Looking Back One Year

Dear Brian,

What a rough weekend for me to get through.  It's been a year now, and I'm still as lost as I was a year ago.  And yet in some ways I've been able to get through it.  I know I move through my days doing the things that need doing, but there's not as much purpose any longer.  I can feel this happening, and yet seem unable to change any of it. 

With COVID, I'm not able to go places or do things, and I'm finding it quite a relief that I'm not being urged to be social in any way.  Which makes me chuckle.  I wear my mask all the time because it's the law, and I don't even have to smile at customers -- they have no idea what my mouth does behind my mask!  It's amusing to be able to move through my day without having to do the whole small talk and smile -- hard to do that when you're forced to stay six feet apart all the time.  hahah

I sat down and read your note today.  It hurt to see your handwriting.  I'm not sure if I was looking for comfort in your words -- I already knew I wouldn't find it.  I think I have that note memorized. It still didn't give me any answers.  I still have so many "what if" scenarios that I run through my head.  But I can't change what happened.  But I wish I could have.

Aunt Lori isn't doing well.  I don't know if she's at the "I give up" stage of fighting her cancer, but it seems like it might be. She's always been the one in control, and she's trying to do her medications by herself.  From what Grandma tells me, it sounds like she's over medicating; she sleeps through her days, and barely eats or drinks.  She's at Grandma's now.

I cleaned out a few of your things.  I put some of the hot wheels cars from your shelves into the carrying case.  I wonder if Zane would like to have them?  I didn't know what to do with all your wallets and pocket knives, some of the comic books and your drumsticks.  I have a couple thoughts, but since I wasn't certain, I'll just sleep on it for a while longer.

Writing to you here keeps your memory alive for me in a tangible way.  And I need the outlet.  So I'll just keep doing what I'm doing.

Love you and miss you every single day
Love,
mom

Heart Aches

Dear Brian,
There's no way to describe to another person how it feels when you lose someone you love.  It's never a fun feeling, and I've had my share of lost loves (ie husbands! lol) over the years.  But it's different when it's your child.  It's as if someone evil has reached into my chest and ripped out a piece of my heart.  Yes, it's actually a physical pain that I feel, especially when I am up in the wee hours of the night waiting for Sadie to do her business.  It's not really sadness or grief as we expect it to be, or have experienced in the past.  I can feel the piece of you that was within me is gone, and there's an empty place there, with raw edges and pain.

I've been moving on, however, as best I can.  I'm going through the scrapbooks and getting more photos of you scanned into the computer so they can be shared.  Or maybe it's so I can look at them whenever I want to.  I know they're in my memory, but seeing the photos brings back so many parts of you!  I didn't realize you had our family trait - the one where we stick the tip of our tongue out when we're concentrating real hard.  I laugh every time I see someone do it:  Grandma does it, I know I do it, Tanya does it, even you did it!

I stopped in at HD today - everyone was busy!  they're considered "essential workers" in this COVID-19 pandemic.  Bought some paint; when they put on a new roof, there was one place that needed some new plywood, so that needs painting dark brown.  Then I bought paint to start painting the back of the house and the trim, because it needs it again!  Of course I get two days off in a row, and the temps soar to over 100 before it's even May 1!   So early morning painting when it's cool out, and have to stretch it out over a few days off, but it will get done eventually!

I found a quote in the far reaches of my desk today:

     May the Sun bring you new energy by day.
     May the Moon softly restore you by night.
     May the Rain wash away your worries.
     May the Breeze blow new strength into your being.
     May you walk gently through the world
              and know it's beauty all the days of your life.
                          ----Apache Blessing

Wherever you are ....
I'll always love you
Mom

Accepting What Is

I am following an online "seminar" called 12 weeks of peace.  It's based on grief, losing a loved one, and how to move on in life.  (If you're grieving, or having trouble getting past some old grief, click here and sign up. )  Each week there's a lesson for the upcoming days - one for each day.  The first few weeks were "easy" for me, because I was already doing many of their suggestions:  writing in a journal, creating a website, posting photos, etc. 

The harder part has been what happens after some time goes by.  It's like no one wants me to talk about Brian, or maybe in their own grief path, they're not ready to hear about him.

This week's lesson included the following:

"There is no guarantee that you will to heal. No book, pamphlet, or poem can ensure it… only you can.

Healing is a choice, and not healing is a choice.

There are so many resources available, and you can choose to take advantage of them when you’re ready. You can choose to remain open to the ones around you. It will not be easy, but that just tells you how significant your loved one IS (not was) to you. Be the fighter they want you to be, and choose to face your pain. Every day it will get a little easier, until suddenly it’s bearable. And you can enjoy your life again."

Brian's last words to me mentioned that I'm a strong person and to be strong for him.  Some days it's harder than other days.  But each day I try.  Some days I fail.  But I pick up the pieces and continue on.   It' the little things that help.  Today, I walked in a park that Brian and I frequented.  Yesterday, I planted some spring flowers in the backyard.  Even though he's not here to help, I moved forward on getting the roof replaced.  I don't always want to do what needs doing.  Some days, I just sit on the couch and veg.  But then I remember that things need to be done, and I'm the one who has to do it.  

It's not easy accepting that he's gone, never coming back

It's not easy letting go of what happened, letting go of the "what if's"

So I'm left with having faith in what will be

And that has to be enough

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

Avoiding My Thoughts

Good intentions are only good if one follows through with them.  I intended to take a long walk, but cut it shorter than intended.  It's a day of chores - laundry, cleaning, changing bed linen - and yet I struggle with doing things. I realized as I stepped out into the backyard that I seek out small chores, something that can be done quickly, and that I'm avoiding anything that could take too long.

And then I ask myself, "Why?"

The obvious answer is because of the loss of my son.

But is that the only reason?   Sure, it's the main reason, but I'm beginning to think that doing things moves me away from Brian and that's uncomfortable.  I know I felt that way when I was working and rearranging in the back yard.

It's the same feeling I have when I sit down at the computer.  I don't do all the things I used to do, and why am I avoiding them??  It's always been a passion, and an outlet of sorts, but lately .. ugh.  My thought was because it forces me to become aligned with my thoughts.

And I'm avoiding them, it seems.

Too much thinking = too much feeling = sadness and grief.  And it's much easier to allow it to happen in smaller bits or chunks rather than all at once.  Maybe that's not the best way, but it's my way.  My son wanted me to be strong, to be happy, and to carry on.  But it can be overwhelming, knowing that I'll be carrying on alone.   A big reason for buying this house was knowing that he would be around to help me with maintenance and fixing things.


I feel as if I'm carrying around this huge bucket with me all the time.  I know that what's in the bucket is sorrow and grief.  But who knew that it could weigh so much.  Acknowledging all this to myself is another step in the right direction. 

Small steps to alleviate avoiding my thoughts.
one day at a time.

Because God didn't promise days without pain ....

A Little Bit Mad

Dear Brian:

I'm a little bit mad at you today.  I had to call to have some plumbing work done.  And it's all stuff you've done in the past.  I miss your not being here to help me take care of this house that I fully intended to be yours.  While it was costly to have them come out, I'm stuck having to have someone who knows something come out and check things over.  For $100 they inspected each and every water faucet and valve in the house.  BTW,  they said your job under the kitchen sink and dishwasher installation was dandy.  But I already knew that!  :)

I know in my own kind of logic that I am not in a place to make major decisions.  I'm having a hard enough time deciding to drive to Grandma's for a vacation.  If the drive is stressful, I'll be stopping halfway.  Which makes for a shorter trip at her house, but better for me.  I guess it's the conundrum of the decision making process as one gets older.  I'm too young to be retired, but too old to do some of the things I've been doing .... *sigh*

I'm starting to think that I need to be in Tucson, closer to Tanya, someone who can help "take care of me" ....  as I get a little bit older.  Which is coming on way too fast!

It's been difficult, this transition, and I'm finding that I need less stuff.  Parting with your things hasn't been easy.  I find myself making decisions on whether or not it's something of yours that brings a smile or a memory to mind.  If it doesn't, then out it's going.  Sounds a bit harsh, and believe me, it's much more difficult for me than I made it sound. 

It all hurts so much. 
you're not here to share the funny little things
you're not here to share the load
you're not here to share your smiles
you'll never walk through that front door again

and i miss it. so very much.
surviving someone's suicide is one of the hardest things ever
i love you
mom

SOS - A Month Afterward

SOS - Survivors of Suicide
I've been doing a lot of reading and note taking about suicide, or more so, about being a survivor of suicide.    Suicide is such a mess.  It is unbelievable how one person's decision can affect so many lives.   Even as we begin to understand our loved one killed them self in a desperate attempt to end their pain, we often feel that their anguish has not been extinguished but simply passed on to us.

In my own case, my son left a trail of bills to contend with.  He also had just broken up with his girlfriend of 3+ years, causing him to move back home.  A month after, he started dating someone else.  When the ex found out about his dating, it is my belief that she started hounding my son, perhaps making him feel guilty (and he shouldn't have felt any! He's the one who had to vacate the home he'd been living in!)  After Brian died, I was hounded by both of these women!  First they resorted to sending me text messages, then trying to "friend" me on FaceBook.  His ex also had people leaving notes on my car two separate times.  I finally had to send her a text that read "My son DIED!  Please leave me alone to grieve in peace."

The "what ifs" plague survivors of suicide.  A person's decision to end their life is solitary and unconnected to survivors of suicide.  When we accept that it was their choice alone is when we can move past the what if's.  I've done my share of them, wondering if only I'd said "this" or noticed "that".   The loss of a child is devastating.  Suicide is an act of violence - not only against yourself, but against others, the ones left behind to deal with it all.

Sometimes we feel guilty because of what our loved one did;  it shouldn't affect how we think of them or remember them.  That's why I keep writing to Brian, and logging stories as I recall them on a website , to keep him alive in my mind the way he was, and not focusing on his last action.

Suicide leaves in its wake a tremendous sense of confusion and displacement for those of us left behind.  Family members who have lost a loved one to suicide are blamed and avoided more often than relatives of people who have died under other circumstances.  This can reinforce the quiet and self blame that already preoccupies survivors of suicide.  The irrationality of suicide leaves the survivor no room for definitive resolution.

The roller coaster of emotions following a suicide causes intense feelings of isolation and a breaking apart from all that once seemed familiar.  Survivors of suicide experience a wide range of often contradictory emotions following the suicide of a loved one, it's impact alters our lives forever.

There is no easy way to eradicate the pain of grieving.  The toll that suicide exacts on its survivors is very high.   Oddly, my son's final note said that he knew I was strong, and that he wanted me to be happy.  For those of us who have been left behind, the legacy of suicide lies not in reconciling ourselves to inevitable defeat, but in recognizing that our spirit of survival remains both resilient and intact.

My life was forever changed July 2, 2019, but somehow I will survive. 
I know in my heart that my son didn't want to die forever,
just on that day, when he had been in so much pain.

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? 

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.

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.

Healthy Living

Finally Friday.... Ahhhhhhhhhh

It's a relief to have it here.
There's something about knowing it's Friday.
Even though I'm not typical with weekends off
working retail in a supervisory roll means
you're the one who fills in
when a part of your team is off.

That's how it's been for the past 10 weeks.  I haven't had my days off, and the toll is showing ... or is it that I'm feeling it more than showing it?  Maybe that's it.   My health has been an issue since back in April.  I thought I'd pulled a muscle at the gym. You know when you have a bad cough, and the cough clears up, your core muscles are sore from being over-used?  That's how it started.  I assumed it would clear up.  Maybe some un-healthy eating added to the problem.  I'm still convinced I passed some kind of liver stone that caused me to have the intense muscle spasm-like pains when I walked.  According to all the research I could find, I seemed to fit right in with the symptoms of others.

OK.  I can deal with that.

But after those pains passed, I was feeling well - but only when I ate small meals that consisted of bland foods.  I usually keep detailed accounts of the foods I eat (because it helps with my life-changing eating plans) but I was skipping those days, so I don't know if my carbs/protein/fats ratios were still the same as they had been.  Or even if they're better now.  I'll need to keep track better.

However, the dull ache that I have in my right side is back.  I ate lasagna for dinner Weds night and boy that didn't sit well with me at  all.  Too much fat?  Too spicy?  Too much?  I was miserable all night long, and far into Thursday.   Back to square one eating my small meals, having a fruit smoothie every day, along with my cup of apple juice.  You know the old saying ... An apple a day keeps the doctor away!

But I think what's bothering me is the not knowing.  This nodule they found on my lung, I'm assuming its on my right side, and that its bothering me in some way.  Is it in a position where it rubs when I'm active?  Or that I can feel it when I'm laying on my right side?   There's power in knowledge.  If I know, then I can deal.  Not knowing makes me crazy.  I'll have to make do until Monday afternoon when I see a pulmonary doctor.  But why is waiting so hard?

In the meantime, I'm thinking positive thoughts.  And doing positive things, like taking my supplements, and a daily walk with Sadie.

A good song that comes to mind in that regard is "Let Your Soul be Your Pilot" by Sting.

When you're down and they're counting

When your secrets all found out

When your troubles take to mounting

When the map you have leads you to doubt

When there's no information

And the compass turns to nowhere that you know well

Let your soul be your pilot

Let your soul guide you

He'll guide you well