Living with Loss

I learned years ago to actively practice bringing my thoughts to the present moment, particularly when my mind goes to some wicked place and even sometimes when it goes to a beautiful memory.  There is no predictability in grieving. This practice of being in the present moment has been life-saving for me, literally. But sometimes my heart yearns for the lost moments. Do you ever have one of those days when you need the past?    A little sliver of light is shining on the memory of reading stories to my son. I can see us there, settled in among the pillows and stuffed animals, my head laying next to his on the pillow, book in hand. Then, I would read with active voice the stories so they jump from the page and become real.  What a wonderful beautiful memory, vivid with sound and color. I hear his laughs and questions and our discussions on the meaning of the stories.  Oh, how I want to bring it all back to being real, being here and now.  An evenin...

Yesterday I spent the better part of the day going through my son's things. I am the mother of an only child, thus I was want to save every little item he ever created. I recall from my years in a strong and wonderful support group there was this recurrence of the year seven. It seemed to me, people had the capacity to act at the seven year benchmark.  We are in year seven and I finally have the capacity to work my way through 20 years of memories. Coincidence, possibly. It doesn't matter why, it just is.  This time, seven years later, I was able to manage the memories and not quickly turn into a puddle of tears. I consider this a gift. I am grateful for capacity. I have come to this point by way of consistent support and love from family and friends, through counseling and medication, through exercise and meditation, through prayer and faith. The sources of my persistence are nearly endless.  When the fear takes hold, the pra...

I just washed the sheets and as I made up the bed the side of top sheet fell across the bedrail. The thought of death rushed crossed my mind, the white sheet across the bed, the body on the bed, the hospital, the goodbyes, the pity of it all.  So often the slightest of thing will bring a totally unconnected thought, yet be so tightly entwined in my grief. This life full of simple daily actions is filled with little sparks that fuel the fire of horrors that fill my mind. I just wonder when that will stop. That ritual drive to work fills my stomach with bile and angst every time. The sight of a young man with curly brown hair sends my heart to rushing. The smell of the hardware store never fails to cause my knees to buckle, the acrid smell hits my nostril and my stomach turns, the tears well in my eyes and I want to run away, far away. It's like it was all yesterday. How can one escape the face of death when everything around is covered in its shroud. The river flow...

A father and daughter were commissioned today to go forth to Cuba to share the gifts of Christ through their music ministry. I saw them standing there together and was struck by how fortunate they were to be able to share this experience; that the father took time to purposely engage in life with his child. It’s difficult in our busy lives to put aside the obligations of the day and commit to being actively engaged in our child’s life. We want to left life go along like a predictable Swiss train. No worries, no real problems, children just need food and water and a little attention, then they will go on by themselves as we watch quietly from the station. But it doesn’t happen that way. Life assaults us with pebbles, rocks and boulders….denting the shiny exterior of our predictable Swiss train, sometimes even causing it to stop. It is our commitment to sharing time with our children and the gifts that result from that time that sustain us in strife and sorrow. I watched the...

In 2008, I went to Australia to visit a friend and her family.  I was there for three weeks, from around Thanksgiving until almost Christmas. It was a joyful time to be with her and her family, with her two young children excited by all the events of the holiday.  She selflessly took me on daily adventures, sharing her fair city, a drive into the mountains, a walk over the Sydney Harbor Bridge and romping around Sydney for hours, and near the end of my visit a Sunday morning walk on Bondi Beach followed by breakfast at a outside cafe.  One afternoon, close to my departure, we all sat on a blanket in the park, basking in the December warmth and sun of the southern hemisphere and listened to Christmas music while the children danced and sang and we ate cheese and crackers and sipped wine. On one rainy day, we rested from our daily jaunts and I flipped through the pages of her recipe books. The entire trip is a beautiful...

I received a visit from a friend the other week. He's a good man with a gentle soul, a rare character in this world. We have often chatted about our common dream of hiking the Appalachian Trail; he will likely one day accomplish the feat of which I will only dream.  He's a naturalist of sorts, likes the woods, from what I can tell, finds his place in this world through nature...like my Wyatt. It's odd how some people just have a way of making your day better because they are down to earth, honest, and good and right, cares about others, and affirms our belief that all is right with the world. A while ago he and some buddies hiked a portion of the Muir Trail in California. He shared with me that he had built a carin, stack of rocks, in Wyatt's memory. I covered my face and cried at the sound of his words. I cried because there are people out there to carry on the memory of my son. I cried because it struck me as such a beautiful gift for h...

This is such an odd time. My thoughts of Wyatt are moderated as I try to shield myself from the memories of the horrible time. I have to recall the good, only the good, not that time, that day, that walk to the hospital, the drive to Gainesville, the lying on the waiting room floor, the 23 days of clinging to life and waivering on death, and then death. Singing to my son's body in the silence of that room, down the hall, last one on the left. It's near impossible to push it all out and time has not softened the vividness of those moments.  I want to remember the living and not the dying. It's so hard to do and some days seems impossible. Life has a way of jetting me back to the horror, even while I try to think only of the good.  Things, words, people, photos, they all bring memories that take me to him not being here and then to his dying, his accident, all he endured and all the details I don't want to recall. No ...

                  Butch Boy  Sunny Girl                      We have this dog...Butch.  He's the sweetest thing ever and very simple minded. He's very skittish though, quick movements, loud noises and rainstorms always startle him.  Thunder and lightening and he turns into a nutty canine, pushing his body behind the sofa, tyring to fit behind the dryer, pulling down blinds from the windows and anxiously panting and pacing the floor. Butch and his sister Sunny "live" in the laundry room which is directly connected to the kitchen. Sunny, unlike her brother is a very confident and sometimes obstinate canine. She will saunter in the kitchen to the family room and plop on the floor...in the middle of the doorway. If you think she's going to move as you walk by, think again...