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.