"ALL THOSE MOMENTS LOST, LIKE TEARS IN THE RAIN"

"All those moments lost, Like tears in the rain."

This was one of the last sentences spoken in the movie Blade Runner.  Never have I heard a sentence so beautifully, so tragically, and so sadly articulated.

It is hard for me to put into words how I felt when I heard spoken aloud what my mind and heart have been thinking and feeling for the past seven years.  While heartbreaking, it was in a sad way almost comforting.  I'm not quite sure why.  It just was.  Perhaps it was because it seemed that someone had looked inside my heart and understood the storm of tears that had fallen and the longing of my heart to capture all those lost moments.  Moments that would never happen.

How many times have I wondered what my son's life would be like TODAY if he had made a different choice?  I allow myself to create wonderful, magical moments for him.  Moments when he's alive and happy and content and life is good.  Life is rewarding.  Life is everything he wanted it to be.

But then reality slams the door open with a bang, shakes me, and whispers harshly into my ear:  He never had a choice.  He left you long before he ended his life.

It was true.  I tried so hard.  I tried and tried.  But every month of that last year he slipped further and further away from me.   Further into himself where I couldn't reach him.  Further away from all of us that loved him. Depression and anxiety was all he knew, all he felt, and something he couldn't escape.  And as much as I pushed the terrible thought away - tried to bury it,  I knew.

I tried everything.  I gave him as much love as I possibly could but love wasn't enough.  I tried reasoning.  I tried bargaining.  I was tender.  I was gentle.  At times I was frustrated. I tried to get him to promise me that he'd never harm himself.  It was a promise he wouldn't make.  I tried never to show anger.  I never wanted him to think I was angry or disappointed in him in any way because I wasn't.  He was everything to me.  Always my bright shining star.   A star that seemed destined to crash to the earth but still I hoped.

The last three months he vacillated between being loving, funny and being so, so angry.  So full of hate and contempt.  He had attempted to take his life on at least three different occasions without success.  I tried to get him help and couldn't.  He didn't want help.

Then came the day when suddenly without anything different happening that I could see, the tide changed and he was totally at peace.  Everything about him changed. He became quiet.  He seemed to drift away.  Not withdraw but simply drift away.  And that scared me most of all.  Anger showed he was still fighting.   He held my hand and told me he was okay.  Not today but soon he would explain everything.  Not to worry.  Everything was going to be alright.  He was walking with God.  And I knew.

On January 18, 2010 - a day that had no special significance,  a nothing day,  he called to say good bye.  He called to say I love you Momma.  No there's nothing you can say.  Don't cry. I am at peace. Its all good.  He hung up and a short while later  he was gone.  He was 32 years old.

For a while I wondered why that day.  But then again why any day.  No day in particular would have made the pain less or even greater.

Seven years Christian has been gone.  For some seven years would seem like a long time but seven years isn't so long.  I can be back to the day of his death in a flash.  The tiniest of things can take me there. The pain of his no longer being with me has become part of me.  I can't escape it but time has made it more bearable and more often than not, my memories go back to the happy times, the good times.  That is what I want to remember.  That is how I want to remember my Christian, my beloved and most cherished son.

We, those left behind, never know what will trigger the sorrow in our hearts.  What will take us unwillingly back to the nightmare of that last day.  It could be a favorite food, a smell, a piece of clothing, a memory, or words spoken in a movie.

I cannot say that I truly understand the moment when my son decided to end his life.  I cannot say what made him choose that day.  I can say this however.  He was at peace with his decision.  He felt God's presence in his life.  He believed everything old would be made new again.  He knew he was loved. And does anything else really matter.

TOGETHER AGAIN FOREVER

Last night as I lay in my bed, comfortable and warm, with my mind in that place between awareness and sleep  the room began to softly brightened and you were with me.

You put your arm around me and I laid my head on your chest.  I could smell the rich spiciness of your cologne.  I could hear your heart beating softly in your chest.  I felt the rise and fall of your breathing.  I could hear the faint exhale of your breathe.  I could feel the rough fibers of your sweater  against my cheek.  I could feel  the warmth of your body.  

It was an embrace I had experienced so many times when you were still with me.  And indeed last night for a few moments you were with me again.  I held on to you and to the moment for as long as I could.  We didn’t exchange any words.  No words were necessary.  We were together and that was enough.

You didn’t suddenly disappear, you slowly faded away and my hand slipped away from you.  Even after I could no longer see or touch you,  the scent of your cologne hung on the air for a few seconds.  And then it too faded away.

Always as mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, friends, and loved ones we wish for just “one more time”. One more moment together.  I was blessed with that moment and it was a real as anything I’ve ever felt.  So much happiness, so much joy in that moment.  So much peace.

But then how empty, dark, and silent the room was after you left.  That emptiness, that silence, that darkness came crushing down on me.  The feeling was so intense, I cried out and gasped for breathe.  Then came  the tears.  Tears can be healing or tears can be drowning. For the second time you had left me and my heart almost couldn’t bear it.  

My son, my son.  How I love you and how much I miss you - each and every moment of each and every day with each and every breath I take.  Thank you for coming to me in such a profound way.  I knew that if anyone could find a way, you would.  

The love that binds us will never, can never be broken.  You are my heart. The pleasure of being your Mom was worth any pain I  have felt  or will ever feel.   Of this I am sure, this was not our last meeting.  We will meet again.  If not in this life - as we did last night - then in the next. And with God’s blessing, we’ll be together forever with no more sorrow and no more pain.  Only everlasting never ending joy.

HELLO DEAR ONE: A TIME TO LISTEN

I was looking through an old notebook tonight and found this.  An exchange between my daughter and me.  It isn't dated but must have taken place in early or mid 2010.

"Hello, welcome dear one,

Come in and lets sit a while.
Its been so long,
we never had a change to talk.

You needed time.  I understand.
Your pain is still so great.

I listen to your words
As the pain pours out
And watch as tears flow down your cheeks.
I silently listen and hold your hand.

In your pain you still want to place blame.
Why didn't he do this?
Why didn't he do that?
And why, why, why did he do this?

I know buried beneath your words
You're feeling guilt. I feel guilt.
But you of all people have no reason for guilt.
You couldn't fix what you didn't see.  No one could.
As he said himself, he was the great trickster.

I'd like to help you but don't know how.
I can't help myself either.

You want to talk but you don't want to listen.
Your feelings are still so raw.

Your words say:
I care.
I understand.
And next everything in you screams:
I don't understand!

When I start to explain my pain
Your name is called and you walk away
Not knowing this would be the only time I would try.
My feelings I keep buried deep, deep inside.
Those gentle words I would have said to you
Will never be spoken.

You return.

Your face says I don't want to hear.
I need to live in this world filled
with hurt and pain a while longer.
This I understand.  I am there too.

Dark emptiness boils up from within.
I feel sick and heartbroken watching you suffer.
I must put my own feelings aside.
This time, this moment must be about you
And how to help ease you through the pain
Because I love you and I do understand
what it feels like when sorrow and despair
calls out your name
And won't let go.

You are spent.  So instead of talking about things
that tear your heart
I'll put on the kettle and we'll have a cup of tea.

I AM A MOTHER

I am a mother that has lost a child and that loss has carved a permanent hollow in my being.  We who have faced such a loss seek to fill that gaping hole - that enormous empty place - that place that once was filled with the warmth of our living child.  As human beings we long for wholeness, completeness in our lives.

There are those that think that we choose to perpetuate that loss and hold onto that emptiness like a puppy that refuses to let go of a blanket that is being pulled away. They think that we hold on with an unreasonable fierceness of spirit and if we’d just make up our minds to do so, we’d let go of the grief that holds us prisoner.

Let me tell you that it is not so.  In the beginning it might be true.  Our grieving hearts reason that to let go of pain and grief is to let go of our child.  We do hold on tight because that is all we have left.

Christian's Memorial Garden

Eventually when we are able we look beyond our aching, hurting selves,  we want more.  We want our child’s life to have meaning to more than just us.  We want to fill that awful empty void with understanding and good works.  We want the sunshine, and moonlight, and starlight, and the magic and wonder of life to fill us and rekindle the zeal for life we once knew.

We don’t want to be sad and depressed.  We want what we once had.  I wonder at times what my life would now be like if my son had not taken his life.  I wonder if in reality it would be much different on the outside than it is now.  (That secret inner part of me will remain forever broken.)

My husband’s life has changed because of serious health issues and mine has changed in response to his needs.  My children and their children’s lives go on as they mature and grow and crave out their futures.

As for me because my son’s earthly life with me has ended, I have had to climb mountains I never knew I could climb, I have survived swelling waves of grief that I thought I would drown in.  I have been knocked down by pain, and grief, and depression and I have struggled back to my feet.  

And most importantly I have been blessed with a richness of friendships that I would never have known otherwise.  And I have learned from these friends and loving family members what love and caring and support really means.  When I have felt crushed, they have lifted me up and helped to put me back together again with their understanding and kind words.  Had my son not died, I might never have known what true compassion was.  As much as I long to have him back with me, I have at long last accepted the realization that will never be so I hold tight to the knowledge that someday we will be together again.  And my heart rejoices.

This has been a long, long journey and I have changed and grown and overcome much.  There are still days that I am overcome with grief and longing but those hard, difficult days are now separated by days filled with sunshine and hope.  

I look back to that first and even second and third years when I didn’t think that would be possible.  I remember thinking when other survivors told me that it would eventually get better and easier that it was impossible.  It would never happen.  I thought my world would forever be gray and filled with shadows.  Thank goodness I was wrong.  It may take a while but one morning you will wake up and you will once again hear the bird’s songs and feel the warmth of the sun on your face.  It may not happen everyday but that one day is all we need to know we have survived.

CHRISTIAN'S SIXTH HEAVENLY ANNIVERSARY

Six years today and I’m lost. I don’t even know how to feel anymore. It seems that I’ve said everything there is to say, felt everything there is to feel. Today all I feel is empty. I’ve used up all the self talk I can to try and make this day better.

 I thought that if I could pull from my head all the good memories of you that I have stored there that it would brighten my mood and lift my spirits. In an attempt to do that I have settled myself in and I’m going to think of all the good things that you are.

 I envision you with your soft bald head (where curly light brownish red hair once had been before you shaved it all off). In my vision I look into your cornflower blue eyes twinkling with mischief and delight. I see your beautiful smile and the dimples in your cheeks. I think about how soft I thought your lips were when you kissed me on the cheek. I remember your laughter and quick wit. I love how you use to make me laugh when you teased me or told me one of your stories. I remember how you use to entertain all of us with tales of your adventures - told in the funniest of ways. When you were with us, when we gathered as a family, you filled not just the room but the entire house with your presence. You were the star.

 As much as the memories of January 18, 2010, try to force their way into my conscious mind, I push them away. I want today to only be about the richness of your life and how you enriched ours. I want to pretend that you’re still here. I want so badly to hear your voice and feel your tight, warm hug. I want to hold on and never let you leave. I want you to be happy again. I want all the bad things to never have happened. I want you once again to be “living life large”. I want for you all the things that once made you happy and successful. I want so badly for this day six years ago to never have happened.

 But then again I would never wish to keep you here in your unhappiness, in your desperation, and in your depression. I would never want for you to have to endure that pain for one more minute, one more second. Where life was once so great, the fall is so much harder to bear.

I am thankful that you shared almost every difficult moment with me. It makes it so much easier to understand your decision and accept it. That doesn’t make the pain of losing you any easier but it does help in understanding. There are so many others that never have the knowledge of knowing the “why”. Sometimes when I read or hear about the pain that friends in my suicide support groups are suffering because they didn’t see the loss of their loved one coming and must face each day without answers, I feel guilty.

 Guilty because I did see it coming. I didn’t want it to happen but I feared in the depths of my heart that some day it would. I prayed it wouldn’t. Guilty because I failed to be able to fix those things in your life that made it unbearable. Guilty because I got to speak to you by phone several times that last morning when so many others never got to say good bye.  Guilty because I got to hear you say that you loved me and I got to repeat it back to you.

 Guilty because I heard the peace in your voice. Guilty because I didn’t beg you not to do it. Guilty because I accepted your decision - because at that moment you convinced me and I believed it was okay. If you were going to leave me, I wanted your passing to be without guilt or conflict. I wanted there to be only love between us. I expect no one to understand this but our last conversation felt like a warm hug. And then you were gone.

 I’m not only to dwell this day on all the whys and all the people that hurt you. This year has been an exceedingly hard year for me. For reasons unknown to me, this year all the anger that I’ve kept at bay pushed its way into my thoughts and I’ve felt anger and disappointment and even hate for those that hurt you and in my mind I feel contributed to your decision to take your life. I really, really tried to work past it and not think about it. And for most of the five years since you left, I was able to do that.

So what made this year different I don’t know. But having worked through all those negative feelings and thoughts, I’m feeling better and they no longer have a hold on my heart. I’m thinking that it was time to purge myself of all that negative energy even though I thought I was doing the right thing by burying it. Letting myself feel it, experience it, think about it, and silently rage over it has been liberating.  Freeing.

 Today, January 18, 2016, is your 6th Heavenly Anniversary. It doesn’t seem possible that that much time has passed. My memories are still so vivid.

 You told me that if ever I needed you, you would be here. I believe that. During 2015 I needed you a lot; and you never failed to show that you were close during those times I was terribly distressed. Thank you for the heart-shaped rock I found on the bed in the nursery. Thank you for the brightly colored feather I found on my bed. And thank you for all the white feathers you’ve placed before me. 

And I especially thank you for sharing with Kristen - who then shared with both Brandon and me - what your Heavenly life is like and what your responsibilities in your new life are. I like thinking about you greeting new Heavenly arrivals and helping ease them through the transition into their new life. The perfect job for you.

 Oddly I don’t want this day to end. I don’t want another year to begin. I want instead to just sit here and think of nothing but you. I want to remain in this moment when the house is quiet and we are together once again in my memories. I love you now and forever my wonderful, incredible son. You are my sun in the morning and the moon and stars in my evening.

ON BEING FEARFUL

This was written over a year ago.  I just discovered it in my drafts this morning.  I don't know why I never published it.  I will today.


My son has been gone four years and fifty-four days and still I am fearful.  There are doors in my heart that I don't want to open.  Memories that I have yet to face. Not the hard things. The difficult, painful things I have thought about, cried over, been angry about, and eventually had to accept.  I know he is gone.  I know that he will never again open the front door, walk in, give me a hug, and bring his laughter with him. Never again.

Today I'm writing about the every day things.  The things that made up Christian's life. Things that tell me what his life was about during the good times. The things that brought him joy.  These are the things I struggle with because in reality they are the things that mattered most to him and things he will never enjoy again.

So with great trepidation I opened his closed door, went into his room, and opened his nightstand.  You may wonder why his nightstand mattered, why I had avoided it; and the explanation is this:  he liked to keep the things that meant the most to him close at hand.  I imagine most older children have such a place.

I looked inside and then took each item out and laid it on his bed. I took out his Bible, his keys, his broken cell phone, all his papers and photographs, the songs he had written, each strap of paper.

I looked at his keys first.  Each one a mystery to me.  I picked up his broken cell phone and was filled with sadness knowing how it came to be broken.  The circumstances a heartache for him.  The scraps of paper had names and phone numbers jotted down.

Isn't it odd how you know things but you don't REALLY know things.  Amongst his papers were receipts. Receipts for clothing, receipts of hotel rooms, receipts for airline tickets.  I knew that at one time he had lived the "jet set" life style but until I saw it in dollars and cents I didn't really understand what that meant.  I am not bragging.  Its just how it was. Penthouses, Louis Vuitton and Kenneth Cole clothing, parties, rent receipts for the house he lived in just outside of Manhattan (where he worked for a while). Receipts for the furniture he purchased for that house. I will never live that life style.  I don't even understand it.

There were flyers for the Raves he and his partners put on.  A lot were successful but as the Rave scene slowed down, so did the money they brought in.

The photographs were of his children, Brandon and Benton, the love of his life, Kristen, his family and friends.  There were pictures of him with big name entertainers just partying and having fun.  I will never forget the time Biggie Smalls called.  Christian had forgotten his cell phone in my bedroom.  It rang and I thought I should answer it in case it was something important.  So I answer and a big voice asks to speak to Christian.  I, of course, said he was home and could I take a message.  He ask if I was Chris' secretary.  I said "No, I'm his Mom."  He told me his name.  I had the worst time trying to figure out what he said his name was.  I thought he said "Piggy Small" and I was pretty sure that wasn't correct but I wrote it down anyway.  

When Christian saw it, his first reaction was: Oh my gosh you didn't call him that did you?  He's really sensitive about his weight.  After I assured him that I hadn't, Christian got the biggest laugh from my mistake.  Actually Biggie and I had a pretty long conversation laughing and joking around. I was absolutely clueless as to who he was. He kept asking me "you don't know who I am? you really don't know?"  He said I reminded him of his mom.

This is one of my favorite pictures from the hundreds that were there.  Its him and his music.  I love the way it surrounds him. How he and the music become one.  A total and complete union of sound and movement.

The most telling things in the drawer were the songs he had written.  Especially the rap songs.  They made me so sad because they made me understand how much he wanted out of life.  There was pride, there was pain, there was anger, there was passion, there was love.  For me, a life full of promise that will never be fulfilled.

His whole adult life was in that drawer.

Yesterday, for the first time, I went to Christian's Memorial Site alone.  I was afraid to go alone to that place on the side of the road.  Not because its a dangerous place but because I knew how lonely it would feel.  And it did.  Winter had taken its toll with wet leaves and pine needles. Broken branches and weeds.  Over grown briers.

When Spring arrives and it warms up, I will bring pots of flowers and plant a butterfly bush. The thought of butterflies flying around this place makes it seem less lonely and makes me happy.

I'm going to end with a phrase from a song.  The first time, the very first time, I came to this place where my son took his life, I was so afraid.  I was paralyzed with grief and sorrow and overcome with anxiety. I almost couldn't get into the car to start the journey to this place. Suddenly a phrase from a song by John Michael Talbot began to play over and over in my head with a slight variation to the original. The song in my head said "Be not afraid, I am with you always."

AND THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE

September 5, 2014

Is that true? does the truth always set you free?  

But I ask you this, what happens when everything that you thought was Truth turns out not be the truth at all.  What happens when the Truth suddenly appears and slaps you hard across the face?  What happens when theTruth turns your world upside down and inside out?

I was not set free by learning the truth.  And oddly I was not devastated by it either.  After 4  1/2 years I feel I am once again floating in a bubble - a protective but dark bubble.  Within my bubble is a void.  I am locked in there alone but it protects me from further pain, further attacks upon my psyche.  It is my protective armor against life.  At times I think I am only half alive. 

I have become numb.  It is Natures way of protecting us from those things that we cannot handle otherwise.  It is the same numbness I felt immediately after learning that I had lost my son to suicide.  When I was hit with the crushing reality that in my lifetime, I would never again see the light in his eyes or hold him or hear his joyous and sometimes mischievous laughter.  Never again would he tease me or hug me or share tender moments with me.

I thought I knew everything I needed to know about why my son choose to end his life.  Our conversations were honest and at times even brutal in their honesty.  I lived those last two years with him as he battled depression and suicide attempts. I was not spared from the hell of his mental and emotional decline.  I felt his frustration, his anger; and at times I was the victim of that anger. If I could have taken his burdens and placed them upon myself, I would have done so.  So great was my love for him.  I wanted to protect him and make everything better for him and I tried.  I tried so hard but it was not to be.

So on that day, that morning that he placed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger, I thought I had all or least most of the answers to the whys.  And since that day I have been struggling to find peace with those answers.  And to a degree I have.

In the grieving process things happen in degrees.  By degrees we get stronger.

I was not able to go through Christian’s personal papers or read this journals until last week.  My growth and my strength were slow in coming.  I thought that my understanding of what happened was complete.  If Christian was living, I would not have read this personal papers or his journals and in death I still did not want to violate his privacy.

So what happened to change that you might ask.  It was not intentional.  I was looking through the buffet drawer for something entirely different. 

 His things had been placed almost randomly in that drawer.  I suppose, if I am to be entirely “truthful”, that I was afraid of what I might find within the pages of his papers and journals.  I did not want to read the words written in his own hand about the people in his life that had betrayed him, hurt him, destroyed him.  I didn’t want his words to turn me angry and bitter.

So while I was shuffling through things in the drawer, I came upon an envelope addressed to me.  I held it in my hands for a while staring down at the word “Mom” written on it by my son.  Then I carried it into my studio, sit down, stared at it a while longer, and finally almost timidly I opened it.   

The letter was beautifully written.  In it he explained his philosophy of life.  He told of his love for the Lord, of life,  and his appreciation of the beauty of the earth.  His words painted beautiful pictures of sunrises and sunsets.  He spoke of his love for his family and friends.  And of how he had lived life so large - “like a rock star”.  I smiled. “Like a rock star”  - words he had spoken to me on another occasion and written in a different letter.

In this, his last real letter to me, he explained why he had chosen to leave this earth and move on to another.  It was peaceful in its content.  He apologized for the pain that he knew he would be causing those that loved him but explained with conviction, certainty, and clarity that leaving was the only answer left for him.  

He said that he knew we wouldn’t be able to understand it but to try and accept it because he was at peace with his decision. He needed for the pain to end. He ask that we watch over his two sons.  He explained the life lessons that he wanted them to learn but mostly he wanted them to know how much he loved them. 

The date on the letter told me that it was written six months before his death. 

After reading the letter, crying through the letter - no, sobbing through the letter, I thought I was strong enough to  go through the rest of his papers and possibly even read through his journals.  This proved to be the opening of Pandora’s box.

This is where I found the Truth.  I found the things that he had hidden from me. Things too painful for him to share.  I discovered true evil.

That is not to say that I didn’t know she was wicked and hurtful.  I knew that.  I had seen it, heard it but never did I know the extent of her evil.  And now here it was in front of me in her own words.  Emails that  they had exchanged and that Christian had copied and saved.

On the day following Christian’s death, she called me.  She told me that he had died because of her, that she had talked him into it.  Taken out of context that might sound like statements of remorse but instead she spoke with such pride in herself.  She had taken the great Christian down.  The popular Christian, the greatly loved Christian.  She sounded so sick, so demented.  My daughter came and took the phone from me.

The next day she called again and said to me that she had done nothing wrong - that he wanted to died, she had just helped him along.  I ask that she never call or try to contact me again.  She laughed and said that if I tried to stop her she was going to call the police and tell them that “he had laid hands on me”.  She stopped suddenly realizing her mistake.  I said nothing but just hung up.  I have never spoken to her again.

I had thought that because she was the last one to speak to Christian before he ended his life that she was telling me that on the day of his death she had talked him into it.  As hurtful as her words were, in my mind I thought she was grandstanding and feeding her overblown ego. After all I knew that he had been so depressed and had tried to end his life on several different occasions. 

 I had no doubt that she had done exactly what she told me she had done but I never thought that she was the only reason or the main reason as she seem to think.  I heard from several people that she was bragging to anyone that would listen that Christian had killed himself over her.  Reasoning that mentally she was not well, I put her out of my mind as best I could.  Her words, however, I could not dismiss or forget.

I will not go into what the emails or the journals said.  I did not read all the emails and just a small portion of one of the journals before I had to stop.  

When she said that she had talked him into taking his life,  that is exactly what she did. After learning of his venerability, she entered into a six month long campaign to tear him down and push him into suicide.  He pleaded with her to stop and she only got worse.  To me it was the worse type of bullying because it was done by someone that he thought loved him and for reasons I do not understand he loved.  It was done by someone that knew how to inflict the most painful emotional damage.

I have online friends in my suicide support groups that have lost children because of bullying.  I thought I understood their pain and their anger but I didn’t.  Theirs is a pain that only a parent whose child has been murdered can understand.  I am glad that the law is moving in the direction of prosecuting those that commit these acts against others and that some of these perpetrators have been prosecuted.  

I don’t know if this girl could be prosecuted.  I don’t even know if what she did was legally a crime but in my heart she murdered my son, my precious child.  And eventually she will be judged and God will decide her fate.

So does the Truth set you free?  The facts and truth of what happened does not set me free.  It cripples me.  The only way I can be set free is to turn this over to God knowing that in His wisdom things will be as they should be.  That is my Truth.

AFTER LOSING A CHILD, GRIEF BECOMES A LIFELONG CONDITION

Today I was looking through my Document File and found this poem written by my friend Shari Soklow.  It is as meaningful today as the day I received it from Shari.  Indeed, it is more meaningful  than when I first read it. 

I received it during a time when my grief was still new and my emotions raw.  I received it during a time when I was still numb with shock and disbelief.  I received it during a time when I did not fully know what losing a child meant.  I received it during a time when my mind could not accept that my son was not only gone but gone forever. I received it before I realized how permanent death was.

The words that Shari has written don't just apply to the first week of a loss or the first few months or even the first year.  There is a lifetime worth of wisdom and experiences written here. She is right when our child dies a part of us dies too. The hurt and pain and sorrow never ends. It just goes on and on and on.  

Its been four years since Christian left us and truthfully I don't think about his passing as constantly as I did in the beginning.  Thoughts of him are always there.  Its just that my thoughts turn more to the good times we spent together.  The happy times. I have to do that to survive. I have to do that to push the nightmare of that last day away.  But try as I will some days the pain is as intense as it was on the day my son took his life.

Thank you for sharing your wisdom with us Shari.  Thank you for stating what we as grieving parents feel and can't express as eloquently or as clearly as you have.

Shari Soklow

"Unless"

Unless you've lost a child.......then 

Don't ask us if we are over it yet. We'll never be over it.

A part of us died with our child. 

Don't tell us they are in a better place. 

They are not here with us, where they belong. 

Don't say at least they are not suffering. 

We haven't come to terms with why they suffered at all. 

Don't tell us at least we have other children. 

Which of your children would you have sacrificed? 

Don't ask us if we feel better. 

Bereavement isn't a condition that clears up. 

Don't force your beliefs on us. 

Not all of us have the same faith. 

Don't tell us at least we had our child for so many years. 

What year would you choose for your child to die? 

Don't tell us God never gives us more than we can bear. 

Right now we don't feel we can handle anything else. 

Don't avoid us. We don't have a contagious disease, just unbearable pain. 

Don't tell us you know how we feel, unless you have lost a child. 

No other loss can compare to losing a child. It's not the natural order of things. 

Don't take our anger personally. 

We don't know who we are angry at or why and lash out at those closest to us. 

Don't whisper behind us when we enter a room. 

We are in pain, but not deaf. 

Don't stop calling us after the initial loss. 

Our grief does not stop there and we need to know others are thinking of us. 

Don't be offended when we don't return calls right away. 

We take each moment as it comes and some are worse than others. 

Don't tell us to get on with our lives.

We each grieve differently and in our own time frame. 

Grief can not be governed by any clock or calendar. 

Do say you are sorry. We're sorry, too, and you saying 

that you share our sorrow is far better than saying any of those 

tired cliches you don't really mean anyway. Just say you're sorry. 

Do put your arms around us and hold us. 

We need your strength to get us through each day. 

Do say you remember our child, if you do. 

Memories are all we have left and we cherish them.

Do let us talk about our child. 

Our child lived and still lives on in our hearts, forever. 

Do mention our child's name. It will not make us sad or hurt our feelings. 

Do let us cry. Crying is an important part of the grief process. 

Cry with us if you want to. 

Do remember us on special dates.

Our child's birth date, death date and holidays are 

a very lonely and difficult time for us without our child. 

Do send us cards on those dates saying you remember our child. 

We do. 

Do show our family that you care. 

Sometimes we forget to do that in our own pain. 

Do be thankful for children. 

Nothing hurts us worse than seeing other people in pain

SOMETIMES I AM ANGRY

The thing I want people to know is this:  Sometimes I am angry.  Sometimes I strike out. Sometimes I am too numb and too hurt to care.  This unpredictable anger surprises even me and yet I have come, through time, to know why its there and where it comes from. When it will appear and to whom it will be directed is the surprising part.

Within me there is a hole, a void, a chasm - whatever you would like to call it and within that dark place there is so much anger.  Some times without warning - kind of like a volcano - it just boils up and explodes into the sky, raining down on anyone that happens to be in its path.  

Now usually I am a gentle, soft-spoken soul but as time has shown - time being the last four years - not always.  Do others understand the whys of my anger? do they understand where it comes from? Oh my, no!  I don't know in advance what I will say and seem to have no control over what suddenly boils forth; and while I don't like it, I do understand it. It comes from a part of me that is horribly and terribly broken. A part of me that can't be fixed.  A part of me where grief and sorrow has etched on my soul a wound that cannot be healed.

When my son Christian by choice left us - not just me but us, it left me so empty.  To understand that emptiness, you must understand who he was and what he meant to so many of us left behind. He was such a bright light.  He lit up the room with his presence, his laughter, his sense of humor, his caring ways. HE MADE YOU FEEL AS THOUGH YOU WERE THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THE UNIVERSE WHEN YOU WERE WITH HIM.  There was never a question about his love. He felt it, he showed it. When that type of light is extinguished, the world becomes very dark. Pitch Black. Almost without air.

And in that black, dark place there is anger. All kinds of anger. Not just anger that he is gone but anger about the why and the who.  Toss in a huge helping of guilt - reasonable or unreasonable -  and you've got a recipe for explosive, unpredictable anger.

This type of anger isn't directed at anyone.  Although the unfortunate person in my presence at the time will never think that since my words seem to be directed at them.  It is an anger directed at the universe. This is an anger so deep that totally unrelated things can set it off without warning and without fairness to the recipient. And for that I am sorry. Really, really, really sorry.

I wish people could understand it.  I wish it wasn't so.  I wish things were different. I wish things had been different.  I don't like this part of the "new" me.

Dean Koontz wrote in his book Odd Thomas the following:

"Recognizing the structure of your psychology doesn't mean that you can easily rebuild it. The Chamber of Unreasonable Guilt is part of my mental architecture, and I doubt that I will ever be able to renovate that particular room in this strange castle that is me."

I cannot expect that those I know will be able to accept this part of me and love me in spite of it.  I can only hope that they can and that they will.  To avoid this part of myself, I avoid life.  I avoid people. This part of the journey is so difficult and so lonely.

Michelle Chamuel - Go Down Singing (lyrics)

This song and this artist makes me cry.  Her message, which she describes as a true reflection of herself, is so powerful; and so gripping.  How I wish all those that gave up the fight and surrendered to the pain of life could have heard the message in this song.

I think instead of saying "go down singing" however, I would have encouraged those struggling to stand up and never go down.

My heart is heavy tonight.  Thanksgiving has come and gone.  Christian's birthday is past.  And now Christmas is over and New Year's Eve is quickly approaching.  The holidays are always hard but for some reason this year has been especially so.

Christian's oldest son, Brandon (now 16) and his girl friend are coming for a couple of days on New Year's day.  My goodness Brandon is so much like his Dad -  the way he expresses himself, carries himself.   His heart is so big and he is so kind.  While it gives me great joy - no, tremendous joy -  to be with him, he is so much like his Father that it also saddens me.  It's a sadness so deep that it grips my very soul.

I must remind myself not to cling to him or hug him too much.  Holding him and hugging him is like holding Christian once again.  And that is a burden I must not impose on one so young.

Brandon is so proud to be Christian's son.  All of Christian's friends have told him that his Dad was "bigger than life".  And we, as his family, believed that as well.  He did live life large.  All that he was, all that he did, all that he accomplished in his short 32 years makes me so proud to be his Mom.  But truthfully he was, after all,  just human.  And in his humanness, he chose to leave us.  If only he could have held on just a little longer.  I wonder if time would have changed anything.  I wonder if ………….

I will always wonder "if".  And I wonder if I will have the answers when his son asks me the hard questions.  Sometimes I think I should rehearse those answers but I don't.  I can't because the answers seem to change each time I think about them.

There are so many reasons that Christian left us.  Not just one.  There were so many emotions tied to his decision.  Too many disappointments in that last year.  Too much stress.  Too much of everything. Too much for him to handle.  Too, too many struggles.  Too much depression.  Too much anxiety.  Just too much.

I do wish he could have heard Michelle's song.  Maybe he could have held on.

TODAY I ATE CAKE

Today is December 9th, 2013 and today I ate cake and wore clothes.  Today is my son Christian's 4th Heavenly birthday.  My Facebook page says he is 36 years old but really he is only 32 and will forever be 32.  Not one day older.

When Christian was in the third grade, his teacher ask the students to write a paper about their favorite holiday.  Christian's went something like this (I don't remember exactly because his paper was lost at his Memorial Service):

"I think December 9th should be a holiday.  It is my birthday and everyone would celebrate me. They would eat cake and wear clothes."

I think that is kind of funny because Christian didn't especially like cake.  The only one he ever requested was the chocolate one that you poke holes in and then pour chocolate pudding over - Jello Pudding Cake I think it was called.  What he really loved was banana cream pie.  One year the grandmother of one of his friends made it for him and he talked about how special that was for years.

Today is Christian's birthday and my heart was so heavy, my grief so great.  His absence so intensely felt.  How he loved his birthday.  My heart was broken and tears filled my eyes and flowed down my cheeks without warning and without regard to time or place.  Part of that sadness was because I, as his mother, was so afraid that as time passed he would be forgotten by his friends.  I was so afraid that he would become just a distant memory that would eventually fade away.

But that didn't happen.  I have received so many heartfelt messages about how remembered he still is and how loved he still is.  Of course, that didn't stop my tears but these new tears were tears of not just sadness but also of joy.

The mother of one of his friends reminded me that today should be a celebration of all the years we spent together.  She reminded me that Christian "REALLY LIVED LIFE".

As the years go by, the number of people that have gathered on his birthday has gotten smaller.  But I am here and tonight I will write my note, attach it to a balloon, and send it into the Heavens.  Other family members are celebrating his birthday at their own homes.

He was joyful; he was a free spirit; and he lived life large.  Depression took him from us but we will always remember the love and laugher he brought into our lives.

You are so missed my darling child.

Isn't this the perfect balloon?  How he loved his music.

I AM A JEWEL, MULTI-FACETED AND COMPLEX

I am a jewel. Formed by nature, cut by life. Once each facet that was touched by the sun glittered.  Such fire, such beauty. 

 I am a jewel.  Each facet filled with a part of me.  Not perfect.  Filled with inclusions and flaws.  Life's tragedies scratched them in with its cutting blade and chipped away what once was me.  I will never be perfect.  I am full of imperfections.  Struggling.

Death of a child. The first year, numbness.  The second year reality begins to settle in and hope that it's all been a bad dream fades away.  The third is the lonely year when others expect you to be well; but you aren't and depression takes over your lonely, empty life.  

With the fourth year comes the questions.  Why do I still feel so void of life?  Why don't I have any energy?  Why aren't I getting better? stronger?  With that comes the self incrimination. I have so much to be joyful about and still I'm not.  What is wrong with me? I hate myself. I hate who I've become.  

I am a mother without her child.  And all I want is him back.  All I want is to hear his voice, his laughter once again.  To feel his hug, the warmth of his body.  To feel his kiss upon my cheek.  I know I never will.  Not in this life anyway.  Why can't I wrap my head around the reality of the situation and just accept it? 

But as hard as it is, the first four years are surrounded by and filled with hope.

HOPE - what a big, big word.  Hope for what?  That the pain will go away? That I can begin to live a full, joyful life again? Hope that I can get out of bed in morning without  experiencing that gab of pain that tells me my child is gone - forever. Hope that I will survive the unsurvivable?   There are times when hope is all we, as survivors, have to hold on to.

As the end of the fourth year rapidly approaches, I have given up on hope.  Hope is like the wind in a storm.  It blows past me with lightening fast speed.  I can't grab it; and even if I could, I would not be able to hold on to it.  It is like an enemy that throws me off balance and knocks me around.  HOPE I give up on you.  

If some day you find your way into my life, I will embrace you and be thankful that you've found me. But for now you are useless to me.  I waited for you, based my strength and my future on you.  I filled multiple facets of my life with you.  But somewhere along the way, you leaked through fractures in the inclusions and escaped. Fine! go away.  Fill someone else's life with false hope, false dreams.  Promise someone else that their life will some day be filled with glitter, sunshine, laughter, and joy.

I am a complex, multi-faceted jewel.  I search for and learn new things.  I try to fill each facet with new skills, new exciting gifts.  I try to be brightly colored.  I look for joy in this new knowledge.  I try to be thankful that God has blessed me with the ability to learn new things.  

So why with all these things that I have been blessed with do I still feel so dull, lifeless, colorless, and devoid of any inner glow?  I lie in the darkness. Hidden from life's bright rays; void of light, clarity, and sparkle.

Are things really as bad as they feel?  Or am I just having a really, really bad day.  Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.

THE PERSECUTED PARENT(S) AND FAMILY MEMBERS

I know this post will be controversial especially to those parents whose children have died by violent crimes. I do not mean to be insensitive and bring up hurtful thoughts and memories. However, I was moved to write this post. You may or may not believe in spiritual guidance but I do; so when the Spirit speaks, I must listen.

Watching the news lately I suddenly became aware of the fact that there is a section of our population whose grief and guilt is being almost completely ignored. I am not talking about the perpetrators of violent, heinous crimes. For them I have no sympathy and this post is not about them or the crime they committed.

I am speaking and thinking about .....I'm sitting here in my chair wondering if I dare approach this subject ....... I so don't want to hurt anyone or make anyone angry because I "don't understand", "you've never been in my shoes", "you don't know what its like" And it's true. I don't.   I can imagine but I do not understand or know what its been like or what the personal hell you've had to endure to like.

So on tip toes, I approach my subject:   the parents and family members of those that have committed these unthinkable crimes.

How many times have we witnessed on the television news, in the newspapers, in online news reports how the family members of these people are victimized themselves. Innocent people that happen to be related to the criminal. At times they have to be taken into protective custody so they are not harmed or their lives taken. Their property is often vandalized and their homes surrounded by news media hungry for a look or a comment.  These family members have their lives disrupted and totally and completely turned upside down.

Maybe they, like Ted Bundy's family and friends, had a loving relationship with the perpetrator;  had no idea of the thoughts in the criminal's head; no idea of the horrible crimes he/she had committed.; had never seen the dark, ugly side of this person they love.

They, like us, are in terrible pain.  Often their family member is still living but their emotions are not unlike our own. They go through the same shock and anxiety we did as they struggle to understand. They find themselves in the same deep, dark pit drowning in sorrow, depression,  despair, and seeking an answer to the question "why?".

But now add to that a GUILT that will never go away, embarrassment, and a society that doesn't offer kind words and warm embraces; but instead they find an angry public that turns on anyone associated with the criminal or their lives. Most often even before the facts are in and the criminal is found guilty, they have been tried in the press.

Already they are guilty in our minds and for some punishment must be doled out. Even if its against those innocent of any crime.

Think for a moment about the isolation they face. They are hurting and being hurt. Can you imagine being locked away in your house, with curtains drawn, afraid to leave, to go outside, and your house surrounded by angry people and insensitive news media knocking on your door.  The television bombarding them with every detail of the crime. Their hearts breaking with each word.  So much guilt.

Television news people anxious to report any dirt they've managed to dig up.   Even against those not associated with the actual crime itself.  Everyone is fair game, especially family members, and we're more than willing to listen and believe.  We are all eager to place blame in our attempts to "learn the truth".

And what about the children involved in this type of situation? I wonder sometimes how they ever survive this type of trauma - this arrow in the heart caused by one of their own family.  Especially if it's a parent.  To whom do they turn for understanding and support?

The children are harassed and bullied and found guilty by association. All things that we say are unacceptable and yet in this circumstance are somehow deemed okay. Even those that normally would speak up against such things, turn away. What a sad, sad statement about human nature.

And what of the parent whose child died at the hand of a police officer as a result of the crime they had committed?  I cannot imagine that they ever find peace in their lives again.

So today I ask you not to think about the criminal but about compassion and understanding for the innocent. For those who were not a part of the crime or destruction of lives. I know this is not going to change - not for society as a whole; but change can begin in our own minds and in own hearts. One person at a time.

MOTHER'S DAY NUMBER FOUR

At the urging of a dear friend I stopped writing this survivor's blog and closed my newly purchased journal so I could concentrate on my living family members.  Very good advise I thought.  Time to let go.  Time to regroup and move forward.  After all it had been three years without my son.  Perhaps I was ready to begin again and change my focus.

My sister-in-law once told me that I was stuck in grief.  Christian had only been gone five months when she wrote me that in a letter.  Stuck in grief?  Are you kidding?  I was not only stuck in grief, I was drowning in grief!  But time crawls by and slowly, very slowly, I began to think about other things, do other things.  Not every minute, every breathe was consumed with thoughts of how I would endure the day with such overwhelming and devastating thoughts and emotions.

This is what I've discovered.   Yes, things do change and time does heal to a degree; but for me this is how my life and my grief evolved.

Year number one I was numb.  That numbness took over the very second when I was told that my son was gone forever.  The pain was so great that my mind and body had to protect itself by numbing everything.  Of course, I didn't know that at the time and if someone had told me the worse was yet to come, I would not have believed it.  No pain could be worse than that first minute, the first hour, the first week, the first month, and each month after that until the first year drew to a conclusion.  No, no nothing could be worst than that inconsolable heart wrenching pain.

Then year number two arrived.  The numbness began to wear off and the reality of what had happened began to settle in.  Suddenly I could no longer pretend that things were going to be alright.  I had to accept that this was my life and I could do nothing to make it better.

My heart was being trampled on and torn and ripped.  I felt as though I was bleeding under my skin where no one could see it.  Now I was indeed drowning under the weight of my emotions.  I had to learn how to survive; but survival meant pulling that mask of deception on a lot tighter.  After all people expected me to be getting better, getting stronger.  How could I admit that I was not only not better, I was dying inside, raging inside.  No, better to pretend things are alright, I'm alright.

So in year number two I began the worst and most damaging game of my life.  Pretend and internalize.  Sometimes I even convinced myself that things were okay.  But this is a game your mind and body will rebel against and you will pay the price.

Year number three.  Oh my goodness, year number three.  The year when your mind and emotions turn  against you.  That great strength you thought you had, the resolve - gone, disappeared.  It is the year of DEPRESSION.  In capital letters.  If I had thought I was depressed before (and I did) that was only a baby's game.  This was the real thing.  Big and ugly and horrible in every way.

For days, weeks, months I struggled not to take my own life.  Every day.  When they say suicide is not about taking your life, its about ending pain, I am here to tell you that is more true than anyone can imagine unless they, too, have had that struggle.

Every morning I woke in a high, high, high state of anxiety.  There was no reason.  It was just there.  I couldn't bear being in my own body.  I needed to escape myself.  If only for just a few minutes of peace.

I'm not a drug user or a drinker so I never even thought about that.  My peace was going to be more long lasting, more permanent.  I made a plan and rehearsed it mentally.  It would have been so easy.

So when I say I struggled every day to stay alive,  I mean it in the most honest and sincere way.  It is as though the darkness wraps you in a thick, suffocating blanket that you can't escape from. It's dark, and hot, and there's no air.  No comfort, no peace.  Just depression and anxiety; and more anxiety and more depression.

I don't even know when the darkness loosened its hold on me.  It was gradual.  So gradual that I didn't even recognize that it was happening.  Slowly, slowly I began to wake up each morning with a little less anxiety than the day before until it was no longer a daily thing.  Today I can tell you that I don't dread going to sleep at night because I don't worry about what the morning will bring.

What I would like people to know from my experience is that if you are going through this type of crippling depression,  see a doctor; but most of all if you can hold on for a little longer, things will get better.  You can't will it away. You can't wish it away.  You can't force it away.  Its something that must happen in its own way and in its own time but it will happen eventually.  Just continue to hold on.  Tight.

Talk to whomever your Higher Power is; join either a local or an online grief support group.  It is better if you can find a group that is going through the came type of loss that you are.   Pour your heart out to them.  They will understand and be there to support you.  Don't try to do it on your own.  Medication, if prescribed, can also be helpful.  Don't be afraid to ask for help.  You might be surprised how much fellow survivors care and want to help and support you.

So going full circle and returning to the beginning, did my family relationships improve after I stopped writing my blog?  They didn't change or improve or get worst.  Things remained the same.

You see, this is the thing about families and grief.  Each person, every individual must make their own personal journey up and down those valleys and peaks of grief and depression.  It is a solitary journey and unfortunately it is the nature of the beast that each of us must work through the pain in their own way.

Does that weaken the family?  No, it doesn't weaken the family but the family dynamic does change.  That depth of pain and sense of loss has to change them just as it changes us as parents.  We love each other as much, if not more than before, but we become a little more isolated.  We are like little soldiers each marching to their own drum.  When we come together, the music of each drummer combines and we make beautiful music together.  We just come together less often than before. Is that bad?  I don't know yet.  Life continues to evolve.

This next Sunday, May 12, 2013, is Mother's Day once again.  My fourth since Christian died by suicide.  I must be getting better because I don't dread it.   I have a different attitude.  I'm thinking not about what I've lost but about what I have.

I am so blessed that my 89 year old mother is still with us and in good health.  She forgets more than she use to but her hugs are still as strong and as warm as always.

I am so, so blessed to be the mother of five incredible children and three equally incredible stepchildren.  And my four grandchildren, Brandon, Benton, Persephone, and Christian - there are no words that could begin to tell you how much I love them and how much joy they bring into my life.

I love my brothers and sister and their families; and my husband Patrick's parents and brothers and sister and their families add another dimension, another layer of love and happiness to my life.

And last, but certainly not least, is my husband, Patrick.  What an amazing man he is.  He is everything I dreamed of in a husband - kind, caring, supportive, honest (almost to a fault), and he can make me laugh like no one else.  Our marriage is a beautiful union of shared respect and appreciation of each other.

My cup runneth over.

To all you mothers out there, I wish each of you a peaceful Mother's Day.  I know its a hard day.  I've been there too.  I understand that sense of loss when others are celebrating.

I have a little sign upstairs hanging on the wall that never fails to make me feel a little better.  It reads "Dance in the Moonlight".  When things get you down, put that happy thought in your mind and mentally dance in the  moonlight with the wind in your twirling hair.  Spin and spin and spin and dance the wild fairy dance.

TRAVELING ON ALONE

When the page is blank and there are no more words to write, it is time to close the book.  For the past three years you have walked beside me on this journey.  You have taught me much and helped me to grow.

This long and difficult journey has lead me to wonderful people previously unknown;  to people whose silent cries, like my own, go unheard;  and to raw, heartfelt personal stories that we, as survivors, can feel and understand because we have been there too.  We have each faced a sudden and devastating loss in our lives, we have traveled through the same valleys, we have laughed at the happy, funny times we shared with our loved ones, we have cried together over their/our loss and our empty arms and our broken hearts.

We are a family; brothers and sisters born in pain and bound by grief.  We may not always be on the same page in our Journal of Grief and Survival but we are all in the same chapter.  In the same chapter and trying desperately to turn the page, to add a new chapter.  Perhaps even begin a new book of our lives.  We try but never quite succeed.

This journey has forced us to discover ourselves as we never would have previously.  We have been forced to come face to face with our own realities.  The knowledge of who we really are, beneath all the pretense, swirls about us like the wind, and falls on us like the rain.  We look inside ourselves and see who we are, where we've been, but we don't know always where we're going.  And that is part of journey - rediscovering who we are.

During these past three years I have learned some valuable lessons.  With your indulgence, I will share a few:

When we share our innermost thoughts and deepest emotions - be it sadness, anger, frustration, guilt, or the depth of our love, we are learning to trust.

As we listen to and are touched by the stories of others, we are learning about compassion and empathy.

When we extend our hands to another to help them up and give them a shoulder to lean on when we ourselves are also hurting and needy, we are learning what it means to be selfless in our service to others and from that we gain strength.

When others unintentionally offer hurtful platitudes and we fight down anger and seek instead to understand, we learn patience and forgiveness.

And in death, we learn the meaning of life.  This is perhaps the hardest lesson of all to learn.  Grief causes us to look inward and often times downward because our hearts are so heavy and our grief is so great.  The journey can be very long one indeed before the clouds separate and we can see our beautiful world again; and in seeing it, want to be a part of it once more.  I try to remember that in spite of the darkness of today, there is hope for a bright tomorrow.

Henry Miller wrote: "One's destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things."

I want to thank you for walking beside me these last three years.  I honestly don't know how I would have made it without the knowledge that you were there.  I have been greatly blessed and formed deep friendships and lifelong bonds with some of us.  You came into my life when I was weak and venerable and wandering.  You reached out, lifted me up, and continue to walk beside me every day.  You've shown me compassion and love and I return that love tenfold.

I want you to know that I have welcomed and appreciated your comments.  You have touched my heart with your sharing of your stories and thoughts with me.

I do not know where this journey will take me but for now I must travel on alone.  As I continue on, I know there will be many more lessons to be learned but at this moment I do not feel there is anything left in me to share.  Now I will become the reader and I will let your wisdom guide me.

Love and peace to each and every one of you.

Linda