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. :)

Here and Now; My Reality

For the last five years, the fall (especially September and October) have become challenging months for me. Not only is October one of my busiest work months, but on the 20^th I lost my oldest child. I feel very blessed to have a job that I love, allows me to travel around our beautiful state, and affords me the opportunity to work from home. It has also become a great distraction during the difficult and emotionally draining months; September and October.

We all expect to lose our parents as we age; although it is still a heartbreaking loss. It teaches us how important our time on Earth is and how to process the act of “grieving”. I lost my parents in 2002 (mom) and 2006 (dad). I felt that heartbreak and learned what grief was all about. That would still not prepare me for the loss of my own child. In September 2014, our family lost my youngest sons dad…it was a sudden death and devastating process for my son and for me. I had to learn to suppress my emotions and focus on his loss, because no matter what I was going through it did not compare to what my ten-year-old child was going through. And still, this would not prepare me for the loss of own child…just two years later.

Much like today; it was a Friday, I had just finished with two weeks of out-of-town conferences, and I was busy working…nearly this same hour of the day. That’s the day my world crashed. That’s the day I was not prepared for. That’s the day my middle son had to deliver the news to me that my oldest son was gone; taken all-of-a-sudden. I would never hear his voice on the other end of the phone again. I would never have his arms hug me again. I would never feel the excitement of him pulling into my driveway for a visit again. Three years later…oh my gosh, did I even say that? THREE YEARS LATER!!! Still, three years later…I sob with intense thoughts and memories, I hold back tears when mentioning to another that he has been gone THREE YEARS, and I still feel the loss…that I was never prepared for.

I launched this blog on his birthday two and a half years ago, in his honor. A place for me to share my feelings, raw emotions, and release the tears as I write. I dedicated Friday’s to him; #ForgetYOUnotFriday. I also dedicate Friday’s to his brothers; my sons that I still have on Earth…the sons I still talk to on the phone, I still get to feel their hugs, and I still get excited when I see Bryan pull into my driveway. I’m learning to live with my devastating loss, but it’s not easy. The bottom line is…I still have two wonderful sons that are here with me and they are my world; my here and now. I pray every night that God will leave them here with me; that their purpose is still unfolding, and that I will never feel the loss of another child. That is my reality!

Where Has the Time Went?

Where has the time went? We keep living our lives and then we sometimes stop and say, “I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe he’s been gone so long already.” I’ve said it before…in so many ways it seems like it was just yesterday you came rolling up to see us; flying in, on the move, never being still. And in other ways, it’s been so long since I’ve felt the warmth of your arms around me, giving me one of those infamous hugs or hearing your voice on the other end of the phone. How do we get beyond all those little things that are so important in our memories, but sometimes haunt us? We keep living our lives, that’s how. We keep on keeping on, knowing that is the cycle of life, knowing that is what BJ would want for every single one of us.

At moments I’m sad to know you will never see your daughter, little brother, nieces and nephews grow up, that you will never see your brothers home and piece of God’s country outside the hustle and bustle of the city, that you will never help me transform the rundown fixer upper to my place of refuge, and that I will never hear your voice on the other end of my phone.  You will watch us from your spot in Heaven where you know no sorrow, where you will wait for us to join you, and where we know you live eternally.