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.