"Dear BJ"

For whatever reason this week I have reflected on what I still had in my heart to say to BJ. Even though I am perfectly content knowing that he knew how much I loved him, I still have things in my heart to say. I don’t think I’m alone in that feeling and I don’t just mean other parents that have lost a child, but anyone that has lost someone and others that lost BJ likely had things they would’ve said to him had they known.

Dear BJ,

I first wrote you a letter a year before you died. I poured out my heart to you. I wrote a letter to each of your brothers too...these are my “in case” letters. You never received yours because you died before me and in my mind that is “the unimaginable”. A child shouldn’t go before their parent; it’s not the natural course of life. A baby is born, he is raised, he loses his parents, then and only then, does he die. I don’t know why God wanted you first, but it broke my heart and it broke me. And…honestly, it doesn’t even matter why because I know that’s how this thing called life happens. But dang…it just does not make it any easier, because bottom line is…you died.

BJ, I saw you as a strong man that had already ventured through many peaks and valleys through his short lifetime. You were a thrill seeker, risk taker, and you never met a road or mountain you weren’t willing to master. If it was a mountain trail in front of you, your quad could handle it; if it was a mountain road in front of you, your Willie’s would stomp all over it; and if it were the open road in front of you, it was meant for a road trip. I saw you as a loving friend and family member. From the moment you settled in Prineville your doors were open to one and all. You said, “come on over for the weekend, come on up for a bonfire or barbeque”…but it was always come on over; which translated to “my door is always open.” If someone needed help you were willing if you were able. For someone born with a defective heart you surely had an enormous heart for “your family” …as everyone you loved was … “your family”.

I am sure I thought of you differently in the capacity of a big brother than either of your brothers did. I found you to be a wonderful big brother, while they both might describe you differently…there is a little thing called sibling rivalry or sibling squabbles. You and Bryan shared many wonderful times growing up, but you also had your share of road bumps along the way. He has a childhood full of memories with an awesome big brother that are his and his alone. It melts a mothers heart to know that either of you could and did put aside any squabbles to back the other up and have the others back and be there for one another in times of need. It was heartbreaking to know you weren’t there for him in this time of need because your death was the time of need. With Dillon it was different; you were already a young adult who had just come out of his midlife crisis; so we now know. No one thinks of a midlife crisis at 17 ½ but when you die at 35, the light kind of comes on and there is the “lightbulb moment”. Your relationship with Dillon grew over time and he was most grateful for the time and love you gave him when his own father died. He knew you were there for him unconditionally, making your loss that much more difficult for his young heart.

You always loved and played with the young ones; you loved kids! Right up to the end you were wrestling with, playing soccer with, playing at the park with…the kids. I think of you like me in that respect. I have heard a lot of people and their kids refer to you as “Uncle BJ” and for the majority of my life all the kids around me call me “Aunty Peggy”. It’s an honor when people think of you that way and I know you were honored to be “uncle” to so many young ones. Your death was devastating for so many; old and young alike, but the impact it has had on Bryan’s kids and the immediate heartache they felt was so difficult and again my heart broke for Bryan who I know felt he had to be strong for his kids and really everyone around him.

When you died, the day I found out, and the weekend that followed were the most difficult days I’ve ever had to get through. I don’t think there is any pain that compares to the pain of losing a child. It feels like your heart is ripped from your chest and you can almost visualize it in your hand; just sitting there, not knowing what to do next. You go through more emotions than you ever knew you had and all at one time. You want to scream, you want to cry, you want to pee (yes pee!), you’re hot, you’re cold, and you fill all of this (plus some) at one time! Your body feels like it is in extreme dysfunction and you feel this super human coming out of you screaming in horror at the knowledge – your child just died. You had no warning. You didn’t get to say goodbye. You didn’t get to hold them in your arms; instead they laid on the cold, wet ground pinned beneath a huge piece of metal that they were once sitting in, driving down that cold, wet road. Those were just the first few minutes after the moment I found out you were gone.

In the hours and days following and I was trying to cope with this awful news and wrap my head around the idea that I now had to plan your farewell; something a parent should never have to do…the messages came pouring in, the phone kept ringing, and family were filing in one by one. I was in amazement to the realization of how many lives you had touched. All the kind words, all the heartfelt love, and all the sincere condolences; many from people I had not yet met. How could that be? How did you have so many people in your life that I had not met? We talked a lot, you shared so much with me, and yet you had friends that I hadn’t met. And, the people that came to your celebration; so many people I had not seen in years; saddened by your sudden death and people holding on to their loved ones as if it could be there last day. BJ, that really is the moral to the end of your story…live today as if it is your last, show your love as if you may not get another chance, and cherish each breath you take until you do not have any more. Oh son, I love you so.

But BJ, most importantly, I “see” you as my son. The little baby born to me on May 16^th, my firstborn that made me a mom for the first time, and whom I learnt the meaning of unconditional love from. The little boy that was anxious to help, the preteen that fought with, played with, and raced motorbikes with his baby brother. The young teen that I constantly battled with because our personalities were alike in many ways. The older teen that navigated his way into adulthood attempting, and sometimes failing, to learn the parameters of the law. Lastly, the young man that, through time, overcame the consequences of bad decision making and settled his adult life in Central Oregon becoming a father…most definitely, your self-proclaimed, greatest accomplishment in life. My son, my flesh and blood, my firstborn, and my son in Heaven, I will continue on and I will love you forever and in the blink of an eye we will be together again.

Lovingly and tearfully forever,

Mom xo💕xo💕xo