Category: Uncategorized

Faith

“They had faith that God would do what they could not see or control”

 

I really need to remember to keep a pen and notebook accessible during church. This phrase took over my thoughts during Mass on Saturday night a couple of weeks ago. It was near the beginning of Father Miguel’s homily, and it just kept repeating in my head. Partially because I wanted to remember it to write down, and partially because it just really struck me.

As I sit down and type it out I’m not even really sure where to go with it. So many things come to mind with that phrase. It is hard to have faith. It is extremely hard to have faith when things go wrong. When a child is sick, when you lose a job or face financial struggles, when you move far from friends, when a parent dies, when a child dies. My boys and I have been through all of the above. Those things test you. Why are there hardships? Why do kids get sick? Why do kids die? And HOW can those things be overcome? How can we even survive through such hard times?  I don’t have the answers but I do know that Faith has helped us get through.

I’m no stranger to scary and sad things. Those things I mentioned above? They are not easy things to go through. Not on their own, not clustered with other things. As I look back on each of those things they all felt fully devastating. Especially that last one. How can you keep going when a child dies? It doesn’t seem possible. How can you have faith that God will have a hand in the future when something awful happens?

I really don’t know how I can have faith, but I do know that having faith- in God, in Heaven, and in knowing that I will see my child there one day- has helped me get through. I honestly can’t imagine going through those struggles without faith. If I didn’t have any faith then the signs that I have seen around me that are clearly sent from Gabe would be meaningless (I’ll write about those eventually). If I didn’t have faith then sitting in the cemetery next to his grave would be horribly depressing and unbearable, but it’s not.

I do have faith, though. And on those very sad days when all I want is for my sweet boy to still be here, I know that although I can’t be near him he is in the most amazing place. He is pain free, worry free, and happily looking down on me. And I have faith that one day I will get to see him again. 

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Happiness…it’s there somewhere

Life is complex, full of complex emotions. From when we are little children we learn about feelings- that we can be happy, or sad, or angry, or frustrated, or any number of different feelings. What we aren’t taught though, is that we can have different feelings at the same time.

Grief brings those mixed emotions to a new level. Some of the grief related emotions that have been so frequent for me have been sadness, anger, frustration, confusion, fear, worry, and emptiness. But what about happiness? WHERE does it fit in? Because when a child dies it is sad. It is out of order and not the way life is supposed to go. So HOW can I allow myself to be happy when my child’s life was cut short? At first the happiness was tainted with sadness. Every bit of happiness had a bit (or more than a bit) of sadness lurking just beneath the surface. As time has passed there has been more genuine happiness. The sadness is still close by but not quite as overwhelming.

I’m writing about this to process for myself, but also for those of you who are on this journey and maybe not as far along. I’m writing because it really, truly felt early on that there would not be any more genuine happiness. It didn’t seem possible. Sure I could laugh and smile, but it wasn’t real. I felt like I would have a sad cloud hovering over me for the rest of my life.

It feels a bit wrong to feel this happiness again, but I know I can’t be sad forever. I have a life to live and although part of that life is gone, the rest is still there waiting to be figured out and it’s alright for happiness to make it’s way in. This doesn’t mean I’m magically all better, or that my grief is gone. THAT will always be present. It just means I’m getting better at living with it. I think that’s progress and I’ll take every bit of progress I can get.

 

 

 

Two and a half years

Time is a tricky thing. Sometimes it takes forever for time to move forward. Sometimes it just slips by so fast and you wonder where it has gone. For whatever reason, this 2 1/2 year milestone is hitting me hard. It’s been 2 1/2 years since Gabe got a great report from his cardiologist. Everything looked great on April 7. His EKG showed no changes beyond his normal (not typical normal, but his normal). His heart was “very photogenic” that day, the tech said as she looked at his heart. He was watching “Big Hero 6” on the TV while they scanned him, a movie where the older brother dies. Ouch. Little did I know that the next day the older brother in our home would die.

It’s been 2 1/2 years and it STILL doesn’t make sense. My heart still won’t accept it. I have so many moments where it still feels like it just happened. Like he was JUST here. Like it was 2 1/2 months ago, not years.

I know sometimes it probably seems like I’m wallowing in my grief, but I think this is completely normal- if anything can be normal after burying a child. I’m not wallowing. The problem is that even though it seems to the world like it’s been 2 1/2 years, in my brain it feels like it just happened. Because he was JUST here.

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The Ugly Black Line

 

 

Oldest and youngest
He loved getting his picture taken
Oldest and middle playing a computer game in our Broadway house
At the park in Broadway
Gabe loved all animals

We were standing in the back to school aisle section, looking for dividers and fine tipped dry erase markers. My middle son and I were just about done with his school shopping and we had walked all over to find those things. We finally found the markers and as we were leaving I saw a familiar face. A face from our time in Broadway, back when I was a mom with three busy young boys. I met her at story time, and the funny thing is once we moved away I would still run into her periodically but it was almost always during back to school shopping. This time though- it just about knocked the wind out of me. Her very chipper “Hi!” told me she probably had no idea that one of my boys died. Immediately I felt JUST like how I did right in the beginning, in the early days when I would cry and hyperventilate in the shower. Because the reality of the death of a child setting in is so painful that it truly, literally takes your breath away. As I stood in Target even just breathing took work. I had to focus on it. And I had to keep going. Because this was my sons back to school shopping trip and I wasn’t going to let grief take over.

As we finished our shopping I was disturbed and unfocused. I wondered if I should have made conversation. I know I might have looked rude- in the past when we have crossed paths we would chat for a few minutes, catching up. But I knew that catching up would mean saying that reality out loud. And in that moment I couldn’t do it. I realized she may have known- it was all over the news when it happened- but just seeing someone from that life before was such a strong trigger.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the before and after and this was a clear example of that line. Of my life before and my life after. So many things in life are marked by a line like that and I’ve had many of those events. But nothing like this. Nothing marked by such a dark, clear, and sad line like this one. Gabe’s death was sudden. He looked perfect when he walked out the door that day, and in a matter of minutes life changed. For me that line isn’t the slightest bit fuzzy. It’s a line made of black sharpie. On one side my oldest child was here. On the other side he isn’t. Looking back through the many pictures on my Facebook page I can see that line. I have pictures of him from April 7- his last pictures. But anything from April 8 on is from the after. I can’t even begin to describe how it feels to see those pictures and know- life was one way in this picture, and it was completely shattered in the next.

 

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Gabe on April 7, 2016 waiting for his cardiology visit

My life before and my life after are two very different things. They have some of the same things but also some very different things. Some of the same friends and some different ones. That dark line is the reason for this blog, it IS the What I Can’t Control. It impacts every facet of my life from how I parent to how I remember (or really how I struggle to remember) things. And it impacts how I respond to seeing an old friend in Target. I’m sure that’s not the last time I’ll react that way. I’m sure I’ll never get used to it. So all I can do is keep going and try to enjoy life, but I have to accept those feelings in those out of the blue moments, wherever and whenever they happen. I have to let life and grief coexist.

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Never letting go

By now I’m sure just about everyone has seen this story :

https://people.com/pets/grieving-mother-orca-still-carrying-dead-calf-two-weeks/

On July 24 this mother orca gave birth to her calf, and it didn’t survive. For over 2 weeks now the mother has been carrying her baby, not letting him sink. As she swims, her pod sometimes takes turns bringing the calf to the surface and they are bringing her food. This mother carrying her baby around is a visible sign that she is grieving and people are saddened and fascinated by it.

As a human grieving mom, I’m noticing some things about how similar this is to my journey and the journey of so many. At first that horrible sadness is ok to others. It is widely accepted and even expected. Grieving parents will be sad. But what is happening now is the news articles about this orca are shifting. It has gone from acceptable to concern and talk about intervening. Clearly people are starting to think her mourning is just not OK. Clearly she needs to eat. There is an undercurrent that seems to be saying she is not well. She needs to move on. This sadness is not acceptable. We must FIX this! The irony of this is that people don’t seem to realize that intervening or removing the calf will not fix this. Sure on the surface we won’t see such an outward sign of her sadness. But inside? She will still feel the same. In her heart she will still be carrying the weight of her baby who is gone.

 

Off to the Races

What a busy day! Yesterday was the second annual Silver Lake Boat Races. This event was held to benefit Camp Holiday Trails in Charlottesville, and was held in memory of Gabe. It was a wonderful event that brought out many in our community.

This year the event raised $744 to send to CHT! We are so thankful to the Town of Dayton for making it happen. We are also thankful for the Dayton Police Department for helping with traffic, the Sheriffs that were there, and of course Rockingham County Fire Rescue- they were ready for any emergency. The Dayton PD and RCFR were two of the groups that helped try to save Gabe’s life, so their presence really meant a lot to us. Thank you to all family and friends who showed up watch, to those who entered boats, and to those who cheered on friends and family. It was a wonderful event and we think it was a great way to remember Gabe!

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Here are a few pictures from the day:

Lean on Me

 

Sometimes in our lives
we all have pain
we all have sorrow.
But if we are wise
we know that there’s
always tomorrow

 

Friendship. The world of a grieving parent is defined by the before and the after. The line between the before and after is THAT DAY. That awful day when everything changes and the world as you know it gets shaken to the core. So many things are different from that point on. And when the people involved become different, as we do, relationships change. I am not the same person I was. I know that. Truthfully it is not possible for me to be that person. That person was extremely optimistic, kind of Pollyanna like (some of you probably don’t know what that means). I did worry a lot about things like Gabe’s health, but it in general I almost always had a smile on my face and was just really positive.

When the worst thing that can happen DOES happen though it makes that kind of happy attitude change a bit. Some days I really can’t force myself to smile. There’s a man in Bridgewater who sits in the Dairy Queen parking lot EVERY school morning, rain or shine, and waves at cars and buses that pass. Before Gabe died I always smiled and waved back. Now when I pass him some days I smile. Other days I just can’t.

So I think it’s understandable if people back off. Not everyone is going to like this new me. I’m OK with that. When this tragedy happened though something else happened. There were people, some I knew mostly as acquaintances that turned into more. They stepped up and spent countless hours with me and with my family. There are a couple of friends who were there before and reached out and were there as much as we needed them. These people have all made this tragedy survivable. My friends have been there with hugs, coffee, meals out together, too many miles of walks to begin to guess, lazy time at the pool, pedicures, and even a wonderful day at the spa. They have continued to invite us to get togethers, girls nights (ok just me for that one), parties, and weddings, and they understand if we need to leave because we are sad. They have become a beautiful family to me and the boys. They love us in our happiness, but also in our sadness. That is not always an easy thing to do.

Through Gabe’s death there is also another category of friends that I have met. These people know the same pain as me. They have had to say goodbye to a child. There is a connection between us because we share a pain that is so deep it can’t be understood. We can talk about the horrible circumstances around our worst days and not have to be afraid of sharing too much. We don’t necessarily make the best friends because we are all dealing with grief, and forgetfulness, and lack of energy- but we all GET it! So expectation is low and we are very forgiving of each other. We form this club that no one wants to join- but we are all glad to have each other. There is power in looking at another Mom who lost a child so many years ago and seeing that life can still be OK, that it’s not how you wanted it to turn out but it can still be ok.

On Thursday of this week I will get the wonderful experience of meeting a new group of bereaved moms. These moms have all had children die due to heart defects. Some as babies, some older. We all come from very different backgrounds but we all share that one really big thing.  We will be free to talk about our children, living and dead, and not have to worry about saying the wrong thing. This will be a different kind of retreat and I think I will like it.

Three Brothers

Three boys. “You sure have your hands full!” I can’t tell you how many times I heard that over the years, especially when they were small. People seem to see a family with 3 boys coming and assume chaos will follow. Honestly, most of the time it did. My boys were close in age and had a few struggles, some health related and some not. But especially when they were small they kept me on my toes. The younger years were exhausting, but still I loved it (most of it anyway!)

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As the years passed some things calmed down and some things got more difficult, but it was great to see their changing relationship. Some days they would fight constantly, other days they would play for hours making forts in the living room, coming up with plans for future businesses, and building towns out of Legos. It was fun and amazing to watch, and fun to wonder what the future would hold.

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April 8, 2016 threw a huge, horrible wrench into the future- not just for Doug and I but for our younger boys. They were 13 and 10 at the time and I know that day was at least as devastating for them as it was for us. In just one moment things changed. The middle, who had grown up the middle, was suddenly the oldest. The youngest, still the youngest, was suddenly without the brother that he had the most in common with. Things changed that day in the most twisted and unfair way.  Something none of us had any control over took our lives and shook them making us painfully aware that from that day everything- EVERYTHING- would be different. And none of it was anything we asked for.

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I think to a child the death of a sibling or parent is probably the worst possible thing to happen. Someone who was there, all the time, and every day, is suddenly gone. They just disappear. It makes no sense. For many of us family is a constant. Something you can count on. But this kind of loss for a child brings a new uncertainty.

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My boys are the reason I write this post today. These two boys surviving the loss of their big brother have overcome a huge loss and they still shine. They work hard and participate in Scouts and other activities despite the loss and trauma they have endured. Their brother was a fighter and they are too. They have a very different battle than he had, but this one seems impossible at times. Since Gabe’s death they have both received awards at school for their spirit and determination and I have to say I can’t think of more deserving kids. I am floored by their resilience through this incredibly difficult life event.

The future is a blank slate. For my surviving boys each of their blank slates has a missing piece. As they work out their futures they will have to work around that piece. It will always be there and will impact their lives. I wish their brother was still here with them as their futures unfold, but I rest assured knowing that his life will never be forgotten and his impact on them will remain forever.

*This post was read and approved by the two wonderful boys I wrote about*

Opening Weekend

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Memories are happy and sad. And they are triggered by just about everything. Swimming pools are one of those triggers. Gabe LOVED swimming. From when he was very small, going to a pool-any pool- was one of the things that made him happiest. Leaving the pool was always met with protests, sadness, and often tantrums.

When we moved into our Dayton house we hit the jackpot. Our next door neighbors had 2 wonderful dogs AND a pool! A pool that they let us use pretty much whenever we wanted. All three boys loved it, but Gabe was particularly focused on that pool. As Memorial Day weekend would get near he would watch from upstairs in Liam’s room- the room with the best view of the neighbors yard. At any sign of a change near the pool he would watch even more closely. On the days when they would adjust chemicals, fill the pool, and get the deck ready they would see him upstairs waiting anxiously. We would get reports from Gabe on the progress “They must be getting the pool ready!”

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In 2014 we got Gabe’s surgery date early in the spring. The date of surgery would be June 9. He would not be able to swim for at least 4-6 weeks after surgery. That news was pretty devastating for a kid who loved the water so much. Also that spring the neighbors decided to get a new, bigger pool. They knew that had to hurry to put it in so that Gabe could swim before surgery, so it became an effort between them, us, and the neighbor on the other side. We all teamed up one weekend and had a pool raising. It was a lot of effort, and every one of us was needed (except for one of my boys who I think snuck back home!). We put up the walls, got the liner in, and then used hoses from all of our houses to fill it quickly. It was done in time, and we even had a bonus day before surgery- his grade went to the Waterpark but he couldn’t go. His doctor didn’t want to risk any infections that he could pick up before surgery, so he and I stayed home that day and had the pool to ourselves. We swam and visited with the dogs. It was a good day, and I was so glad to have that pool since he had to miss out on another fun activity.

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Now when they set up the pool it’s a bit sadder. I know we all miss him when that event happens. We always miss him, but at certain times it’s so obvious that his excitement isn’t there anymore and that really hurts.

We also belong to a community pool, and his absence is loud there too. Once we joined, every chance he got he wanted to go there. He loved seeing friends, and I know he also loved showing off his scar. Gabe was not a quiet kid. At all. He was one of the loudest kids I have ever known. When I would take the boys to the pool, no matter where he was, I could always hear him. Happy, sad, angry- I could hear him. I miss that. I miss the happy. I miss the sad and angry too. I still love going to the pool and talking with friends. I love seeing my other boys with their friends. But Gabe is missing and the hole he leaves can’t be described.

 

 

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Passed away? Lost? No, died.

*Before I start this one I want to just put a reminder that these are my own feelings about death. I don’t care how others refer to those who have died, but since this is my blog I’m sharing my thoughts.*

Passed away. Lost. Died. Went to Heaven. There are so many different ways to refer to  death. I have some pretty strong feelings on some of them.

Anyone who is friends with me on facebook knows that I usually use the word “died”. I actually did that from the beginning. I think it’s more shocking for people to hear, but in my opinion it’s just more real. I’ve realized that terms like “passed away” and “lost” tend to be more comforting for other people.

When someone says their child passed away it seems more gentle. But why? WHY should a parent be more gentle when talking about something as serious and earth shaking as the death of their child. Who does that help? It helps the person hearing the words but not the person saying the words. I have said it a few times and it just feels wrong. It almost feels like a lie. He didn’t just slip away. His heart stopped and he died. I don’t want to sugar coat that fact so that someone else might be more comfortable.

The other phrase that I haven’t used much is “lost”, as in “I lost my child”. I feel like that one just makes no sense. I didn’t, after all, lose him. I didn’t misplace him. I didn’t get separated from him at an amusement park or mall. Saying that phrase implies that I will find him. I am certain I will see him in Heaven again, but saying I lost him feels just as weird as saying he passed away.

Both of those phrases really seem to focus on making the person that is NOT impacted so much by the loss more comfortable which really is quite screwed up. I’m going off on a bit of a tangent here but I remember the night Gabe died a close friend came to the hospital. That friend had experienced the sudden death of her not yet 2 month old baby. And she told me that over the next days and weeks, and especially at the visitation and funeral, I would be comforting everyone else. And you know what? She was so right. That is exactly how it felt. I think anyone who has had this experience probably knows exactly what I’m talking about. Often when you are standing there, next to the casket, those coming up to express condolences are very upset, and the grieving parents are not crying at all or crying very little. Hug after hug, friend after friend, people express their sorrow and it feels like you are holding things together for them. I think most of it is shock- reality hasn’t set in that early- but it is an interesting phenomenon.

I really think that example combined with our choice of words around death just shows how neat, clean, and sugar coated we think life should be. We don’t like sadness. We don’t like grief. We don’t like situations that we can’t fix. So when something goes wrong we try very hard to make things easier for everyone else- even if we are the one who need everyone else to just be there.

I’m so thankful for all the people who came and expressed their condolences. I’m also extremely thankful for some friends who were truly there- early on and now- who didn’t place any expectations on my grief or seem to need me to sugar coat things for them. Who listened and who didn’t look uncomfortable when I used those words “When Gabe died”. Because he did. He died. And for the rest of my life those words will be true.