I haven’t written for a while. The holidays are recently over, my job has
required extra time, my house has required extra time and I’ve put this
off. Not a really good idea. When I don’t write, it’s as if one day I
place a jewel on a shelf in a closet.
The next day, just a lot of junk gets put on top of it, and the next and
the next. Then on another day, another
jewel manifests itself, but too busy, so in the closet it goes. Lots of good stuff is getting buried in the
mundane reality of life. I know, I know,
life is not mundane and I don’t really mean that it is. Guess what my mood might be like today? Did that just give it away?
On top of not using the God-given release of the written
word, the sun has been hard to find, the weather is worse than unpredictable
and I am headed into my worst season.
I’m not talking about summer, winter, spring and fall, but the seasons
of my soul. I am not sure what to call
them (I bet one of those gems in the closet has some good ideas, but I don’t
have time to dig those out right now). I
think there are more than four, but maybe not.
Let’s just guess that they may be called, joy, sorrow, optimism and
realism.
I’m headed full force for the sorrowful season. Adam’s 35th birthday would be this
coming Sunday. Of all days, this may be
the hardest. You might think the
anniversary of his death would be, and make no mistake, that one is no picnic
in the park. But somehow, for me, his
birthday was just ours. It began with
just the two of us. It was his day, and
my joy. His spirit fills me every day
with wonderful memories. I just read
though, the most articulate definition of grief that has ever been written. Grief is love with no place to go. You see, I have more than enough love for
everyone else that remains in my life.
Thank goodness the well of love springs eternal. The problem is that the love I have for him
no longer has a receptacle, no easy way for me to express it. Going to a cemetery and staring at a
beautifully proud headstone is not where he is, but it feels as if it is the
last place I have to go to connect. I
find peace there, even though I know his soul has long left the frozen ground
into which his body was interred. There
is something strangely comforting about being there. But that still doesn’t solve the problem of
what to do with the love I have for him alone.
Along with the help of two of the best friends one could ask
for, I won’t be alone next Sunday and they quietly stand shoulder to shoulder
with me, one on each side of me, at the cemetery. We will toast him and all of our children,
for each one is precious and the beat in our mothers’ hearts. They’ll help me deliver a birthday cake and
his favorite meal to the homeless veteran’s shelter on his birthday in his
name. Family and other friends will
remember him that day too, I know, and they share in my grief. Today though, without warning, that grief has
crept into my day and literally taken my breath, my joy and my composure.
I certainly am not the only person to suffer tragedy. Many have suffered more than me. But grief is not to be compared or
measured. There was no way in the world
to measure the depth of love for Adam or for Chad, therefore I am not able to
quantify the depth of grief and sorrow I have some days. Just out of the clear blue – check that,
gloomy, wet sky.
It’s like a thief in the night. Creeping in quietly, approaching you so you
have no way to anticipate its arrival.
And then it’s like what I imagine drowning must be. Fighting so hard to reach the surface, to
find a place where you can breathe and everything will be alright again. And then, when you’ve saved yourself, you lay
exhausted. And the reality hits – you
are here, you could save yourself, but failed in doing what was necessary to
save your child. Isn’t that a mother’s
job? To keep her children safe at all
costs? I know that is not a valid
statement for what transpired, for there is no way I can control what goes on
in another adult’s life, even my son’s.
But you see, to me he was and will always be my little boy. My mind sometimes plays the horrible game
called “If Only, What If, and Why Didn’t I”.
Horrible because no one can ever win playing that game, yet sometimes I
still get drawn into it.
I’m not crazy either that just three weeks after his
birthday is Valentine’s Day, which for more reasons than I want to count is not
a sweet day for me. My dad was born that
day; my grandfather was buried that day.
My son died that day and I no longer have my own sweetheart to be at my
side that day. I’ll figure out ways to
make those days meaningful and will get by and through. I just needed a little written therapy.
And I do thank God that to everything there is a season. They come and go and each have value and are
necessary. What do you know?!?!?! I think I just unearthed one of the jewels in
the closet.
