SECRETS

secret-n. 1. Something concealed from others. 2. Something not readily understood: mystery - as defined by my good friend Mr. Noah Webster. This is a topic I have not only been reluctant to write about but one that I try to avoid thinking about.

When I first gave thought to writing a blog about my experiences as a mother of a victim of suicide, I had to give a lot of thought to if my writings would be a betrayal of confidence. Would my son be angry and hurt if I shared his story - our story. (I never think of him as gone. I choose to think instead of him as a silent presence in my life - always here with me.)

There were a lot of pros and cons to weigh. He was such a prideful young man. His image was of the greatest importance to him; but on the other hand would he be alright with it if in the telling it might help others. I would like to think, and I've told myself over and over again, that he would be okay with it; but the doubt, the uncertainty lingers on.

Our stories are so intertwined that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to separate the two. It was not until I decided to really, really evaluate the varying pieces of what makes me exclusively me that I dared to drag this part of my life out for close personal examination. I have mentioned it briefly in previous posts but it wasn't until this week that I finally opened myself up enough to fully feel the deep impact my own words or rather my own thoughts have had on me.

Before I bare my soul I will give you a brief history of what happened before I did what I did. It is not an excuse - just an explanation.

The two years preceding Christian's death by suicide had been unbearably difficult for him. He was suffering from severe depression and as time went on it became worse and worse until it consumed him.

After he and Kristen broke up and she took his little son away, he continued to live in his house. It was a cute little house that set on a hill and was directly across the street from the blue, blue waters of Hood Canal. Because the house was on a hill, he had an amazing unobstructed view. But the house, which had once been so full of life, energy, happy laugher, and love, was now oppressively silent.

For a while he tried to continue working in the music industry and traveled back and forth to New York, Las Vegas, San Francisco, etc. But due to a lot of unfortunate happenings (his business partner embezzled all the funds and left Christian deep in debt; the love of his life left him for another man and took their child with her and wouldn't let him see his precious little boy) his depression deepened and even though he tried to work soon found that he couldn't.

This was when the suicidal thoughts began to control his life and I lost my son the first time. It was as though he now existed in a different world than I did. He could hear my words but they couldn't penetrate the force field he had erected around himself. In his heart he knew how much he was loved but it no longer mattered.

Christian and Kristen had a detached garage and Christian had planned to convert it into a home office/music studio. He had completed the room but after Kristen left he never moved anything in or set up his studio. Another dream dashed.

In wanting to preserve the memory of our children we don't always want others to know that they weren't perfect. In fact sometimes we make them out to be super humans and that is not what they were. They were human beings with courage, love, and kindness but they also had weaknesses and faults. Characteristics that we all have. That is what makes us uniquely human - the vastness of our emotions and the ability to act on those emotions.

I have never shared this with anyone but he now turned his studio into "a suicide room". I didn't know anything about it until my other son, Bobby, told me. He moved a bed in and set up his music. He installed the pipes and whatever else he needed to pump carbon monoxide into the room. He thought that he would turn on the gas, lay down in bed, listen to his music until he fall into eternal sleep.

He didn't use the room right away. It was just there. Waiting.

Then came the day when he found a foreclosure notice on his door. His world turned black and he couldn't see the sun any longer or any hope. He went into the room, turned on the gas and his music, and laid down in his bed. He had given up on life and felt that life had given up on him. Eventually he did fall a sleep; and eventually he woke up. He didn't have enough propane in the tanks. He woke up with the worst headache he had ever had. Severe headaches plagued him for the rest of his life. After he told his brother what happened, Bobby tore out all the piping and the pump to his "suicide room" and Christian moved back home with us.

Two times he tried to pump the exhaust from the exhaust pipe into his car but on both occasions friends just happened by and pulled him out of the car. Then there were the pills - all kinds of pills - that he, without success, tried to end his life with. On several occasions his brother and I had to fight him to the ground to stop him from ingesting them. Then there was the time that he found a drug dealer more than happy to sell him a very large quantity of heroin. He took all of it at once and this time we almost did lose him.

He was institutionalized once and was seeing two different counselors - on and off - but he was never honest with either of them (he had to maintain his image) and they never suspected how deeply troubled he was. I had called the emergency operators to summon help on at least three different occasions. He always said he was okay and they would leave.

I was just so, so tired of worrying about it every single day. I was beginning to feel as though I would loss my mind if something didn't change but nothing did. I was in a constant state of flux. I could never relax. I always had to be vigilant incase he tried again. Seldom did I leave the house unless someone was with him or he came with me. Every time I heard a sound at night I got up to check. He had promised me that he would never take his life inside my house so every time he went outside I began to panic.

Two days before his death he called me while I was in Nevada visiting my Mom and he told me that he had a gun and was going to end his life. I was so worn down by the struggle to keep him alive that I was emotionally and physically exhausted. In the middle of his declaration, telling me what he planned to do, even though my words said I love you, please don't do this, I thought to myself "If you're going to do it, just do it and be done with it!" In two days my son was gone and now I have to live with the shame and regret of my thought.

How can a mother even think such a terrible thing? No one can even begin to guess unless they, too, have been in that place I was in. I would like to tell you that when I thought it, I didn't really mean it but I can't do that because at that moment in time I did mean it. Of course, I didn't want him to take his life but I did want the madness to stop. All I wanted was for the madness to stop.

I imagine that most of us find reasons to blame ourselves. Reasons to feel guilty. One counselor told me that most guilt is irrational. She liked to use this question: Can it stand the test of reality? She said to first figure out exactly how you think you wronged your lost beloved and then determine if you actually did anything that directly caused the death. This, she said, is reality testing.

And that is why I am not a good candidate for counseling. All good words but for some reason I want to scream out at her "Be quiet, go away, and leave me alone. Don't tell me quilt is irrational. I already know that. Tell me instead that it was okay to think what I did. Tell me that a lot of people that have lived under daily stress for a long period of time might have the same thought. Tell me that it's okay to release the shame, guilt, and regret I feel over thinking it. Tell me that I'm okay as a mother. Tell me I that I did my best. Tell me that I can let go of this secret I hold in my heart and in my soul that is killing me emotionally. Please, please tell me that my son understands."

secret-n. 1. Something concealed from others. 2. Something not readily understood; mystery.

PUTTING THE PIECES BACK TOGETHER AGAIN

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Remember that little phrase from your youth? A favorite of parents and teachers alike. In the past two plus years I must have said those words to myself a hundred times. It seems the harder I try the less likely I am to succeed. I try and try and try to put the pieces of my life back together again with no luck.

I move ahead and then fall back. I've moved forward and fallen backward so many times I've worn a hole in my mental floor covering. And I am so tired. So tired of succeeding and then failing over and over and over again. Grief does that. Just when you begin to skip happily along, Grief reaches his boney hand out and throws you down. With cuts and bruises, you have to decide if you're going to continue lying there or if you're going to pull yourself up and keep going. (Many a time I've just wanted to lay there, not moving.)

Not only am I failing at pulling myself together, I seem to be falling a part. Not so long ago I was quite good at putting things back as soon as I was done with them. Today I walked into my art studio and it was a mess! Things were here, there, and every where. My studio doubles as a guest room and I have things all over the bed and stacked on my two desks. That isn't me. I hate chaos! and I hate searching for things!

Of course, I know how it happened. The way it happens for a lot of us. I pull something out and then I'm too exhausted mentally and physically to deal with it. The all too familiar "I'm too tired to do it now. I'll do it later" happened with more and more frequency. But it is true. I've been so, so tired. I didn't want to journal and without words, I had no creative mental images for my artwork.

So after much thought this is what I decided. I find that I am so use to multi-tasking that in trying to create myself anew I try to do too much and overwhelm myself and therefore make no progress. As a result I decided to restructure how I think about myself.

In my new vision I see myself as a large puzzle. Right now all the pieces are separated and stilling lying in the unopened box. It is my job to open the box and take out one piece at a time. I will identify it and then examine, study, scrutinize, analyze, and investigate that one piece of the puzzle until I fully understand that part of myself and determine its value in my life.

The first piece I took out of my big red box of puzzle pieces is (drum roll please) ART.

I selected art for several reasons. First and foremost is because it is my substitute for anxiety medications. When I'm feeling anxious and desperate, I can lose myself in pencils, paper, and paint. When I move into the world of glitter, I know that I'm really depressed and in need of a major hit of joy. Glitter is so cheerful. I don't use it very often but it's a happy art form. That is the beauty of art. It can be serious or fun. And it has been my release valve since Christian died. No matter what form it takes, it is an expression of my true self at that precise moment.

I have taken my first puzzle piece, named it "art", and laid it down in front of me. I've given myself time to reflect on how "art" has helped me through the really, really tough times in the past two years. I've thought about how it has kept me grounded. I know that it will always be an important part of who I am. I will never be a great artist but it satisfies some primal need seated deep inside of my soul. When I am alone and lonely, I will always have my art to fill that empty place.

So in exploring my love of the creative, I've tried a few different things. These are examples of my latest "just for fun" art projects.

GALLERY:

Title: "Repose" done in pastels and watercolor and commercial blush and eye shadow

"In a Cottage in the Woods" done in graphite

"The Old Dame" made from polymer clay, fabric, and artificial hair fibers, rabbit fur, crystal

"Elderly Man Caught Napping" graphite

JELLY FISH SERIES: Watercolor and ink

"Now and Beyond" graphite (my granddaughter Persephone and my daughter Tiffany)

"Touched by the Sun, Painted with Fire: Poppies" done in pastels and watercolor pencils; beads stitched on; glitter

INTROSPECTION, a journey into the mind and soul

The third year begins, a third journal also begins, and I've got to do something differently than I've been doing. My first journal, a journey, Death by Suicide, a Mother's Story, was about the beginning of my grief journey and dealt with all the raw emotions of that first year. The second journal, Cosmic Journey, was suppose to address finding my place in the world again and, therefore, my place in the universe.

Over the second year, however, I realized that I must rediscover who I am before I can progress any further. And to do that, I must travel inward and journey into the deep recesses of my mind and soul. For that reason, I have named my third journal Introspection, a journey into the mind and soul.

I suppose I have been doing that over the past two years - trying to figure out how to go on without my son and without anything that resembles a real life. I still feel so empty inside.

I have given up all the things that once brought excitement into my life. The end of the second year has been especially hard. A friend told me that the second year is the lonely year. I think she is absolutely correct. It is the lonely year. I have stopped going anywhere; stopped seeing the few friends I have left; make up excuses not to visit family; have given up learning new, creative things; have stopped doing almost anything that is creative.

Thank goodness I have had my artwork to fulfill my artistic need and my journal/blog to keep my mind active. Those are the two things that have prevented me from turning into jiggling, quivering jello stuck to a tree. (My friend Tom said that.)

I know that a great deal of my emptiness is due to the fact that our little grandson went to live with my daughter, Stephanie, and her husband, Ken. Child Protective Services didn't think my health was good enough to take care of a baby full time. They are right, of course, but it was terrible having him leave us. We still get him on the weekends and for that I am so thankful. He truly is the joy and delight in both his Papa's and his Nana's life.

I told myself that I must begin living again. So I am going to try. Tiny steps at a time. Baby Christian's first birthday is January 27th - five days away. I have some fabric and I'm going to make him some overalls and a matching jacket. I will appliqué it and maybe add embroidered covered buttons. And if I get really ambitious and have time, I'll make some coordinating shoes. I still have some leather from my last shoe-making project.

What does this have to do with "traveling inward"? Quite a lot actually because I am really needing to do some strong self-talking to motivate myself to do this. You see, I'd much rather just do nothing. Especially nothing at all about trying to move forward. Some days I prefer to sit and not even move or go to bed and sleep. I feel like I'm in a stalemate and can't move. Not forward, not sideways, not even backward. But doing nothing is a waste of a perfectly good life so I'm going to try to try.

The End of Chapter Two

The Second Anniversary of Christian's passing. Our world is all white with muted shades of green. We are snowed in so there was no visiting Christian's Memorial Site with armfuls of flowers and white balloons.

This forced confinement was a good thing. Instead of a day filled with anxiety and great sadness, it was a day of peaceful calm and reflection. It was not without its anxious moments. Looking at the clock and thinking back and remembering those horror filled hours of that last morning. I watched the clock tick down until it finally reached 10:32 am. That is the time the coroner pronounced him gone from this world. Thus began his journey into a new beginning.

Today I remembered what a fun loving boy he was - both in his youth and in his adult years. How he filled our hearts with joy. Joy in his accomplishments. Joy in the birth of his two boys. Joy in the way he made us all- family and friends - laugh. Joy in the way he complimented and completed the family. Joy in how much he was loved. Joy in how he reached out and helped others. Joy in how he remembered those little things that mean so much.

I thought about his teenage escapades and worrying myself sick when he didn't come home when he was suppose to. My mind would go wild with imaginary situations. Then I'd get mad and think to myself "if he isn't dead, I'm going to kill him myself when he gets home". Then throwing my arms around him and kissing him before having a screaming fit when he finally arrived home.

Then there were the times I had to rescue him from situations he really did get himself and his friends into. He was a leader so most of the time it was his idea and his blame. Although I don't think it took much effort to get Matt, Carson, Mike, Jared, Justin, Robert or John to go along with him.

I smile at the time he was the only boy invited to an all girl birthday party. He was both embarrassed and pleased as punch with himself. I remember when he came on the Seattle scene producing Raves with his business partners. They put on a show like no one else. All top name entertainers and show goers from as far away as Australia and England. Those were the glory days.

I thought about how absolutely thrilled he was on the day his two boys were born. He and Rhiannon were both so young when Brandon was born; but they loved him so much and he brought so much happiness into their lives. Then a few years later he and Kristen were blessed with the birth of Benton. What a little charmer he was. He stole his daddy's heart away.

He was father that truly loved his sons. It saddens me and that they will have to grow up without him by their side. Brandon is a teenager now and really misses his Dad and being able to share with him his accomplishments and his trials. It's lonely for a boy without his father.

I thought also about this journey I've been on and where it has taken me. I have been so blessed that I didn't have to make this journey alone. I have met so many online friends in my grief support groups. Women and men that I am so proud to be able to call dear friends. We have shared our grief, our stories, our love, and our support.

These are brothers and sisters in grief that have lost soul mates, children, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, friends, and tiny babies. (How my heart aches for those mothers and fathers that have lost those sweet, precious little babies.) Their separation from life has come in many forms. It is journey that I wish none of us were on but since we are I can think of no better traveling companions.

I sat quietly and read through my two journals. The first, a Journey, was written the first year after Christian's death by suicide and is filled with raw emotion and painful memories. The second, Cosmic Journey, was written this last year. This is the final entry in that journal. I can see that as the year progressed, I progressed as well. The wound is beginning to heal.

So tonight when I lit a candle to honor the memory of my son, I also lit it in memory of all those loved ones that have gone before and after my son. All those angels that stand today with my Christian as he celebrates his second year in Heaven. It also burned brightly for those left behind and who struggle with their grief. I lit it for everyone who has touched my heart with their kindness.

I wrote a simple poem for Christian and would like to share it with you.

Our Love is Carried on Butterflies' Wings

Our love is carried to you on butterflies' wings
In swirls of color aqua, yellow, blue, and green.
This love we send from our hearts to yours
And when it's our time
We know you'll be waiting on Heaven's shore
To welcome us home and back into your arms once more.

Good night dear friends.

VIEWING THE WORLD DIFFERENTLY

When I painted this cityscape of Seattle about six months after Christian's death, it was a perfect reflection of how I was feeling. Like so many others that have been almost destroyed by the loss of someone they love dearly, I was having a difficult time with life going on as though nothing had happened. As the Karen Carpenter song goes "How can the world go on turning? How can the sea rush to shore? Don't they know it's the end of the world?" How could the world go on just the same as it had before my son died by suicide.

Logic had nothing to do with it. Grief is not logical. It is full of irrational, turbulent, confusing, and unpredictable cycles of emotion. In my temporary madness, it angered me that people could still laugh, still have fun, could still go on living normal, happy lives. And how dare they display their happiness in my presence. It didn't matter that they were people that I didn't even know - just people on the street or people shopping or people on the television. They, in their happy, normal lives, made me angry.

My world was twisted and askew. Change had been forced upon me and there was nothing I could do about it. My dreams had been shattered. Everything I had known previously now made no sense. I knew that I would never view the world the same way again because everything was different now. Everything I saw was different. Everything I felt was different. How I perceived life and relationships was different. Nothing was the same.

I would certainly never see things in the same innocent, inexperienced way. I was absolutely astounded at how much I didn't know about life: and I knew nothing about the devastating affects a loss can reap on the human psych. I knew nothing about suicide. In that regard I truly was an innocent. I was uninformed. It wasn't a part of my reality - until January 18, 2010.

As time passed, I would like to think that I "grew in wisdom and in strength"; and as I did, the pieces of my world began to come together again. At times I wonder just how much numbness plays a part in that and how much antidepressants play a part in the numbness. In my antidepressant drug numbed mind I've decided that strength is perhaps nothing more than learning to live with the pain; adjusting to the pain; and learning to bob, duck, dodge, and twist around the pain.

I read all this stuff about "choosing how you're going to live your life so you might find joy" and not letting grief defeat you. Just be strong, make the right choices, and you'll be happy. It would be nice if it were that simple. I wish it were. Maybe for some it is that simple. I don't know. Everyone is different after all.

In the book the wounded woman, Hope and Healing for Those that Hurt by Dr. Steve Stephens and Pam Vredevelt, it states in part "Grief is a time of massive contradictions. Grief is nothing even close to a clean, step-by-step process. On the contrary, the sorrow that grips our lives is very confusing, and feelings typically race in and out without any logical progression. Emotions are mixed, seemingly random. In most cases they boil to the surface repeatedly - and more frequently than we prefer. Denial always pops up first, but it reappears over and over again when we sense our pain pushing us too close to the cliff of despair. It helps us pace ourselves so we can manage our heartache a little at a time."

Is it any wonder that our world is so out of kilter when we ping pong between facing reality and shutting it out altogether. Is it any wonder that we feel anxious and depressed? From my own experience over the past two years there is one thing that I've learned we can always rely on. That one thing is hope.

Why hope? Because hope is not something that someone gives to us. Hope is not something we have to read a book to find. Hope comes from within. It is our very own. It lifts us from the valley of despair up to the mountain tops. And if not all the way to the top of the mountain, then within viewing range. It is a beautiful, wonderful gift we give to ourselves. We can have hope that as time passes there will begin to be more good days than bad days. Hope that we will begin to laugh and smile and find joy in life once more. Hope that our eyes will be open and receptive to the beauty that surrounds us. Hope that we will somehow in the depths of our suffering learn to accept those things we cannot change, to find hope in the future, and most of all hope that we will find peace.

WHEN LETTING GO HURTS LIKE HELL

I have read that making a shrine of the departed's room is a roadblock to healing. Well, I'll just have to wait and see if that if true or not. Today is January 11, 2012. January 18th will mark the 2nd anniversary of Christian's passing and up until yesterday everything he owned had remained exactly as he left it. There was comfort in that for me. Knowing I could step into his room and envision him there surrounded by the things he loved. It was like a sanctuary. A place I could go to close my eyes, quiet my soul, and find peace.

For one last time before anyone arrived I sat in there thinking back to when he was just a toddler. He was the only baby I knew whose clothes were just as pristine when I took them off as when I put them on him. Totally unlike his little sister, Tiffany. I would dress her, stand her in the middle of the room, and dirt would begin to crawl up her legs and jump off onto her clothing. She wouldn't have to do anything it seemed to end up with stained clothes. I could never pass her clothing on but Christian's would still look like brand new.

And so his life began. Being a single mom with five children, there wasn't much money to go around. From the time he was in elementary school, Christian's clothing allowance always, and I mean always, went to buying name-brand clothes even when it meant he had less than anyone else in the family. Some might say he was overly occupied with his appearance and they would probably be right. All I know is that is who he was from the time of being a young boy to the end of his life.

I remember when he started working and could finally buy exactly what he wanted. I would go to visit him and he would proudly show me his latest acquisition. He was rarely content with just a shirt and pants. He had to have the shirt, pants, sweater, tie, and socks. Shoes and belts were carefully coordinated. For him this was a work of art - the color combinations, the composition, the texture, the balance.

That also carried over into the furnishings in his house. He and Kristen carefully selected each and every item in their home. And no expense was too much.

So all that information boils down to this. Kristen and I talked. During the last two years of Christian's life, he was so plagued by severe depression that he was unable to work and consequently was over burdened with debt. As a result he was unable to leave anything in the way of financial benefit to his two sons, Brandon and Benton.

All he had was a house full of furnishings and closets (more than one, more than two) and drawers full of designer clothing (Armani, Kenneth Cole, GUCCI, etc.) - several still bearing the price tags. So the decision was reached that his things would be sold and the resulting funds would go into some type of interest-bearing accounts for the boys.

Yesterday two huge u-hauls were filled with all the things from the storage unit and part went to Kristen's storage unit in north Seattle and part went into our guest house. That 850 square foot house is filled on both floors floor to ceiling. Those things will be gone through, sorted, and sold later.

As my heart broke, I watched as his clothing and personal affects were gone through and removed from his room. Even though the end result will be rewarding, I felt as though his room had been plundered and I had been robbed. Not robbed of "things" but robbed of memories. Robbed of his most cherished possessions. Things he had an emotional attachment to. Things he had personally chosen to keep close to him. And things I could touch. Clothing I could envision him wearing with such pride. My goodness! how that hurt.... and still hurts.

Will the removal of his things help in the healing process? Only time will tell. But right now, at this very moment all I know is that it hurts so deeply. I feel as though I have lost him all over again and it hurts like hell.

AN OLD FASHI0NED TYPE OF FAIRY TALE

When I was just a little blonde-haired girl, my favorite book was GRIMMS' Fairy Tales by The Brothers Grimm. How could anyone resist the charm of such a book? I had learned to read at any early age and this book with all its adventures and tragedies and scariness was my lifeline into another world. How I enjoyed crawling behind the big, blue high-backed chair in our living room and escaping into that book. Thus began my love affair with books. Later it developed into story telling. I made up stories and told them to, first, my brother and sister and then to my own children.

Just this past week I felt the urge to write a fairy tale. Something I haven't done in years and years and years. I didn't know what it would be. I just let my heart and my fingers take me where they would. It became a mixture of my present life situation and a lot of imagination. Perhaps not your ordinary fairy tale but then who can really define a fairy tale?

AN OLD FASHIONED KIND OF FAIRY

There once was a woman who lived alone in a small hut in the deep forest. The hut was a sad place now but it had not always been that way. Once the woman was happy and laughed all the time. She and her husband had been blessed with a child in their old age. But soon after the child was born, the old man died and the woman and her child were left alone to take care of each other. This made the woman love and cling to her child even more.

He grew up to be a happy, intelligent little boy. Every day seemed like a celebration. They sang and danced together and they would twirl around and around until they got dizzy and fell down. How they would laugh. They cooked together and gardened together. In fact every day was spent in making each other happy. She knew one day her child would grow up and leave but for now everything was perfect.

Then one day her little boy went into the forest alone to gather flowers to put on their table. When he didn't return, she was in a panic. She grabbed her shawl and ran into the forest searching and calling his name. To her shock and total heartbreak, she discovered that her child had died. A sudden and violent death. "NO! NO! NO!" she screamed "It isn't his time to go. Not yet." But he was gone and there was nothing to be done about it.

Before her heartbreaking loss, the woman felt young and youthful but now she felt very, very old. Old and useless and worn out. Some days she didn't even bother to get dressed or brush her hair. Her days were bleak and without warmth or joy. She wandered about aimlessly in her hut with no purpose. Things that once brought her joy now held no meaning and sit dusty in the corner. Day after day was the same. All she could do was think about how much she missed her beloved child. Sometimes she even forgot to go to bed and would find herself still sitting in her rocker in the morning.

One day when she felt she would loss her mind if she stayed inside her hut one more moment, she rushed head long into the forest. She ran and ran fighting her way through low hanging branches and stumbling over roots. She could barely see where she was going because her eyes were flooded with tears. She ran until she could run no further. Exhausted she fell to the ground. How long she lay there feeling her heart pounding in her chest and gasping for breath no one can really say. Eventually her heart and breathing slowed down and strength began to return. She was able to pull herself to her feet with the aid of a branch on a fallen tree.

Looking around she realized that she didn't know where she was. She stood there for a moment looking first to the right and then to the left. She looked in back of her and again to the front. She was hopelessly lost. Was she frightened? Oh, no, she wasn't frightened. She wasn't frightened because she no longer cared. Life meant nothing to her. How many times had she prayed that her life would be taken too but there was no answer to her prayer. Then she stopped and thought "Perhaps this is the answer. I am lost. No one knows where I am. I will sit down by that old rotted-out tree and wait until my time comes."

So the old woman gathered her skirt and petticoats about her legs and settle down on the ground to wait. And wait she did. All day she waited. As evening begin to creep across the forest floor, the air turned chilly and the woman realized that she had no shawl to cover her shoulders and she was hungry. Hearing a babbling brook not too far away she went there first to quench her thirst. Looking about she saw some berries. She gathered them in the apron of her dress. Knowing she would be staying the night in the cold woods, she crawled inside the hollow of the rotted tree to protect herself from the cold night air. She ate her berries and although she was cold and uncomfortable, she fell into a fitful sleep.

Dawn broke and with it the woods were filled with sound of birds. "How noisy" she thought. "Why can't they be quiet and just leave me in peace." That was not to be so the woman sat up and finished the berries that were still laying in her apron. She crawled out of the tree and settle once again on the ground waiting for her time to come. She waited and waited. Then she began to cry and cry and cry.

A little bird that had been watching her from a high branch flew down and perched on one of the branches of the dead tree. She watched her for a little longer and then she said, "Why do you cry woman and why are you sitting here all alone in the forest?" The woman looked at the bird and said, "I cry because my child has died and I am alone because I choose to be alone in my sorrow." The bird cocked her head one way and then the other. "But why does that make you sad mother? In the forest flowers spring up and blossom and then they fade and die. The trees bud out and make new leaves in the Spring but in the Fall they die and fall off the trees. In the forest there is a beginning and an end to everything but that doesn't make us sad." The woman continued weeping so the bird flew away.

After a while the woman laid her head against the tree and fell a sleep. When she awoke, the sun was high in the sky. Why am I still here she thought to herself. Why hasn't an angel come to take me to my child" With that thought she was once again overcome with grief and began to cry. During her sleep she hadn't noticed that a hairy caterpillar had settled itself upon her shoulder. He called out in his loudest voice, "Why do you weep woman and and why are you sitting here all alone in the forest?" Not seeing him, she thought at first she was hearing the voice of an angel and she replied, "Why do you ask me that? You know that my child has died and I am waiting for you to take me to him." The caterpillar looked at her in wonder. "You are far too large and heavy for me to take any where!" he exclaimed.

"Who is talking to me?" asked the woman, "It is me, myself. I'm the beautiful hairy caterpillar sitting on your shoulder. But I don't understand why you are crying. Just change yourself into something else. The mother bird lays an egg and it turns into a baby bird. The baby bird gets bigger and then it flies away. After I have eaten my fill, I will spin a cocoon and turn into a beautiful butterfly and I will fly away. You are already big and it looks like you've eaten your fill so why don't you just change into something else and fly away, and then your problems will be over." The woman cried out to him, "I am trying to change myself into something else. I'm trying to change into an angel. Then I, too, will fly away and find my child." This just made the woman cry louder and longer. The little caterpillar covered his ears to muffle her wailing, shook his tiny head, and crawled away.

Soon her tears dried and she discovered that she was hungry. Very, very hungry so she got up and began her search for more berries. She stopped at the babbling brook for a cool drink of water before resuming her search. She came upon a briar patch full of the most beautiful, plump blackberries. At first she hesitated about putting them in her apron because she knew they would leave stains that would be impossible to get out. Then she remembered that soon she would be an angel and it wouldn't matter so she filled her gathered up apron and went back to her spot by the rotted out tree. She ate her berries while she waited for her time to come.

After a while she wanted no more berries and having nothing better to do, she began to cry once again. She thought to herself if I cry really, really loud maybe the angels will hear me and rush down to take me to Heaven to be with my child. With that she began to cry as loud as she could.

An old man traveling through the forest heard her cries and went in search of her. He saw her lending against the tree with her head in her arms weeping and wailing. "My dear, dear woman", he called out "Whatever can the problem be that makes you sit alone in the forest weeping as though your heart has broken?" The woman was startled because she had not heard him approaching. Gathering her senses she replied "Old father I sit here crying because my child has died and I am waiting for my time to come so we can once again be together."

"And how long have you been sitting here in the forest waiting?" he asked.

"A day, one night, and now another day" she answered.

"And have you just been sitting there all this long time?"

"Yes, except for when I gathered berries to fill my empty stomach, drank water from the babbling brook, and crawled inside the tree to protect myself from the cold. Other than that, yes, I have just been sitting here. Sitting here and waiting to become an angel so I can fly away to Heaven and be with my child."

The old man smiled and settled himself down next to her. They sat that way for a while without speaking. Finally the woman could not take the silence any longer.

"Why are you sitting here with me?"

The old man said, "I thought I'd keep you company until your time came."

So they sat and sat and sat leaning against the tree. Waiting and Waiting. Evening was approaching. Finally the old man said to her, "Your time isn't going to come today or tomorrow either."

"Of course it will!" she said. "I've patiently been sitting in this cold forest for two days now and one night and another night will soon be upon us. After I eat a dinner of berries and drink some water from the babbling brook, I'll crawl back into the tree and by morning my time will have come and I'll be an angel in Heaven with my child. Of this I am quite certain."

The old man reached over and took her hand. "My dear, dear lady, you have found protection from the cold, you have quenched your thirst, and you have sought out nourishment. No your time is not now. You are not ready yet. Let me take you home."

The woman let out a deep sigh. Perhaps he is right she thought. She was cold and weary and tired of sitting in the woods waiting for her time to come so weakly she allowed the old man to help her to her feet. She took his extended arm and they began their walk to her hut together. During their walk he ask her all nature of questions about her child. Soon she was laughing about the good times they had spent together and before she even realized it she found herself on the old familiar path leading to her house.

When she at last fell into silence caught up in her memories, he said softly, "I will leave you now. You know well the way to your hut from here. Bless you and good night gentle woman" and with that he turned and began walking away. She continued on down the path alone still thinking about how blessed her life had been because of her child. Momentarily she realized that she hadn't thanked him and turned to call out to him. But when she did, he wasn't there. The path was long and straight but she could see him no where along it's length. She stood there puzzled for a while but she was tired so she shrugged and continued the short distance to her hut.

When she entered, a fire had been built in the hearth and a warm bowl of soup sat upon her table with a thick slice of bread. She settled herself down before the fire and ate her dinner. It has been a strange two days she thought. She'd had conversations with both a bird and a caterpillar. She had spent time with a kind old gentleman that had somehow managed to disappear almost before her very eyes. A fire had been built and warm soup welcomed her home. As she sat there thinking about it, it suddenly didn't seem unusual or strange at all. It felt as though everything had happened just as it should have.

For just a moment she wondered why her time hadn't come when she was so sure it would. Again she shrugged. Oh well, it will just have to wait and come another day because now I'm going to snuggle down under my big fluffy down coverlet and go to sleep in my soft bed in my very own toasty warm hut. Tomorrow morning the sun will rise and I will rise with it. I will put the kettle on to boil then settle down in my rocking chair before the fire and sip my tea. So the old woman went to bed and fell into a deep sleep with pleasant thoughts in her head.

The following day and for many days after that the old woman sat in a chair in her yard. No more did she sit inside staring at the walls and thinking only of how much she missed her little boy. It was late Spring in the deep forest. The earth was renewing itself. She sat and watched as the world changed around her each day. There was so much to see.

New plants were popping out of the ground, growing, and reaching for the sun. Birds were playfully chasing one another. Squirrels were chattering and scolding and jumping from tree to tree. She began crocheting again because she knew that when Fall came she would need a warm blanket to cover her knees when she sat outside. A lot of days she would fall sleep while sitting outside in her chair.

Please don't think that she had stopped missing her child because she did - with all her heart. Many days she would sit out there crying and remembering. But when she had stopped crying, all the things that surrounded her in nature gave her a sense of peace.

One day after napping in her chair, she awoke to see far down the path a group of people approaching. That was strange because rarely did anyone come down the path to her little hut. She sat attentively watching as they drew nearer. Finally her eyes were able to focus on their faces. She jumped up from her chair so quickly that she knocked it over. She began running toward the now familiar faces with out stretched arms. And running toward her was her little boy. They threw their arms around each other crying and laughing all at the same time. Then she saw behind him her husband and her mother and father, her grandparents, aunts and uncles. And following behind all of them was the kind, old man she had met in the forest.

There was much hugging and many tears of joy. The kind old man stood back and watched for a while. When he stepped forward and everyone fell silent. He took the old woman's hands in his own. He looked deep into her old eyes and said, "At last your time has come, dear lady, and we've come to take you home. Come join us and we will journey together." The old woman and her husband wrapped their arms around each other's waist and the little boy grabbed his mother's hand and pulled her along behind the kind old man. At long last they would all be together again and she was happy. Very, very happy. She had received her wings.

The people in the village talked for years about the beautiful flock of white birds that flew overhead that day. They flew in perfect formation and then they turned and flew straight up, disappearing into the heavens. Never had anyone seen such beautiful birds. Some even said that they didn't believe they were birds at all. They said that when they all turned together and the sun reflected off them, they looked just like angels. Most of the villagers laughed at them and teased them but they stood firm in their belief. They were sure that they had seen angels that day. And so it was.

NEW YEAR'S DAY 2012 AND I'M STUCK

Written January 1, 2012

Today is January 1, 2012. A day when we are suppose to look forward to the new year and resolve to overcome things that we perceive as obstacles to our becoming better or healthier or stronger individuals. I don't do that anymore. I don't challenge myself to become a better or healthier or stronger person. Heaven knows I should but I can't. I can't because I am stuck and I can't figure out how to change that.

I read online a list of statements that are out, obsolete, and not acceptable for the year 2012. One of the things on that list was "the new normal". Whoever made that decision absolutely had never suffered a loss as deep as the ones we have suffered. We truly understand the impact of what "the new normal" means. For us this is not just a cliche to toss about. IT IS OUR LIVES. Our new lives. A life that we can neither understand nor know exactly how to adjust to or figure out.

And it's not just us that have loss someone that we love so dearly. The "new normal" can be getting up early and beginning a job search; or trying to figure out how you're going to feed your hungry children; or where you'll find shelter for the night. The world of so many people has been turned upside down and many are finding it difficult, if not possible, to right it again.

I remember a time back in approximately 1972. Stephanie and Bobby were just three and four and we lived in an apartment complex in the suburbs of Seattle. With my own children being so young, I spent a lot of time outside with them and therefore became well acquainted with the other children living in the same complex. That year, right after Christmas, I had taken Steph and Bobby to the playground. Two little brothers were there playing and I ask what they had gotten for Christmas. They replied "we got a pencil". Their answer stabbed me right in the heart. After all I had just spent so much time picking out and wrapping gifts for my own two little ones; making sure their Christmas was merry and bright.

When playtime was over and it was time for lunch, the brothers, Stephanie, Bobby, and I walked home together. During our walk they innocently told me that Daddy had left and taken all of Mommy's money and there was no food at their house and Mommy cried all the time. My heart was breaking for them and their mom - whom I didn't know. I said that we'd stop and ask her if the boys could come to our house and have lunch with Stephanie and Bobby. I had thought that if she seemed receptive I'd off handedly ask if she'd like to join us - not wanting to embarrass her or to let her know what the boys had told me.

When we got to their apartment, the boys threw open the door and rushed in. Standing there in the doorway waiting for them to get their mother, I could see that the apartment was almost totally bare. There most definitely was no Christmas tree. The mom came to the door with her two little boys in tow. I extended the invitation. She immediately said "no" and shut the door.

At the time, being young myself, I didn't fully understand how difficult and how painful it can be to accept help - no matter how small. It is so much easier to give than to receive. Putting one's pride aside is hard, hard, hard. And as the saying goes we sometime "cut off our nose to spite our face". The door being closed in my face taught me two very important things. The first is this, never judge someone or be angry or hurt if your gesture of help is rejected. Usually we don't know what that person's mental or emotional mindset is. The second thing is: be a gracious receiver and don't be afraid to ask if you're in need - something I still struggle with and a lesson I'm still learning.

The point of this little story is that any time circumstances drastically change life as we once knew it, we begin living "a new normal". This term may be new for some but the reality of it has been around forever. Probably since Cain slew Abel.

So today has been spent in reflecting back. I can't look forward. Some may not understand that but unfortunately a lot of us will. I am stuck. Perhaps it's because the second anniversary of Christian's death is quickly approaching - January 18th - and the memories are pouring in -- and the guilt. I left him on January 6th and went to visit my mother out of state. I knew he was in trouble and I left anyway. But all of that is explained in my January 16 - 22, 2011, blogs. I don't have the strength to try and explain it again No words will ever make it better anyway. Nothing will. I can only say that leaving him did not mean that I didn't care or that I didn't love him. No one could have loved him more.

I can only wonder if I had had a crystal ball and could have seen into the future, what would I have done differently? Was there anything I could have done or said to change the course of events? Or was it all out of my hands and in the Hands of God? If I had stayed home, could I have stopped him? A conversation I've had with myself a thousand times over the past two years.

The only conclusion I have reached is that the weather can be predicted, the economy can be predicted, world events can be predicted - with some degree of accuracy. Down through the ages Prophets, mystics, and seers have made predictions. And I do believe that we can receive personal revelations to aid us in our personal lives. It has been my life experience, however, that relationships and people cannot be predicted. We can hope but there is no guarantee. There is no guarantee because there are too many variables. Free will and those unforeseeable circumstances can change things in an instant. At any give moment POW! life hits you across the head with a dose of reality.

Today I have thought about why I still can't talk on the telephone. A couple of wonderful, wonderful friends I have met online have sent me their telephone numbers and ask me to call if I wanted to talk. I've never called. Not because I didn't want to but because I can't. The telephone brings back too many painful memories of the telephone calls I received and made on the day Christian took his life. Every time the phone rings, I am back in that place. Except when my Mom calls. I can talk forever to my Mom. For me she represents everything that is good in life.

On January 6th she will be 88 and that scares me. That is one of the reasons I went to visit her in 2010 - to celebrate her birthday. I can't do that anymore either. In fact any time I go to visit her and I'm standing alone in her kitchen, I remember being in that kitchen talking on her phone when I was told Christian had shot himself and a later phone call telling me he had died. For some reason I was barefoot. I hadn't noticed before but as soon as I heard those words I remember suddenly thinking that the tiles were so cold under my feet.

That morning will remain forever vivid; and replays over and over in my head. I know every single survivor has their own set of vivid memories that they relive over and over again. Some far, far worst than my own.

The thought of starting another year without my fun loving boy is hard today. Impossible today. My mind is bouncing around like a rubber ball ricocheting off the walls and ceiling. It just won't be still. It is stuck in years past and in a house built long ago.

OUT OF THE FLAMES AND ASH THE PHOENIX IS REBORN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

COLOR OUR CHRISTMAS MERRY AND BRIGHT - December 25, 2011

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

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

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

Christmas morning in our baby's first

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Ding dong, Ding dong, Ding dong Ding

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHRISTMAS TIME ONCE AGAIN - 2011

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

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

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

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

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

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

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