As a survivor of suicide, I have been given lots of advice. I've been handed papers, pamphlets and lists of books. I'm not sure if one is better than the other; each of them have something of value based on your experiences, your process of grieving, and whatever else you may be feeling.
But I'll share a few things that have helped me:
One of the things they all have in common first and foremost is to remember that you're not alone. It's important to be reaching out to family and friends, to remind yourself that there is still some living to do, that life can go on.
One paragraph that I found comforting was this: One learns to live with the loss, the tragedy, the waste, and the gaping hole in the fabric of one's life. There is no closure, nor would I want one. I want to remember my son all my life, vividly: his laughter, the scent of fresh cut lumber after a day's work, his moments of joy, his humility, his integrity. And especially his willingness to help anyone who asked for his help.
One of the hardest questions to answer is "Why??" It's common to replay the last few days over in your mind, to mull over the "what if's ... " that might have changed things. The hardest part is trying to come to grips with the fact that my son had some kind of mental illness. Suicide is almost always complicated, resulting from a combination of painful suffering, desperate hopelessness and possibly even some underlying psychiatric illness.
No matter how many times I say to myself "Brian, Brian, Brian", I have to somehow come to terms with the fact that I will never understand it all. The gaping hole left in my life has me feeling bereft for the time being -- but I have to believe it get better in the future.
I will always love my son, and remember him in all his best moments.
Because that's how it is with a mother's love.
Wednesday, July 31, 2019
Tuesday, July 30, 2019
Four Weeks Ago
Dear Brian,
Little did I know four weeks ago that my world was going to change. The sting of finding you in the backyard, the unbelievable feeling of someone ripping my heart out of my chest, the mind numbing anxiety that kicked when I realized that I would have to be the one making those horrible phone calls informing people.
My first text was to Tanya. "Come home" I wrote to her. She wrote back and said "Is this some kind of joke?" Then it came to me that she might have trouble comprehending so I texted Alonzo as well so he could drive her home. Then I had to call your dad. Yeah, you know how *that* went. Then I sent a text to Lori. I knew she was at Grandma's and that I needed her to answer the phone. Why I thought I had to call her on Mom's phone rather than just calling her phone myself .... well, that just goes to show that I wasn't in my right mind. Thank goodness Lori had the foresight to call Karen to come be with me til Tanya arrived.
One of the things that happens in death by suicide is that the subject is very much taboo; no one talks about it, or asks about it. When someone learns what happened, they don't ask any longer. Maybe they don't know how to ask, or what to say. I read in one of my books that talking about you and events leading up is important in my own healing. Because Rita works so close with me, she knows, but I can't talk to her about any of it ... she's one of those who always has a bigger, better, longer story to tell and my own is put on the back burner.
It leaves me to feeling that I'm more on my own that ever before. You and I always had a .... connection when it came to how we felt about events that were too people-y, about how we felt we were different from the other people in our family. But we were also alike in that we knew what needed to be done, and always got the job done, even when no one else did. (Like trimming Grandma's tree! ha!)
Four weeks ago was an ordinary day at work. Not a single day since then has been ordinary. I feel like I need to put up my sign "DON'T POKE THE BEAR" , because every interruption, every task that I'm asked to help with seems to irritate me to the very ends of my limit. When I'm at home, the hours seem to drag. My ability to focus on or complete a task is at an all time low. And yet, when I'm at work, I can't wait to get home again. When I'm home, I'm wishing I could go to work ... if only to take my mind off things for a few minutes.
My life changed four weeks ago.
And I can't have that moment back.
If only .....
I'll love you always,
Mom
Little did I know four weeks ago that my world was going to change. The sting of finding you in the backyard, the unbelievable feeling of someone ripping my heart out of my chest, the mind numbing anxiety that kicked when I realized that I would have to be the one making those horrible phone calls informing people.
My first text was to Tanya. "Come home" I wrote to her. She wrote back and said "Is this some kind of joke?" Then it came to me that she might have trouble comprehending so I texted Alonzo as well so he could drive her home. Then I had to call your dad. Yeah, you know how *that* went. Then I sent a text to Lori. I knew she was at Grandma's and that I needed her to answer the phone. Why I thought I had to call her on Mom's phone rather than just calling her phone myself .... well, that just goes to show that I wasn't in my right mind. Thank goodness Lori had the foresight to call Karen to come be with me til Tanya arrived.
One of the things that happens in death by suicide is that the subject is very much taboo; no one talks about it, or asks about it. When someone learns what happened, they don't ask any longer. Maybe they don't know how to ask, or what to say. I read in one of my books that talking about you and events leading up is important in my own healing. Because Rita works so close with me, she knows, but I can't talk to her about any of it ... she's one of those who always has a bigger, better, longer story to tell and my own is put on the back burner.
It leaves me to feeling that I'm more on my own that ever before. You and I always had a .... connection when it came to how we felt about events that were too people-y, about how we felt we were different from the other people in our family. But we were also alike in that we knew what needed to be done, and always got the job done, even when no one else did. (Like trimming Grandma's tree! ha!)
Four weeks ago was an ordinary day at work. Not a single day since then has been ordinary. I feel like I need to put up my sign "DON'T POKE THE BEAR" , because every interruption, every task that I'm asked to help with seems to irritate me to the very ends of my limit. When I'm at home, the hours seem to drag. My ability to focus on or complete a task is at an all time low. And yet, when I'm at work, I can't wait to get home again. When I'm home, I'm wishing I could go to work ... if only to take my mind off things for a few minutes.
My life changed four weeks ago.
And I can't have that moment back.
If only .....
I'll love you always,
Mom
Monday, July 29, 2019
The Big Six Oh
Today it's that day, the day I turn 60. And it's not anything like I expected it to be! My plan was to be visiting my family in Northern California - to drive there with my son and spend time doing the things we usually do when we visit. Now all of that has changed. I no longer have my son as a traveling companion on these infrequent drives.
It was a rough weekend, getting through one of them where I didn't have family in town, nothing planned and nothing on my plate to get done. Because it's the hottest part of summer here in the Valley of the Sun -- what for us is really like winter, as we tend to hunker down indoors with the AC -- there's not much I can be doing outside. Even working in the garage can be difficult because of the heat. So I try to make a task - just doing one thing is better than doing nothing.
But it's not easy.
I usually make myself some kind of indoor plan -- computer work, scanning photos, family research. But that doesn't hold my attention right now. It's a chore to just focus on one thing. Even watching a TV show can be difficult for me right now.
My heart breaks each time I think about Brian. I am the one that got the last image of him. My mind keeps wondering at how he had the nerve to choose death by suicide. The pain he was feeling must have been huge. I don't know that I can imagine what that felt like. My sadness was huge yesterday, and I haven't slept well now in three days. I suppose that's how it's going to be for a while.
So on this celebration day, I'm going to quietly spend the day doing ordinary things -- work, dinner, play with Sadie. With my wish being that I get some sleep tonight!
It was a rough weekend, getting through one of them where I didn't have family in town, nothing planned and nothing on my plate to get done. Because it's the hottest part of summer here in the Valley of the Sun -- what for us is really like winter, as we tend to hunker down indoors with the AC -- there's not much I can be doing outside. Even working in the garage can be difficult because of the heat. So I try to make a task - just doing one thing is better than doing nothing.
But it's not easy.
I usually make myself some kind of indoor plan -- computer work, scanning photos, family research. But that doesn't hold my attention right now. It's a chore to just focus on one thing. Even watching a TV show can be difficult for me right now.
My heart breaks each time I think about Brian. I am the one that got the last image of him. My mind keeps wondering at how he had the nerve to choose death by suicide. The pain he was feeling must have been huge. I don't know that I can imagine what that felt like. My sadness was huge yesterday, and I haven't slept well now in three days. I suppose that's how it's going to be for a while.
So on this celebration day, I'm going to quietly spend the day doing ordinary things -- work, dinner, play with Sadie. With my wish being that I get some sleep tonight!
Sunday, July 28, 2019
Turn Back the Clock
When it comes to surviving the death of a loved one, so many of the things that were "normal" no longer feel normal. When it's the death of a child, even if that child was grown, it seems magnified. Today was one of those difficult days.
While there are chores that need to be done, it's like I don't have any energy to get myself going. Or maybe it's the difference between having all the time in the world versus having a time schedule. I got myself up and out to the bank to make a deposit, then off to the grocery store. But as I walked the aisles, I realized there were things that I would never buy again: his favorite soda, or burritos. Or browsing the men's clearance racks for work shirts. When I think about it too long, I get teary-eyed. I moved through the motions to gather up my groceries and check out. The entire total was only $60. There's not much needed when it's just me now.
I did find a nice binder with a zipper, and bought some sheet protectors to put the last of your school work pages inside. It will close up for safekeeping, allowing us to read his things without damages.
My biggest fear is that people will forget him. I post things on www.forevermissed.com/brian-court so that there will always be a place for people to remember the good things, the funny things, the things he wrote, the things he drew.
As his mother, I feel I was especially close to him. We had a special bond. And while I shouldn't say this, I felt many concerns because the three years he lived with his girlfriend changed him. Or maybe he wasn't changed so much as guarded. I had the gut feeling that he felt he was alone against the world, that the problems between him and her were something he couldn't deal with. I tried to have a couple conversations with him, but he held back.
How I wish I could turn back the clock.
If only .....
I wish .....
But that doesn't change anything.
I've learned that when I feel the sadness,
to just accept it, to let it work its way through me.
Today is one of those days.
The laundry is done, the cooking for the week has begun,
the house has been vacuumed and steam mopped.
A nap would be nice.
Each day marches on without my son, Brian.
While there are chores that need to be done, it's like I don't have any energy to get myself going. Or maybe it's the difference between having all the time in the world versus having a time schedule. I got myself up and out to the bank to make a deposit, then off to the grocery store. But as I walked the aisles, I realized there were things that I would never buy again: his favorite soda, or burritos. Or browsing the men's clearance racks for work shirts. When I think about it too long, I get teary-eyed. I moved through the motions to gather up my groceries and check out. The entire total was only $60. There's not much needed when it's just me now.
I did find a nice binder with a zipper, and bought some sheet protectors to put the last of your school work pages inside. It will close up for safekeeping, allowing us to read his things without damages.
My biggest fear is that people will forget him. I post things on www.forevermissed.com/brian-court so that there will always be a place for people to remember the good things, the funny things, the things he wrote, the things he drew.
As his mother, I feel I was especially close to him. We had a special bond. And while I shouldn't say this, I felt many concerns because the three years he lived with his girlfriend changed him. Or maybe he wasn't changed so much as guarded. I had the gut feeling that he felt he was alone against the world, that the problems between him and her were something he couldn't deal with. I tried to have a couple conversations with him, but he held back.
How I wish I could turn back the clock.
If only .....
I wish .....
But that doesn't change anything.
I've learned that when I feel the sadness,
to just accept it, to let it work its way through me.
Today is one of those days.
The laundry is done, the cooking for the week has begun,
the house has been vacuumed and steam mopped.
A nap would be nice.
Each day marches on without my son, Brian.
Saturday, July 27, 2019
After It All Comes the Chores
It's Saturday, a very long day with all that's been going on.
I steeled myself to take the first step, took Brian's "papers" to his bank to close out his account. After sitting there waiting for 30 minutes, the banker took me back, started the process. I'm going to get a little snippy here .... I think the woman needed glasses. She was trying to read the papers and kept easing it closer then further away. To top it off, she was entering data into the computer - but her nails were so long, she couldn't type and had to keep correcting her mistakes. She would glare at the screen, lean in for a closer look, correct again. Then she said "I'll be right back, I need to make a copy of this." I make copies of stuff all day long at work, it shouldn't take 10 minutes! When she brought it all back, she handed it all back to me and said they can't do anything until 30 days have passed since Brian died.
Talk about being a little perturbed with all this!
I hope next time I approach the bank, it will be with someone else.
On top of all that, work called because they couldn't do something ..... they're not trained? they don't know the procedure? Hello... can't you look it up like I would????? And frankly, as much as I like my co-worker, sometimes she's .... just not all that. It's very frustrating to know that the next 48 hours they are doing things they're not used to doing, and making mistakes. Come Monday, they will expect *me* to fix it all. I tell ya, it makes me want to call out sick!!!!
The rest of the day has been pretty much a bust. I've been trying to keep busy. I tried binge watching some Netflix. I tried cleaning the garage. Brian's room. The dining room. I managed to vacuum and then steam mop my floors -- we had 3 dogs in the house last weekend, all weekend long! So it's nice having that done. :)
Tomorrow will be another long day.
Having to make decisions about what to do with Brian's stuff has been plaguing me. I don't want to create a shrine in his room, but at the same time, his guitars and his Metallica art hangs on the walls still. His dresser still has his wallet(s) and his pocket knives. There are two jackets hanging in the closet, along with a long leather duster-style coat - I think the guy in the Matrix wore one like it?? Then there's the stuff in the garage. Tools. Bike Parts. It'll be a process weeding through all of that stuff as well. My nephew Anthony is the mechanic, maybe it will all eventually go to him. For now, I can't part with it.
I am putting his school papers in page protectors. There are some really cute things he wrote about for some of his writing assignments. I found old test scores and he scored really high in the mechanics of language. I take that to mean he understands sentence structure, etc. And his writing style of "telling it like it is" makes me smile. He's a lot like his mother in that way. Along with the mechanical way, and of being orderly -- a nice way of saying borderline OCD when it comes to lining things up and staying organized. lol
I miss my son - there's an ache that doesn't go away.
Will it ever?
I steeled myself to take the first step, took Brian's "papers" to his bank to close out his account. After sitting there waiting for 30 minutes, the banker took me back, started the process. I'm going to get a little snippy here .... I think the woman needed glasses. She was trying to read the papers and kept easing it closer then further away. To top it off, she was entering data into the computer - but her nails were so long, she couldn't type and had to keep correcting her mistakes. She would glare at the screen, lean in for a closer look, correct again. Then she said "I'll be right back, I need to make a copy of this." I make copies of stuff all day long at work, it shouldn't take 10 minutes! When she brought it all back, she handed it all back to me and said they can't do anything until 30 days have passed since Brian died.
Talk about being a little perturbed with all this!
I hope next time I approach the bank, it will be with someone else.
On top of all that, work called because they couldn't do something ..... they're not trained? they don't know the procedure? Hello... can't you look it up like I would????? And frankly, as much as I like my co-worker, sometimes she's .... just not all that. It's very frustrating to know that the next 48 hours they are doing things they're not used to doing, and making mistakes. Come Monday, they will expect *me* to fix it all. I tell ya, it makes me want to call out sick!!!!
The rest of the day has been pretty much a bust. I've been trying to keep busy. I tried binge watching some Netflix. I tried cleaning the garage. Brian's room. The dining room. I managed to vacuum and then steam mop my floors -- we had 3 dogs in the house last weekend, all weekend long! So it's nice having that done. :)
Tomorrow will be another long day.
Having to make decisions about what to do with Brian's stuff has been plaguing me. I don't want to create a shrine in his room, but at the same time, his guitars and his Metallica art hangs on the walls still. His dresser still has his wallet(s) and his pocket knives. There are two jackets hanging in the closet, along with a long leather duster-style coat - I think the guy in the Matrix wore one like it?? Then there's the stuff in the garage. Tools. Bike Parts. It'll be a process weeding through all of that stuff as well. My nephew Anthony is the mechanic, maybe it will all eventually go to him. For now, I can't part with it.
I am putting his school papers in page protectors. There are some really cute things he wrote about for some of his writing assignments. I found old test scores and he scored really high in the mechanics of language. I take that to mean he understands sentence structure, etc. And his writing style of "telling it like it is" makes me smile. He's a lot like his mother in that way. Along with the mechanical way, and of being orderly -- a nice way of saying borderline OCD when it comes to lining things up and staying organized. lol
I miss my son - there's an ache that doesn't go away.
Will it ever?
Celebration of Life - Stories
Dear Brian,
With your sense of humor, you never minded people sharing things. I chose the following stories to tell about you at the Celebration of Life Ceremony.
"Brian was a good son, he took care of me, and I took care of him. He was my “handyman” and I think I’ll miss that the most.
When we first moved to Arizona, our Thursday night ritual was head to this library for something to read, a video to watch, a CD to borrow. Afterward, it was Taco Bell for dinner. That went on for five or more years! We often laughed how we were in a rut ..... but never changed this ritual.
When Brian’s grandfather got sick, Brian jumped on a plane for a week with his grandparents so he could take care of those little chores that needed to be done. Grandma would make a Honey Do List and he would tackle them all and then ask “What’s next???”
Brian was born in California; when he was 12 we moved to Ohio and became a blended family. Instantly he had two brothers, and two more sisters! He joined the Boy Scouts, and went on many camping trips that weren't just about fun but learning about life as well; they also and learned about community service. Every time I see a Salvation Army bell ringer during the holidays, I think of the weekends my boys would volunteer to be bell ringers.
In 2004, we loaded all of our stuff and relocated to Arizona, and bought a house. After we moved in, Brian was “Mr. Fixit”. He finally had his own garage, a place to keep tools and built himself a work bench. He was forever repairing the little things that needed doing, and learned to be patient whenever Mom got a whim to paint a room, a close, the kitchen ….. or the entire house!!
When he decided that he wanted to get a job, he did it all on his own: he looked up and found an ad for a parking lot attendant at Home Depot on Val Vista. He called and got an interview date and time. And when he arrived at the store, they didn't have him scheduled for an interview. Turns out there are two Home Depot stores on Val Vista, and he had called the wrong one. But the store manager, George, interviewed and hired him. It was meant to be! Brian enjoyed working at Home Depot -- as much as anyone can enjoy working retail, which has it's own special challenges! And Mom should know, she works at Walmart! I'm certain that just as he would do whatever needed to be done at home, he took that same attitude to work with him.
None of us will ever know what was going through his mind,
what was so overwhelming to him that he couldn't stay just one more day.
I know Brian would want each of you to live life fully, to work hard, and be kind to others.
Your humor, kindness and selflessness will continue to inspire us forever.
Rest in peace, Brian."
I love you!
Love,
Mom
With your sense of humor, you never minded people sharing things. I chose the following stories to tell about you at the Celebration of Life Ceremony.
"Brian was a good son, he took care of me, and I took care of him. He was my “handyman” and I think I’ll miss that the most.
When we first moved to Arizona, our Thursday night ritual was head to this library for something to read, a video to watch, a CD to borrow. Afterward, it was Taco Bell for dinner. That went on for five or more years! We often laughed how we were in a rut ..... but never changed this ritual.
When Brian’s grandfather got sick, Brian jumped on a plane for a week with his grandparents so he could take care of those little chores that needed to be done. Grandma would make a Honey Do List and he would tackle them all and then ask “What’s next???”
Brian was born in California; when he was 12 we moved to Ohio and became a blended family. Instantly he had two brothers, and two more sisters! He joined the Boy Scouts, and went on many camping trips that weren't just about fun but learning about life as well; they also and learned about community service. Every time I see a Salvation Army bell ringer during the holidays, I think of the weekends my boys would volunteer to be bell ringers.
In 2004, we loaded all of our stuff and relocated to Arizona, and bought a house. After we moved in, Brian was “Mr. Fixit”. He finally had his own garage, a place to keep tools and built himself a work bench. He was forever repairing the little things that needed doing, and learned to be patient whenever Mom got a whim to paint a room, a close, the kitchen ….. or the entire house!!
When he decided that he wanted to get a job, he did it all on his own: he looked up and found an ad for a parking lot attendant at Home Depot on Val Vista. He called and got an interview date and time. And when he arrived at the store, they didn't have him scheduled for an interview. Turns out there are two Home Depot stores on Val Vista, and he had called the wrong one. But the store manager, George, interviewed and hired him. It was meant to be! Brian enjoyed working at Home Depot -- as much as anyone can enjoy working retail, which has it's own special challenges! And Mom should know, she works at Walmart! I'm certain that just as he would do whatever needed to be done at home, he took that same attitude to work with him.
None of us will ever know what was going through his mind,
what was so overwhelming to him that he couldn't stay just one more day.
I know Brian would want each of you to live life fully, to work hard, and be kind to others.
Your humor, kindness and selflessness will continue to inspire us forever.
Rest in peace, Brian."
I love you!
Love,Mom
Always a project
in the works
that's my son!!
Friday, July 26, 2019
Reliving It All (Part 3)
Dear Brian:
With the holiday in between, there were so many things we didn't know. Everyone wanted closure. The mortuary was trying to work with us and the ME's office transporting your body. They were going to advise us to see if we were able to do a viewing. Because of the time delay, your dad drove up on Friday afternoon. He came to the house, jerked his head because he wanted to talk to me in the other room. Yeah, you know the move I'm talking about. hehe. He asked "What the hell happened?" and I told him (again) I don't have any answers for myself, let alone for you. I don't know, I can only guess.
There are many misconceptions about a person who is considered "suicidal", as if they walk around ranting and raving before hand. But that's not reality. And in your case, I could tell there was a difference in your behavior from before you moved in with Michelle to after you moved back home. Three years changes most people, especially young men. I didn't have any more answers for your dad that day, or even now.
We showed him the note you left. He wasn't handling things very well. Maybe there's some guilt because he hadn't seen you in three years. But I told him that was between him and you, and I'm not going to accept any of that guilt. Yes, I lived in town. Yes, I sometimes made up excuses to see you -- asking for help with a household task, or bringing a meal to the family. At least it was a connection, and that was important to me. But I got away from my story....
Later in the afternoon on Friday, the mortuary called and they were pretty adamant about not having a family viewing. I agreed, because I didn't plan on going. And my advice to the rest of them was this: Remember Brian as you last saw him. You don't want to see him this way. They agreed in the end.
The rest of Friday was spent doing little chores, having a meal, and looking things up on the internet, trying to find a place to hold a service. You weren't churched and it seemed like the wrong move to have some kind of ... funeral. We decided on a Celebration of Life ceremony, and because I couldn't locate any other kind of place, opted for the library. And that seemed very fitting. When we first moved to Arizona, we spent every Thursday after work going to the library for books, CDs and Videos to keep us entertained. Then we had Taco Bell for dinner. As I was thinking it all over, we did this for like five years!! HA! We got into such a rut. But it was our day for spending time together. And I miss that. It's funny what you miss after it's gone.
Because I work retail, there were things going on and I had to work Saturday and Sunday. The kids loaded up and drove home on Saturday as well. It was oddly nice to have something relatively normal to do for a change. The day passed as quick as work days do ..... but looking back, I know I wasn't my normal self. I could only keep one thought at a time in my head; an interruption meant starting a work task over again. There were notes I wrote and couldn't read later because they didn't make any sense.
At the end of that weekend, we all survived as best we knew how.
We knew there was more heartache to come as arrangements were made.
Even now, more than three weeks later, my mind still leaves little holes as I go about my day
I hate knowing that you're not coming back,
that you won't be around to help me do those odd little chores.
I hope you're in a happier place now.
We all love you and miss you bunches.
Love,
With the holiday in between, there were so many things we didn't know. Everyone wanted closure. The mortuary was trying to work with us and the ME's office transporting your body. They were going to advise us to see if we were able to do a viewing. Because of the time delay, your dad drove up on Friday afternoon. He came to the house, jerked his head because he wanted to talk to me in the other room. Yeah, you know the move I'm talking about. hehe. He asked "What the hell happened?" and I told him (again) I don't have any answers for myself, let alone for you. I don't know, I can only guess.
There are many misconceptions about a person who is considered "suicidal", as if they walk around ranting and raving before hand. But that's not reality. And in your case, I could tell there was a difference in your behavior from before you moved in with Michelle to after you moved back home. Three years changes most people, especially young men. I didn't have any more answers for your dad that day, or even now.
We showed him the note you left. He wasn't handling things very well. Maybe there's some guilt because he hadn't seen you in three years. But I told him that was between him and you, and I'm not going to accept any of that guilt. Yes, I lived in town. Yes, I sometimes made up excuses to see you -- asking for help with a household task, or bringing a meal to the family. At least it was a connection, and that was important to me. But I got away from my story....
Later in the afternoon on Friday, the mortuary called and they were pretty adamant about not having a family viewing. I agreed, because I didn't plan on going. And my advice to the rest of them was this: Remember Brian as you last saw him. You don't want to see him this way. They agreed in the end.
The rest of Friday was spent doing little chores, having a meal, and looking things up on the internet, trying to find a place to hold a service. You weren't churched and it seemed like the wrong move to have some kind of ... funeral. We decided on a Celebration of Life ceremony, and because I couldn't locate any other kind of place, opted for the library. And that seemed very fitting. When we first moved to Arizona, we spent every Thursday after work going to the library for books, CDs and Videos to keep us entertained. Then we had Taco Bell for dinner. As I was thinking it all over, we did this for like five years!! HA! We got into such a rut. But it was our day for spending time together. And I miss that. It's funny what you miss after it's gone.
Because I work retail, there were things going on and I had to work Saturday and Sunday. The kids loaded up and drove home on Saturday as well. It was oddly nice to have something relatively normal to do for a change. The day passed as quick as work days do ..... but looking back, I know I wasn't my normal self. I could only keep one thought at a time in my head; an interruption meant starting a work task over again. There were notes I wrote and couldn't read later because they didn't make any sense.
At the end of that weekend, we all survived as best we knew how.
We knew there was more heartache to come as arrangements were made.
Even now, more than three weeks later, my mind still leaves little holes as I go about my day
I hate knowing that you're not coming back,
that you won't be around to help me do those odd little chores.
I hope you're in a happier place now.
We all love you and miss you bunches.Love,
Mom
Thursday, July 25, 2019
Reliving It All (Part 2)
Dear Brian,
All night I was plagued with the question: Would you have made the choice to end your pain if you knew what other pains, the ripple effect, your death would have on the rest of us? Had you been in your right mind, I don't think so. But that's second guessing, and you needed to find your peace.
The morning after was rough, we all walked around in a daze, wondering what to do, what needed to be done, and how to go about it. With your body at the morgue and the next day the 4th of July, we needed to get arrangements made. So I called the funeral home and made the appointment for 1pm. In the meantime, we decided to go through your room.
We couldn't find a suicide note; we found your phone but it doesn't work. Of course, all the little things -- the junk you never could get rid of was boxed up. We went through your clothes. Luckily Alonzo could fit into some of those jeans that had gotten too big for you, so they went to a good cause. Your motorcycle jacket went to Brandon, since he rides to work every day. Some of your work shirts were still looking good enough, Alonzo can wear those to work! No one fit into your shoes. They're all still piled in the garage.
When it came time to leave, we tried grabbing a little snack -- no one feels like eating just yet, but we know that we need to. We arrived at the mortuary and of course there are several decisions to be made. We looked at the urns, and while your sister needed some time to think about it, I didn't. I saw one that was all black, nothing fancy on it, and knew in an instant it was perfect for you. We decided on an electric guitar, block lettering for you name and date. Simple. Timeless. Classic.
There wasn't anything left for us to do but head for home, stare at the same walls, let the TV keep our brain occupied for a bit more. No one was interested in finding a fireworks display to watch. We spent part of the afternoon looking through things in the garage. I sat down at the computer to ... well, I don't remember what I was going to do, probably look up some photos. I opened my drawer and underneath my portable hard drive, I found your note. My heart nearly needed a jump start. I didn't want to read it. And yet I did. I wanted to know everything you were thinking, learn whatever you needed to tell us.
I carried it out to Alonzo and Tanya, they read it too. It was so sad to hear your final words. It has always made me wonder why you couldn't talk about Michelle and family. You were living like a family, but I'm certain it wasn't any kind of family life you'd ever had in the past. And maybe you felt some kind of shame in the way things were, so much so that you wouldn't talk about it. And you needed to.
That night, I slept maybe 3-4 hours, because my body was exhausted. There weren't any kind of arrangements that we could have made because it was a holiday, so we pretty much coasted through the rest of the day and evening. I cooked the lasagna you and I were going to have, so that helped us feel a little bit more normal -- fixing dinner and eating something helped everyone feel a little better.
Friday was going to be another difficult day.
Here's the urn we selected for you:
All night I was plagued with the question: Would you have made the choice to end your pain if you knew what other pains, the ripple effect, your death would have on the rest of us? Had you been in your right mind, I don't think so. But that's second guessing, and you needed to find your peace.
The morning after was rough, we all walked around in a daze, wondering what to do, what needed to be done, and how to go about it. With your body at the morgue and the next day the 4th of July, we needed to get arrangements made. So I called the funeral home and made the appointment for 1pm. In the meantime, we decided to go through your room.
We couldn't find a suicide note; we found your phone but it doesn't work. Of course, all the little things -- the junk you never could get rid of was boxed up. We went through your clothes. Luckily Alonzo could fit into some of those jeans that had gotten too big for you, so they went to a good cause. Your motorcycle jacket went to Brandon, since he rides to work every day. Some of your work shirts were still looking good enough, Alonzo can wear those to work! No one fit into your shoes. They're all still piled in the garage.
When it came time to leave, we tried grabbing a little snack -- no one feels like eating just yet, but we know that we need to. We arrived at the mortuary and of course there are several decisions to be made. We looked at the urns, and while your sister needed some time to think about it, I didn't. I saw one that was all black, nothing fancy on it, and knew in an instant it was perfect for you. We decided on an electric guitar, block lettering for you name and date. Simple. Timeless. Classic.
There wasn't anything left for us to do but head for home, stare at the same walls, let the TV keep our brain occupied for a bit more. No one was interested in finding a fireworks display to watch. We spent part of the afternoon looking through things in the garage. I sat down at the computer to ... well, I don't remember what I was going to do, probably look up some photos. I opened my drawer and underneath my portable hard drive, I found your note. My heart nearly needed a jump start. I didn't want to read it. And yet I did. I wanted to know everything you were thinking, learn whatever you needed to tell us.
I carried it out to Alonzo and Tanya, they read it too. It was so sad to hear your final words. It has always made me wonder why you couldn't talk about Michelle and family. You were living like a family, but I'm certain it wasn't any kind of family life you'd ever had in the past. And maybe you felt some kind of shame in the way things were, so much so that you wouldn't talk about it. And you needed to.
That night, I slept maybe 3-4 hours, because my body was exhausted. There weren't any kind of arrangements that we could have made because it was a holiday, so we pretty much coasted through the rest of the day and evening. I cooked the lasagna you and I were going to have, so that helped us feel a little bit more normal -- fixing dinner and eating something helped everyone feel a little better.
Friday was going to be another difficult day. Here's the urn we selected for you:
Wednesday, July 24, 2019
Reliving It All (Part 1)
Dear Brian,
It's been three weeks, and after all the hubbub, I'm wondering if I'm ready to recount the actual day you chose death by suicide.
It was Tuesday, and I was only scheduled to work until 3PM and drove home my normal route, talking on the phone to Grandma. I let myself in and Sadie greeted me at the door. Your room was dark, the door halfway closed, I assumed you were sleeping until your work shift started. I set down my things and opened the back door for Sadie. I looked up and saw you laying on the rocks. I hollered "OH MY GOD BRIAN" and ran over to where you were. Your skin was greyish, there was dried blood under your nose. Your right hand still held a gun, your left hand was clenched.
My guts started churning and I ran into the house and called 911. After I told them my emergency, they said they would transfer me. (Thinking about this later, I found it very odd!!) I was on the line for what seemed like forever, they wouldn't let me hang up while waiting for police officers to show up.
Two cop cars pulled up in front of the house, lights flashing and got out of their cars, but wouldn't approach the house. My phone rang, 911 was on the line, and I had to go outside before the officers would approach. One came up, knocked on the open door and announced "Police! I'm coming in". I know ... procedure. But in the midst of it all, I wanted to laugh because no one else was in there.
They kept me outside while they did an entire search of the house, making sure it was empty. If it hadn't been, I would have been totally shocked! ! I had to recount my story several times to the police officers. Then I needed to use the restroom. I went into my bedroom and closed the door, but they came knocking and chased me out. Guess they didn't think I should be alone.
They questioned me about having guns in the house (not that I know of) and about who lives in the house. In between all the questions, I sent Tanya a text "Brian died, come home" ... she texted me back "Is this a joke??" Then I sent the same to Alonzo, so that he would know I wasn't joking. I texted my sister and said I was going to call Mom's house and please answer the phone. That's when I told her. Then I had to call your dad. He was in shock, I told him the police were still questioning me, and I'd call later when I knew more. 15 minutes later, he called me back and asked "ARE YOU SURE???" Well, duh. I wouldn't make this shit up!!
The police wouldn't leave until I wasn't alone any more. While we waited for someone, they walked around and did a deep search, looking for guns or anything else. I told one officer that as a kid you liked to hide things underneath the bathroom sink. He checked, only found the knife you had taped to the wall. In the meantime, Lori called Karen, who came right over. They also called in a grief counselor who helped with making some of the decisions that I didn't seem able to make in the moment. It was a relief when Karen got here. Around that same time, the coroner and CSI team arrived as well, doing their thing in the back yard. They were nice enough to keep me busy with questions in the living room while they loaded your body and took the gurney out through the back gate.
It was even more of a relief when Tanya and Alonzo finally arrived. They dropped everything to come home and help me with things. There wasn't much we could do that evening. We looked over some of the things in your room, trying to find a note, a clue, a reason. We couldn't get your phone to work -- still can't -- and didn't find anything that gave us any answers to our millions of questions.
We sat around drinking water, food held no appeal whatsoever to any of us. We had the TV on for some noise. Finally it was late enough, I decided to crawl into bed and try to sleep, but that wasn't going to happen. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was you, and my eyes would open back up, I was afraid to go to sleep and keep reliving the moment. I drifted in and out of little naps; Frazier kept me entertained on the TV most of the night. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath, that I was caught in the middle of a nightmare that I wanted to wake up from.
No such luck.
Disbelief, shock and grief do weird things to a person. You stumble through ordinary chores (Does anyone need more water? Should I fix dinner?) and yet the nightmare doesn't let you out of it's grip.
It's been three weeks, and after all the hubbub, I'm wondering if I'm ready to recount the actual day you chose death by suicide.
It was Tuesday, and I was only scheduled to work until 3PM and drove home my normal route, talking on the phone to Grandma. I let myself in and Sadie greeted me at the door. Your room was dark, the door halfway closed, I assumed you were sleeping until your work shift started. I set down my things and opened the back door for Sadie. I looked up and saw you laying on the rocks. I hollered "OH MY GOD BRIAN" and ran over to where you were. Your skin was greyish, there was dried blood under your nose. Your right hand still held a gun, your left hand was clenched.
My guts started churning and I ran into the house and called 911. After I told them my emergency, they said they would transfer me. (Thinking about this later, I found it very odd!!) I was on the line for what seemed like forever, they wouldn't let me hang up while waiting for police officers to show up.
Two cop cars pulled up in front of the house, lights flashing and got out of their cars, but wouldn't approach the house. My phone rang, 911 was on the line, and I had to go outside before the officers would approach. One came up, knocked on the open door and announced "Police! I'm coming in". I know ... procedure. But in the midst of it all, I wanted to laugh because no one else was in there.
They kept me outside while they did an entire search of the house, making sure it was empty. If it hadn't been, I would have been totally shocked! ! I had to recount my story several times to the police officers. Then I needed to use the restroom. I went into my bedroom and closed the door, but they came knocking and chased me out. Guess they didn't think I should be alone.
They questioned me about having guns in the house (not that I know of) and about who lives in the house. In between all the questions, I sent Tanya a text "Brian died, come home" ... she texted me back "Is this a joke??" Then I sent the same to Alonzo, so that he would know I wasn't joking. I texted my sister and said I was going to call Mom's house and please answer the phone. That's when I told her. Then I had to call your dad. He was in shock, I told him the police were still questioning me, and I'd call later when I knew more. 15 minutes later, he called me back and asked "ARE YOU SURE???" Well, duh. I wouldn't make this shit up!!
The police wouldn't leave until I wasn't alone any more. While we waited for someone, they walked around and did a deep search, looking for guns or anything else. I told one officer that as a kid you liked to hide things underneath the bathroom sink. He checked, only found the knife you had taped to the wall. In the meantime, Lori called Karen, who came right over. They also called in a grief counselor who helped with making some of the decisions that I didn't seem able to make in the moment. It was a relief when Karen got here. Around that same time, the coroner and CSI team arrived as well, doing their thing in the back yard. They were nice enough to keep me busy with questions in the living room while they loaded your body and took the gurney out through the back gate.
It was even more of a relief when Tanya and Alonzo finally arrived. They dropped everything to come home and help me with things. There wasn't much we could do that evening. We looked over some of the things in your room, trying to find a note, a clue, a reason. We couldn't get your phone to work -- still can't -- and didn't find anything that gave us any answers to our millions of questions.
We sat around drinking water, food held no appeal whatsoever to any of us. We had the TV on for some noise. Finally it was late enough, I decided to crawl into bed and try to sleep, but that wasn't going to happen. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was you, and my eyes would open back up, I was afraid to go to sleep and keep reliving the moment. I drifted in and out of little naps; Frazier kept me entertained on the TV most of the night. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath, that I was caught in the middle of a nightmare that I wanted to wake up from.
No such luck.
Disbelief, shock and grief do weird things to a person. You stumble through ordinary chores (Does anyone need more water? Should I fix dinner?) and yet the nightmare doesn't let you out of it's grip.
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
What If's and Why's
When it comes to surviving a death by suicide, one of the hardest questions to answer is "WHY?" Logically, we will never know the entire scope of things going on, but we may be able to pinpoint whatever was the 'straw that broke the camel's back'.
In my quest for answers, I'm using a Survivor of Suicide guide written by Jeffrey Jackson. In the section dealing with the Why's he tells us that it's normal to always wonder about the why's. And if you think you have the answer, think again. Chances are you're only seeing part of the picture.
In my own case, I believe I know the why answer to the straw that broke the camel's back. My son Brian was in a relationship with a woman who ... didn't always tell the truth. While I can be certain that I didn't know the entire truth of their relationship, I know two things: She told him she was given a terminal illness verdict and has only a few months to live and at the same time, she broke up with him and he moved back home.
Brian was always the one who felt things deeply. And if I admit it in my heart of hearts, I always worried about him and his mental health. He had many obstacles in his path with his vision impairment, and it was a source of many sorrows when it came to friendships as a young boy, as he grew into a young man.
I am stuck in the what if's at this stage of my grief. What if I had recognized something? anything? What if I had a clue? When he called off work because things were ugly with another woman he had dated the week before, when I offered to take off and drive him to the beach, to anywhere -- if he had said "let's go" I wouldn't have hesitated. Would it have made a difference???
I believe what Jeffrey Jackson says is true: that every time life left a little dent in Brian, he carried that pain with him. He may have moved past the incident, but the pain stayed with him. With each new hurt both great and small, a little more pain is added to this tragic cargo until it becomes unbearable.
Trying to figure out the why is part of the process, but in the end, be prepared to face the possibility that many of the answers may be unknowable. There will come a time when ... hopefully ... I can accept that there isn't going to be a satisfactory explanation for it all.
I always tried to be there when my son needed something, and would have continued to do so through anything it took. But he wasn't the kind of guy who asked for help (or directions!! haha) and I have to accept that part as well.
I know that in the deep dark hours of night, the what if's will still haunt me for now. I'm just hoping that by continuing to write, to feel, to allow myself the time I need, they will happen less often, and I can just accept things.
My son made a tragic, regrettable choice to end his life. I will never fully know what was going on with him, or how different aspects of his life contributed to his decision. I'm sad that he felt the need to end his pain this way. But a mother's love for her son lives on.
Rest in peace, Brian.
In my quest for answers, I'm using a Survivor of Suicide guide written by Jeffrey Jackson. In the section dealing with the Why's he tells us that it's normal to always wonder about the why's. And if you think you have the answer, think again. Chances are you're only seeing part of the picture.
In my own case, I believe I know the why answer to the straw that broke the camel's back. My son Brian was in a relationship with a woman who ... didn't always tell the truth. While I can be certain that I didn't know the entire truth of their relationship, I know two things: She told him she was given a terminal illness verdict and has only a few months to live and at the same time, she broke up with him and he moved back home.
Brian was always the one who felt things deeply. And if I admit it in my heart of hearts, I always worried about him and his mental health. He had many obstacles in his path with his vision impairment, and it was a source of many sorrows when it came to friendships as a young boy, as he grew into a young man.
I am stuck in the what if's at this stage of my grief. What if I had recognized something? anything? What if I had a clue? When he called off work because things were ugly with another woman he had dated the week before, when I offered to take off and drive him to the beach, to anywhere -- if he had said "let's go" I wouldn't have hesitated. Would it have made a difference???
I believe what Jeffrey Jackson says is true: that every time life left a little dent in Brian, he carried that pain with him. He may have moved past the incident, but the pain stayed with him. With each new hurt both great and small, a little more pain is added to this tragic cargo until it becomes unbearable.
Trying to figure out the why is part of the process, but in the end, be prepared to face the possibility that many of the answers may be unknowable. There will come a time when ... hopefully ... I can accept that there isn't going to be a satisfactory explanation for it all.
I always tried to be there when my son needed something, and would have continued to do so through anything it took. But he wasn't the kind of guy who asked for help (or directions!! haha) and I have to accept that part as well.
I know that in the deep dark hours of night, the what if's will still haunt me for now. I'm just hoping that by continuing to write, to feel, to allow myself the time I need, they will happen less often, and I can just accept things.
My son made a tragic, regrettable choice to end his life. I will never fully know what was going on with him, or how different aspects of his life contributed to his decision. I'm sad that he felt the need to end his pain this way. But a mother's love for her son lives on.
Rest in peace, Brian.
Monday, July 22, 2019
The New Normal
Dear Brian,
Here it is, Monday noon, and life is back to normal -- or rather the new normal.
Your passing has left holes in all our lives. A friend of mine told me that he thought when someone died, we missed them. But in reflection, when someone dies, they take a piece of us with them. And you took a huge chunk of me; there's a hole in my heart that can't be filled by anyone else but you. Not that I want that spot filled by anyone else -- no one else could take your place. You were my little boy, and my handyman. You were a light in my life, and the reason I was doing things the way I was doing things.
It was my plan to pay off the house, leaving you a home to live in. If I had my way, there would also be monies to take care of the things that need to be taken care of. The house was in a perfect location for many reasons. But now, I'm up in arms about what to do. I won't be making any choices or decisions for a while because I'm tired of making decisions.
Your Dad .... has made inquiries about decisions to be made. I've reached my limit and he's going to have to be patient with the rest of them is what I've told him. It was very nice of him to host a BBQ for the entire family, mostly mine!, but it was also awkward in ways for me. I guess it will always be that way because while you were the touchstone we had in common, none of the rest of our life events crossed paths.
Just a few of the thoughts that buzz through my mind.
No matter the reasons, I loved you then, I love you still.
Mom
Here it is, Monday noon, and life is back to normal -- or rather the new normal.
Your passing has left holes in all our lives. A friend of mine told me that he thought when someone died, we missed them. But in reflection, when someone dies, they take a piece of us with them. And you took a huge chunk of me; there's a hole in my heart that can't be filled by anyone else but you. Not that I want that spot filled by anyone else -- no one else could take your place. You were my little boy, and my handyman. You were a light in my life, and the reason I was doing things the way I was doing things.
It was my plan to pay off the house, leaving you a home to live in. If I had my way, there would also be monies to take care of the things that need to be taken care of. The house was in a perfect location for many reasons. But now, I'm up in arms about what to do. I won't be making any choices or decisions for a while because I'm tired of making decisions.
Your Dad .... has made inquiries about decisions to be made. I've reached my limit and he's going to have to be patient with the rest of them is what I've told him. It was very nice of him to host a BBQ for the entire family, mostly mine!, but it was also awkward in ways for me. I guess it will always be that way because while you were the touchstone we had in common, none of the rest of our life events crossed paths.
Just a few of the thoughts that buzz through my mind.
No matter the reasons, I loved you then, I love you still.
Mom
Getting Over This
Today's contemplation is about "getting over this". We all ask ourselves how long it will take to get over this, and the truth is we will never get over it. But we WILL get through it, putting our loss in its proper perspective and accepting our life as it is now, forever changed. Time heals, but time alone cannot heal the suicide survivor. Use this time to heal yourself and lean on the help and support of others.
Sometimes it takes years to truly restore your emotional well-being, but one thing is true: it will get easier.
There will be days when you think you're past the hardest parts, and suddenly your sadness returns, sometimes even years later. It's normal, but generally, coping with the loss will get easier over time.
I know there will be days when a certain song plays on the radio, the smell of fresh cut lumber, or even just a photo appears out of the blue and all the pain and sorrow comes rushing back. It's important to remember to focus on positive thoughts when these things happen.
I'm sure there will be people who's path crosses mine who will make an insensitive remark, because suicide is generally misunderstood. People will feel inept at offering comfort. Its human nature, and it would be wonderful if people rose above it. If someone begins to question you with morbid curiosity, or conveys their own self-important theories, simply sidestep them by saying "I'd rather not talk about it right now".
That's always my own personal concern when it comes to this, and the reason that I have kept things quiet at work. My BigBox store is full of gossipy people and I don't think I could endure the ones who would try to discuss this situation because of their own reasons, rather than offering comfort.
Each of us will travel through this life event at our own pace.
Some days will be harder than others for us.
But we WILL get through it.
Sometimes it takes years to truly restore your emotional well-being, but one thing is true: it will get easier.
There will be days when you think you're past the hardest parts, and suddenly your sadness returns, sometimes even years later. It's normal, but generally, coping with the loss will get easier over time.
I know there will be days when a certain song plays on the radio, the smell of fresh cut lumber, or even just a photo appears out of the blue and all the pain and sorrow comes rushing back. It's important to remember to focus on positive thoughts when these things happen.
I'm sure there will be people who's path crosses mine who will make an insensitive remark, because suicide is generally misunderstood. People will feel inept at offering comfort. Its human nature, and it would be wonderful if people rose above it. If someone begins to question you with morbid curiosity, or conveys their own self-important theories, simply sidestep them by saying "I'd rather not talk about it right now".
That's always my own personal concern when it comes to this, and the reason that I have kept things quiet at work. My BigBox store is full of gossipy people and I don't think I could endure the ones who would try to discuss this situation because of their own reasons, rather than offering comfort.
Each of us will travel through this life event at our own pace.
Some days will be harder than others for us.
But we WILL get through it.
Sunday, July 21, 2019
A Sign from Heaven?
Dear Brian:
Do you remember this first time you got really, really drunk? We were living in Trotwood, and you were outside on the front stoop singing very loudly. I had to open the window and tell you to get your drunk ass to bed. In the moment, I didn't find it very funny, but looking back, it always made me chuckle.
Why am I reminding you of this? Because Brianna was sneaking alcohol at the party/BBQ yesterday; she came home and took herself off to bed. She got "the munches" about an hour later and ate three slices of pizza. An hour after that, she was puking her guts up. I had to call her parents home because she said she needed her mom. At 1AM she thought she was going to take a shower, even though she could barely stand without being dizzy; then said she would be taking a bath. I put a stop to both of those!! She sipped water and got back into bed, finally asleep.
Let me tell ya, I'm overly tired from all this! I don't EVER stay up this late. Ugh.
But today, as the kids were gathering up all their things, Tanya opened the fridge and out rolled one of your Mt Dew and a Pepsi from the dispenser. She stood there, her mouth wide open, and said "WTF?" I laughed, told her it was you, trying to get her attention. I hope you try a few more times, she needs a jolt or two.
After the kids left, my entire house smells like fresh cut lumber -
just like you smelled after working all night in the lumber dept.
I'm sure it's your way of letting me know that you're OK,
and watching over me.
I miss you every day!
Love,
Mom
Do you remember this first time you got really, really drunk? We were living in Trotwood, and you were outside on the front stoop singing very loudly. I had to open the window and tell you to get your drunk ass to bed. In the moment, I didn't find it very funny, but looking back, it always made me chuckle.
Why am I reminding you of this? Because Brianna was sneaking alcohol at the party/BBQ yesterday; she came home and took herself off to bed. She got "the munches" about an hour later and ate three slices of pizza. An hour after that, she was puking her guts up. I had to call her parents home because she said she needed her mom. At 1AM she thought she was going to take a shower, even though she could barely stand without being dizzy; then said she would be taking a bath. I put a stop to both of those!! She sipped water and got back into bed, finally asleep.
Let me tell ya, I'm overly tired from all this! I don't EVER stay up this late. Ugh.
But today, as the kids were gathering up all their things, Tanya opened the fridge and out rolled one of your Mt Dew and a Pepsi from the dispenser. She stood there, her mouth wide open, and said "WTF?" I laughed, told her it was you, trying to get her attention. I hope you try a few more times, she needs a jolt or two.
After the kids left, my entire house smells like fresh cut lumber -
just like you smelled after working all night in the lumber dept.
I'm sure it's your way of letting me know that you're OK,
and watching over me.
I miss you every day!
Love,
Mom
Celebration of Life
Saturday was our Celebration of Life ceremony for Brian. My own personal goal was to share moments of Brian's life so that everyone else would know the wonderful man I called my son. Here are some excerpts:
We are gathered here today to remember the life of Brian, to celebrate what he meant to us all. We come together in grief, acknowledging our human loss. There will be disbelief and sadness in the hearts of many of us who are here. Perhaps it is hard to admit, even to ourselves, how profoundly vulnerable death can made us feel. Our celebration of our love for Brian cannot blunt these feelings. It is not about feeling better, but about finding strength and support in the sharing of this love. And in the depth of this grief is revealed a secret. Life, experienced fully with all its joys and sorrows, then gives it's secret to itself.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8: "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance ... "
(I shared some stories that were read by my son-in-law, Alonzo, to be shared later)
None of us will ever know what was going through Brian's mind, or know what was so overwhelming to him that he couldn't stay just one more day.
I know Brian would want each of you to live life fully,
to work hard,
and to be kind to others.
Brian, your humor, kindness and selflessness will continue to inspire us forever.
Everyone who sits in this room today is a gift to everyone else here. When we are together, just our presence, even in silence, is a deep comfort. To those who were very close to Brian, no one can predict what feelings and experiences will arise in the days, weeks, month and even years to come. There may be waves of joy and sadness and tears.
Everyone who is here is proof that you do no have to ride these waves alone. We know, too, that it is not only grief that we will feel. There will be genuine smiles, and gratitude for the memories that Brian has given us that can never be taken away. Be brave, but not too brave, when the sadness seems to overwhelm you. And practice forgiveness. Learn to forgive your own grief. As the sadness subsides over the weeks and months ahead, remember the important lessons you have learned: that time is precious and to cherish the time you have with family and friends, to have the courage to ask "How are you?" and to stay and listen; t
o show the love you have for the people in your life, and to say and show how much you love them.
We are gathered here today to remember the life of Brian, to celebrate what he meant to us all. We come together in grief, acknowledging our human loss. There will be disbelief and sadness in the hearts of many of us who are here. Perhaps it is hard to admit, even to ourselves, how profoundly vulnerable death can made us feel. Our celebration of our love for Brian cannot blunt these feelings. It is not about feeling better, but about finding strength and support in the sharing of this love. And in the depth of this grief is revealed a secret. Life, experienced fully with all its joys and sorrows, then gives it's secret to itself.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8: "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance ... "
(I shared some stories that were read by my son-in-law, Alonzo, to be shared later)
None of us will ever know what was going through Brian's mind, or know what was so overwhelming to him that he couldn't stay just one more day.
I know Brian would want each of you to live life fully,
to work hard,
and to be kind to others.
Brian, your humor, kindness and selflessness will continue to inspire us forever.
Everyone who sits in this room today is a gift to everyone else here. When we are together, just our presence, even in silence, is a deep comfort. To those who were very close to Brian, no one can predict what feelings and experiences will arise in the days, weeks, month and even years to come. There may be waves of joy and sadness and tears.
Everyone who is here is proof that you do no have to ride these waves alone. We know, too, that it is not only grief that we will feel. There will be genuine smiles, and gratitude for the memories that Brian has given us that can never be taken away. Be brave, but not too brave, when the sadness seems to overwhelm you. And practice forgiveness. Learn to forgive your own grief. As the sadness subsides over the weeks and months ahead, remember the important lessons you have learned: that time is precious and to cherish the time you have with family and friends, to have the courage to ask "How are you?" and to stay and listen; t
o show the love you have for the people in your life, and to say and show how much you love them.
God didn't promise days without pain,
laughter without sorrow
Nor sun without rain.
But he did promise
Strength for the day
Comfort for the tears
And light for the way.
Friday, July 19, 2019
The Whole Family
Dear Brian:
It's Friday. Tomorrow is your Celebration of Life service, and the entire family has flown in. Lori and Grandma arrived on Wednesday; David, Krissy and Anthony on Friday; the rest of the crew arrived today. So good to see family, but we're sad because of the reason. It shouldn't take a funeral to get families together. Just sayin'.
Because of the heat, we all headed out to Arizona Mills mall and walked around, then had lunch in the Rainforest Cafe. It was fun, innovative, and certainly appealed to children! You know how it is with family, you end up having the best discussions around a meal -- even when you're not hungry. Dinner last night was at Red Robin, with endless fries. We left an empty chair at the table for you.
Its odd to feel the pull and tug of being happy to see your family, and sad that you're not here with me any longer. Sometimes I just want to curl up in bed and sleep through it all. Sometimes I think getting sick in the bathroom will make me feel better - even though I know it won't. But I trudge on and enjoy the little conversations, pieces of family life that gets shared.
I truly wish I didn't have to do all this.
Seriously.
But I can't change what happened, I can only hope that you have found your peace.
I love you.
Mom.
It's Friday. Tomorrow is your Celebration of Life service, and the entire family has flown in. Lori and Grandma arrived on Wednesday; David, Krissy and Anthony on Friday; the rest of the crew arrived today. So good to see family, but we're sad because of the reason. It shouldn't take a funeral to get families together. Just sayin'.
Because of the heat, we all headed out to Arizona Mills mall and walked around, then had lunch in the Rainforest Cafe. It was fun, innovative, and certainly appealed to children! You know how it is with family, you end up having the best discussions around a meal -- even when you're not hungry. Dinner last night was at Red Robin, with endless fries. We left an empty chair at the table for you.
Its odd to feel the pull and tug of being happy to see your family, and sad that you're not here with me any longer. Sometimes I just want to curl up in bed and sleep through it all. Sometimes I think getting sick in the bathroom will make me feel better - even though I know it won't. But I trudge on and enjoy the little conversations, pieces of family life that gets shared.
I truly wish I didn't have to do all this.
Seriously.
But I can't change what happened, I can only hope that you have found your peace.
I love you.
Mom.
Thursday, July 18, 2019
Missing You
Dear Brian:Today, we picked up your urn.
It was a very poignant moment.
I didn't really want to do this.
It's a weird feeling; we're doing a lot of work to make a Celebration of your life, and there's a whole feeling as if this is a party for you -- well, it is -- but I expect you to be a part of all this. But you won't be there.
I wish I could hug you again.
To tell you I love you.
I miss you. Always.
Mom
Wednesday, July 17, 2019
Forgetfulness
Dear Brian:
It's been 15 days now. The shock continues to rattle me from time to time; usually in very unexpected ways. A small noise grabs my attention and for just a brief moment I wonder if you're coming home, and then it hits me all over again, no, you're not coming home.
I've always liked feeling as if I'm in control of things -- yes, I know, it's mostly an illusion, but still!! And being rattled and remembering all over again that you're gone just hasn't been sitting too well with how I want things to be, or rather the expectations I have of myself.
There's a lot of hype about being "present in the moment" because in general, most of us have so many different things going on in life between work and family and home, that we forget to just enjoy *the now*. But I'm finding that I'm so *in the present* that I can't seem to remember things I need to be remembering! Did I take my morning meds? Did I lock the front door? Did I leave Sadie fresh water? I am actually doing these things, but after doing them, I can't seem to recall that I did them. The short term memory isn't functioning as it should. I'm sure it'll come back in time. If it doesn't, I'll have to think of retiring! ha!
Grandma and Lori arrive today, and it will be good to see them, to have family around. The rest will come in on Friday. My store manager, Tom, told me he would like to attend your Celebration of Life. It will be ... odd ... having all these different sectors of life be in one place: your work people, my work people, family, acquaintances. By Sunday, I'll have had my fill; if you were around, we'd be sitting out on the back patio and talking about how people-y all this has been!
So if your spirit is hanging around, I'll tell you all about it when I'm sitting out there with Sadie.
Love you!
Mom
It's been 15 days now. The shock continues to rattle me from time to time; usually in very unexpected ways. A small noise grabs my attention and for just a brief moment I wonder if you're coming home, and then it hits me all over again, no, you're not coming home.
I've always liked feeling as if I'm in control of things -- yes, I know, it's mostly an illusion, but still!! And being rattled and remembering all over again that you're gone just hasn't been sitting too well with how I want things to be, or rather the expectations I have of myself.
There's a lot of hype about being "present in the moment" because in general, most of us have so many different things going on in life between work and family and home, that we forget to just enjoy *the now*. But I'm finding that I'm so *in the present* that I can't seem to remember things I need to be remembering! Did I take my morning meds? Did I lock the front door? Did I leave Sadie fresh water? I am actually doing these things, but after doing them, I can't seem to recall that I did them. The short term memory isn't functioning as it should. I'm sure it'll come back in time. If it doesn't, I'll have to think of retiring! ha!
Grandma and Lori arrive today, and it will be good to see them, to have family around. The rest will come in on Friday. My store manager, Tom, told me he would like to attend your Celebration of Life. It will be ... odd ... having all these different sectors of life be in one place: your work people, my work people, family, acquaintances. By Sunday, I'll have had my fill; if you were around, we'd be sitting out on the back patio and talking about how people-y all this has been!
So if your spirit is hanging around, I'll tell you all about it when I'm sitting out there with Sadie.
Love you!
Mom
Tuesday, July 16, 2019
Survivor's Guilt
When someone you love commits suicide, there are so many questions and so much confusion surrounding the situation. I've been trying to read up on SOS: Survivor of Suicide. Clearly my son had some kind of issues. He had taken a step to get his life in order, coming to live in my home again. I think somewhere deep down I knew that he wasn't the same young man who had moved out a little over three years ago. And while I'm one of those types who can find a solution or work around most problems, I can't do it if I don't know what the problem is.
I know he had issues with money and was struggling. I offered up some help and some solutions to getting it under control. He took my advice, actually sat down and wrote out the bills he needed to pay and how much was owed each month. We were about to set up some recurring payments so he could get out from under those pesky late fees that add up quickly when you're late making a payment.
One of the things I learned about the guilt part is that as a parent we question ourselves over and over, "where did I go wrong" , "did I push him too hard" , "If only ..... " . Sometimes outside influences have more sway over our kids than we do. Approximately 60% of all people who die by suicide may suffer from a mood disorder, and more than 90% have a diagnosable mental disorder. When I read that I thought "ok, maybe that's true" but as parents we like to think we understand our kids and have some kind of internal radar that tips us off when there's something "off". That may be true when your kids are younger and they aren't keeping up with school work or social skills, but once they reach a certain age, it's harder for us to know what's really going on.
My son was 33. While he wasn't in his right mind (in my opinion) he knew enough to let that influence his own decision making. And while I have some anger issues that raise it's ugly head from time to time, I know that even if I had it to do over again, I'm not sure my son could have put to words what he was feeling.
As a survivor of suicide, I have to learn that I don't need to feel guilty over my son's death and the circumstances. I have a right to retain my individuality and not be judged because of his death. I have the right to a new beginning. I have the right to be.
It won't be easy; I'll backslide from time to time.
But somehow I must make peace with what happened
while still loving my son and the memory of him.
And if you're struggling with some kind of suicidal thoughts or emotions, please seek help.
I know he had issues with money and was struggling. I offered up some help and some solutions to getting it under control. He took my advice, actually sat down and wrote out the bills he needed to pay and how much was owed each month. We were about to set up some recurring payments so he could get out from under those pesky late fees that add up quickly when you're late making a payment.
One of the things I learned about the guilt part is that as a parent we question ourselves over and over, "where did I go wrong" , "did I push him too hard" , "If only ..... " . Sometimes outside influences have more sway over our kids than we do. Approximately 60% of all people who die by suicide may suffer from a mood disorder, and more than 90% have a diagnosable mental disorder. When I read that I thought "ok, maybe that's true" but as parents we like to think we understand our kids and have some kind of internal radar that tips us off when there's something "off". That may be true when your kids are younger and they aren't keeping up with school work or social skills, but once they reach a certain age, it's harder for us to know what's really going on.
My son was 33. While he wasn't in his right mind (in my opinion) he knew enough to let that influence his own decision making. And while I have some anger issues that raise it's ugly head from time to time, I know that even if I had it to do over again, I'm not sure my son could have put to words what he was feeling.
As a survivor of suicide, I have to learn that I don't need to feel guilty over my son's death and the circumstances. I have a right to retain my individuality and not be judged because of his death. I have the right to a new beginning. I have the right to be.
It won't be easy; I'll backslide from time to time.
But somehow I must make peace with what happened
while still loving my son and the memory of him.
And if you're struggling with some kind of suicidal thoughts or emotions, please seek help.
Thoughts and Prayers
There have been so many well wishers during this struggling time for me. Ok, so it's more than struggling. In many ways, it's devastating! And they're much appreciated. Mostly. Well, let me explain. It's easy to get busy with the task of living, which makes the struggle slide into the background if only for a few minutes or even an hour. When there are kind words from someone, it brings it all back with a vengeance, and it's almost as if the hurt is very fresh all over again. I'd liken it to ripping a band-aid off and the sting is fresh. Ouch!
Out of the blue, I had a note from Josh G. When we lived in Ohio, our household of six kids was "the place to hang" for the rest of the neighborhood. Josh was one of those kids who ran with the rest of my brood. He was younger than most of them, and often quiet, but I remember him fondly. His mother and I had an arrangement, if you'd spank your own kid for misbehaving, you can do the same to mine. And I reciprocated! If she felt one of mine needed to be disciplined, have at it! And all the kids knew it. Good times. !
Another out of the blue was from my ex in Ohio. His son passed away 10 years ago, wow it's been 10 years! Where does the time fly. But you never really get over losing a child, and he knows that first hand and offered comfort.
It's amazing how just when you think things are bad, that you're "all alone", someone reaches out and you know that you're not.
For anyone feeling "all alone" right now, my thoughts and prayers go out to you!
Out of the blue, I had a note from Josh G. When we lived in Ohio, our household of six kids was "the place to hang" for the rest of the neighborhood. Josh was one of those kids who ran with the rest of my brood. He was younger than most of them, and often quiet, but I remember him fondly. His mother and I had an arrangement, if you'd spank your own kid for misbehaving, you can do the same to mine. And I reciprocated! If she felt one of mine needed to be disciplined, have at it! And all the kids knew it. Good times. !
Another out of the blue was from my ex in Ohio. His son passed away 10 years ago, wow it's been 10 years! Where does the time fly. But you never really get over losing a child, and he knows that first hand and offered comfort.
It's amazing how just when you think things are bad, that you're "all alone", someone reaches out and you know that you're not.
For anyone feeling "all alone" right now, my thoughts and prayers go out to you!
Monday, July 15, 2019
From Shock to Peace
Dear Brian,
It's been nearly two weeks now, and I know that I'm still in some kinds of shock. It comes and goes. When I'm at work, I feel as if I am doing OK, because my job keeps my mind occupied. But I discovered today just how *not with it* I am. The supplies that I order to keep my BigBoxStore going each week didn't get ordered. Someone's gonna be complaining about not having any toilet paper -- or paper towels! hehehehe
I keep asking myself when things will get back to normal; will it be better in a another week? A month? Everything I've read seems to point to nothing specific. You know me, I like being in control, I like knowing the when's and where's of things. This is something there won't be an answer to in any normal time frame. I understand it will be ups and downs for a long time to come. Moving from shock to finding peace is going to take some work.
I'm not quite ready yet, but I know that I need to get the details out of my system. It will be difficult, but necessary. I know that I can't carry the weight of those details for long. It'll be better to have them out in the open so I don't blurt them in an angry way at someone. You dad, for instance.
He had a lot of attitude over the phone, and then again when he came to our house. I've always been sad that your relationship with him wasn't all it could have been, but I know that's not on me. There were times when I didn't see you for a long time; so I cooked a meal for the family and brought it to you. Sometimes that was the only way to make time to touch base with you, to see you. Sometimes it was only a few minutes, but it was always worth the effort.
I know that a parent's job is to raise their kids to be happy, healthy adults who create their own lives. You seemed well on your way to doing that. Until things fell apart. How I wish you had confided just a little bit, so that we could have talked about it more. The one thing I would reassure you over and over is that it takes both people in a relationship to make it work. One person doesn't cause all the problems; and when problems arise, you both find a way to work them out. That's where things went wrong in your situation --- there's no way to work something out when both don't actually work at it.
Missing your laugh and hearing you on the other side of the house. It was always nice knowing there was someone else sharing the same space. I hope you've finally found your peace.
I love you.
Mom
It's been nearly two weeks now, and I know that I'm still in some kinds of shock. It comes and goes. When I'm at work, I feel as if I am doing OK, because my job keeps my mind occupied. But I discovered today just how *not with it* I am. The supplies that I order to keep my BigBoxStore going each week didn't get ordered. Someone's gonna be complaining about not having any toilet paper -- or paper towels! hehehehe
I keep asking myself when things will get back to normal; will it be better in a another week? A month? Everything I've read seems to point to nothing specific. You know me, I like being in control, I like knowing the when's and where's of things. This is something there won't be an answer to in any normal time frame. I understand it will be ups and downs for a long time to come. Moving from shock to finding peace is going to take some work.
I'm not quite ready yet, but I know that I need to get the details out of my system. It will be difficult, but necessary. I know that I can't carry the weight of those details for long. It'll be better to have them out in the open so I don't blurt them in an angry way at someone. You dad, for instance.
He had a lot of attitude over the phone, and then again when he came to our house. I've always been sad that your relationship with him wasn't all it could have been, but I know that's not on me. There were times when I didn't see you for a long time; so I cooked a meal for the family and brought it to you. Sometimes that was the only way to make time to touch base with you, to see you. Sometimes it was only a few minutes, but it was always worth the effort.
I know that a parent's job is to raise their kids to be happy, healthy adults who create their own lives. You seemed well on your way to doing that. Until things fell apart. How I wish you had confided just a little bit, so that we could have talked about it more. The one thing I would reassure you over and over is that it takes both people in a relationship to make it work. One person doesn't cause all the problems; and when problems arise, you both find a way to work them out. That's where things went wrong in your situation --- there's no way to work something out when both don't actually work at it.
Missing your laugh and hearing you on the other side of the house. It was always nice knowing there was someone else sharing the same space. I hope you've finally found your peace.
I love you.
Mom
Sunday, July 14, 2019
SOS
Survivors Of Suicide: This is a group you don't want to belong to. Because there are no answers when someone you love commits suicide. It's been 12 days since I found my son, Brian, and I'm beginning to realize that there are very few people in my life who knew Brian. Which leaves a kind of hole in my life that can't be filled. There isn't anyone to share in my memories, someone to talk about what he meant to me.
Brian was a special needs kid: he was visually impaired from birth. This created issues with school work and relating to others. When someone calls out from across the room, he depended on voice to get the gist of the message as he couldn't see visual clues from a distance. He adapted, and the rest of us adapted to his needs as well.
After a divorce, and creating a blended family, it made some difference, but in the long run, it was just me and my son. He lived with me until he turned 30. While we were roommates once he became an adult, he depended on me to get him around town, and I depended on him to be my handyman. He could fix anything -- he gets that from me, and my dad.
I was the one who helped him navigate the adult world, creating a bank account, appointments with Social Security or the DMV, and any other adult-ing that needed to be done. They were things that needed doing, and if I didn't prod him along sometimes, it didn't get done.
When he started attending Mesa Community College, he had to learn to navigate the bus system. We followed the bus route in my car a few times so he could become familiar with the route, and the landmarks he would be looking for. The first time he rode the bus alone, I followed along behind, making sure he was able to transfer from one bus line to another. He knew I was there, that way if something went wrong, there was a bit of a safety net.
We did this because in Ohio, one night Brian decided to take a bus "down town" and ended up getting confused on the dark streets. He called me and asked me to come get him, he was "at Burger King". There was more than one Burger King in town and it took a while to find him!!! It was one of those panic moments in a mother's life -- and maybe a bit for him too!
Once he got the bus route to MCC figured out, he had much more freedom and traveled a bit more on his own. One day, he was transferring buses, and had to run from the first bus to the second, and he dropped his cell phone. He told me about it later, and we decided to go see if we could find the phone. We wandered the street in the dark, found the first half of the phone, then the back was found too! Thank goodness, because his phone had insurance and this was covered!!
I'm writing here because I feel like no one else will tell his story, and he will be forgotten, a vague memory. And because of the taboo of suicide, people won't speak of him.
Brian was a special needs kid: he was visually impaired from birth. This created issues with school work and relating to others. When someone calls out from across the room, he depended on voice to get the gist of the message as he couldn't see visual clues from a distance. He adapted, and the rest of us adapted to his needs as well.
After a divorce, and creating a blended family, it made some difference, but in the long run, it was just me and my son. He lived with me until he turned 30. While we were roommates once he became an adult, he depended on me to get him around town, and I depended on him to be my handyman. He could fix anything -- he gets that from me, and my dad.
I was the one who helped him navigate the adult world, creating a bank account, appointments with Social Security or the DMV, and any other adult-ing that needed to be done. They were things that needed doing, and if I didn't prod him along sometimes, it didn't get done.
When he started attending Mesa Community College, he had to learn to navigate the bus system. We followed the bus route in my car a few times so he could become familiar with the route, and the landmarks he would be looking for. The first time he rode the bus alone, I followed along behind, making sure he was able to transfer from one bus line to another. He knew I was there, that way if something went wrong, there was a bit of a safety net.
We did this because in Ohio, one night Brian decided to take a bus "down town" and ended up getting confused on the dark streets. He called me and asked me to come get him, he was "at Burger King". There was more than one Burger King in town and it took a while to find him!!! It was one of those panic moments in a mother's life -- and maybe a bit for him too!
Once he got the bus route to MCC figured out, he had much more freedom and traveled a bit more on his own. One day, he was transferring buses, and had to run from the first bus to the second, and he dropped his cell phone. He told me about it later, and we decided to go see if we could find the phone. We wandered the street in the dark, found the first half of the phone, then the back was found too! Thank goodness, because his phone had insurance and this was covered!!
I'm writing here because I feel like no one else will tell his story, and he will be forgotten, a vague memory. And because of the taboo of suicide, people won't speak of him.
"Death is not the greatest loss in life.
The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live."
This moment matters
Brian was in my dream last night.
I was sitting in the living room, the TV was on.
I had just gotten up to refresh my drink when the front door opened.
There he stood, his left hand on the knob, a hat on his head, and sunglasses on.
(just like so many other times when I've watched him come through that door)
There was very bright light behind him, all around him,
and he asked "Am I too late?"
What a joy it was to see him, but how it hurt to see him again, knowing he's no longer here.
The past 12 days have passed in a blur.
I feel as if I'm sleepwalking through the days.
I walked into the garage to switch the laundry from washer to dryer, but saw a case of water sitting on top of the garbage can, so I grabbed that and put it away. It was an hour or so later before I realized that I hadn't switched out the laundry yet.
And none of it seems to matter. The days, the activities are all done on automatic pilot.
I know it gets better with time, but time is an ambiguous term. It could mean minutes. Or days. Months, even years. I try not to think of it in that way, just the now.
This moment matters.
So when I'm feeling the loss, when I'm tired or feel strung out, I take a minute to rest, recharge, regroup before I attempt to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I was sitting in the living room, the TV was on.
I had just gotten up to refresh my drink when the front door opened.
There he stood, his left hand on the knob, a hat on his head, and sunglasses on.
(just like so many other times when I've watched him come through that door)
There was very bright light behind him, all around him,
and he asked "Am I too late?"
What a joy it was to see him, but how it hurt to see him again, knowing he's no longer here.
The past 12 days have passed in a blur.
I feel as if I'm sleepwalking through the days.
I walked into the garage to switch the laundry from washer to dryer, but saw a case of water sitting on top of the garbage can, so I grabbed that and put it away. It was an hour or so later before I realized that I hadn't switched out the laundry yet.
And none of it seems to matter. The days, the activities are all done on automatic pilot.
I know it gets better with time, but time is an ambiguous term. It could mean minutes. Or days. Months, even years. I try not to think of it in that way, just the now.
This moment matters.
So when I'm feeling the loss, when I'm tired or feel strung out, I take a minute to rest, recharge, regroup before I attempt to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Saturday, July 13, 2019
It's Not a Surprise Party
Dear Brian:
I sat at my computer today, selecting photos and music to create a DVD that represents you, and your life. It wasn't easy, but it sure was fun. Looking at all the photos I have -- thousands!! -- and remembering all our adventures, home projects, just having fun with family; it was fun to see all those, and makes me glad I like taking pix! But it was sad as well.
Struggled a bit with the music -- some of your fav songs, well, the lyrics aren't so appropriate. So I did the next best thing: selected the intros from a bunch of your fav songs and slung them all together. It should make for a very ..... interesting reaction! :)
Here I am, making plans for a celebration of life -- it's like planning a surprise party ....
only you won't be there to be surprised.
Each day I'm putting one foot in front of the other, to cope. Sometimes it's having to cope hour to hour. I can tell when it becomes too much, and I have to go sit down, take a break. It's like my mind can only hold so much information before it needs to reboot. Sleeping is the same way for me. I can sleep about 90 minutes, then I'm awake. Sometimes I'll walk Sadie into the living room and back before I crawl into bed, turn on some Netflix show, and try to sleep some more. Last night must have been rougher than most, Sadie let me sleep in til 6am!!
I was putzing around in the garage storage; a shelf fell and one of the bottle shattered all over. I cleaned that up today with the vacuum to get the itty bitty pieces, and did the rest of the garage as well. It was still full of styrofoam pieces from the piece you cut a couple weeks ago. We took that out of the window temporarily because there wasn't enough light in your room to clean things up, gather up the laundry and get it all washed.
My days are broken into bits and pieces.
Time has become "before" and "after".
Love,
Mom
I sat at my computer today, selecting photos and music to create a DVD that represents you, and your life. It wasn't easy, but it sure was fun. Looking at all the photos I have -- thousands!! -- and remembering all our adventures, home projects, just having fun with family; it was fun to see all those, and makes me glad I like taking pix! But it was sad as well.
Struggled a bit with the music -- some of your fav songs, well, the lyrics aren't so appropriate. So I did the next best thing: selected the intros from a bunch of your fav songs and slung them all together. It should make for a very ..... interesting reaction! :)
Here I am, making plans for a celebration of life -- it's like planning a surprise party ....
only you won't be there to be surprised.
Each day I'm putting one foot in front of the other, to cope. Sometimes it's having to cope hour to hour. I can tell when it becomes too much, and I have to go sit down, take a break. It's like my mind can only hold so much information before it needs to reboot. Sleeping is the same way for me. I can sleep about 90 minutes, then I'm awake. Sometimes I'll walk Sadie into the living room and back before I crawl into bed, turn on some Netflix show, and try to sleep some more. Last night must have been rougher than most, Sadie let me sleep in til 6am!!
I was putzing around in the garage storage; a shelf fell and one of the bottle shattered all over. I cleaned that up today with the vacuum to get the itty bitty pieces, and did the rest of the garage as well. It was still full of styrofoam pieces from the piece you cut a couple weeks ago. We took that out of the window temporarily because there wasn't enough light in your room to clean things up, gather up the laundry and get it all washed.
My days are broken into bits and pieces.
Time has become "before" and "after".
Love,
Mom
Friday, July 12, 2019
Clues
Dear Brian:
It's been 24 hours without any non-family contact, and it's been quite the relief.
I didn't know your heartache when it came to your ex. (In my head, I call her TB, toxicbitch) ; I hoped you would open up after time, but it just never came to pass. Now that I'm trying to piece things together, I'm finding the oddest assortment of "clues" : old letters that seem to be concerning men from her past, and how she's avoiding them by changing bars, and how there's some drug and alcohol abuse going on. Had you told me about any of this, I would have found a way to advise you; and if it was beyond my means, then finding help in some other way!! How I wish ..... but I can't turn back the clock. I always knew in my gut that you were in a toxic situation, an environment that went against your basic principles. But you told me you loved her, and I hoped that things would be better.
I also found checks returned from your bank that couldn't be deposited. They look suspicious to me, too, and I can understand why the bank flagged them. Added to this, I found your trash for a box of magnetic check printing ink that was left the day she came to visit you. You were in the garage, and here's where my mother's intuition kicks in. She needed you to help her put this magnetic ink into her printer cartridge so she could print up more fake checks. In hindsight, I wish I had confronted you straight up.
I'm sitting here shaking my head. She has sent me some texts, posted on our family page, and not once has she expressed sorrow for anyone's loss, but hers. And frankly, what did she lose? She let you go two months ago. I'm sorry she feels some grief, but it's not on me to fix that for her.
I think back, and the meals I fixed for the family, she never acknowledged. Mike did, thanked me over and over, especially for the stew. Because I knew that your money situation wasn't good, I tried to inject a little cheer and included the kids, along with her and Mike with some Christmas gifts -- again, never acknowledged by her. At all.
Now?? With HER grief, she expects me to speak to her?
To explain?
To provide answers that I don't have??
Sorry. Nu uh. Not gonna happen.
A mother's love for her child is greater than any other force on the planet, in my opinion. And when you told me you and she were broken up, that was the end of it for me, she wouldn't be a part of our lives any longer, or until you told me otherwise. That means even now that you're gone.
I will be forever sad that we never got past all this, that we couldn't talk openly about what was going on. It's my deepest regret that I didn't push harder; grown man or not, you will always be my little boy. And I love you more than words .....
Love,
Mom
It's been 24 hours without any non-family contact, and it's been quite the relief.
I didn't know your heartache when it came to your ex. (In my head, I call her TB, toxicbitch) ; I hoped you would open up after time, but it just never came to pass. Now that I'm trying to piece things together, I'm finding the oddest assortment of "clues" : old letters that seem to be concerning men from her past, and how she's avoiding them by changing bars, and how there's some drug and alcohol abuse going on. Had you told me about any of this, I would have found a way to advise you; and if it was beyond my means, then finding help in some other way!! How I wish ..... but I can't turn back the clock. I always knew in my gut that you were in a toxic situation, an environment that went against your basic principles. But you told me you loved her, and I hoped that things would be better.
I also found checks returned from your bank that couldn't be deposited. They look suspicious to me, too, and I can understand why the bank flagged them. Added to this, I found your trash for a box of magnetic check printing ink that was left the day she came to visit you. You were in the garage, and here's where my mother's intuition kicks in. She needed you to help her put this magnetic ink into her printer cartridge so she could print up more fake checks. In hindsight, I wish I had confronted you straight up.
I'm sitting here shaking my head. She has sent me some texts, posted on our family page, and not once has she expressed sorrow for anyone's loss, but hers. And frankly, what did she lose? She let you go two months ago. I'm sorry she feels some grief, but it's not on me to fix that for her.
I think back, and the meals I fixed for the family, she never acknowledged. Mike did, thanked me over and over, especially for the stew. Because I knew that your money situation wasn't good, I tried to inject a little cheer and included the kids, along with her and Mike with some Christmas gifts -- again, never acknowledged by her. At all.
Now?? With HER grief, she expects me to speak to her?
To explain?
To provide answers that I don't have??
Sorry. Nu uh. Not gonna happen.
A mother's love for her child is greater than any other force on the planet, in my opinion. And when you told me you and she were broken up, that was the end of it for me, she wouldn't be a part of our lives any longer, or until you told me otherwise. That means even now that you're gone.
I will be forever sad that we never got past all this, that we couldn't talk openly about what was going on. It's my deepest regret that I didn't push harder; grown man or not, you will always be my little boy. And I love you more than words .....
Love,
Mom
Thursday, July 11, 2019
Monsoon Summers
Dear Brian:
It's 6pm and I'm sitting here listening to the wind pick up in a big way. Monsoons may be finally moving in to the Valley of the Sun!
How we watched every storm that rolled through each summer. Sometimes sitting out back, waiting for each flash of lightning. Sometimes watching out the window as a downpour washed over our neighborhood. Sometimes embracing the wind and sprinkles as we dashed around, making sure the lawn furniture was tucked up so it wouldn't blow away.
Last year during one storm, someone's big umbrella flew into our yard!!
The big dust storms were amazing to watch.
Remember when we first moved in? We had nothing but dirt in the backyard, and it soon turned to mud as it rained. Sometimes into huge puddles. Sadie was a hoot running the backyard "racetrack" through the water and mud. But she's a little bit prissy now that she's older and refuses to walk into a puddle, let alone race through them!
This was our lonely backyard before we started sprucing things up. The little brick retainers so there could be a little bit of stuff growing.
How I will miss sitting in our chairs, hearing the rain patter, or the wind blow, without you in the chair next to mine. Sharing our days, laughing over a little joke, or our thoughts for improving this little house we call home.
Missing you every moment, son.
Love,
Mom
It's 6pm and I'm sitting here listening to the wind pick up in a big way. Monsoons may be finally moving in to the Valley of the Sun!
How we watched every storm that rolled through each summer. Sometimes sitting out back, waiting for each flash of lightning. Sometimes watching out the window as a downpour washed over our neighborhood. Sometimes embracing the wind and sprinkles as we dashed around, making sure the lawn furniture was tucked up so it wouldn't blow away.
Last year during one storm, someone's big umbrella flew into our yard!!
The big dust storms were amazing to watch.
Remember when we first moved in? We had nothing but dirt in the backyard, and it soon turned to mud as it rained. Sometimes into huge puddles. Sadie was a hoot running the backyard "racetrack" through the water and mud. But she's a little bit prissy now that she's older and refuses to walk into a puddle, let alone race through them!
This was our lonely backyard before we started sprucing things up. The little brick retainers so there could be a little bit of stuff growing.
How I will miss sitting in our chairs, hearing the rain patter, or the wind blow, without you in the chair next to mine. Sharing our days, laughing over a little joke, or our thoughts for improving this little house we call home.
Missing you every moment, son.
Love,
Mom
A Time for Action
When do you know that someone's crossed the line, that it's time to take action??
My son died 9 days ago. It was unexpected; it was his ... choice. I have no answers, no real reason for what happened. I'm left with the aftermath of planning a funeral, picking out an urn, cleaning up the details of his life.
I am the one who found him.
I am the one interrogated by police doing their jobs to figure out what happened.
I am the one who had to call in to his job and tell them what happened.
I am the one who had to make those calls to family and let them know.
I am the one Brian waved goodbye to that morning before I left for work.
I am the one who searched high and low for a note, a clue, a word.
I am the one who didn't sleep for 2 days and nights because I couldn't get his image out of my head.
I am the one who had to call a funeral home to make arrangements for him to be cremated.
I am the one who had to select the urn, sign the death certificate.
I am the one who will go through the rest of my life without my son.
The weekend before he died, we had a few conversations. He told me he broke up with his GF of four years right before he moved back home. He had been dating someone else from work for the past two weeks, but they broke up that weekend as well. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of things between me and these women. My son is where my alliance is.
This week, two separate incidences, notes were taped to my car. I get phone calls in the late hours of night. I get text messages that are long and involved ... and mostly self centered drama from both of them. In trying for the high road, I declined to acknowledge or answer them. But I couldn't resist and texted back: My son DIED. Please leave me to grieve and mourn in peace.
But it doesn't stop there. More texts. Then more written on my son's memorial page ... non of it being a remembrance of Brian. I closed that page.
This feels like cyber bullying -- with threats about hiring lawyers added in.
There is no money, unless you count what's been spent outgoing by me and my family in order to have a decent remembrance. And she's sullying that memory.
It may be time for action.
My son died 9 days ago. It was unexpected; it was his ... choice. I have no answers, no real reason for what happened. I'm left with the aftermath of planning a funeral, picking out an urn, cleaning up the details of his life.
I am the one who found him.
I am the one interrogated by police doing their jobs to figure out what happened.
I am the one who had to call in to his job and tell them what happened.
I am the one who had to make those calls to family and let them know.
I am the one Brian waved goodbye to that morning before I left for work.
I am the one who searched high and low for a note, a clue, a word.
I am the one who didn't sleep for 2 days and nights because I couldn't get his image out of my head.
I am the one who had to call a funeral home to make arrangements for him to be cremated.
I am the one who had to select the urn, sign the death certificate.
I am the one who will go through the rest of my life without my son.
The weekend before he died, we had a few conversations. He told me he broke up with his GF of four years right before he moved back home. He had been dating someone else from work for the past two weeks, but they broke up that weekend as well. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of things between me and these women. My son is where my alliance is.
This week, two separate incidences, notes were taped to my car. I get phone calls in the late hours of night. I get text messages that are long and involved ... and mostly self centered drama from both of them. In trying for the high road, I declined to acknowledge or answer them. But I couldn't resist and texted back: My son DIED. Please leave me to grieve and mourn in peace.
But it doesn't stop there. More texts. Then more written on my son's memorial page ... non of it being a remembrance of Brian. I closed that page.
This feels like cyber bullying -- with threats about hiring lawyers added in.
There is no money, unless you count what's been spent outgoing by me and my family in order to have a decent remembrance. And she's sullying that memory.
It may be time for action.
Wednesday, July 10, 2019
Monkey in the Middle
When there is a sudden death in a family, the world seems to change. It's no exception for me; looking answers that can never be found no matter how many scraps of paper you find to read.
But what's fun is finding things you didn't realize were there: old reports from high school, or a paper that's "All About Me". The only thing I haven't located that I thought I had was his first guitar lesson book; it was handwritten notations of the songs he was learning, either AC DC or Ozzy. hehehe
As for the rest of the people who's lives Brian touched, I'm sorry, but I have no answers for you. And I don't care to the be "monkey in the middle" of whatever your relationship with him consisted of. My son was a grown man, and made his own decisions. If he had trouble with a decision, he knew he could always ask me anything. He often chose not to.
I had to finalize an invite for a "Celebration of Life" service and get a copy over to Home Depot. While it was "work" and a job, he enjoyed working at HD; the store manager and associates have been very helpful and comforting.
All the little details that need to be taken care of, and frankly, I'm finding that my brain is scattered in a thousand directions at a time, without focusing very well on any one thing. Today was my first day off work, home alone. I started laundry, then forgot about it. I vacuumed one room, then abandoned it for something else. I changed the sheets on the bed .... ok, I took the dirty sheets off the bed and all day my bed has been un-made. I realize that I'm not functioning on all cylinders for now; being aware is helpful, I keep a notebook and pen with me at all times so I can write things down.
By 2pm, I realized I hadn't had any water yet, and had to sit down.
That's pretty much how my day has gone.
At the last minute, UPS brought an envelope addressed to Brian, his final paycheck.
Sometimes, I'm very grateful to have a job to go to, ordinary tasks that need to be done, that have nothing to do with my "home life".
But what's fun is finding things you didn't realize were there: old reports from high school, or a paper that's "All About Me". The only thing I haven't located that I thought I had was his first guitar lesson book; it was handwritten notations of the songs he was learning, either AC DC or Ozzy. hehehe
As for the rest of the people who's lives Brian touched, I'm sorry, but I have no answers for you. And I don't care to the be "monkey in the middle" of whatever your relationship with him consisted of. My son was a grown man, and made his own decisions. If he had trouble with a decision, he knew he could always ask me anything. He often chose not to.
I had to finalize an invite for a "Celebration of Life" service and get a copy over to Home Depot. While it was "work" and a job, he enjoyed working at HD; the store manager and associates have been very helpful and comforting.
All the little details that need to be taken care of, and frankly, I'm finding that my brain is scattered in a thousand directions at a time, without focusing very well on any one thing. Today was my first day off work, home alone. I started laundry, then forgot about it. I vacuumed one room, then abandoned it for something else. I changed the sheets on the bed .... ok, I took the dirty sheets off the bed and all day my bed has been un-made. I realize that I'm not functioning on all cylinders for now; being aware is helpful, I keep a notebook and pen with me at all times so I can write things down.
By 2pm, I realized I hadn't had any water yet, and had to sit down.
That's pretty much how my day has gone.
At the last minute, UPS brought an envelope addressed to Brian, his final paycheck.
Sometimes, I'm very grateful to have a job to go to, ordinary tasks that need to be done, that have nothing to do with my "home life".
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
Conversations in My Head
Dear Brian:
I find myself awake in the wee hours of the morning, running through our last conversations. And I keep wondering "If I had said *this* instead of *that* , would it have made a difference?"
We didn't talk about things that were happening or had happened right after you moved home. Because I know you so well, I thought giving you time and space to get your thoughts gathered up was the right thing to do. As I look back, was that the right thing??
It's always how it was in the past. You'd have something on your mind and you'd walk into the room I was in and let out a sigh that seemed to come from deep within your chest. You'd sigh again, and sometimes a third time. I just waited until you had the courage to come out with it. And maybe there was something in the past between us that made it so that you didn't feel you could just blurt out whatever you needed to say. I realize that I can't change the past, or the dynamics of our relationship.
The struggle was real; whatever you were going through this last time, I'll admit, I don't understand. And I am practical enough to know that I probably never will.
If we had just one more conversation;
If I had insisted on getting away on a vacation;
If I .....
Those what if's will haunt me for a long time.
I love you son, from the day you were born, until the day I die.
See you in heaven some day!
Love, Mom
I find myself awake in the wee hours of the morning, running through our last conversations. And I keep wondering "If I had said *this* instead of *that* , would it have made a difference?"
We didn't talk about things that were happening or had happened right after you moved home. Because I know you so well, I thought giving you time and space to get your thoughts gathered up was the right thing to do. As I look back, was that the right thing??
It's always how it was in the past. You'd have something on your mind and you'd walk into the room I was in and let out a sigh that seemed to come from deep within your chest. You'd sigh again, and sometimes a third time. I just waited until you had the courage to come out with it. And maybe there was something in the past between us that made it so that you didn't feel you could just blurt out whatever you needed to say. I realize that I can't change the past, or the dynamics of our relationship.
The struggle was real; whatever you were going through this last time, I'll admit, I don't understand. And I am practical enough to know that I probably never will.
If we had just one more conversation;
If I had insisted on getting away on a vacation;
If I .....
Those what if's will haunt me for a long time.
I love you son, from the day you were born, until the day I die.
See you in heaven some day!
Love, Mom
Monday, July 8, 2019
An Angered Heart
Dear Brian:
Nearly a week has gone by, and there's an empty place in my heart that was always yours. And it hurts. Sometimes I get busy and the hurt moves off to the side, but only for a little while. Then I remember what happened, and I begin to hurt all over again.
Yesterday, Mike stopped by. He's hurting and in shock. I found it very difficult to hold my tongue and not lash out, telling him I just don't understand what happened, what went on, what event(s) in that household led up to the changes I saw happening to you ??? I get so mad.
Anger is a very bad thing to hold on to, but sometimes it's just *there* and I don't know what to do with it! Well, yeah, you know how I deal when I get angry --- I clean and scrub and organize!! And I'll be doing that again ... soon. I let the anger simmer on the back burner for now, because I'm too tired to do too much these past couple of day.
Sadie misses you, and can't understand what's happening. Well, ok, I admit that's my interpretation, but she still cruises out the bedroom and down the hall to your room every night. I find myself listening for your footsteps, or to hear the TV going.
I can't imagine such a dark place that you were in, and never dare think beyond that, to imagine what you were thinking that day. But no troubles are ever forever, everything could have changed, if only you had let one of us know what was really going on. It makes me sad knowing things got so far out of hand; we've always solved the issues that came up in the past.
For now, it's just one day at a time, one foot in front of the other, until I find my way to some peace.
Forever missed.
Love, Mom
Nearly a week has gone by, and there's an empty place in my heart that was always yours. And it hurts. Sometimes I get busy and the hurt moves off to the side, but only for a little while. Then I remember what happened, and I begin to hurt all over again.
Yesterday, Mike stopped by. He's hurting and in shock. I found it very difficult to hold my tongue and not lash out, telling him I just don't understand what happened, what went on, what event(s) in that household led up to the changes I saw happening to you ??? I get so mad.
Anger is a very bad thing to hold on to, but sometimes it's just *there* and I don't know what to do with it! Well, yeah, you know how I deal when I get angry --- I clean and scrub and organize!! And I'll be doing that again ... soon. I let the anger simmer on the back burner for now, because I'm too tired to do too much these past couple of day.
Sadie misses you, and can't understand what's happening. Well, ok, I admit that's my interpretation, but she still cruises out the bedroom and down the hall to your room every night. I find myself listening for your footsteps, or to hear the TV going.
I can't imagine such a dark place that you were in, and never dare think beyond that, to imagine what you were thinking that day. But no troubles are ever forever, everything could have changed, if only you had let one of us know what was really going on. It makes me sad knowing things got so far out of hand; we've always solved the issues that came up in the past.
For now, it's just one day at a time, one foot in front of the other, until I find my way to some peace.
Forever missed.
Love, Mom
Sunday, July 7, 2019
Dealing ... but just barely
Dealing with any kind of loss isn't easy. Most of us have the ... thought in the back of our minds that our parents will die before us. In nature's way, that seems to be the norm. But dealing with the death of a child is harder than anything I've ever experienced.
I've always been a "strong" person - or that's what most people tell me. I know that I'm not overly emotional when it comes to a crisis, and can usually see a light at the end of a tunnel in one direction or another. Sometimes it's not easy to get over the obstacles and hurdles between you and that light, but it's there, and attainable.
But the one thing I attribute the strength I have is that I've always had to be strong for my son. He had many hurdles and obstacles in his life. He started life with a handicap, being visually impaired. In order to see things important to him, he had to get up close. With inanimate objects, it wasn't such a big deal; but dealing with classmates, it became an issue when he was young. Schoolwork was difficult, because glasses didn't improve his sight enough to make it worthwhile to wear them. So people, as a rule, didn't even know he had trouble seeing.
I think the one thing he learned in life from me was if something needed to be done, you didn't wait for someone else to make it easy for you, you just adapted your own ways in order to work around the other people, and do it.
He was a special person who never said NO to anything if you needed help. He did, however, say NO if i asked him to go to the mall with me!! "Too people-y" he'd tell me. I agreed, but sometimes you just had to go to the mall!
As for getting through each day, it's one thing at a time. Make a list of things that need to be done. Each day, pick something on the list that you think you're able to accomplish. For me, it was the simple act of washing and making up Brian's bed yesterday. I couldn't do much else, but at least one thing was completed! The rest of the evening after work was spent going through photos. When making a slide show for his service .... jeez, I'm an amateur photographer, I have thousands of photos to go through! Thank goodness the past 10+ years have been digital !!!
While I'm still going to blog -- it's my way of journaling -- we created a another website as a way for all of us to input photos and /or stories about Brian, the things we want to remember.
We expect to be posting, but would love for you to add your own thoughts as well!!
I've always been a "strong" person - or that's what most people tell me. I know that I'm not overly emotional when it comes to a crisis, and can usually see a light at the end of a tunnel in one direction or another. Sometimes it's not easy to get over the obstacles and hurdles between you and that light, but it's there, and attainable.
But the one thing I attribute the strength I have is that I've always had to be strong for my son. He had many hurdles and obstacles in his life. He started life with a handicap, being visually impaired. In order to see things important to him, he had to get up close. With inanimate objects, it wasn't such a big deal; but dealing with classmates, it became an issue when he was young. Schoolwork was difficult, because glasses didn't improve his sight enough to make it worthwhile to wear them. So people, as a rule, didn't even know he had trouble seeing.
I think the one thing he learned in life from me was if something needed to be done, you didn't wait for someone else to make it easy for you, you just adapted your own ways in order to work around the other people, and do it.
He was a special person who never said NO to anything if you needed help. He did, however, say NO if i asked him to go to the mall with me!! "Too people-y" he'd tell me. I agreed, but sometimes you just had to go to the mall!
As for getting through each day, it's one thing at a time. Make a list of things that need to be done. Each day, pick something on the list that you think you're able to accomplish. For me, it was the simple act of washing and making up Brian's bed yesterday. I couldn't do much else, but at least one thing was completed! The rest of the evening after work was spent going through photos. When making a slide show for his service .... jeez, I'm an amateur photographer, I have thousands of photos to go through! Thank goodness the past 10+ years have been digital !!!
While I'm still going to blog -- it's my way of journaling -- we created a another website as a way for all of us to input photos and /or stories about Brian, the things we want to remember.
www.forevermissed.com/brian.court is the website.
We expect to be posting, but would love for you to add your own thoughts as well!!
Saturday, July 6, 2019
Weary Days
Dear Brian;
It's now Saturday, and I came back to work for a half day - because I don't think I can just sit around the house with little to do and no one around
Charles from next door brought over a cute flower arrangement and expressed his sorrow, and said how much he enjoyed having conversations with you - and envied how you can fix so many things! Joe from across the street brought over a deli sandwich so I wouldn't have to cook a meal.
On Weds we made a trip to the funeral home and had to sign all the paperwork, and pick out an urn. There were many to choose from, but none suited you. Classic black all the way, with a electric guitar symbol blazoned across the front. At first, I thought it would be a hard task, but it turns out when it comes to picking out things for you, I know in an instant what you would like.
We made a trip to the library to check things out, then over to Walmart to pick up some supplies for your Celebration of Life, including a couple of picture frame so we could display your tee shirts. (And by the way, some were NOT suitable!! haha) I'd see something and turn to ask if you needed a can of chili, some tortillas or Doritos -- but you weren't there with me. It's going to be hard doing the little things we used to do together.
But then came Friday. Your dad and the rest of them came up to the house. First thing he did was get in my face and ask "Why?" It was all I could do not to roll my eyes, I was trying to be nicer than usual. He's hurting in a bad way, and I can only guess it's because he didn't have much contact with you in the last couple of years. Then again, not my problem.
The sheer mess of stuff that's left to do when someone dies is daunting. There are so many things now that we didn't have before: the password to your phone. Your bills. Your checking account. All the paperwork from Home Depot. By the way, your store manager, George, stopped by. Told me he was the one who hired you five years ago. I told him you loved working there -- yeah, yeah, I know, too people-y at times, but still, I know you liked it as much as I like my own retail job.
If you only realized that the number of people who loved you outweighed all the other things that seemed to weigh you down ... I can't turn back the clock, but I would if I could ! ! Had you said even one little hint, I would have dropped everything, dragged you into the car and headed for family. Reaching out and/or being your own advocate was never your strength. In that way, you're a lot like me: if there's a problem, you find a way to solve it by yourself. Not always the easiest thing, and certainly not the best thing to do, but that's kinda how we roll.
My lunch break is nearly over, and I wanted to get some thoughts down while I was feeling them.
Forever in my heart, son.
Love, Mom
It's now Saturday, and I came back to work for a half day - because I don't think I can just sit around the house with little to do and no one around
Charles from next door brought over a cute flower arrangement and expressed his sorrow, and said how much he enjoyed having conversations with you - and envied how you can fix so many things! Joe from across the street brought over a deli sandwich so I wouldn't have to cook a meal.
On Weds we made a trip to the funeral home and had to sign all the paperwork, and pick out an urn. There were many to choose from, but none suited you. Classic black all the way, with a electric guitar symbol blazoned across the front. At first, I thought it would be a hard task, but it turns out when it comes to picking out things for you, I know in an instant what you would like.
We made a trip to the library to check things out, then over to Walmart to pick up some supplies for your Celebration of Life, including a couple of picture frame so we could display your tee shirts. (And by the way, some were NOT suitable!! haha) I'd see something and turn to ask if you needed a can of chili, some tortillas or Doritos -- but you weren't there with me. It's going to be hard doing the little things we used to do together.
But then came Friday. Your dad and the rest of them came up to the house. First thing he did was get in my face and ask "Why?" It was all I could do not to roll my eyes, I was trying to be nicer than usual. He's hurting in a bad way, and I can only guess it's because he didn't have much contact with you in the last couple of years. Then again, not my problem.
The sheer mess of stuff that's left to do when someone dies is daunting. There are so many things now that we didn't have before: the password to your phone. Your bills. Your checking account. All the paperwork from Home Depot. By the way, your store manager, George, stopped by. Told me he was the one who hired you five years ago. I told him you loved working there -- yeah, yeah, I know, too people-y at times, but still, I know you liked it as much as I like my own retail job.
If you only realized that the number of people who loved you outweighed all the other things that seemed to weigh you down ... I can't turn back the clock, but I would if I could ! ! Had you said even one little hint, I would have dropped everything, dragged you into the car and headed for family. Reaching out and/or being your own advocate was never your strength. In that way, you're a lot like me: if there's a problem, you find a way to solve it by yourself. Not always the easiest thing, and certainly not the best thing to do, but that's kinda how we roll.
My lunch break is nearly over, and I wanted to get some thoughts down while I was feeling them.
Forever in my heart, son.
Love, Mom
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