Merry Christmas, BJ

It’s hard to believe this is Christmas #3 without you. So much has happened since you left us, and this has been an especially busy month for me. But I suspect you already know what’s going on as you watch us from Heaven. I know you would be thrilled for this new chapter in my life as I go back into home ownership. It is something we would’ve had many phone calls about. We would’ve talked each step of the way. That’s just how our relationship was. It’s hard not to pick up the phone and call. I still have “you” pinned to my “favorites” and you’re still on my “break-through” list. I just can’t bring myself to change that.

My heart aches at the thought of going through another Christmas without you and I can’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes. I feel each one as they roll down my cheek. This pain is far greater than any parent can imagine…until the dreadful day they are faced with it.

I have so much to be grateful for and so much to be thankful for; heck, I even have so much to be excited about…and yet, part of me still feels hollow inside. There’s an emptiness inside of me that used to be full of life; that used to be filled with BJ. I am still filled with your memories, but that is nothing compared to being filled with your life.

I know you are happy, at peace, and watch us from above and I know you know no sadness or sorrow. But somehow, I don’t feel very satisfied in that tonight. With Christmas only a few days away, I want to see you, touch you, and sit around the dinner table with you. I want to buy you presents and have you love each one of them! I want you to bring Cheyenne over for her visit this next week and I want you to stay for that visit. I want to watch you chase the little kids around and toss them up in the air. I want to see how you and Dillon would interact now that he has aged two and a half more years since you last saw him. I want to enjoy some Christmas cheer with you and Bryan. I want, I want, I want! I know this too shall pass…and I will get through another Christmas without you…but I don’t want to!

Through Prayers We Gain Peace

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve written anything, not because I have writers block or nothing to say but because I am at a place in life to do the things that matter most. My blog has been of the utmost importance because it has been THE tool, I have needed to get me through the most difficult time in my life. Expressing my feelings through word has been the most therapeutic thing I have done for myself in navigating this journey of grief. Although I know I still have a long road ahead of me, I am doing better today than yesterday or a year ago. I still have struggles, I still shed tears, and I still miss my son terribly. Moving forward I’m going to write on Friday’s when I NEED to. I’m not going to write out of obligation because I’ve dedicated Friday’s to BJ…he still knows I am thinking about him. I’m going to write when I have something of value to say or something I need to work through. I think this is an important step in my journey and for other mourners to know that it is ok to do for themselves…do and be how they want, when they want. Grief is difficult enough without putting pressure on ourselves. I think life comes with enough pressure and we should seek refuge from pressure whenever possible. I find myself wanting to do a million little things for my family, for friends, for loved ones…because it makes me happy, not because they expect it. But I also find if I cut expectations of myself, I am relieving pressure I have unknowingly put on myself. Grief is a time to let go of a lot of little things and take care of yourself and do what matters the most in that moment.

A few weeks ago, I shared how many people have been on my heart this year because they are experiencing their first holiday season since losing a loved one. One friend has been on my mind and her family in my prayers. She lost her father last spring and two weeks ago her brother had a heart attack, followed by a stroke and other complications. They are still surrounding him in love and prayer at the hospital. I cannot even imagine the heartache in that family and the strength that is being built through this turbulence.

Through tragedy we gain strength.

Through trials we gain knowledge.

Through prayer we gain peace.

It was easy to be mad at God for taking my son from me. It was difficult to understand why. It didn’t seem fair then, and it doesn’t seem fair today. Every minute someone is born and every minute someone dies. None of us are immune from loss. It is part of life. It’s the part of life seldom talked about, because who wants to think about death? Not me. Regardless, I have been faced with it and I got thrown on this journey and new path of life. I can’t say this path is awful. I have many good things happening in my life; none of which lessens the pain of loss. I’m beginning to understand they don’t have anything to do with the other. I can be very happy and at the same time very sad. Happy in life and sad in death. I don’t think my life is dictated by my son’s death, but I do think I am a different person because of it. I see things much differently than I once did. Life has much more value. I know what I will and won’t tolerate. I know that nothing is more important than God, family, and friends.

I know I have said this before, but to all of you that have lost someone this year and going through all the “firsts” without your loved one, my heart aches for you. Loss sucks! The “firsts” suck! But…be kind to yourself, listen to your body, and know that time does heal. It doesn’t take away the heartache, but it does lessen a little tiny bit each month and each year. I pray for peace over your heart as you celebrate this first Christmas with one less chair at your table and one less person to buy gifts for. God bless…

Memories Are the Best Therapy

Thanksgiving traditionally is set aside for a family gathering. A time to eat as much as we want, watch football, play football, and be with our loved ones. Yesterday as I was driving to my family gathering, I felt a message come over me that was important to share with others;

“As you sit around your Thanksgiving table, be thankful for the ones you sit next to , be thankful for the ones that have survived something and are still sitting there with you and be thankful for the memories you have with the ones that are no longer sitting at your table.”

The first holiday with an “empty chair” is the most difficult holiday. My thoughts went to Dillon’s stepmom who lost her dad earlier this year, to a sweet lady in Iowa who lost her husband just a few weeks ago, to a dear friend that lives right down the road that lost her father last spring, and to a longtime friend that lost her brother just days ago. My heart hurt, and my eyes welled with tears knowing how difficult this Thanksgiving would be for each of them. And then I shed a few at the empty chair at our table. Although this is now our third holiday season with BJ’s empty chair at our table, it makes us remember the times his chair wasn’t empty.

Then I became Thankful for family members that survived to sit with their family another year. A brother-in-law that, in the nick of time, found he was having heart issues and underwent heart surgery and spared my sister the pain of losing her husband of 50+ years. A niece that was in a terrible car accident and, not only survived but walked away physically unscathed, sparing another sister the pain I have experienced of losing a child.

Being Thankful for what we have and the memories we have made is healing. On this drive my thoughts moved from thankfulness to a specific Thanksgiving memory. In 2010, Dillon spent the holiday weekend with his dad, so I decided to head over the mountain to BJ’s. The weather and road conditions were not great that year and I was driving BJ’s little pickup…rear wheel drive. I bought a pair of used studded tires for it and had some chains too. I’m a “planner” by nature; I put together all the things I would need “just in case”. “In case” I spun out, went off the road, and landed far enough off the road that passerby’s might not see me. Yes, that is what my brain does! I had a survival kit that included foods with protein, water, candles, lighters, matches, etc. I borrowed 250 lbs. of sandbags. I had a tarp, a gas can, and the non-studded back tires were left in the back of the pickup “just in case”…I could throw them on the fire I would make to keep warm, heat food, and make a beacon in the woods so I could be found.  Well, preparing paid off because I didn’t spin out and fly off the road to need a fire to be the beacon for me to be found! However, this long drive did take 7 hours instead of 3½. Worst drive over the mountain ever! Best Thanksgiving in Prineville with BJ ever!

This is what keeps me going; the memories, the love, and family. I am a survivor. I am grieving. I am Thankful. Thankful for the years and the Thanksgiving’s spent with BJ. Thankful to have a family to sit around the table with. Thankful to know amidst the pain of grief, I have the joy of memories.

What Am I Thankful For?

I am thankful for 35 years, 5 months, and 4 days with you.

I am thankful God chose me to be your mother.

I am thankful for all the memories you left me with.

I am thankful you never gave up; not even in your darkest hours.

I am thankful you brought humor and love into our lives.

I am thankful you touched so many others with your charismatic personality.

I am thankful you lived your life to the fullest and with no fear.

I am thankful you loved me as much as I love you.

I am thankful to look forward to eternity with you.

So, what am I thankful for? You. I am thankful for you.

I Never Went Away

They’re gone and now you’ve realized you will never see them again, never hear their voice again, or never have their arms wrapped around you in one of their sought-after bear hugs. This is one of the crushing realities of death and death is a crushing reality of life. It’s the part of life that isn’t typically talked about; discussion that might even be avoided at all costs. It’s a crippling reality; it cripples our thoughts, our movements, and sometimes even friendships. Death is best understood by those that have had to endure that unthinkable experience; often the loss of a grandparent or parent comes first. That was my first experience…the elders in my life. Even that does NOT prepare you to lose your very own child; a man that was once your baby, a baby that taught you how to love another unconditionally…a part of you.

A couple of weeks ago I blogged about the Extraordinary Gifts he left us with. What I didn’t share, at that time, is a gift I experienced that week. A gift that shook me to my core, melted my heart, and brought tears to my eyes. I was driving home from my last conference road trip of the fall season; a five-hour jaunt from just north of the California border. The drive was long and long drives lends time for deep thought. As I was getting closer to Portland, I was texting (hands -free!) with Dillon (BJ’s youngest brother) so he’d know when to expect me to pick him up.  When I got within a 30-minute range, I called him…just to hear his voice. But I didn’t hear his voice. I was once again crippled in the moment; crippled at the voice I heard. It didn’t sound like the Dillon I left behind a few days ago. This was a deeper voice and I had to ask who I was talking to. He said, “it’s me mom, Dillon.” I heard those words, “it’s me mom” and I had to maintain composure. You see, I didn’t hear Dillon on the other end of that phone call…I heard BJ. It was chilling. I even thought I might be losing “it”. I kept talking…just to hear the voice…although Dillon was busy with friends and didn’t want to entertain mom’s idea of a lengthy phone conversation. We hung up and I sobbed. I wanted to continue hearing the voice, BJ’s voice, that I was hearing. Is that wrong? Does that make me crazy? Is it out of line to want to talk to one son to hear the other sons voice? I don’t know. I rationalized my thoughts all the way to picking him up. He got in the car and asked, “did you notice my voice, mom? I think it dropped again. Can you tell?” I was driving so I couldn’t look at him, but I quietly responded, “yes, I heard you and yes, your voice dropped.” He sensed something was up and I’ve always been honest with my kids, so I told him what I heard, what I thought…I told him he has BJ’s “phone voice.” He smiled and said, “really?”  I responded, “I think so.” In the moment, was I missing BJ so much that I conjured that up in my heard. I thought I might never know. I talked to Dillon on the phone again the other day and sure enough, I heard BJ’s voice again. I can’t even begin to explain this, but I think it is another extraordinary gift we have been left with; another little piece of him to live on.

At this point, you might think I am crazy, or you might even want to pick up the phone and call his little brother…just to see for yourself. If you have lost a loved one and experience something similar, you are blessed. Keep your mind and heart open to the possibilities and the extraordinary gifts of the one(s) you’ve lost. Will you hear their voice in your son, will you see their smile on your daughter’s face, or will you note your grandchild has the same dimples or eyes or personality? It might be a gradual presence, or it might be sudden, but it is a gift and a piece of them; a blessing to us.

Day of the Dead: A Halloween Remembrance

Have you lost an adult child that left behind a surviving child? Well, I did and it’s the single most precious gift that he left me. Beyond all the photos, shirts, this and that…he left me a granddaughter. I miss him terribly and I am having another difficult week. I’m finding it difficult to focus, I have like no energy, and all I want to do is sit in my chair and work on my computer…where I can be productive and creative and feel worthwhile.

I am thankful for the time I have with his daughter and that her mom and I have managed to forge our way through the mess of their then pending divorce, his death, and her new marriage. I know, with every ounce of my being, that the one thing BJ would want from all of us is to maintain a relationship with his daughter. The rest of it is just stuff. In death, we often lose sight of that. More people care about the “belongings” than the survivors and I find that so sad. Don’t get me wrong, I treasure each and everything that BJ ever made me, gave me, or left me with. But not one “thing” I treasure more than his beautiful offspring. She is a delight, headstrong, beautiful, and demanding…all wrapped up in a sweet little package that is part her mom and part her dad.

Having lost Dillon’s dad two years prior to losing BJ, I know the challenges that Carrie will go through with Cheyenne. Thankfully, she does have someone that is walking this journey with her. I didn’t and still don’t have that. I face each and every day on my own; a single mom and the only parent. Now, I know some of you may have gotten tripped up on my statement that “she has someone walking this journey with her.” Carrie and I have discussed the situation of her and BJ’s pending divorce at the time of his death and her other relationship at that time. Regardless of all else, BJ would want the focus to be about our relationships with Chey. I cannot hold Carrie hostage because of the past and her choices. I can agree that it hurt me and to move on; which is what I have done. Life is just too short, period.

Last weekend, for the first time, I got to see Cheyenne play soccer…I especially loved watching her “tell” one of her teammates what she was supposed to be doing on the field. She is a little “driver”! Afterwards we went to lunch and then she spent the night at a hotel with D and I. We did nothing special, but the time together was very special. We all agreed it was great just to hang out in our room, watching TV, playing, wrestling around, and just being together. Thankfully suites in Prineville are pretty inexpensive…thank you Best Western! We had a living room area which made the stay much more home like!

On Sunday, we enjoyed breakfast before checking out and then made a stop at the Dollar Store to pick up a few fun Halloween decorations to take to the Cross. We spent a bit of time cleaning the area around the cross and decorating it before taking Chey home. Then came the news; totally unexpected. Carrie and Kevin told me that the property of the accident site (and now home of the Cross) has been sold. Holy smokes, I didn’t even realize it was on the market. Regardless, the new owner, a military man would rather not have a cross there as it is a reminder of too many other ones he has seen during his tenure in the military. I can’t blame him for that; although I could not hold back the tears at that news. Apparently, the new owner has plans to build a fence around his property; can’t blame him for that either. Carrie explained to him what the Cross and that spot means to Cheyenne and BJ’s family/friends. In lieu of a cross, he is having a plaque made, powder-coated in green (BJ’s favorite color) and hung as part of the fence. He is doing this at his own expense. I hope to meet this man one day and thank him for allowing us to continue our grieving process with having a place to symbolize our remembrance of the loving father, beloved son, and wonderful brother he is.

Extraordinary Gifts

Oh, my dear son, how can it possibly two years since our world was shocked and our lives changed? It feels like yesterday AND it feels like forever. Will I ever forget that reeling moment when my world crumbled at the news of your tragic accident and the thought of life without you on earth?

I write about my memories and my journey, but I still have an empty hole of loss in me. I hole that can choke me in a nanosecond when I deeply think of you and how much I miss you. There are moments when just a single little thought of you can fill my eyes with tears and that’s when it happens. That hole surfaces and chokes me, I have to catch my breath and reel myself back in.  I can’t say, “back to reality”, because this is my reality…you are gone, and I miss you to the point of crying, choking, questioning, and wondering. I bring myself back to realizing the loss and knowing that I can control the suffering I experience. I know it’s not going to go away, but it is manageable.

You have left us with extraordinary gifts and extraordinary memories. I see your smile in the picture that hangs on the wall across from where I sit and work on my computer and in that picture, I see my son; a man who was filled with love, laughter, and despite any challenges life brought you, your smile tells me you had a happy life. That picture was taken the day your daughter was born, but we have a million more like it…smiles, smiles, smiles. Seeing your smile brings a smile and tears to me. I smile because, even in a photo, your smile is infectious (an extraordinary gift), and I have tears because I know you were happy, and I am sad you are gone. These are not the rolling tears of loss, but the one tear that pockets the outer corner of my eye and just reminds me of what a wonderful human you were and how much happiness you brought to others. I always knew in my darkest moments and circumstances you were only a phone call away. You knew exactly the thing to say to calm my spirit and bring me back to reality. Reality…that the mass in my kidney wasn’t life altering and that I would be ok, that I could manage this one Easter without any of my children or grandchildren with me just by praying to “My God” for comfort, that your brother has a good head on his shoulders and could manage his life and would be ok even though I was worried about the “what if’s”…he was an adult and would be ok, that I wouldn’t have Fibromyalgia forever, but that I had to be the one to fight it every day and take as little medication as possible. Likely only Carrie knew the depth of my conversations with BJ. He never rushed the conversations and he always made me feel like he was listening to me. He knew if I was making one of “those” phone calls, I was in crisis mode and feeling distraught. I think he also knew that he needed to be the one to listen and bring me from the proverbial ledge. I just needed to talk, he needed to listen, and he needed to tell me everything would work itself out and it always did. Two years ago, in my moment of “real” crisis, I couldn’t call him, he couldn’t talk me off the ledge, and he was the reason I was in crisis. My boy was gone. In the blink of an eye, he was no longer here, and that’s what ensues to rolling tears. Tears that have blurred my vision. Tears that must be wiped before I can continue typing. The tears that come from a hurt heart and broken spirit.

I had a unique relationship with my boy; all my boys really. Although BJ was the first “crisis” phone call, I knew Bryan was the second and has now become the first. Bryan’s later years have been filled with more kids, more family, and more stuff going on, which makes me think twice before burdening him with my “moments”. Although, I know he would listen, we would talk, and he would bring me back to reality and he does in the moments I really need it. Each of my sons also know that I am their rock, I am here for their crisis, I am here to listen, I am here to talk, and I will always have the rope to pull them back from the ledge. I think BJ appreciated that in his “crisis moments” I would be honest and logical with solicited advice. I refrained from telling him what I knew he wanted me say in lieu of honesty. I sometimes got the “but, mom…blah, blah, blah” and I would explain further. He would usually respond with, “I hadn’t really thought of it that way.” And I would respond with, “I know. That’s why you called me.” Bryan is much more reserved and he’s only in crisis when it’s truly a crisis and then he calls upon mom and I know I need to be honest and to the point. He doesn’t need or want the 10-15 minutes of why’s and how’s that BJ needed. He’s in that moment and this is going on and he wants the bottom line of my thoughts or my help. Dillon, on the other hand, is just entering teen hood and he just needs to share what’s going on, needs me to listen, talk himself through it and for Heaven sakes he is a teen he knows what to do and has all the answers himself! LOL God bless the teen years!

Oh, the teen years and the memories BJ has left me with and how Dillon brings them flooding back. So…BJ and I may have butted heads a lot during the young “teen” years and Déjà vu…here we go again! BJ, Dillon, and Mom…well, we all have “strong” personalities. So, it’s no wonder there is some parenting resistance I get when they are teens…figuring out how to be adults and already know everything there is to know. Perhaps you have one of “those” teens. 😊  For me, reliving this with Dillon, brings back memories with BJ. Thank you, Bryan, for being my calm. My son has left me with a lot of memories: some good, some better…but all extraordinary!

Take time to capture moments and turn them into extraordinary memories. Learn to recognize the extraordinary gifts from each of your loved ones, some day that might be all you have to hang on to.

This is the smile I see every day

and tells me you were a happy man.

A Million Little Things...

Maybe you’ve seen that new show on TV…A million little things…or maybe not. Today, in all my chaos, I was thinking about BJ and all the things that remind me of him. It’s a million little things… old Willy’s… Ford trucks… snow… Monster energy drinks… Mexican food… four wheelin’… Quads… Bloody Mary’s… Halloween… Coors Light… bacon… his brothers… his friends… and his daughter. It’s a million little things throughout the day. It’s nothing said. It’s everything said. It’s seeing real things. It’s seeing things in my head. It’s a feeling. It’s painful. It’s joyful. It’s a million little things.

Tomorrow he will celebrate his second birthday in Heaven and we will mourn two years without him. I think about it and I cry. How can it possibly be two years already when it feels like yesterday we were sitting in my living room laughing about his shenanigans, while at the same time it feels like a million years since I hugged him.

My heart is heavy. I don’t have the ability to hold back the tears as a knot forms in my throat. He was not supposed to go before me. I am not supposed to feel this kind of loss. And yet…he did and I am.

If I could say anything to him, it would be… BJ, my head tells me that you would want us all to continue living, but my heart aches with sadness and my tears fill the ocean. I get by; some days are better than others. You were a good son. You filled my life with laughter, smiles, and love. You ran from me when you were a toddler, you challenged me as a teen, and you ran back to me when you needed advice as an adult. You gave me strength to discipline and heart to love unconditionally. You shared your life and your friends with me. You gave me a granddaughter to cherish. You often knew the right words to say to encourage me, to comfort me, or to light a fire under me. Regardless, you knew me well…as I knew you well. I am your mother, you are my son, and we were friends. I miss you as much today as I did when I got the news on October 21, 2016. I’m just learning to manage the pain and the loss…PS…I’m still hearing stories about things I didn’t know. 😉

I just cannot stress enough…remember to show your love and appreciation to others. Someday you might miss them and want to hug them, but they’ll be gone. You might want to hang out around the bonfire with them, but you’ll tell stories about them instead. You hope to be the one to walk them down the aisle, but you’re gone. Death is part of life; it’s the part we want to ignore. Life is filled with a million little things. Don’t take those little things for granted, someday they’ll only be memories.

Going Down the Rabbit Hole

Songs and thoughts. Do you ever find yourself listening to your music and hearing the same old songs, but today you either heard something different in the music or your thoughts went deeper and started running amok? Well, that happens to me a lot. I’ll be singing along and the next thing I know I’ve went down the rabbit hole. No longer am I listening to the words but I’m thinking about my kids…all of them. I have just died, and I am joyfully reunited with BJ, my parents, and others that have gone before me. I am meeting some of my grandparents for the first time. I’m happy, but then I am sad. I have just realized that I won’t see my “alive” family again…for a while or will it be forever? I am now consumed with how they will feel losing me and have I expressed “enough” love to each of them to sustain them through their loss. Have I left them with enough words for them to know that I want them to rejoice that I am home with my Father and reunited with my son. Although I would never choose one child over another; meaning I am not so consumed in grief that I desire to end my life to be with BJ, I would rejoice that reunion. The same as I would then rejoice the reunion with my other children when it is their time to join us for eternity.

Do you ever go down this rabbit hole? Do songs trigger thoughts? Do you ever get caught up in the “what-ifs”? I do; when I least expect them. Sometimes they are happy and other times they are not. Even though today’s brought joy at the thought of reuniting with lost loved ones, it also brought tears at the thought of the day I will leave my other loved ones. Like many of you, I love my family and friends intensely. My loss won’t be hard on me; it will be hard on them. They will want to pick up the phone and “text” (because that’s the day we live in) mom a million times, only to realize she doesn’t have or need a phone in Heaven. It took many years before the thought of picking up the phone to call mom dissipated. I’ve gotten through my journey of losing my parents as I know my survivors will get through theirs, but I cry for their initial shock because I know I am loved, and I know the devastation of loss only too well.

Hug your babies and express your love. Today is all we have, tomorrow is not promised.

The Day We Become Aware

So often we take things for granted in our everyday life; until we lose someone. That’s the day we become highly aware of our surroundings, the people in our lives, and how the little things matter the most. Often, we’re also unaware of our presence in others' lives. We simply don’t know if we’ve made an impact on someone, have influenced someone’s life, or how we’ve touched others' lives.

This week I was blessed, with not one, but two people that reached out to me. One wrote: “Hey Peggy, I just wanted to let you know I thought about you today. I’m writing a paper about my childhood development and who influenced me. I thought of you because you always made me feel safe and, whether I liked it or not, you always set clear boundaries and expectations. (I fully understand the importance of that now 😊.) Love ya.” Not only did that completely melt my heart and bring a tear to my eye, I was totally unaware of her feelings on our relationship in her adolescence. She has grown into a wonderful young woman with a beautiful sole. I love that girl!

The other shared with me, and then on Facebook, how much BJ impacted her life and influenced who she is today. She wrote: “I want you to know no matter what happened with me and BJ I ALWAYS had fun with him, he always made me smile, and brought out great parts of me that I didn’t know existed! He taught me how to have fun sober, off meth. He was a big part in my recovery. I could have never thanked him enough that he was part of my life. BTW: still clean! One more thing…Peggy, thank you for always making me feel at home when home was so far away. Means a lot. I’ll always remember how kind & sweet you were when I was with BJ too; it means a lot! I love you!” First, I never knew she was a recovering addict and hearing her story is a blessing beyond words. Second, it doesn’t surprise me what she wrote about BJ because he was that way with people. He wanted to have fun and he truly cared about people; especially his people. Shortly out of high school, he helped another young gal with her recovery. I used to carry her before/after photos with me, because I had such amazement at how beautiful she was in the after photos and how those two photos were so different from each other. It brings such joy to hear these sentiments about my son. I wish he knew how much he was loved and how much he touched lives.

In times of grief, it is nice to get a break from the sorrow and loss we feel, to feel joy. This week, during the midst of prepping to be out of town for work later in the month, I was blessed to have people brighten my day with their memories and their kindness. The world needs more of that. Grief can suck everything out of you. It can leave you feeling lonely and wondering… “what really matters in life?” This, what I write today, that’s what really matters; touching someone’s life, sharing and thanking someone that has touched your life, and knowing to be grateful for everyday moments. Be grateful for the things so often taken for granted.

As I Sit Here...

It’s a beautiful sunny day in the Pacific Northwest. I’m so blessed to have a job where I get to sit in my comfy clothes, look out my office window to the vibrant fall colors, and feel the warm breeze blow across my desk. I’m fortunate to know that my day ends when I say it ends. I can, and do, work at all hours of the day and night. I am not restricted to 8-5 or rush hour traffic. For this, I am humbly blessed.

It also means that I can grieve to my heart's content, if it even has a content to grieve. Kind of sounds like an oxymoron! If I feel a struggle to stay focused, I can walk away and resume when I’m feeling it. I can hop up every hour to walk myself dizzy for this little thing on my arm called a Fitbit. I can sit and stare out my window wondering how I’ve survived nearly two years without my son when at first, I struggled to understand how I would make it through the next hour. The only answer I have is, one day at a time. One day he was here, the next he was not. That was the day I became a different person. The day I became a mom of a child in Heaven. The day I struggled to find the strength to get up and get dressed every day.

As I sit here; 23 months and 8 days later, still struggling to understand why, still crying at the memories that fill my mind, and still longing to see him drive up, walk in, and give me a great big “BJ” hug. That is the torment. That is the struggle. That is what finishes this post with tears and sorrow, longing for one more moment or one more hug. But, in my heart, I know “one more” would not be enough. So, I will continue to hold on to the memories and the joy that he brought to my life and feel humbly blessed that God gave him to me for 35 years, 5 months, 4 days, and 7 hours.

So Much to Remember

I woke up after about a 12-hour nap, grabbed my coffee and then my computer to relax before working today. As I sat down to relax for a few minutes and catch up on “my” world news, I was horrified to see the first thing pop-up on my laptop…”Post to BJ’s Blog”!!! OMGosh, NOOOOOOOOOOOO! How could I possibly forget to post to his blog yesterday…Forget You Not Friday, his day!? What’s done is done, so here I am on Saturday writing what was intended for yesterday. But first, let me tell you…

I’ve shared that for a little over a year I was dealing with Frozen Shoulder and Shoulder Impingement. I spent this past July in physical therapy and during my last visit, I recall telling the therapist that I had been having quite a few headaches recently and wasn’t sure if it was the heat, after effects of PT, or just what. She worked with me and noticed that my head was not in good alignment with my shoulders, (which should’ve been my first clue to go to the chiropractor), so I have been doing some exercises for that. Well my friends, (you are all my friends, right?! Lol) the headaches have been coming and going…every few days. I still don’t know why, but I have been doing anything and everything to keep them at bay; all-natural muscle relaxers at night, essential oils, Salonpas, heating pad, ice, Epsom baths, and this week, I added Turmeric to my regimen. This week, the only two days I did not have a headache were Tuesday and Wednesday. Some end up so debilitating I have to lay down for a while. Yesterday, I decided it had been far too long since I had been to the chiropractor and could feel the knots and restrictions in my neck and shoulders. OMGosh…I sounded like a bag of popcorn in the microwave on high heat!!! I couldn’t believe just how far out of adjustment my upper body was, and I was thankful for the relief. I came home, took a hot Epsom bath and retired to my room to rest for a while. Little did I know I would fall asleep, miss my post, and wake up Saturday morning. So, there you have it. The reason I missed #ForgetYOUnotFriday post; because life is life and we are human, and grief takes a toll on our body…mentally, emotionally, AND physically! So, if you forget, don’t be too hard on yourself…what’s done is done. Give yourself a break and move-on.

I was giving thought throughout the week to my post, I kept thinking, “One minute he was here and the next minute he was gone. One minute my world was normal and the next minute it was changed forever.” You might see me and think, “gosh, she’s doing really great.” Of course, I am! At the same time, I am crying inside. I have grieved, and I am still grieving, but I am also living life. It’s ok to have fun and do normal things; it is not being disrespectful to the one(s) you lost. In my opinion, it is respectful of them and their memory. I cannot imagine anyone wanting their loved ones to stop living because they did. For some, it will take longer to get to a place where they are not consumed with their loss and to a place where they carry the memory of that person with them daily. Losing your child, no matter their age, is likely the worst day of your life and the worst experience of your life. For me it is. One day I was working, laughing, and excited for what was to come. The next day I was grieving, crying, and wondering how I could possibly go on. One minute I was wrapping up some after-conference things and the next minute I was reading a Facebook direct message (DM) indicating something was going on with my son. A message that prompted me to text Bryan, “Have you heard anything about BJ?” And the next minute, this mama got that dreaded phone call…that he was gone. That’s the moment my world crashed, I started crying, and inside I have never stopped.

What’s done is done. I cannot change it. I cannot bring my son back. I can intentionally “Keep Calm and Carry On”. I can live everyday knowing that he is still with us. He lives on through his daughter, mother, father, brothers, nieces, nephews, (etc., etc., etc.)…through every life he touched. He lives on. His memory is a light inside of us. BJ might be gone from earth, but he’s alive in us. He can never die again, and I can never experience the loss of him again. He was made new and given eternal life. He WILL be waiting for us on the other side. In the blink of an eye I lost my sweet boy, and in the blink of an eye, we will be together again. 

When You Think You Can't Go On...

I think I can finally see some beauty in the aftermath of my son’s death. One thing has stood out to me this week; the relationships that have formed because of him. I know I have mentioned this in previous blog posts, but it is truly beautiful to see connections that have come from this tragedy: friends in Central Oregon now connected with friends in the valley, cousins connected with friends, both brothers being cared for and loved by his friends, and I now have more kids that call me “mom”. It reaches far beyond and deeper than this.

I have a new friend that I’ve never even met. I live on the west coast and she lives on the east coast. She shares her daughter, son-in-law (one of BJ’s dearest friends), and grandchildren with me. I only know her through her family, through Facebook, and through my son. I find her words encouraging and her friendship unconditional. Although she doesn’t know firsthand the loss of a child, she is compassionate to what it must feel like. She lifts me up with her thoughtful messages. Denise Satterfield is my sister from the Heavenly Mister and a gift from my son.

My son was born with a hole in his heart and he died leaving one in mine. A hole that was once filled with anguish and heartache, is now being filled with renewed hope and new relationships. Before he left he brought me another daughter to love. I only met “Chicka” twice before he died, but our friendship has flourished through our loss. She lost her mother nearly four years ago and then BJ, only a few months into their newfound love. Because of him, I have another child to love and she has another mother watching out for her; neither relationship replacing the original. You can’t replace a child and you can’t replace a parent, but you can have enough love to build a new bond and that is how I think of my friendship with Teri. We will never know how their relationship would have turned out, but I am grateful he left us to be a gift to each other.

I have spent much time reflecting this week. Today is Rich’s 4^th Birthday in Heaven! Although we miss him terribly, I am grateful “his boy” is working his way through the tragedies that were placed on him four years ago. I know Rich watches proudly from Heaven.  When Dillon knew what was going to happen and he knew BJ was in town, he asked if he could come over and of course, he was there for us. As Dillon was playing outside in the evening, he looked across the patio to see his dad sitting at the end of the patio table smiling at him. Just as Dillon was ready to run to him, one of the kids ran out of the house door and broke the sight line. Dillon realized his dad was not actually there. A little while later, we received the call letting us know his dad had passed on. I explained to Dillon, his dad stopped in to see him on his way to Heaven. He needed to see that Dillon would be ok and Dillon needed to see his dad's smile one last time. Dillon embraced that his dad loved him so much he saw him last.

From that moment forward, BJ and Bryan played a monumental role in Dillon’s life. Bryan was there for the everyday love and guidance and BJ seemed to take special time for Dillon whenever he could. In Dillon’s mind, BJ was fulfilling the role his dad left. He always made time for him, helped him, played with him, and made sure he knew he was always there for him. When BJ died, Dillon was devastated. Not just in losing his big brother, but he said, “BJ was kind of like a dad to me too, mom and he was always there for me after my dad died.” Those words still choke me up and bring tears to my eyes. Our loss has been devastating, but from devastation we have found perseverance and new hope. Dillon has never looked for a “father replacement” but he is aware that he does not have many men role models that he feels readily connected to. Let’s face it, life is busy, and people are sometimes too busy to take someone else’s child “under their wing”. Sorry, but that is a fact! He feels that Bryan is the “main man” in his life; to learn from, to ask things, and to look up to. He sees him most and Bryan is always willing to help him, talk to him, or just hang out with him. We both know we have many that pray for us and many that are “here” for us and we don’t take that for granted. We are blessed. Four years later; we are still grieving, but we are persevering.

Grayland, WA. | Photography by Dillon McCarthy.

Missed Beyond Measure

I think many people have went through grief and they don’t even realize it. The first recognizable time I went through grief was nearly twenty years ago. As a counselor put it, I was grieving the loss of my marriage. Many of the symptoms then resemble symptoms now. I never really thought about grief by divorce, but it sure enough was. I was grieving the loss of life as I knew it, family as I knew it, my best friend, and my husband. There was life B.D. (Before Divorce) and life A.D. (After Divorce). It was difficult to navigate. I had been married nearly twenty years, we had two children together, two dogs, and a nice home. He was my best friend for the better part of that twenty years. We were high school sweethearts that married right out of high school and began our family soon thereafter.

A few years A.D. I lost my mother to sudden death, a few more years and my father died, I had severe and debilitating Fibromyalgia for nearly five years…this was my first 10 years of grief. Then I began my life renewed. I began a new career, I moved to a new home, we started Dillon in a new school, my older boys got married and started having babies. Life was good! I liked this new life. I survived divorce, the death of both parents, and a horrible disease. Grief is a process; a journey. We stumble, we lean, we fall, and we learn how to get back up. We are changed, and we become stronger, more confident, and more aware of our circumstance and our life. We know what we want, what we need, and what we will settle for.

And just as I’m getting comfortable in life again, it happens. Grief knocks on my door. It is the uninvited guest no one wants to have. Four years ago, Dillon’s dad had a stroke and eight days later he was gone. I had to do the unimaginable; tell him good-bye and tell him Dillon would be ok and I would take good care of him. I knew he could hear me; his heart rate increased while I spoke about Dillon. As difficult as that was, the next few months were nearly unbearable. I had to help my 10-year-old son through his journey of grief. My focus had to be on my child, after all I am an adult, and shouldn’t grief be easier for me? Grief is not easier for adults; it is different for everyone and with every loss. I found myself processing this loss by myself, in silence.

Just as we were coming to terms and learning to live life without his dad, BJ died. How cruel. How brutal. How unfair. Yes, I felt all those things and so much more! Dillon wonders, “whose next?” I still wonder why? Why does my little boy have to go through so much loss? Why did we lose his dad? Why did God take BJ? Why can’t I be more? Why can’t I feel like I’m doing everything right? Why can’t I feel like I am enough of a parent for Dillon? Why can’t the pain just stop?

I don’t have all the answers to why, but I do know that I am stronger than I was four years ago. I am stronger than I was two years ago. I am navigating my way. My sharing my journey is comfort to someone, brings peace in a moment, and has helped me express the heartache that no parent should ever have to feel. Grief is not just a journey; it is a new form of one’s self and a forever changed life.

For those that are grieving, remember to do something for you. Take care of you…every day take care of yourself. Start simple by getting out of bed. And a couple of days later, get out of bed and get dressed.  The first few weeks after BJ’s death, I got up and I got dressed…I felt accomplished and I knew he would be proud of me. I can count on one hand the days I stayed in bed or that I grabbed my laptop and worked from my bed; less than five days in almost a two-year span is pretty good! Find something that works for you; something attainable and just do it. I can honestly say; I am still in pain, I miss him more than anything, and I am one of his survivors. I am surviving, I am stronger, and yes, I am still in pain.

For the Very Last Time

How can it possibly be almost two years already?

Two years since you took your daughter to school, for the very last time.

Two years since you took her school clothes shopping, for the very last time.

Two years since you sent me a picture of her first day of school, for the very last time.

Two years since you played with her at the park, for the very last time.

Two years since you took her camping, for the very last time.

Two years since you held her, hugged her, and told her you love her, for the very last time.

Two years since you roared into my driveway late at night for your last weekend in “the valley”, for the very last time.

Two years since I saw your beautiful smile.

Two years since I heard your voice.

Two years since I laughed with you.

Two years since I heard more incredible stories of your summer shenanigans.

Two years since I hugged you.

Two years since I heard you say, “Love you, Mom.”

Two years since your brothers saw their big brother.

Two years since your father talked to you on the phone.

Two years since your nieces and nephews ran around the yard with you.

Two years since your daughter lost her father and her life was changed forevermore.

I could go on forever, because the pain is so real and still so raw sometimes…like today. My eyes are a well for the tears and my throat has a lump that catches my breath. I try to swallow as I try to hold back the tears, but it’s no use. There is a part of me that feels empty and a part of me that still has many tears for you. Life goes on and yet, some days, I stop. Grief has knocked the breath out of me and altered my life.

Grief is often thought of as a destructive intruder and not many realize that it is one of the most powerful teachers to learn from. To embrace grief, allows you to walk through it, learn from it, learn how to love others much more deeply, and how to love God despite it. Grief often takes a person on a journey of anger with God. Anger is also a natural part of the process. The key words, “part of.” Don’t let it become your entire process. Allow grief to be your teacher, so that you can live a fuller life and not take ordinary moments for granted. Grief is like a torrential storm that uproots all things familiar, but after the storm life becomes clear and gives you new perspective on everything that matters.

Tomorrow is the first day of September and seems to begin my difficult season. September 14, 2014, we lost Dillon’s dad. October 20, 2016, we lost our son, our brother, our uncle, our friend, and Cheyenne’s beloved “daddy”. I will remain hopeful for what God has planned in my future and in the future of those I love. Grief has given me the opportunity to know and understand God at a richer and more intimate level. Grief has allowed me to experience God’s hope and love that only He can pour into a hurting heart; my hurting heart. He never fails me. He always comforts me.

Gaining Perspective

Occasionally, but not very often, I find myself going back through my blog posts and wondering, “What made that one so popular? How come so many people read that one? What is it that people are getting from this post?” Some that have been read 150 or 200 times, I will read again. And then, I get it. I cry again at what I wrote, and I remember what I was feeling as I wrote it. So, even if it’s been a year, it still makes me emotional. I can also see how it might relate to anyone grieving and at any part of their journey. That just hit me today, as I reread My World Would Be So Different and For the LOVE of Bacon!. Although these two posts are quite different, I can see how they might bring comfort to someone grieving and that they might look for the joy amid their sorrow.

Grief is a terrible thing to endure. It leaves you with many questions along the way, but only one that is constant; why? I suppose I will never really know why we lost BJ so soon. I do know his presence impacted many lives and many more that I didn’t even know about. As a mom, all I can do is find joy in that and carry-on. Some days are harder than others, some days more tears flow than others, and some days I am flooded with more happy memories than others. But, every day is a good day and I’m living my life; which is exactly what BJ would want. I know he smiles when he sees his family with his daughter, his friends visiting other friends that are connected because of him, and at the amazement and wonderment of his growing daughter and all that she is. BJ loved his family, he loved his friends, and he loved his daughter most of all. If we can keep these things in perspective of the ones we lose, I believe we can navigate our journey of grief.  

I AM Prepared

I have struggled about what to write today. My mind is going in a million directions and there are so many things about what is on my mind that bring up thoughts of BJ.

I’m planning four days in Central Oregon next week with family. Always…always…always a trip over the mountain brings thoughts of BJ. How much he loved living there. How he found his way in life living there. How his most precious day ever, when his baby girl was born, was when he was living there. How he loved the climate there. How he loved the adventures there. How he loved the friends he made there. How his life really began, and how it ended, there. Sigh.

I’m planning my birthday weekend; another trip to the coast. Two years ago, on my birthday, was the last time I saw BJ, the last time I hugged BJ, and the last time he walked through my door. He was in late and out early and gone in between. He was happy that weekend; the happiest I had seen him in quite a long time. He was starting to figure out life after marriage, life as a single parent, and how to date again. He’s like me; he could look at the prospect of “life after” and get excited for the unknown, what was to come, and what adventure was next. His “life after” ended soon thereafter and his “after life” began.

I listen to Dillon be excited about learning to drive and what kind of car should he buy first. Buy first? Ha! Son, it’s what kind of car can you afford (period, no first about it!). LOL, I listen as he tells me why it might be a Mustang and what years and styles he likes. I listen as he tells me why it might be a Jeep and what styles he likes of those. The list goes on and YES, it very much reminds me of BJ and his love of cars and how many could he possibly own? Oh, I don’t know? How much acreage do you have? The boys and their toys!

So, yes, my mind is all over the place today. Am I grieving? Yes. Am I in a good place in my journey? Yes. Do I still have a rough journey ahead? Likely. Am I prepared? Yes. I am prepared for every day thoughts that lead to every day thoughts of BJ. I am prepared to laugh at some and cry at others. I am prepared to continue to live life without my son, knowing that I will be with him again one day. I am prepared to live life without expectations of what’s next. I am grieving. I am a survivor. I am prepared.

Every Day Miracles

Last week I blogged about being surrounded by others that have lost loved ones and the unique relationships that can be built through loss. This week I’m going to talk about how terrible, but “non-fatal”, accidents can bring people together and give a new perspective on life that can be found in surviving.

We hear about them all the time; terrible accidents. Accidents in which people respond, “they are lucky to be alive”, and they are. For the past few weeks I have been following the journey of one very lucky lady…that I don’t even know. She attends our church and attends college at the same campus Dillon will be attending high school. In mid-July, three young ladies were on their way to a young-adult Bible camp with anticipation of fun, spiritual growth, and new connections. Of these three, I am familiar with one although I do not know her…her mom was one of Dillon’s grade school teachers. In a nutshell, they were in a terrible accident; two were ambulanced to a local hospital, treated and released and the other was life-flighted to another hospital with life threatening injuries and not expected to make it through the night. You can read Rachel’s story HERE, because it is not my story to tell and you will only experience the compassion and love for this young woman’s courage by reading about her. By God’s Grace, she did make it through the night and continues to have “every day miracles” in her recovery.

Earlier this week, I read about a teenage girl contemplating jumping from a bridge into the water below; however, as she stood there looking at the three stories below she was changing her mind. Apparently, a friend wanted to help her do what she intended and gave her a shove. Thankfully, and by God’s Grace, she survived the terrible fall; although it is likely a life-changing experience for her, her family, and her friend. This morning I learned that a family member was in a rollover car accident a couple of nights ago. I do not know of any particulars; only that she suffered minor injuries and the driver that “hit and ran” has been located and arrested. I am thankful my sister does not have to go through what I have.

Each time I hear that someone nearly lost a loved one, but they survived, I am shaken. My first thought is that I am thankful the family didn’t receive the news I received when BJ died. I am thankful that those in the accident were given the chance to stay on earth with their family. And then, I cry tears for the families…the parents…the siblings…the good friends…that they were spared the journey of grief. That they still have their loved one and that they don’t have to plan a funeral or Celebration of Life. That they can be next to their loved one through their recovery, they can still hug them, and they can hear the three little words I miss so much, “I love you”.  One of the “every day miracles” I speak of about Rachel is how excited her loved ones were that she learned to sign “I love you” and that she is learning to breath the words too. They wait for the day they can hear her sweet voice again. Until we meet again, I will not hear, “I love you” from BJ, but I can still hear his voice on recordings that I have and for that I am very thankful. I still don’t know why I wasn’t one of the mom’s that was spared her son, but I am grateful that God has not left me through this journey. He has made me stronger, more compassionate, and able to see the joy for the parents that are spared. 

Helping and Coping

Even though we all go through grief in our own way and our own time; we have one thing in common…we are grieving. As I’m nearly two years post-death with the loss of my son, I’m reminded how raw and vulnerable we are during the first few months. It’s not an easy path, but when we are forced on it we must find a way to tread the waters. My way to navigate is this blog; writing my innermost personal feelings. 

I just finished a short Bible plan with a friend that lost her dad this past spring and as I read one of her “thoughts of the day” I remembered the difficulties of being considerate of our loved ones sharing the same loss. Sometimes we want to scream or vent, but we can’t do that with the same people we are trying to comfort and care for through their loss. We do our best to be “the strong one”, but at what cost to ourselves. It becomes a balancing act of comforting others and caring for ourselves. As I comforted my 10-year-old son through the loss of his father, I only allowed myself to grieve not in his presence. I remember closing my door at night, after he was tucked in and asleep, and laying in bed sobbing; sobbing at my loss and sobbing at the loss my son was experiencing. How is it even fathomable that a 10-year-old should lose their parent? I now understand those feelings of grief prepared me for the battle of grief I would go through two years later at the loss of my own child. It is unthinkable that a parent should lose their child or that a child should lose their father and two years later, their brother.

The loss of my son’s father, Rich, has fostered many new relationships in my life. The loss of my son has allowed me to share my journey with others in hope of shedding light and hope for their own journeys. This weekend I am fortunate to spend on the sunny beaches of the Washington Coast with one of the relationships built through the loss of Rich. We are with Dillon’s stepmom and she lost her own father earlier this year. She was very close with her “daddy” and misses him terribly. I can hear the love for her father in her stories about him and in her voice when she fondly talks about him. She offered encouragement and friendship when I lost my son and I have done the same through her loss. It is strange to feel we keep bonding over loss, but it is important to know we can support one another through our journeys of grief. Sometimes, allowing others in our journey will help us cope with our loss. Reaching out to those that are grieving just might help them cope with their loss.

It's Ok to Be Ok!

When you’re in grief and often asked, “how are you doing?”,  and if you respond with, “good” does that mean you loved the person you lost any less? Absolutely not! When you are grieving and writing about your journey, in the hopes of helping other mourners, am I doing a disservice to them if I write an uplifting post rather than one from the dark side of emotions? Absolutely not! No matter where someone is in their journey, I am likely not in the same exact place as another. It is important for others that are in the first few months, or even the first year, of grief to know that it’s ok to be ok.

You are not less of a spouse, child, or parent if you are learning to navigate yourself through the journey and finding a way to be happy without them. It is important for your well-being and for those around you, that you learn to “live” on your good days and still cry when you have the urge to cry. Grief is not scientific. Grief is filled with emotions; all kinds of emotions. Good emotions and ugly emotions…and you will be doing the best for you if you learn to express them as they arrive on your doorstep.

I recall a little over a year ago; BJ had been gone just shy of six months and I had just unexpectedly lost my oldest brother, me and a couple of my sisters (and a niece) were headed to Salt Lake City to spend a few days with my brother’s family. We planned a stop our first night to have dinner and see our other two sisters for a little while. We were enjoying dinner, having fun, and kidding around…as we always do. When we were finished, we knew we needed to take pictures of the 5 of us sisters because we don’t get the chance often. Well, the goofiness continued, and it was difficult for my niece to get some good shots because someone was always doing some shenanigan. Finally, I hear an outburst from my oldest sister, “You guys knock it off; this might be the last time we’re all together!” Instantaneously I burst into tears and turned my back to hide so I could weep. I wept, not at what she said or how she said it, but because all through dinner I kept thinking to myself…this might be the last time I am with all my sisters together in one place. She said the very thing that had been on my mind. After you lose someone, that is a part of you like BJ is a part of me, your thoughts about life and loved ones change. You value them and your time with them. You know they can be gone in a blink of an eye; that is reality. My sister has not experienced death in the same way I have, and she had absolutely no idea what she said would affect me the way it did. She had no idea what to say and I could see all of them huddling together with a loss of words to me. I pulled myself together pretty quick and we continued with photos.

I shared this story because that was only a few months after losing my son, compounded by losing my brother, and I was still in a very raw state of grief. I would likely handle that comment a bit differently now and would be able to keep myself composed…or, so I think. When in grief, we don’t often know what will set our emotions spinning and often the tears just flow. Now, nearly two years after losing BJ, the tears happen less often but still seem “bunched” together. I found myself weepy two days this week, at thoughts of him, his life, and my loss of his life. He is still hugely in the forefront of my mind and thoughts; he will always be with me. I am learning to navigate my journey and to share that it’s ok to be ok. It’s ok to express happiness on good days and it’s ok to cry on bad ones.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly…and The Grateful

The Good…

I am no stranger to grief. Over the past 20 years there have been waves of loss followed by waves of grief. Each time I lose someone close to me I discover more inner strength than I ever knew I housed. This time is no different albeit this grief is so much more than any other. The Good is that I am grieving, I am walking the process, and I am learning to continue life without daily access to one of my children. I am learning it is ok to be happy and not only be happy, but to show happiness to others around me. My other children and my grandchildren need to know grandma is happy, even though I sometimes have sad days or sad moments. Overall, I am happy, and I know I have BJ’s blessing to be happy. Not only have his blessing; he would insist upon it. It is a good feeling to know that on the 21^st month anniversary of losing my oldest child, I can say, “I am happy. I am still grieving, but I am happy.” That is Good.

The Bad…

Once you lose someone; a parent, a spouse, a good friend, and especially…a child, your way of thinking changes. I’ve mentioned before that after losing my youngest sons father a natural question for him was, “if something happens to you, mom, what will happen to me?” No matter their age, you just can’t tell them, “that won’t happen, honey.” First, it’s not the truth and second, they likely won’t believe you; not even at 10 years old. After that loss, I set aside the time to get guardianship papers, a will, and life insurance in place. You would be surprised how many people think “they have time” and continually put it off. Don’t make that mistake, friend.

After loss, a difficult thing to overcome is the concern you have when you hear a family member is traveling to another state for a ball tournament, or a friend is on an adventure to another country, or even a wildfire that sounds too close to someone you know. Hearing any one of these things, I first smile…and then, involuntarily I get this vision of an accident that takes them away or causes severe injury. I can’t help it. As quick as I have that vision, most of the time I can shake it off just as quick. But there are those times that I can’t shake it off; sometimes it is a vivid dream with too many graphics and I wake up crying over the loss I experienced in my dream. Although not real, it was vivid enough to feel real. Sometimes, I even have added thoughts of grief for the families that lost their loved one…in my dream. These involuntary thoughts are part of The Bad you don’t want to experience, and I am thankful I don’t experience too often and usually triggered when I know someone is traveling.

 The Ugly…

Plain and simple…the first fourteen days of grief are The Ugly, followed by another six months of ugly.

The Grateful…

You’re in shock, you’re confused, and you’re angry! After all, you just lost someone near and dear to you and you want to know why! Why are they gone? Why did this happen? And…Why didn’t you protect my son, God? Yes, you will likely be angry at God…if you are a believer. I didn’t even realize I was angry with God; until the first time I returned to Church after his death…February 18, in Southern California, with family. As praise began, so did the tears, and I couldn’t control them. I sat down and hung my head low, searching for tissues. I realized in those moments that I was angry at God, angry that he wanted my son. A few months later I was Grateful; grateful that He never left my side, grateful that he comforted me in my worst hours, grateful that he gave me strength when I was weak, and grateful that he gave me grace to get through each day. I knew it was ok to be angry, but I was more thankful to be grateful in His faithfulness, His love, and His peace. I am grateful God is walking me through grief; day by day.