Merry Christmas in Heaven, Son

I’m the mom of three boys; two on Earth and one in Heaven. One of the most difficult questions I have had to answer over the past 5+ years is, “How many kids do you have?” or “Do you have kids?”  and then, “How many?” You see, for me, the answer would never be two. I have three children. But, when I answer “three” and I am among friends that “know”, I get the look like, “did she just say that?” or “how difficult it must be for her to answer.” The answer is yes. Yes, I did just say that. Yes, it is difficult to answer. But the hardest of all questions is, “How old are your kids.” There is no other answer than, “17 almost 18, 37, and my oldest would be 40, but he’s been gone for just over five years.” If I simply answered “17, 37, and 40” I feel like I am lying or misleading and I just cannot do that. My son died. But he IS always my son, not “was” my son. I know this might be hard to understand, especially if you have not lost a child. But for those of us who have, you do understand.

For those that sometimes wonder and to those of you who ask…yes, I am doing fine. I am living life. That in no way means that I do not miss my son, because I miss him every single day. I just know that I must “live” not simply “be”, not just go through the motions of life. I have not fulfilled my purpose on Earth, he did.

Our hearts ache and the tears still flow. The holidays are joyful and sad. Today as I was driving back from the store, I imagined BJ coming to Portland today and that we would all go to Bryan’s for our family Christmas tomorrow. It would be happy, chaotic, and everything Christmas is meant to be. BJ would love Bryan’s home in the country, he would love playing with the kids, he would talk his big talk and tell his unending stories and I’d enjoy every minute seeing my family together. Reality is, he is not here, the grands are getting older, and we will still enjoy our family Christmas. We will miss his presence and we will feel that piece of our family that is only with us in spirit, but we will enjoy the day, the memories, and the chaos.

BJ, I miss you so terribly, and as these tears fall, my heart aches and I still lose my breath trying to hold back the tears as I write this. I know you are at peace. I know you watch over all of us. I know you are awaiting each of us to join you. We will one day…in the blink of an eye. Merry Christmas in Heaven, son. Love, your mama

Body and Soul: You are Free

Five years ago, on this dreadful day, at approximately 10:45 pm, you went from being my son on earth to our Heavenly Angel. BJ, you were such a dynamic human with the personality second to none. I was crushed. Your brothers were crushed. You daughter was crushed. Your entire family was crushed, and many friends were crushed. We had no idea how we would fathom life without you.

Today, five years later, we have learned to carry on. We have learned to live life after your death. Yes, I said it; “you died, your death, you are gone.” It is still body-numbing pain…every day. We do move on. We do carry on. We do live on. We don’t always want to, but we do.

You are our angel, and your presence is alive in us, with us. I see you…in the pain in your dads’ eyes and in his inability to process your loss. I see you in Bryan, when he longs to have his brother to banter with or drink a beer with or when he is silently mourning your loss to be strong for the rest of us. I see you in Dillon when I see the image of his profile and how much he is resembling you as a young adult and his characteristics and gestures. I see you in Willy’s humor. But, most of all see you…in Cheyenne. All that she is growing to be. Her humor. Her looks. Her gestures. Her bossy-ness. She is your “mini me”. You are all around us.

You continue to make your presence obvious. Whether I get a text from a friend, “oh my gosh, BJ was with me today when…” or I get a picture from a friend reminding them of you, or I see “BJ” or “Yup” on a license plate. I see you in your father. I see you in your brothers. I see you in your nephew. But most of all, I see you in your daughter. You are present in our lives. Five years later, you are present.

We are learning to live life without you, but you are ever present in our lives. I could never have imagined losing a child…not any of you…and the pain is unlike any other pain one can imagine. BJ, you are my first born, you taught me how to give unconditional love, and you taught me to carry on after you died.

I never thought…I would lose a child. I would carry this kind of pain every day. I would cry at the sight of your initials on a license plate, a sign, on anything. And…I certainly never thought I would belong to this club.

You gave me the most precious gift…to be a mom, to love unconditionally, to understand the full concept of loss, and to make me more present in the lives of your brothers after you left us. I could not love them more. I could not appreciate them more. I thought I had it all figured out before…what being a mom and grandma was all about. And then…you died. That’s a game changer.

This year, on your 40^th Birthday, May 16, 2021, we finally set your body free. It was a joyously difficult day. We were surrounded by family and friends as we spread your ashes…exactly where you wanted to be…halfway between the valley (Portland) and the desert (Central Oregon), at a lake in the mountains at one of your favorite camp spots. We shared stories, we cried, and we toasted your life with a Coors Light…just as you would want.

BJ, today, five years later…I love you as much as I ever have. I miss you an immeasurable amount. I hold your memory in my heart forever. I know we will be together again…in the blink of an eye. Until then, we will keep your memory alive, we will absorb your presence, and we will carry on. We will continue to share “BJ” stories. We will continue to love on your daughter. We will continue to be your loving little family that will ride this grief train together and stay stronger together, for each other. Your loss shook us to our core and showed us that our family is indeed built on love and that love is bringing us through the most difficult stage we never imagined living through.

I’ve never said goodbye. I’ll never say goodbye. I will always say, “until we meet again.”