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.