What if I forget

worry: an instance or occurrence of such distress or agitation

I am a worrier. I always have been, probably always will be, but I am trying not to do it as much these days. Most days my brain can’t handle one more thing to think or worry about so at the very least, there is that. But there is something that I consistently think about, am concerned with, wonder about, and yes, it all boils down to one thing that I will always worry about.

What if I forget? What if I forget what Patrick’s voice sounds like? What if one day it all fades away? When your kids are here, everyday is filled with something new. Old memories fade and new ones take their place. There’s a constant flow of new experiences, new days, and new conversations that your brain takes hold of and remembers. I haven’t heard Patrick’s voice in almost 2 years and when I play a video it jars me by just how much I have forgotten what he sounded like. I will listen to the same video over and over again hoping that I am able to capture that moment again and hold onto what he sounded like, what was going on that day, what was he interested in then, just Patrick being Patrick. As much as his constant humming and singing could drive me crazy, now I never want to forget what he sounded like when he sang and when he hummed. I don’t want to forget how he could jump from a topic so easily and immediately be in a make believe world, where dinosaurs and Darth Vader make it into the conversation, where we would start talking about his day and be interrupted by shooting crayons and bad habits.

I know I won’t forget him but I am forgetting little details. Things I wouldn’t have thought twice about if I forgot them. But now, they are all that I have left to remember him by. Why did I take that picture? Probably because he was being cute or asked me to take his picture. Sometimes I have no reference to what was going on and it’s frustrating because I don’t or can’t remember. I want to remember why and what was I trying to capture then. What made that point in time important other than we were spending time together?

Last night this video popped up in my memories. I don’t know if I remember the day or if I’ve just watched it enough in the last 24 hours that I think I remember it. Nevertheless, I am glad that I took time to capture this… a random day in January 2016. Patrick was 5 and in Pre-k. It was after school, we were both getting over being sick, we were spending time together…

So this is Christmas

It doesn’t really feel like Christmas. I’m going through the motions better than last year. I’ve got a new house to focus on–unpacking, decorating, new routines–like which way to the bathroom and which light switch turns on the kitchen light, what’s the best way to the grocery store… A new house that’s never known Patrick, but he’s very much here with us.

A lot has happened this past year. A lot of bad and a lot of good. Last year at this time I was in a terrible place. The grief was too much. I could have easily made some poor decisions but by the grace of God he kept me from completely falling apart and making my life more complicated than it already was. Year 2 is just as hard as year 1. Year 2 doesn’t have the shock to numb you like year 1 did. Year 2 you find out who is really there for you and who loves you through the good, the bad, and the ugly of grief–because in grief, all 3 are there.

I’ve been following a blog where bereaved parents submit their blog posts. Our losses are deeply personal but the feelings, emotions, gains, and setbacks we all experience are the same. Most of the focus is on the bad and the ugly because every day is bad and ugly. Good days after the death of your child no longer exist. It’s just that some days there’s a little more light shining through than the other days, so those are the good days. But, I’ve been trying to think about and focus on good things.

I don’t believe Patrick died to teach me a lesson or that I need to search out the good in this situation or any other ideas that people come up with to somehow justify or clarify, or even at times speak for God about why a child dies. There is no good reason for children to die.
But in our limited minds we think there has to be a reason. It has to be more than the person driving behind you wasn’t paying attention and smashed into your car at 70 mph. No, there has to be a reason, a purpose, an explanation. But the reality is Patrick died because the person behind us was not paying attention and hit us at 70 mph causing his fatal injuries. So what do you do with that?

I’m human with a limited capacity for understanding and I will always want a better explanation than that. There isn’t an explanation that will make me feel better but, there are things that happen because of a traumatic experience. If we can slow down for just a minute and peak outside the cloud of our own minds, we can take those things and make them the good.

I didn’t need Patrick to die to make me be a better person, a kinder person, a more compassionate person. But, because of his death I have become those things.

I’ve shared this quote and I’ve used it as a teaching tool. The part ‘for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about’ has certainly become more real for me this past year. I hope and pray that I will see people as humans that are trying their best and that kindness will be my first response.

You see Patrick already understood that. Here’s a little excerpt from a conversation we had when he was 5:

We’re reading Holes to P in the evenings. I can’t wait til we can watch the movie with him. It’s one of our favorite books and movie.  This book has led to so many great discussions at home.  

Y’all know my big thing is kindness but occasionally I slip up. P had an aggravating dr. appt this afternoon(not with his regular dr) and I was not kind in my opinion or anything that came out of my mouth and P got all over me about it. 

Mama nobody is a zero. Everyone is worth something, just like everyone called Hector ‘Zero’ because they thought he was dumb and not worth anything. Mama you can’t say unkind things even when you are upset.

Some days the light peaks out a little bit and gives your mind a reprieve…that’s what counts as a good day now.

William Cowper

There is a Fountain
William Cowper
1771

I hesitantly post because these are those dark and private thoughts that I don’t want to share. I don’t know of one grieving parent who hasn’t thought about it. Maybe it will help someone.

There is a fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains:
Lose all their guilty stains,
Lose all their guilty stains;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away:
Wash all my sins away,
Wash all my sins away;
And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its pow’r,
Till all the ransomed Church of God
Be saved, to sin no more:
Be saved, to sin no more,
Be saved, to sin no more;
Till all the ransomed Church of God
Be saved to sin no more.

E’er since by faith I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die:
And shall be till I die,
And shall be till I die;
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

When this poor lisping, stamm’ring tongue
Lies silent in the grave,
Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save:
I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save,
I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save;
then in a nobler, sweeter song
I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save.

Here’s a link into a brief glimpse of William Cowper’s life, the author of There is a Fountain.

Why this song? Why is this one stuck in my head? I was getting ready for bed. It’s been one of those days. My mind was going places it really shouldn’t go. It all started last night with an ambulance triggering the whole accident scene, then add in today’s strobing red lights and siren like alarm of a firedrill…somedays there’s just too much going on for my mind to process.

There is a Fountain kept running through my head. Over and over… I couldn’t get it out. I was almost to the point of frustration at how fast the words were running through my head.
I’ve known the song as long as I can remember but I didn’t know who wrote it. I’m only familiar with a few hymnists, namely, John Newton, Fannie Crosby, Alfred Brumley, and Bill and Gloria Gaither. The words would not go away. I had to listen to that song or go crazy listening to my own voice sing it over and over in my head. I only pretend that I sound like Patsy Cline and I can only pretend so much, so… I had to research it. I had to find out about this song.

Because you know what? Most days I’d rather not be here. Most days I do think about how dying would be easier. Most days I’m sick and tired of dealing with the grief and the pain. Most days I want to sit and do nothing. Most days I’d do anything to have a normal life again. Some days I even think about how I would end my life. There’s no amount of looking forward to something, staying busy, taking care of yourself that will heal the hurt and pain of losing your child–nothing.

When I begin to read Cowper’s biography I had no idea who he was or anything about his life. Cowper suffered from depression. He made several attempts at taking his life. Cowper at one point even convinced himself that God wanted him to take his life. When the attempts failed he concluded that he had offended God. His life wasn’t a happy one. He never completely overcame depression, but he did come to an understanding of God’s love and mercy.

Oh thank God for his love and mercy!

Grief is bad. Grief is difficult to deal with everyday. Grief sucks. Grief is cruel and in our weakest moments, our minds are invaded with the thoughts we never thought we’d think.

When the thoughts become dark… When everything closes in… When you feel alone… When you can’t think straight…
reach out to someone
call a friend
call the national suicide hotline 1-800-273-8255
Someone here still needs you. You have purpose.

How Long Habakkuk?

Habakkuk–embrace from the Hebrew chavaq

Or if you’re just every day, regular folk, it’s one of the not so popular books of the Bible that’s mostly known for being hard to pronounce.

One thing that really gets to me is to be ignored while I am talking. My own kids, my husband, and my students in my classes know it is the one sure thing that will get me fired up and I can go from the sweetest mama, wife, or teacher to something that sounds possessed in about 2 seconds flat if you are not listening (and especially if you are not listening on purpose).

If you’ve read my last few posts you know that I’ve really struggled with God and I’ve found myself in a pretty dark hole lately. I’ve felt completely abandoned by God and doubted his existence or at the very least his existence in my life and his desire to provide some or any kind of peace. I have been angry and down right pissed off and ready to toss this whole God, Jesus, Christianity thing behind me…

When I look back over the last few months I can’t say that I’m surprised by today’s sermon. Every devotion, every scripture verse, every person of faith that I’ve come in contact with all seemed to be telling me the same thing. But, I carried on with the bitterness and anger that I was holding on to with all my might in regard to God. I had a thousand excuses and come backs. It didn’t matter who said it or what they said I would politely listen but inside I would be seething with hurt and anger. Why do they keep saying these things? They can’t understand the hurt I feel. They can’t understand the abandonment that I feel by God. In fact I had a person look at me and tell me I needed to pray for peace. I knew she was right. It felt good for her to tell me that but at the same time all the private thoughts hiding in my heart, all the hurt, and resentment I had towards God was all that would come to mind. I couldn’t even begin to say a ‘normal’ prayer. My mind was too clouded and programmed to hurl insults towards God. There was such a chasm between God and me that I was certain I would never get back to where I was, and, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to get back there anyway… I was convinced that I would not be pressing past all of this and moving forward anytime soon or ever. I felt myself spiraling into another depression and truthfully I was okay with it. It just seemed this was my new normal. This is the way I will live the rest of my life–it seemed reasonable to me.

But today. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just another Sunday that I went to church. Just another Sunday that we visited, sang songs, took prayer requests, listened to the pastor make sure all points were made before our minds began to wander towards lunch, just another first Sunday Communion.

God, how long do I have to cry out for help

    before you listen?

How many times do I have to yell, “Help! ”

    before you come to the rescue?

Habakkuk 1:1

Today my heart was tender. Today I was broken. Today I listened. Today I talked to Jesus. Today I started over.

And then God answered: “Write this.

    Write what you see.

Write it out in big block letters

    so that it can be read on the run.

This vision-message is a witness

    pointing to what’s coming.

It aches for the coming—it can hardly wait!

    And it doesn’t lie.

If it seems slow in coming, wait.

    It’s on its way. It will come right on time.

Habakkuk 2:2-3

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
 How long must I take counsel in my soul
    and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

 Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
    light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
 lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,”
    lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.

 But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
    my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
 I will sing to the Lord,
    because he has dealt bountifully with me.
Psalm 13

Thankful.
Thankful for God.
Thankful for friends.
Thankful for just another Sunday.
Thankful for pastors that still listen to God.

Self Care Sunday, Jesus, and Meatloaf

What do these three things have in common? Hell, if I know but I’m going to say that today they represent normal, everyday life. Well except today. Today I skipped church. Jesus said it was okay. September is almost over and I feel like I can stop holding my breath and start breathing again. It’s always going to be a hard month, I suppose. Maybe the next one will be better, but I’ll deal with that one when the next September rolls around again.

One thing that teachers do is constantly look back to evaluate and re-evaluate their students and themselves: What can we do different, how can we improve the lesson, and what new techniques, or even old ones that we’ve forgotten, can we employ to ensure everyone is learning and growing.

Today I’m looking back to see where I’ve come from and where I’m headed. Am I doing better, the same, or am I worse? If you’ve been following along and reading my last few posts, you are probably thinking things are not looking so good. My writing is therapeutic and sets my mind free…it’s where I can unload all my feelings and thoughts and move on.

Last year at this time I was just a couple of weeks away from requesting leave from work for the 2nd time in a month. I would eventually end up leaving for the rest of the year. This year I’m doing well at work. Is it my happy place and am I as passionate about teaching as I once was? No… I do love the students in my classes, and I look forward to seeing them and teaching them every day. I don’t feel overwhelmed by my duties and I feel like I am adding to my students’ education in a positive way. I don’t think I’ll ever think about teaching the same way that I did before I lost Patrick.

There’s been so many changes this past year. For someone that truly dislikes change, I’ve created circumstances that demanded change. What the hell was I thinking?!? I like status quo. I like routine. I like knowing exactly what is going to happen. I accepted a teaching job just a couple of weeks before school started. We sold our house. We started the process of building a house. We are living in an apartment–for 2 kids that grew up in the country with plenty of wide open spaces, and have always had room to roam, this has been an adjustment! I’ve added new friends. I’ve cut some people out. I’m trying to be healthier, but I really miss junk food. My daily goals have increased. It is no longer just do one thing, like put on deodorant. There is no growth without change. Not all change is bad. There is nothing permanent except change. Keep things spicy!

Then there’s missing Patrick. That ache will never go away. Sometimes when I look at his pictures I can almost feel his little face pressed against mine or his arms wrapped around my neck. I hear him whisper, ‘Mommy I love you no matter what’. For that brief moment I forget he’s gone and then the stabbing, aching pain in my chest comes back and jolts me back to reality. No, nothing has changed there. But, I keep on because death changes nothing and it changes everything.

Friendship

friendship: the state of being friends

One of the hardest things to deal with after a death is the way people treat you. There are those people that are genuinely concerned for you and are with you every step of the way. There are the nosy ones who just want information so they can inform everyone else or feel important because they ‘know’ something. There are the ones that you thought were your friends but you never hear from them again, and then there are the ones that were there for awhile but have drifted away for one reason or another. I’ve experienced all of these types of friends in the last year and a half.

Friendship has become a tricky thing for me since Patrick died. Growing up and even well into adulthood I always had few close friends. I was not Ms. Popularity and didn’t have the need to be surrounded by a lot of people. Then Patrick came along and demanded people in our lives! I had plenty of friends, good friends. In the last few years I never doubted the depth of my friends’ loyalty, I could count on them and they could count on me. It seemed to me that for the first time in my life friendships were easy and abundant.

Now sometimes, I feel like I’m the new kid at school, screaming desperately inside, ‘pick me!’ Sometimes I’m left wondering what happened, where did you go? Did I talk too much about Patrick? Did I cry in front of you? Are you afraid if we stay friends your child might die in some freak accident, too? Did I not react the ‘right’ way and follow some predetermined model of a grieving mother? Are you afraid if we talk about Patrick I’ll be sad? A year and a half ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about people coming and going out of my life. It’s life. People get busy with their own lives. Everyone has a lot going on. It’s just the way things are and chances are we’d eventually reconnect when our individual lives settled down to some kind of ‘normal’ routine.

But in grief, it’s different. I found myself craving to be around people. I needed a good solid friend, someone who truly was OK with whatever I was feeling or thinking. I also needed to relearn that lesson we’ve all seen where Madea tells us to ‘let folks go!’ I was expecting too much from friends. I was expecting branches to be roots.

I think I’ve found my new tribe.

You can tell them bad news and they’ll listen. You tell them good news and they will help you celebrate.

Jordan Peterson

Angry

Talk about bouncing around the stages of grief… Lately, I feel like one of those super bouncy balls. I’ve been through every stage of grief this past month and sometimes I’ve been through every stage in a matter of minutes ala M’Linn in Steel Magnolias at the cemetery.

This morning I wanted to cuss the charging cord in my car, the super thick sliced bacon, the humidity, and anything else that didn’t sit right with me this morning… and believe me, there is a long list today.

I want somebody to fix it. But, it can’t be fixed. It’s mine to deal with. Oh God is supposed to be there, all that never forsake you and so on but I can’t seem to find God for myself. He seems just out of reach for me. If he did show up would I even recognize that it was God? I don’t know what do about God so I mostly stew and stay mad. I’m still mad that my prayers went unanswered. I still want to know WHY? What purpose is this serving? Where’s the good in it all? I’m trying to put the puzzle back together but someone took some of the pieces and they won’t give them back!

What I want most in this world, I can’t have. There is no fix. I want to spend the day with Patrick. I want to hug him forever and talk to him. I want to make him some soups (yes, he called it soups 😉). I want to spend time looking at every box of lego and telling him he doesn’t have enough money to buy the set he wants, only to give in and buy it for him. I want to take him to the park and hear him get upset when it’s time to leave. I want to hear him humming and singing, running through the house, jumping on the couch and pulling all the cushions off. I want to hear him beg for just 5 more minutes before bed or ask for 1 more chapter to be read. I want to hear him talk about his day. I want to hear him call, ‘Mommy air hug I love you!’ from his room. I want to tell him how much I love him and how proud I am of him.

September has been an incredibly hard month. Yesterday was 18 months since I held, talked to, played with Patrick. 547 days. 21 hours. 59 minutes. 59 seconds.

No title…

Note: I've sat on this post and thought about whether to publish it or not.  I started this blog to show my true feelings about losing Patrick and how I deal with the day to day grief of losing my child.  This is not my best post but, it is honest about how I am feeling today.  And we all know the truth about feelings--they are tricksy(yes, tricksy), ever changing, and are easily manipulated.

Not much left to do today–I plan to wipe down the kitchen, have to go to the hospital for blood work, have a chiro appt. and then hopefully get some sleep tonight because tomorrow my little Patrick is going to be here!!!!!!!

Me 9/8/2010

I had so many things I wanted to write out today but when I try to write it’s just not there. Anything of substance that I wanted to say is replaced with a searing red hot anger and self pity. Anger that Patrick is not here. Anger that this is my life. Anger with the decision I made to take a road trip on March 14th. Anger that the people driving behind me were not paying attention. Anger that everything in my life is forever changed. I want to kick and scream and have a fit! I want somebody to give in and let me have my way. It’s not fair that I went from the pictures above to the picture below in 7.5 years.

Tomorrow is a day I have to endure. There will be no joy or excitement of waking up, snapping a picture first thing in the morning and singing, ‘happy birthday’. There’s nothing that anybody can say or do to make it better–Oh how I wish there were! I’d line them up and let them tell me it all day long! There’s no amount of distraction that will make the day easier. Will I feel like Jesus is there with me making the day somewhat bearable? Probably not; but, I’ll pray anyway, maybe… Then tomorrow will be over and the next day I will have to get up and go on about my life again like everything is fine. It’s never going to be fine again. There is nothing to erase the pain. It’s never going to be okay and the days ahead are never going to be as good as they could have been. There’s always going to be that pang of sadness no matter how good of a day it was. Some(ONE)thing will always be missing.

Grief is this daunting and continual climb out of a deep, muddy, and slippery pit. It’s been a long while since I’ve been this far down in the pit. I get tired of climbing. I want to escape the feelings that weigh heavy in my heart and keep my brain from settling down, the feelings that make my stomach hurt and my head pound. I want to feel normal again. I want to experience life again without the constant knowledge of crippling grief. I want to be free of knowing that it all can change in a second.

I won’t sleep tonight. It won’t be the same kind of sleepless night I had 9 years ago. No, this one will be full of tears, regret, a wish for a do-over, and a prayer that tomorrow morning never gets here.

In my real life

In my real life I’m preparing for a birthday party, number 9. I’ve bought the the newest requested lego set and wrapped it perfectly, the house is clean, and the air is filled with an electric static excitement. Friends and family are coming and we’ll celebrate and party all day. Cake, ice cream, making wishes, and blowing out candles. The birthday boy will rule the day and we’ll do our very best to make it the best birthday ever…

But in my real, real, life I’ve cried a million tears this week. I’ve cried on the way to work. No matter how hard I tried to keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks, they still flowed like a river. If I got a 5 minute break at school, the tears immediately welled up. On the way home, I cried. No amount of happy music, quiet moments, loud moments, mindfulness, mindlessness kept the tears away. Shower, watching tv, making lesson plans, cooking dinner, the tears came and they would not go away.

It shouldn’t be this way. It’s not fair and I hate every minute of it. I’ve replayed your last day here a million more times. I’ll never understand why it had to happen. What’s the purpose and the plan? Why? I get so aggravated when people complain of petty problems or even more angry when God intervened in some simplistic situation but he couldn’t save Patrick. Patrick, that represented so much good and so much potential. Wasn’t he worth saving? I prayed a million prayers. I feel like God is so distant I’ll never find him again.

I have to celebrate another one of Patrick’s birthdays at the cemetery. Who knows how long I’ll live but I could possibly be celebrating 30-40 more of his birthdays at the cemetery . I can’t bear the thought of that. It’s too much to contemplate.

My brain doesn’t shut off. It only remembers the sad. I don’t want it to be this way. The emotions and feelings have won this week and I want to live my real life again.

9/9/2010

Numbers have life; they’re not just symbols on paper. Shakuntala Devi

shakuntala-devi

Next week you would have been 9. We would have had the best time planning your birthday this year, turning 9 on the 9th, your love of numbers and math would have been so fun to incorporate into this birthday. I can only imagine the conversations we would have had and the ideas we would have come up with for this party.

It’s the second birthday that we will ‘celebrate’ without Patrick. The days leading up to his birthday are the worst. I cry so easily, I’m irritable, everything is a trigger, and the stress dreams are in full force. I know now from experience that it will pass and these days although are the worst, they will pass, too. My goal is to get to next Monday and then everything will settle down again and will go back to ‘normal’.

I don’t remember too much about last year on Patrick’s birthday. I remember we bought balloons and went to the cemetery. This year I wanted to do something to honor Patrick but before I could even begin to start thinking of something to honor him, LifeGift called and asked us to be a part of the 2nd Chance Run in Houston. 2nd Chance Run is a 5K to help promote awareness of organ donation. It’s a time to honor donors and their families and donor recipients. It just so happens that this event takes place the weekend of Patrick’s birthday.

We are not 5K people. In fact I even stated earlier that while I see a lot of people honoring their loved ones by sponsoring or participating in 5K, I had no intention of doing anything like that. As with most things in life, or all things in life, we aren’t in control…so… I will participate because it honors Patrick’s donation. Patrick, the little boy who loved people better than anyone I know. Patrick, the little boy who made sure everyone had a friend to play with. Patrick, the little boy who grabbed life by both hands(thanks for that quote, Caty). Patrick, the little boy who gave everything he had. On your 9th birthday we will celebrate you. We will remember you. We will cherish your memory and share your story. You lived a marvelous life and you made a difference.

If you are interested in becoming an organ donor or want to register to participate in the 5K click on the links to find out more information.

Patrick’s 3rd birthday. His dad and brother built a sandbox for him. He said he was ‘king of the sandbox’