Four Years…How Can That Possibly Be?

 As this day approaches, I wonder…how could it possibly be? How can it be four years since I heard your voice? I know it’s supposed to get easier and I supposed in some ways it does. But in other ways…I’m still crying inside, screaming in pain, and wondering why? Why was it your time? Why did you have to go? Why didn’t we all get to tell you goodbye? Those are some questions that will remain unanswered.

As this day approaches, I am thankful for the 35 years, 5 months, and 4 days that I was blessed with you in my life. Blessed that God chose me to be your mother. Blessed that we made as memories as we did. Blessed that you are my son, Bryan and Dillon’s big brother, Hank, Addy, and Willy’s uncle, and Cheyenne’s daddy.

As this day approaches, I’m grateful I had no regrets. I’m grateful you knew how much I loved you and I knew how much you loved me. I’m grateful for all the experiences you had and that you chose to live life to the fullest, never knowing how long your life would be. I’m grateful that you chose my house to be your “home away from home” in the valley, after you moved to Central Oregon. I’m grateful we had such a strong relationship, but most of all we built a phenomenal friendship. I’m grateful you knew you could come to me with anything at any time. I’m grateful you were always here for me, even when I didn’t know I needed you to be.

As this day approaches, I’m still amazed by the many, many lives you touched. I’m amazed by those lives you touched that I had no idea about. I’m amazed by the young adults, teens, and kids you mentored; and maybe even unknowingly. I’m amazed that you shared your young path of destruction to detour another from that path. I’m amazed that you gave yourself selflessly to help others. I’m amazed by the memories and the love you left in your wake.

As this day approaches, I think of the many things I might have said to you or the many things I might have said at your Celebration had I been in clear mind. And then I realize, I didn’t have anything else I could have said to you that would have meant anything more than what I had already said or what I never said. As this day approaches, I realize I said it all to you…with or without words. You knew. I knew. Love is more than words. Love is a gesture. Love is listening.

As this day approaches, I still miss you. I can’t fathom that you’re gone. I’m thankful. I’m grateful. I’m blessed. I’m amazed. I love you.

Happy Birthday My Beautiful Boy

Happy Birthday my beautiful boy!

Every day I miss you so and today is no exception. Unfortunately, it’s one of those tearful days. I haven’t had one in quite some time, so I’ll just buck up and deal with it. You left us with so many memories most of which brings laughter…you were always the “life of the party” and always had a story to tell!

Today I celebrate the gift you gave me, your life. Thirty-five and a half years of you! From scratch, you taught me how to be a mom and prepared me to be a mom for your brothers as they joined the family. I learned the meaning of unconditional love and tough love, both valuable. I learned to let you go and make a mark on the world in your own way. You stumbled, made mistakes, learned lessons, and I never waivered in my love for you. I knew one day you would figure it out and you did.

You left us with a beautiful little girl and memories that one might think would last a lifetime, but I want more. I want to see you smile at my door instead of on my wall. I want to hear your voice over the phone instead of in a video. I want to feel your big ole hugs instead of only have a memory of what they felt like. I want … am I selfish to say, “I want”? Is it possible to be selfish in grief? I don’t think so because today the pain of still wanting you here to celebrate your birthday feels valid, not selfish. I just don’t think I should have to experience this kind of pain. No matter what other things life has thrown my way; losing brothers, enduring more than six months of not knowing what was wrong with your baby brother as he woke up sick every single day, watching Bryan hold onto his family a little tighter and knowing why, and even this madness of quarantine…nothing compares to the loss of a child. All of “that” is a walk in the park in comparison.

For now, I’m going to be a “big girl”, get myself dressed and go about my day. I’ll stop when the tears start. I’ll eat Mexican and have a Coors Light for your birthday, because that is my new tradition on May 16^th. I’ll have Jennifer by my side as my birthday buddy…four years running. I’ll give myself permission to continue working through this process we know as grief. Knowing it does not get easier; we just learn to navigate through it. I’ll get through another day without you, another birthday without you, and another memory without you. I love you so much that losing you still hurts, that I must pause in writing to wipe the tears that are filling my eyes and running down my cheeks. You are loved. You are missed. You are celebrated. You will always live in our hearts.

Love you always and forever, 

Mom 💓

Cheers!

Thirty-Nine Years Ago...

Thirty-nine years ago, I was preparing to be a mom for the first time and if my sweet boy were still with us, I imagine I’d be figuring out a way to have a “distancing” big birthday bash for him…because that’s what we do. I also imagine, in all this craziness, he would’ve kept inviting people to have a bonfire, but it would be BYOB (Bring Your Own Bottle) & BYOB (Build Your Own Bonfire!) or would that be BYOB 2.0?

Thirty-nine years ago. the dates fell on the same days of the week: May 10 on a Sunday, was Mother’s Day and my “due date” for BJ. May 16 on a Saturday and the day he joined our world and my motherhood began. It was a difficult labor, difficult delivery, and difficult first few days, but being his mom was anything but difficult. Oh, don’t get me wrong…we definitely had difficult times! But being a mom was the joy part of those difficult times.

At only thirty-five years old, he left us. He left us quickly, unexpectedly, and he left us heartbroken. Without a doubt, the absolute worst day of my life. A day, more than three and a half years ago, that still plays in my mind as if it were yesterday. I recall every minute of that day and the millions of emotions I went through in a short amount of time and then…waking up the next day feeling numb and feeling motionless and wondering how any of this could be real. 

We miss our kids when they go to grandma’s, sleepovers, college, deployment, and the list goes on. But, the kind of way you miss your child that is gone forever, that you can’t see, you can’t talk to, you can’t imagine their life at college, during deployment, across the mountain…it’s different and unless you go through it, you have no concept of the pain, the loss, and some days the emptiness that only they could fill with life. I have a beautiful family; two living sons, six grandkids, five living brothers and sisters, and NUMEROUS nieces, nephews, and greats. I have a wonderful life, but still…I miss my kid! My kid…that could light up the room as well as the campfire, that could make you laugh without even trying, the entertainer, the listener, the die-hard Coors Light lover, the baconater, the brother, the father, the son. Our lives have changed so much since that dreadful day in October 2016. “Our”…mine, his dad’s, his brother’s, his friends, but mostly his daughter’s. We all use humor to get us through the day, the rough times, the sad moments…but now, there is a sentiment for one another that BJ put in our hearts. We are sentimental over dates, memories, moments, and yes…even his freaking Coors Light! 

We rally to one another when there is sadness. We lift each other up with words of encouragement. We love each other in a way that is different than before we lost our precious one. We love each other 100%! No fakeness, no bull$hit…”you need me, I’m there”, kind of love. We know what it’s like to lose someone so internally close that we never want to go through that pain again, but yet we will. Loss is part of life…a sucky part, but a part. We make sure to say “I love you” to those that are still here. So, if I randomly say “I love you” to you, I certainly mean it…100%. It’s important to wear our hearts on our sleeves, to not have regrets when we lose someone, and to be present in life.

I know I’ve said this in previous posts, if you’re at a difference with someone…make amends!!! Don’t wait, tomorrow may not come for one of you. Sometimes it’s difficult. Sometimes we WANT to stand our ground. Sometimes we just need to forgive and move on…no regrets. When you get old like me, you understand the saying “life is too short”. Well, it is…for many. If you’ve experienced the “almost loss”, use it to ignite forgiveness for someone. If you don’t have anyone to forgive or make amends with…praise Jesus! If you do…you’ve got this, do it today!

If you stopped in to read my thoughts about BJ and about grief today…thank you! If you know someone that has lost someone that might need to know they are not alone, please share my blog with them. I don’t blog very often anymore, because basically I don’t feel the urge…today I did. But there are a lot of previous posts that someone might benefit from. Step out of your comfort zone and share it with them. Everyone, especially those going through grief, need to know they are not alone. Together, we are stronger. Together, grief is manageable. Together, is a better place to be.

BJ's Memorial Garden in my place of refuge...
it's a work in progress. :)