Angel-versary

Today is the 6th anniversary of the day my son died.  Its never an easy day for me.  Mom says she knows what its like, my sister died of pancreatic cancer.  

But its not the same.

Sis was diagnosed and lived three years longer than was expected. That gives a person's mind time to reconcile to the expected. 

But I happened to be reading this today:  

• "Things are never, ever the same again. People who haven’t been to that other place can never really understand how hard it is for the travelers who return, travelers like us, to pretend that nothing has changed.” 

Finding a loved one who has died by suicide is different somehow. There are so many unanswered questions, so many thoughts like what you could have done different, said different, could you have changed the outcome?  

I will never get answers to those questions.  I try not to burden others with the details of finding my son six years ago.  Death by suicide leaves a stigma, something that's not spoken of, almost as if it were "catchy".  

As a society, where have we gone wrong? What creates situations that result in suicide rates increasing over the years?  There is a lot of shame and blame that gets heaped on those left behind when a loved one makes that decision.  

I miss my son every day. And I never stop asking why.

Please remember you can dial 988 at any time if you need someone to talk to. 

Angelversary #2

Dear Brian,

It's been two years since you committed suicide.  I struggle with your choice, with whatever it was that decided your fate.  But the worst is the not knowing what I could have done, what I should have done, what I didn't see, what I didn't know.  

On today, the worst anniversary ever, I bounce back and forth between the horror of finding you and the joy of remembering you.  Your sense of humor, the little things you used to do, the way you put up with the crazy ideas I had off and on over the years.  I love to dig up old photos of you and remember the things we used to do, the places we've been.  Your tolerance for the weird things I envisioned in my head that you helped me to accomplish.  Like painting stripes on the concrete block fence in the back yard.  Or driving 3 hours to have a moonlight summer hike.  Or going off on a "treasure hunt" called Letter Boxing.  

And in spite of all the odd things, you were also always there when something needed to be done.  To finish the unfinished garage, to painting a room, to installing a new disposal or new faucets.  Digging up plants.  Planting new plants.  Installing a brick planter, or hauling all of the rock from the front yard to the back yard, one wheelbarrow at a time.   Or, going on an icy Sunday drive through Dayton after a crazy snowstorm, just so we can get photos.  lol   

I miss you.  Every single day.  There's nothing else left when you lose a child.  That's the hardest thing a parent does - mourn the loss of a child.  It's been a hard road.  I don't discuss this with very many people, and that's my decision.  It's not easy being a survivor of the loss of someone by suicide.  It's the unanswered questions, the lack of answers for people who are well meaning but tend to ask anyway.  

I know your last note to me wished me to be happy.  It's been difficult, but every day I try my best.

I love you.

Mom

PS:   It's Pizza and Pepsi for dinner!!  xoxoxo

The Price Of Love

"It is truly remarkable what people in deep turmoil will tell you if you truly listen to what they are saying.  More often than not, they will spill some of the pattern of repeated dark words, thoughts and fantasies that have been spiraling in their heads so relentlessly, so furiously, that they have entered a trance that has eliminated all other thoughts.  If the spiral continues without break, they will essentially talk themselves to the point where the pain of dying seems less than the pain of living.  That's how suicide works."

This is a quote from the book "Deadly Cross" by James Patterson.

And when I read these lines, it brought a touch of comfort regarding the loss of my son.  I know that my son was a lot like me, he lived a good part of his life in his head.  I'm not sure that makes sense to everyone but if you've ever overthought a situation, that's kind of how it is.  And I can see that if he got stuck on a certain thought, it spiraled 'round and 'round until it took over.  

It makes me sad to think that he couldn't reach out past the spiral and get some kind of help. It makes me sad to think that I didn't act on my hunch of loading him into the car and taking him to my mother's for a break from the routine of it all.  

I know that carrying this burden for the rest of my life will weigh me down.  And it's not easy to know that he carried his burdens until he couldn't carry them any longer.  Grief is never ending; and I know I've said it before:  there is nothing like losing a child.  My dad is gone, my sister is gone, even my favorite dog is gone, but I'm still the saddest over losing my son.  He was my reason for buying the small house, living near bus lines, getting it paid off so he'd have a place to grow old.  

Grief is like having a suitcase that you have to lug around everywhere with you:  it's always there, it adds a whole lot of weight to your travels.  And it's a process that never ends.   It's the price of love.

Another Saturday

Dear Brian:

Here we are, another Saturday.  At least that what my FitBit tells me.  I feel like I never know what day it is.  After 10 years at the same position, my store decided to make it mandatory that we are off Sat And Wed.  Which means I have two Mondays, and two Fridays.  It also makes it feel like I never have a day off.  Oh well, I need this job for just a little bit longer.  Hurry up retirement!

I tried hanging the frames I put your old Metallica T-shirts in, but I didn't like the arrangement.  I've laid it out several different ways, and still don't like it.  Maybe I'm trying to make it too ... squared up and I need to just start from the center and work my way out, hanging them hodgepodge.  Because that seems more like you anyhow.  OCD is one thing, but looking good is another! hehe

Sadie and I took a long walk today, first around the block, then I stuck her in the stroller and walked another half hour.  It was good for her, can't wait for cooler weather so we can walk after work again.  I think that might help.  With a lot of things.

Every now and then out of the blue - usually in the late night hours or wee morning hours - that images of you swim through my mind and it's both wonderful and painful at the same time.  It's hard not to think about our choice, and harder still to accept that you won't be coming back through my front door. 

I should try and get something actually accomplished today.
I'm still adjusting to everything.
Missing you,
Mom

Lots of Advice

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.

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:

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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!

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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".