Living with Loss

When this journey began three and half years ago the anguish that filled my soul was so intense and so encompassing, there was nothing that could enter my mind but the horror of death and the absence of life. My soul was engorged with grief. It seemed writing was my balm, an outlet to share my hurt and the cathartic flow of words somehow released the pain. Yet now, words have no solace. Now, the grief is different, its changing to a more erratic and unpredictable creature that tucks neatly in the center of my life, lurking for the opportunity to jump in my face and throw me back to the reality of death. It's very sinister using hope as a weapon. Being blanketed in sorrow was easier, knowing nothing but sadness is simple; living with grief and weaving it into the fabric of life is daunting. Just when you think your moving forward, grief attacks and the silence of life's emptiness booms in my head. Hope dissipates. I understa...

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...

There was a single cloud sitting in the sky, it seemed as if it were again he and me. For a moment, I felt so close, but ever fleeting the cloud disappeared as did the feeling of he and me. Quickly it drifted and vanished. No more he and me. Just like that, gone quickly,   silently,   mysteriously,     forever, gone.      

He was a free spirit. I smiled as I listened to this father speak of his son and thought my son too was his own person. That foundational characteristic was one of the things that both frustrated me and that I so adored about Wyatt. His stubbornness and confidence, kindness and compassion tempered with unyielding positions on matters important to him, his staunch support of those he cared about and his ability to truly not give a damn about some things. Then I thought of the children who have died that I have come to know and love through Wyatt's death, being a free spirit seemed to be a common thread in many of their lives. Maybe that is the way we remember them, maybe it’s the way they really were, but either way, I’m beginning to believe that indeed only the good die young. These are the children who brought to our lives a different way of looking at the world or thinking that things just might not have to be what we thought they did. Don't we all want our child to be ...

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...

call No. Ok Horror, tears Screams on the floor No. No. on the floor He won't You're not sure in the room The little room with the door pray, peace, comfort No. not now, not here drive drive in the night wait, not here down the hall in the room with the door Ok sleep on the floor How old Not sure surgery ok Crashing, failing more lines, more machines what for blood, lines versed cadaver skin bandages, surgery check the eyes change the bandage pray, cry New Year Don't fear, come here On the floor in the room The big room, with the door pray, cry, sit, wait Cold feet No more sit on the floor in the room, with the door I'm sorry he said He's dead floor room door

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...