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.