A Mother's Love

Not a day passes that I am not reminded of my son, or think of something I want to tell him, or ask him to do for me.  It hurts like hell.

I get busy and go to work, and the day passes.

I come home and walk Sadie, make supper, and head for bed, and the evening passes.

Repeat these steps. 
Over and over.

It makes the time pass, but it doesn't change what's inside.
Most of the time, its just the pain of losing someone.
Sometimes, it's not wanting to do all of these things alone.
And every now and then, it's full on anger.

I raised an awesome son.  He was always willing to do whatever needed to be done, and sometimes would do things that didn't need doing.  He did them any way.  In that way, he was a lot like my father.  He might not have said the words, but his actions said "I love you" with everything in him.

I watched my son's attitude and demeanor diminish over time as he tried living life with another family.  Good-hearted people often get taken advantage of by others who aren't as good-hearted as themselves.  In my own "theory of life" there are givers and there are takers.  Givers give of themselves at every turn, and have a hard time believing that others don't think like they do.  Takers do what they can, take what they need, to fill whatever void they're trying to fill.  And they're smart enough to know how to take advantage of those givers who cross their paths.   My son's downfall was his pride; he hated to admit that things weren't going well, so he stayed.   In that way, he's like his mother. 

When I was married, it wasn't working; neither of us was growing, it was more existing.  But back then, you stayed married "for the kids".  I was so prideful, that I couldn't admit that it wasn't going well, that things were falling apart, so we went from day to day to day ......   In the end that just didn't work and we divorced.  Telling my parents was the hardest thing ever.  I was sure I would be "judged".   But just like I would have told my son, my parents told me that they loved me, and would support me in any decision I made. 

Which brings up the recurring theme of "if only's..."

I can't do it over again, and I can't change what's been.

I can only keep on going, and keep remembering all the good.

No matter his choice, I loved my son then, and love him still.

Good Will

Dear Brian,

Yesterday I went through all the boxes of your things we'd put in the garage. I wanted to make sure that I wasn't getting rid of anything that I felt was important to keep.  Now that there's been some space and time since you died, my perspective is a little better.  But we'd done a good job of keeping things, and knowing what didn't need to keep.  A lot of your shoes and clothing was boxed, along with the one lone golf club and your microphone stand.  Neither I nor Tanya would be using it, or wanting it.  I know I certainly wouldn't be playing in a band and singing for folks!!  (Ha!)

After I'd gone through them again, I left them sitting in the garage.  About two hours later, I was like "What am I waiting for?  Why am I waiting?" and went into the garage and loaded up one trunk full.  Today, I dropped it off at the Goodwill store.  I'm sure there will be people who need or can use some of your things.  No sense in letting them just sit here and do nothing. 

But it wasn't easy.

My fear was always that you'd be forgotten ... and parting with your things means less of "you" is here.  And it hurts.  There's a huge hole in my heart, in my being, that used to be occupied by you.

Sometimes it's just a small ache.  Sometimes it hurts so much I get a belly ache. 

I thought it would soothe a few of the raw places by taking a trip to Grandma's, but that was very difficult.  Mostly because you and I traveled there often, together. 

Each day goes by and I can get lost in being busy.
But once I finish with *stuff*, and I'm alone with my thoughts,
it gets difficult once again.

The one question I ask over and over is "Why couldn't you stay??"

I miss you very much.
Love, Mom

A Tear Fell (LDPoetry)

Dear Brian,


a tear fell today
trickled down my cheek
and washed away a little pain
one drop at a time

like rains that caress
and shape the mountains,
a tear shapes and eases my hurt
one drop at a time

a tear fell today
sliding slowly down my face
and takes a small piece of hope
one drop at a time

like streams that trickle
moving rock down mountainsides
pieces of hope tumble away
one drop at a time

i know there will come a day
when pain is gone, hope returns
and my tears slow down
one drop at a time

There are days when I cannot let go of an image in my mind of you, and it haunts me at every turn.  It's not every day, or all day long, but lingers there like a shadow that doesn't go away.   At times I want to scream out "NOOooooo!!!"  and "Come baaaaaaack!!"   but I know that it won't change a thing.  

I had pizza for lunch today, and I thought of you.  

Not that I don't think of you every day, 

but sometimes there are things that make me think of you even more.  

Pizza, of course, is one of those things!  

Grocery shopping completed, I'm boiling chicken for supper, and hoping Sadie lets me sit in some sunshine this afternoon.  Her obsession of riding in the stroller has increased, and she whines at me to go.  Usually around 5:30pm every day!  lol silly dog

I love you.  Always.

Mom

Vacations and Age

Vacations are terrific.  Vacations take you away from the normal routine and give you something new to look at and experience.   But let's face it, vacations are also a lot of work.  When you're single and old like me, there are so many things to deal with.  It stressed me out to put Sadie in a PetHotel; it stressed both Sadie and I out when I got out the suitcase to pack.   Traveling always stresses me out as well.  I *hate* using airplane toilets and try my best to avoid it at all costs. 

Just five years ago, in 2014, I traveled to Cali and back again once a month.  But it was easier then.  My son was here, stayed with Sadie whenever I went.  I could rest easy that someone would be at the house, and Sadie would be well cared for.   But no more.  I miss that.

Putting Sadie in a PetHotel was an experiment to see if I could swing the whole travel thing on my own, and for the most part, I think I can do it.  Four nights was just a bit long, but would go better if I change up Sadie's diet so that she eats more nuggets and less wet food. 

And I'm rambling.

I had a little bit of a breakdown today; I miss my son, and I was tired from traveling, and it all converged at once.  After a crying jag, I put Sadie in the stroller and took a walk to shake it off.

It worked.  Mostly.

Country Music

Dear Brian,

Raising you, it wasn't an actual goal that I set regarding the type of music that would appeal to you.  That you liked 70s and 80s hair bands was great!  .... well, maybe it's what you grew up on.  But country music also held an appeal, I know.  For me, the older I get, the more I feel like I need and want to get back to my "roots".  I grew up on country music - Johnny Cash, Tammy Wynette and George Jones, Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner - too many to name here, but the 60s and 70s stick in my mind.

A new comer to country music is Craig Morgan.  His 19 year old son died it a boating accident, and he wrote a beautiful song that really fits:

I've been beat up

I been pushed and shoved

But never ever really knocked down

Between mom and dad, Uncle Sam and friends

I somehow always pulled out

But the pain of this was more

Than I'd ever felt before, yeah I was broke

I cried and cried and cried

Until I passed out on the floor

Then I prayed and prayed and prayed

Till I thought I couldn't pray anymore

And minute by minute, day by day

My God, He gave me hope

I know my boy ain't here but he ain't gone

In the mornings I wake up, pet the dog, head to the kitchen

Pour a cup of wake-me-up and try to rouse up some ambition

Go outside, sit by myself but I ain't alone

See, I've got the Father, my son, and the Holy Ghost

I hope, I love, I pray, I cry

I heal a little more each day inside

I won't completely heal till I go home

In the mornings I wake up, pet the dog, head to the kitchen

Pour a cup of wake-me-up and try to rouse up some ambition

Go outside, sit by myself but I ain't alone

I've got the Father, my son, and the Holy Ghost

One day I'll wake up and I'll be home

With the Father, my son, and the Holy Ghost

When I'm here at home, I can feel you
Sometimes I turn and expect to find you there
Other times I find myself telling you to "c'mere"
and give me a hand.
How I miss you.
For some reason, even more today.

One day, I'll wake up and be home.
With you.

Love,
Mom

Someone's Missing

Dear Brian, 

You should be here. 

Love, Mom 

30 years Ago: Loma Prieta

It was 30 years ago today, at 5:040pm.  The World Series was the Bay Bridge Series:  SF Giants vs the Oakland A's.  With a huge roar, the ground began shaking and rolling.

For me, I was in the middle of some radiation therapy.  I had left work and driven from San Jose to Palo Alto's Stanford University Hospital.  I was making my way down into the basement floor to the Radiology Department.  Walking down that long corridor, most people had left for the day; a few technicians were in their places, but I didn't see anyone once the ground started shaking.  I made my way back to my car after the ground stopped rocking and rolling.  I drove home down freeways that were eerily empty.  Highway 280 from PA to Santa Clara was a long slow drive.  Several places of this freeway showed cracks and buckled asphalt.  I drove slowly, avoiding what I could of the debris and such.

By the time I reached town, there was no power, no street lights.  Again, driving slow, making my way down familiar roads that now looked very unfamiliar because of the debris, and lack of the usual traffic.  It took me nearly 2 hours to drive what normally takes about 30 minutes.

I arrived at my Mom's, where my kids were.  They were all safe, no major damages here.  I decided to drive to my apartment, to see what damages were.  Pictures fell from the walls, knick knacks tumbled over, but things were pretty well there.  I gathered up extra clothes for me and the kids, and headed to my boyfriend's house for the night.  Things were fine at his house, as well.  Still no power, but he had a generator.  We hooked it up and turned on the TV, watching all the terrible images as they were made available.  We didn't sleep most of the night, watching as the Bay Bridge had a section collapse.  And in Oakland, a section of a double decker pancaked onto the lower deck and many were trapped in the mess.

This was a disaster of epic proportions.
Yet the people stepped up, helped a neighbor wherever they could.

Everyone in the Bay Area can answer the age old question:
Where were you when the earth quaked??

Grandma's

Dear Brian,

I'm here, at Grandma's, and it's not the same without you.  

We walked into the backyard, we are looking at the big tree in the backyard .... 

and wondering what's going to happen.  

It's been "our" chore for many years, 

and now you're not here.

And it makes me sad.

There are many little chores that Grandma was saving for you.  

I helped her with some of them today. 

Then we dashed to Target -- because Walmart was too far -- and picked up some batteries, and some socks.  Yep, really exciting!

The rest of the day was chilly so we stayed indoors and watched "Country Music" by Ken Burns.  Very good, very well done, very enjoyable.  Loved seeing the old stars!

Miss you every day,

but even more here at Grandma's. 

Love you always,

Mom

It's Feathers!

Dear Brian,

It's Saturday, my day off, and there were so many things I thought to tell you, and now they've slipped my mind.  I've got a bad case of old-timers these days, and I'm not sure why.  OK.  I think I know why:  so many changes going on, and with them, a resistance to change for me.  As I get older, I'm more and more resistant to change.  But that's the new norm, so I have to get used to it.

Charlie is home from the hospital; Joe from across the street came over and we had a good chat.  He's the one who took the turtle - says it's doing well in his new home!  He took your .22 off my hands, and I'm happy it's no longer in the house.  We talked about the neighborhood and how things have been going.  I told him how I was a bit nervous after walking Sadie the other night.  He told me that the house cameras he has are set up to see the entire street, so he's been watching out, and that if I am ever nervous again, to come get him and he'll have a look around. 



I got a text from A yesterday. 
He was at a function in town, and writes: 

"Found this in the chair I sat on this morning... (a feather).

Took it off, threw it on the floor.

Went to check the schedule

And it was back on the chair

when I came back.

Brian is here with me" 

Thanks for letting us know that you're with us

in spirit, watching over. 

I miss you every day.

When I see someone on a bike, I do a double take

thinking I'll see you again.

I know in my mind it won't be you

but my heart wishes it was.

I'll be watching for your feathers!

Love,

Mom

One Foot in Front of the Other

One foot in front of the other.
A good mantra to get through each and every day
when your life's purpose has changed.

So many changes in my work place, and so many other changes at home now.  Last weekend, I rearranged the work bench in the garage.  I don't use the open end wrenches and other tools that my son used.  Now it's more basic:  hammer, saw, hacksaw, screwdriver are all in their places on the pegboard.  Gone are the bits and pieces of junk that accumulated over the years.  I know Brian knew what each one of those pieces were for, but I didn't.  He liked to listen to music when he was out there working, but the radio he used was gone, so today I took down the speakers.  I like music when I work, but I don't need it so loud! 

I struggle every day, though, to put one foot in front of the other.  When I'm at work, there are things that need to be done.  But when I'm all caught up, it's difficult to keep putting one foot out there.  When I'm at home?  Yikes, it's even harder.  I'm an early morning person, and got my walk done, my bed sheets washed and back on the bed, breakfast eaten, raked around the bushes out front, dug on my stump again (just a little every day until it's gone!)  and when I sat down, it was like 9:30am. 

*sigh*  then there's the rest of the day to contend with. 

I have projects.  This nice thing about projects is that they're something to keep you busy.  The bad part of projects that have a lot of components is that everything is sitting out and I feel guilty when I don't do a little bit each day. 


But some days, I just don't have it in me. 


I read, and have folks tell me, that this will pass eventually.
But it's so hard.
Today I sat down to have breakfast, and fell asleep.
I'm sure that is related to not sleeping well at night.

I dreamed that Brian was at a Walmart with me.  We were both stocking from a cart in the lunchmeat aisle.  He tried to see me and looked around one side of the cart and I tucked to look at him from the other side.  It felt like we just couldn't connect.  Maybe that's a part of it.  A little bit of him lets go every time something else comes up (like finding tidbits of junk in the garage).  As I prepared for his Celebration of Life ceremony, my biggest fear -- and still is -- is that he will be forgotten.  I keep mentioning this, it comes to mind often, and I just don't seem able to stop it.  Maybe that's my own brain telling me that I didn't write something, or share a photo, often enough and I need to do more.

For me, it's like this little blog.  I write because it's who I am.  Some day, maybe someone will know "the real me" because I don't hold much back.  And it's the same with writing down Brian's stories -- maybe someday someone will know him like I did. 

Nothing takes away the hurt,
but with each passing day,
it's just a little less.

Letter of Updates

Dear Brian,

It's Tuesday today, and I'm off work tomorrow, which makes this sort of my Friday?  and it feels odd not to eat pizza  (haha old family joke!)  Moments go by, sometimes hours even, when the entire hurt of thinking about you isn't first and foremost on my mind.  And therein lies my original fear:  that you will be forgotten.  Truthfully, I know that you're not forgotten by anyone, but like me, they're moving on with their lives and stop using the internet as a touchstone to your accounts.  But it doesn't stop me from making sure my thoughts are written down. 

I once thought that they would be here for you and Tee to read when I'm gone; that my so called "wisdom" would be passed down.  Or that you would know more about me than ever before.  Now that you're in heaven, I'm assuming you know it all now. 

My thoughts are muddled at the moment because I was awake at 1:40 am, and didn't fall back asleep until after 4am.  So I'm tired after working all day, and the Melatonin I take to help me sleep kicks in quickly. 

I'm traveling to Grandma's next week.  I'm sure trimming the tree will be a part of the agenda.  It will be extremely difficult to be there without you.  Sadie will stay in a Pet Hotel, because I can't drive with her in the car any longer, so I'm flying in and out.  Short trip, but needed.  I told the family that I don't want to "do" stuff when I'm there.  I'm content to just hang out and actually rest.  I'm going to bring Grandma a puzzle, and all the old Dr Seuss books for Zane. 




I look at your photos often,
even watch the video I made
now and then. 
I still have a hard time watching the portion
of you playing Freebird. 

How I miss you. 

Every single day.



Love,
Mom

The Feather

On a normal day off, I end up doing household chores - because owning a home means there is *always* something that needs be done.  Sunday, I was in and out of the backyard, trimming a bush, cleaning the patio, just letting Sadie out.  Things were cleaned up and looking good.

Late in the afternoon, I was letting Sadie out and I noticed a feather standing straight up in the rocks. Right where I found Brian on the day he died.  I was shocked and my mouth dropped open, I looked left and right, then back at the feather.  I couldn't help staring as I felt myself covered in goose bumps. 

I grabbed my camera and immediately took a photo so I didn't think I was imagining it.

Today, I checked on Google and found:  "Additionally, white is the color of angels, and thus if you see a white feather, it is the angel feather, a sign of protection and faith.  Seeing a white feather could be a direct communication from the angel to pass a message from your deceased loved ones, that they are well and safe in heaven".

This makes me smile.
I'd be happy to know that my son is safe and well in heaven.

I love you always, Brian!

Love, Mom