismal.  In Western Washington we are use to such days but on this day it was not just the dampness of the day, the mood of the city seemed to have changed.  Or perhaps that change was only reflected in those of us that loved her.

The first day I visited there was still hope.  The chances of recovery were slim but when you have nothing else, you grab on to "hope" with both hands and hold on tight.

When my youngest daughter, Tiffany, called me and told me that Heather, her best friend from childhood, was in the hospital gravely ill, I automatically assumed it was a crisis that would be overcome and soon she would recover and get out of the hospital.  She was only 32 after all.  Young and strong.

Tiffany was not so optimistic.  She tried to prepare me for what I would see.  She told me that Heather's liver was in the end stages of liver disease.  She said that her kidneys had stopped functioning and she was on a dialyze machine.  She warned that she was bright yellow, swollen, and because fluid was accumulating throughout her body, it was also flooding her brain and she wasn't always lucid.

Her roommates had waited three days after she turned bright yellow and was in extreme pain before calling 911.  A decision that might have cost Heather her life.  By the time she got to the hospital, her situation was already beyond critical.

Heather was as much a member of our family as each of us were.  Growing up she seem to be at our house more than she was at her own.  Sometimes she would be there for weeks without going home.  The kids thought of her as a sibling and I loved her as though she was my own.

Our family was as different from hers as night is to day.  Two families could not have been more different.  Her family was distant and aloof.  Showing emotion was consisted a sign of weakness and although there was a lot of love, there was little outward affection.  Heather craved affection.

Our family, in contrast, is a huggie, touchy, verbal, love you forever, demonstrative bunch.  We adored Heather and she blossomed in our loving environment.  No one sparkled like Heather.  She was funny, witty, and full of life.

Son, Bobby, and I drove from the Olympic Peninsula to pick up daughter Stephanie in Auburn and then on into Seattle to pick up Tiffany so we could all go to the hospital together (thank goodness Tiffany was with us - Harborview Crisis Center is a maze of different facilities).   As soon as daughter Robyn in Arizona learned about Heather she immediately booked a flight home.  We would all be there for her as a family.  Her family.

Even though Tiffany had attempted to explain Heather's condition, nothing could prepare us for what we saw.  When we got to the Critical Care Unit, we had to sanitize our hands and then put on gloves and a gown before we could enter her room.  That was to protect both her and us.

I knew she would be jaundiced but I didn't know that she would be the color of a school bus.  The only thing white was her teeth which appeared bright white in comparison.  Her eyes seem to be floating in a pool of yellow fluid.  Her legs were purple and splotching and were about twenty times their normal size and were beginning to split.  Her abdomen was swollen and bloated.

All that  was hard to see but I could handle it.  What I was not prepared for was the agonizing pain and  suffering she was going though.  Because her blood pressure was so low, they couldn't give her any sedation for fear of her blood pressure  bottoming out.  Her body was so swollen that it was leaching the toxic fluids in her body out through her skin.  Because her liver and kidneys weren't functioning, she was septic.  They didn't want any of her body fluids to get on us because of the degree of toxicity.

While we were there they had to perform several painful procedures without pain medication.  It was all too horrible for words but she handled it with dignity and grace.   We were made to leave the room but Heather needed for Tiffany to be within ear shot.  Tiffany's voice soothed her and gave her strength.  I was amazed at how well Tiffany responded to her friend's needs.  She seem to know just the right things to say and do.

She was so pleased and surprised that we all came to see her.  "You're here to see me?"  There was no place else we would be except by her side.  It was sad that she didn't realize that.  She was and always will be our girl.

Even though she was in so much pain, she still managed to joke around and make us laugh.  We made plans to go camping at the lake.  We agreed that when she got out the hospital that she'd come stay with me so I could take care of her and nurse her back to health.

At one point she squeezed my hand and said "Momma, I'm so sick.  Am I going to get better?" I hesitate just a quick second  and then said "Of course you are Baby.  You just have to stay here until you're better."  She said "Pinky swear?" and extended her little pinky.  I linked my pinky with hers and it was all I could do to not break down in front of her.  It was at that moment that I realized this was the only promise I had ever made to her that I wasn't sure I could keep.  Bobby and Stephanie left the room so she wouldn't see their tears.

This was the last day our Heather was conscious.  That evening she went into a coma that she never awoke from.  She was placed on life support.  We were not made aware of this until Tiffany went to the hospital the following day.

After I got home that night, I was unable to sleep.  I alternated between body racking sobs and staring off into space.  Finally around 4 a.m. while it was still black outside, I went outside in only my nightgown to sit on the front porch - thankful for the cold, frigid air.  I was so empty inside that I wanted to feel something - anything.

While I was sitting there in the icy darkness just staring off into the trees that I knew were there but couldn't see, one side of the trees suddenly lit up as though someone had turned a bright light on inside each of them.  From the illumination I could see that a ground fog was rolling in.  It was such an unusual phenomenon that my first instinct was to run and get my camera; but something greater than myself, told me to quiet myself and remain where I was. It lasted only three to four minutes at the most but during that time I came to realize with a certainty that whatever was going to happen in the following days would be okay.

Soon after the birds began their songs.

Tiffany sat by her bedside day after day waiting for her best friend to open her eyes.  The nurses said they were baffled and didn't understand why she wasn't waking up.

Robyn arrived from Arizona.  Again we gathered the family, including daughter-in-law,  Rhiannon, and drove to the hospital on that gloomy, cold day.  We got to see her that one last time, hold her warm hand and tell her we loved her.

We learned from the doctor that her brain had been "showered with strokes" and the ventilator was the only thing keeping her alive.  Later that evening her parents would arrive and the doctor would advise they remove her from life-support and let her go.  A decision no parent should ever have to make.  It took them two days to finally gather the strength to let her slip away.  But in our heart of hearts we knew she was already gone - had left us during the night of that first day.

And thus another season of mourning began.  I longed for a thunderous rainstorm.  I wanted something strong and torrential to wash these feelings away.  The emptiness in our hearts and in our lives was so heavy  I could barely breathe.  The pain so unbearable that I wanted to fade away into nothingness so I'd never have to feel this depth of grief and sorrow again.

Initially I thought this type of grief was very different from what I felt when Christian took his life.  He was in such emotional pain.  He felt there was no hope, no future, nothing that could save him from the depression and despair.

Heather's drinking might have started from a desire to have fun but as her life unfolded it began to take on that same depression and emotional pain that Christian felt.  Heather struggled with self worth issues her entire life.  Issues only made worse by bad, destruction relationships.  She used alcohol to ease the pain.  I do not think that she ever thought that it would eventually take her life.

Regardless of the form their deaths took, they are both gone at the tender age of 32 and leave in their wake huge voids in our lives.  Where there was once sparkle and glitter, there is nothing.