At the beginning of my journey I knew I would be the tortoise, at least for a while. Justin's accident was such an unexpected shock and came at a point in his life when everything was coming together for him. I went from happiness to despair in seconds.
But after the funeral with a lot of help from my husband, my rock, and some family members I was able to start the healing process. This was a hare period. Then came a second trip to Phoenix to take care of Justin's affairs. It was a major setback. It was a tortoise period; a long one.
Then came the Celebration of Life in August in Omaha organized by Justin's friends and extended family. I thank them with all my heart, yet it was another big setback. It felt like another funeral. I continued in the tortoise shell.
Early September was easier with Kaden's visit. (Maggie's son.) I went back to a hare until the Medical Examiner's report arrived. I could have avoided that but I needed to know everything. I needed to know if he was otherwise healthy and he was, very much so. Then the Police Report arrived yesterday. 43 pages of detail that, again, I could have avoided but I had to know about the last minutes of my son's life. Today a phone call from the Prescott Valley Police Department asking me what personal effects I wanted mailed to me. The phone call affected me more than I thought it would. It set off a meltdown. But the cry was cathartic. I am dreading receiving the package but I want his watch, his phone, his wallet, even the the flip flop that fell off during his transport to the ambulance. I'm afraid I'll be in tortoise mode for a while yet. I guess that's to be expected since it's only been 4 months.
I have my compassionate husband to lean on and my Compassionate Friends who acknowledge understanding with just a look.
I know that when all the business is finally transacted and things settle down once again I will become the hare.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Monday, October 7, 2013
If you've been reading my posts you know that my life is pretty much an open book. If it helps just one person then I don't mind opening up. But lately I've been stuck, mired in grief, a dose of self pity and worry about my 4 year old grandson.
I'm borrowing trouble because my grandson is doing fine for now. But as is my nature I think ahead and wonder when or if it's going to dawn on him to feel guilty about pulling the trigger that took his Daddy from us. He does know he did it. What effect might it have on him if it does happen?
His mother has done an outstanding job with him, from birth to present. He's mostly happy and completely well adjusted. He's the most loving little boy I've ever known, including his dad. I give that credit to his mother. He is following her example. She has a very sunny outlook on life even though she is devastated by the loss of Justin; the love of her life. But she continues to be warm, caring and generous. She loves unconditionally and is always there for whomever needs her. Her little boy needs her love as do I. Because of the way she's navigated the past 4 months, exactly, he may come through this unscathed with the exception of missing his Daddy.
I have no real friends here in Tampa. But having my grandson's mother fills that void. Our loss and our worries are mutual. Keep on being you, Jessica. I love you too.
I'm borrowing trouble because my grandson is doing fine for now. But as is my nature I think ahead and wonder when or if it's going to dawn on him to feel guilty about pulling the trigger that took his Daddy from us. He does know he did it. What effect might it have on him if it does happen?
His mother has done an outstanding job with him, from birth to present. He's mostly happy and completely well adjusted. He's the most loving little boy I've ever known, including his dad. I give that credit to his mother. He is following her example. She has a very sunny outlook on life even though she is devastated by the loss of Justin; the love of her life. But she continues to be warm, caring and generous. She loves unconditionally and is always there for whomever needs her. Her little boy needs her love as do I. Because of the way she's navigated the past 4 months, exactly, he may come through this unscathed with the exception of missing his Daddy.
I have no real friends here in Tampa. But having my grandson's mother fills that void. Our loss and our worries are mutual. Keep on being you, Jessica. I love you too.
Monday, September 16, 2013
In This Special Moment in Life
While in Omaha at Justin's Celebration of Life, a good friend of the family, also a mother who lost her baby at 10 months of age from a rare condition, approached me. After two years her burden is still heavy. I said what I could to reassure her that it will lessen over time. We chatted through tears feeling one another's pain. She said she had a dream that Justin had her son and that the baby was playing. I was delighted to hear this because, you see, her baby never made it out of the hospital. His whole life was surgery after surgery. She is a brave young woman. Her baby's death occurred while her husband was deployed. The saving grace was her wonderfully loving family. I asked if I could share the words in the funeral card. I think they are essential to life. Thank you Jenny and Blake.
In This Special Moment in Life
Think freely. Practice patience.
Smile often. Savor special moments.
Make new friends. Rediscover old ones.
Tell those you love that you do. Feel deeply.
Forget trouble.
Forgive an enemy. Hope. Grow.
Be crazy. Count your blessings.
Observe miracles. Let them happen.
Discard worry. Give. Give in. Trust enough to take.
Pick some flowers. Share them.
Keep a promise. Look for rainbows.
Gaze at stars. See beauty everywhere.
Work hard. Be wise. Try to understand.
Take time for people. Make time for yourself.
Laugh heartily. Spread joy. Take a chance. Reach out.
Let someone in. Try something new.
Slow down. Be soft sometimes.
Believe in yourself. Trust others.
See a sunrise. Listen to rain.
Reminisce. Cry when you need to.
Trust life. Have faith. Enjoy wonder.
Comfort a friend. Have good ideas.
Make some mistakes. Learn from them. Celebrate life.
Monday, August 19, 2013
No, I haven't abandoned my blog. I was stuck for a few days unable to bring myself to write. In retrospect I think it was avoiding having to feel. It's painful and I just didn't want to go there.
I spent a couple of days preparing for my trip to Omaha. I arrived Friday and have settled in for my visit.
I don't know if I mentioned this in a prior post but friends and classmates of Justin have scheduled a Celebration of Life and a birthday party in this city where he was raised. It will take place on August 31st, a day after what would have been his 35th birthday.
I am so touched and honored by the number of people putting this together and am so appreciative of the hard work and am warmed by their drive and dedication to honor and remember my son. In addition they are going above and beyond my expectations by raising funds for Justin's two young sons. The community support has been incredible. Their donations continue to come in.
My son would not have ever anticipated any of this and would have been very humbled by it. But he would have been so very grateful by the generosity of so many.
It has driven home again how many lives he touched and made better by his calm manner, vivid sense of humor and intrinsic love of his fellow man. I love the man you turned out to be, Son and I will be forever grateful to those who are making this event come to fruition.
I spent a couple of days preparing for my trip to Omaha. I arrived Friday and have settled in for my visit.
I don't know if I mentioned this in a prior post but friends and classmates of Justin have scheduled a Celebration of Life and a birthday party in this city where he was raised. It will take place on August 31st, a day after what would have been his 35th birthday.
I am so touched and honored by the number of people putting this together and am so appreciative of the hard work and am warmed by their drive and dedication to honor and remember my son. In addition they are going above and beyond my expectations by raising funds for Justin's two young sons. The community support has been incredible. Their donations continue to come in.
My son would not have ever anticipated any of this and would have been very humbled by it. But he would have been so very grateful by the generosity of so many.
It has driven home again how many lives he touched and made better by his calm manner, vivid sense of humor and intrinsic love of his fellow man. I love the man you turned out to be, Son and I will be forever grateful to those who are making this event come to fruition.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Diaper Box Derby
I've taken the past couple of days to recoup from an emotional roller coaster ride. I feel relatively calm today and have a story to share with you.
As I mentioned before Justin was the oldest, followed by Brandon, then Maggie; all two and a half years apart.
One cold winter morning I was working in the kitchen listening to the kids play in the living room happy that they were entertaining each other with a very large diaper box.
Maggie was between 1-2, Brandon 3-4 and Justin 5-6.
I was at the kitchen sink which was situated a few steps from the stairway that led to the basement.
Before I knew it the boys had Maggie in the diaper box, which looked remarkably like a soap box derby car. The next thing I remember the boys were at the top of the stairs ready to give Maggie a ride down the staircase. In a panic I ran, seemingly in slow motion, to the top of the stairs to stop them but it was too late. They had just given her the needed acceleration for her trip down the steps.
The boys were laughing and Maggie was squealing with delight as she traveled down the stairs in her makeshift car.
There was just one problem; the sudden stop at the bottom. It was quite a jolt and Maggie's squeals of delight turned into tears of fright. The boys were suddenly silent.
The saving grace in this situation was the square of carpeting on which Maggie landed, cushioning her fall.
The diaper box held up remarkably well until I destroyed it after consoling Maggie and swatting the boys' hind ends with the infamous wooden spoon then sending them to their rooms.
Looking back it was a little humorous but still frightening.
I was so close to them but, darn, those little ones are fast!
Another crisis diverted and another memory under the belt.
As I mentioned before Justin was the oldest, followed by Brandon, then Maggie; all two and a half years apart.
One cold winter morning I was working in the kitchen listening to the kids play in the living room happy that they were entertaining each other with a very large diaper box.
Maggie was between 1-2, Brandon 3-4 and Justin 5-6.
I was at the kitchen sink which was situated a few steps from the stairway that led to the basement.
Before I knew it the boys had Maggie in the diaper box, which looked remarkably like a soap box derby car. The next thing I remember the boys were at the top of the stairs ready to give Maggie a ride down the staircase. In a panic I ran, seemingly in slow motion, to the top of the stairs to stop them but it was too late. They had just given her the needed acceleration for her trip down the steps.
The boys were laughing and Maggie was squealing with delight as she traveled down the stairs in her makeshift car.
There was just one problem; the sudden stop at the bottom. It was quite a jolt and Maggie's squeals of delight turned into tears of fright. The boys were suddenly silent.
The saving grace in this situation was the square of carpeting on which Maggie landed, cushioning her fall.
The diaper box held up remarkably well until I destroyed it after consoling Maggie and swatting the boys' hind ends with the infamous wooden spoon then sending them to their rooms.
Looking back it was a little humorous but still frightening.
I was so close to them but, darn, those little ones are fast!
Another crisis diverted and another memory under the belt.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Time
I'm feeling a bit stuck today. It's difficult to get interested in anything, even my writing.
It's Justin's birth month and the memories from 35 years ago are flooding back. I'll spare you the details of that last month and simply post something a sympathetic friend sent me.
It's Justin's birth month and the memories from 35 years ago are flooding back. I'll spare you the details of that last month and simply post something a sympathetic friend sent me.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Tribute to Justin Thomas
For the past week I have kept things light telling you stories from the childhood years. I hope you've enjoyed those because there will be more.
Last night my husband, Don, presented me with this beautiful audio/video mix. It isn't intended to bring anyone down. It is of a bond between mother and son, but if you are a sensitive soul you may want to have a tissue handy.
I urge you to sit back, relax and reflect on my son's wonderful life.
Thank you for being loyal readers.
Justin Thomas Tribute
Last night my husband, Don, presented me with this beautiful audio/video mix. It isn't intended to bring anyone down. It is of a bond between mother and son, but if you are a sensitive soul you may want to have a tissue handy.
I urge you to sit back, relax and reflect on my son's wonderful life.
Thank you for being loyal readers.
Justin Thomas Tribute
Saturday, August 3, 2013
A Driven Young Man
Let me preface this post by acknowledging that all parents think their child is exceptional. That being said I have examples of my perception of Justin's abilities.
As a very young child he was labeled gifted. He attended college classes in the summers between kindergarten and first grade and first grade and second grade. He was a bit hyperactive so he only enjoyed the parts of the classes when they could go outside. He wasn't a sitter...ever.
He was also a perfectionist. When he set his mind on something he would give it everything he had.
I wrote the other day about his dedication to family and to soccer.
As he got older he set his mind to being a stand up comedian. He was very good at it. He performed at the Ramada Inn for several weeks until he succumbed to the pressure of being funny on cue and not feeling he was the best. He competed against himself.
His first MOS in the Army was a Medic. His knowledge was outstanding but was in the Reserves at the time. His required weekends were spent at sporting events waiting in the ambulance for casualties from the games. There were few. He needed to be needed so he changed his MOS, attended a second boot camp, switching to Infantry. He progressed rapidly through the rigors with his eye on special forces. It was challenging enough to keep him focused and as written in an earlier post he did become a Green Beret.
After a tour in Iraq he got the opportunity to apply what he'd learned. It was an honor and fulfilling for him to serve his country.
When he left the Army he turned his interest to music. He taught himself to play the guitar. I had sent one to him in Iraq so he had a little bit of a head start. His need to be the best drove him to start writing songs; good songs. His first one that I'll always cherish is "She Cried" that he wrote for
me. It was written in the car from the airport to home. He eventually recorded it. She Cried
He would go on with his band to prolifically write others and record them. The band was very good and fulfilled his love of music but there was so much more he wanted to do.
During his military years he had longed to be a helicopter pilot. His dream would have to wait a few more years, though, but he did successfully complete the program. He had a love of teaching and excelled as an instructor. Looking through his flight bag was like taking a trip to a helicopter library. Anything you would want to know about helicopters, flying them and teaching was left perfectly organized and cataloged.
Another star in the sky he was reaching for was the fixed wing ratings. With his usual zest he completed all but the last phase; the certified Flight Instructor Instrument. His plan was to have that completed around now, the end of summer.
So after reading this do you agree with me that he truly was an exceptional son?
He was gifted, athletic, driven, humorous with a love and devotion to family and to his dreams.
He is still plucking stars from the sky. He's just a little closer to them now.
As a very young child he was labeled gifted. He attended college classes in the summers between kindergarten and first grade and first grade and second grade. He was a bit hyperactive so he only enjoyed the parts of the classes when they could go outside. He wasn't a sitter...ever.
He was also a perfectionist. When he set his mind on something he would give it everything he had.
I wrote the other day about his dedication to family and to soccer.
As he got older he set his mind to being a stand up comedian. He was very good at it. He performed at the Ramada Inn for several weeks until he succumbed to the pressure of being funny on cue and not feeling he was the best. He competed against himself.
His first MOS in the Army was a Medic. His knowledge was outstanding but was in the Reserves at the time. His required weekends were spent at sporting events waiting in the ambulance for casualties from the games. There were few. He needed to be needed so he changed his MOS, attended a second boot camp, switching to Infantry. He progressed rapidly through the rigors with his eye on special forces. It was challenging enough to keep him focused and as written in an earlier post he did become a Green Beret.
After a tour in Iraq he got the opportunity to apply what he'd learned. It was an honor and fulfilling for him to serve his country.
When he left the Army he turned his interest to music. He taught himself to play the guitar. I had sent one to him in Iraq so he had a little bit of a head start. His need to be the best drove him to start writing songs; good songs. His first one that I'll always cherish is "She Cried" that he wrote for
me. It was written in the car from the airport to home. He eventually recorded it. She Cried
He would go on with his band to prolifically write others and record them. The band was very good and fulfilled his love of music but there was so much more he wanted to do.
During his military years he had longed to be a helicopter pilot. His dream would have to wait a few more years, though, but he did successfully complete the program. He had a love of teaching and excelled as an instructor. Looking through his flight bag was like taking a trip to a helicopter library. Anything you would want to know about helicopters, flying them and teaching was left perfectly organized and cataloged.
Another star in the sky he was reaching for was the fixed wing ratings. With his usual zest he completed all but the last phase; the certified Flight Instructor Instrument. His plan was to have that completed around now, the end of summer.
So after reading this do you agree with me that he truly was an exceptional son?
He was gifted, athletic, driven, humorous with a love and devotion to family and to his dreams.
He is still plucking stars from the sky. He's just a little closer to them now.
Friday, August 2, 2013
"Naggie"
Remembering Justin puts me in mind of Maggie. She was the youngest of my three. Justin, the oldest and Brandon in the middle.
She was a delightful little girl. She had a take charge attitude right from the beginning. Her brothers lovingly dubbed her "Naggie." She tried keeping them in line, as much as a 3 year old can. She got tired of Justin taking off his tops and dropping them on the floor.
She put her hands on her hips and in her most authoritative voice said, "Juttin, pick up yoah shoaht and put it in da yaundry." Her brothers laughed it off so in a huff she picked up his shirt and put it in the hamper. Task completed for the little mother hen.
I've never figured this one out but she would hold onto the salt shaker at dinner time. We would have to go through her if we wanted salt but it had to be promptly returned to her to hold in her little chubby hand. It was probably her way of cheerfully asserting herself.
When she got older she's the one who reminded the boys of important dates like Mother's Day and Father's Day. Without her those days would not have gone so well. She was very thoughtful and made sure they were too.
She would have made an excellent nurse, lovingly nagging her patients back to health. I miss her gentle, consistent reminders.
My living son, Brandon, said it best, "She was an angel."
I couldn't agree more.
She was a delightful little girl. She had a take charge attitude right from the beginning. Her brothers lovingly dubbed her "Naggie." She tried keeping them in line, as much as a 3 year old can. She got tired of Justin taking off his tops and dropping them on the floor.
She put her hands on her hips and in her most authoritative voice said, "Juttin, pick up yoah shoaht and put it in da yaundry." Her brothers laughed it off so in a huff she picked up his shirt and put it in the hamper. Task completed for the little mother hen.
I've never figured this one out but she would hold onto the salt shaker at dinner time. We would have to go through her if we wanted salt but it had to be promptly returned to her to hold in her little chubby hand. It was probably her way of cheerfully asserting herself.
When she got older she's the one who reminded the boys of important dates like Mother's Day and Father's Day. Without her those days would not have gone so well. She was very thoughtful and made sure they were too.
She would have made an excellent nurse, lovingly nagging her patients back to health. I miss her gentle, consistent reminders.
My living son, Brandon, said it best, "She was an angel."
I couldn't agree more.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Best Years of My Life
One of my fondest memories and hopefully my children's was the years I coached their soccer teams. I didn't look like a coach at practices, coming straight from work in my skirts and heels. Yes, we wore those way back when.
The difference in the way girls and boys viewed practices and games was very interesting to me. The boys were always more focused and interested in going after their opponents than the girls. The girls were more interested in how they looked, if their hair ties were just right and clumping together giggling over something or nothing. Sometimes it took two blows of the whistle to get their attention and start them on their drills. Once they got going it was easy to see how talented they were. Maggie was petite but had a very strong leg. She was given the job of corner kicks, clearing kicks and if it worked out right, penalty kicks. She wasn't the most talented girl on the team but she was my star, in private.
I started coaching Justin's teams when they were a bit older, around the 10-12 age range. I continued until the boys made junior varsity. I didn't last as long with the girls. Maggie had switched to basketball and was very good at it.
Justin's team rosters changed from season to season but the core members remained the same and I formed a deep attachment to them.
Justin was a very good, versatile player. He played goalie for a while, then midfielder, then wing; usually left wing as he was naturally left footed. When a player reaches the front line they are often referred to as garbage men because they take passes from other players and turn them into goals. He was a passionate player giving it his all like he did with everything in life. His fellow team members were just as focused on their games which led to many successful seasons and trophies.
It was difficult balancing work, coaching and attending Brandon's soccer games and Maggie's basketball games but something I would have never missed for the world.
Looking back, those were the best years of my life.
The difference in the way girls and boys viewed practices and games was very interesting to me. The boys were always more focused and interested in going after their opponents than the girls. The girls were more interested in how they looked, if their hair ties were just right and clumping together giggling over something or nothing. Sometimes it took two blows of the whistle to get their attention and start them on their drills. Once they got going it was easy to see how talented they were. Maggie was petite but had a very strong leg. She was given the job of corner kicks, clearing kicks and if it worked out right, penalty kicks. She wasn't the most talented girl on the team but she was my star, in private.
I started coaching Justin's teams when they were a bit older, around the 10-12 age range. I continued until the boys made junior varsity. I didn't last as long with the girls. Maggie had switched to basketball and was very good at it.
Justin's team rosters changed from season to season but the core members remained the same and I formed a deep attachment to them.
Justin was a very good, versatile player. He played goalie for a while, then midfielder, then wing; usually left wing as he was naturally left footed. When a player reaches the front line they are often referred to as garbage men because they take passes from other players and turn them into goals. He was a passionate player giving it his all like he did with everything in life. His fellow team members were just as focused on their games which led to many successful seasons and trophies.
It was difficult balancing work, coaching and attending Brandon's soccer games and Maggie's basketball games but something I would have never missed for the world.
Looking back, those were the best years of my life.
Justin is #9
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Peaceful Passages
I have promised to meet all your needs according to
My glorious riches. Your deepest, most constant need
is for My Peace. I have planted Peace in the garden of your heart,
where I live; but there are weeds growing there too:
pride, worry, selfishness, unbelief. I am the
Gardener, and I am working to rid your heart of
those weeds. I do My work in various ways. When you
sit quietly with Me, I shine the Light of My Presence
directly into your heart. In this heavenly Light, Peace grows
abundantly and weeds shrivel up.
I also send trials into your life. When you trust Me in
the midst of trouble, Peace flourishes and weeds die away.
Thank Me for troublesome situations;
the Peace they can produce far outweighs the trials you endure.
From Jesus Calling
by
Sarah Young
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
What's in a name?
As his father and I were looking through the baby name book we came across Justin. The meaning, it said, was "The Just and the Upright." We liked the meaning and a few months later Justin was born.
Eight years later when his father and I divorced he took it upon himself to be the man of the house. This was exceedingly important to him. He wanted the responsibility. At 8 years of age he thought it was the right thing to do. He continued in that role in spite of me repeatedly telling him that he was a child and should be enjoying it; that we didn't need a man of the house. He would have none of it. He was our petite protector.
A few years later after he completed two years of confirmation classes for church the day was almost upon us. I had been out at a meeting for the event. When I arrived home he met me on the stairs blurting out, "I can't go through with it." I asked what he couldn't go through with. "Confirmation," he said. We sat down and had a talk. Being confirmed in the church, to him, meant he had to live a Godly life, be perfect. I explained to him that God didn't expect mortals to be perfect but to just try and follow His example and that He would forgive us when we slipped.
Wide eyed he said, "I can do that!" He was confirmed 3 days later and was very proud of it.
Another instance, a more somber one, was when he was serving in Iraq. He was well aware of the dangers but felt the need to serve his country. He had plenty of work to do there but he volunteered to serve in the Honor Guard and to do what most didn't want to do. He honored our soldiers who gave the ultimate sacrifice then helped lift their flag draped coffins into the cargo planes that would take them home to rest. It shook him to the core and he shed many tears but it was The Just and the Upright thing to do.
Eight years later when his father and I divorced he took it upon himself to be the man of the house. This was exceedingly important to him. He wanted the responsibility. At 8 years of age he thought it was the right thing to do. He continued in that role in spite of me repeatedly telling him that he was a child and should be enjoying it; that we didn't need a man of the house. He would have none of it. He was our petite protector.
A few years later after he completed two years of confirmation classes for church the day was almost upon us. I had been out at a meeting for the event. When I arrived home he met me on the stairs blurting out, "I can't go through with it." I asked what he couldn't go through with. "Confirmation," he said. We sat down and had a talk. Being confirmed in the church, to him, meant he had to live a Godly life, be perfect. I explained to him that God didn't expect mortals to be perfect but to just try and follow His example and that He would forgive us when we slipped.
Wide eyed he said, "I can do that!" He was confirmed 3 days later and was very proud of it.
Another instance, a more somber one, was when he was serving in Iraq. He was well aware of the dangers but felt the need to serve his country. He had plenty of work to do there but he volunteered to serve in the Honor Guard and to do what most didn't want to do. He honored our soldiers who gave the ultimate sacrifice then helped lift their flag draped coffins into the cargo planes that would take them home to rest. It shook him to the core and he shed many tears but it was The Just and the Upright thing to do.
Monday, July 29, 2013
The Young Superhero
Justin was a moderately easy child to raise. There were so many facets to his personality that they can't be covered in a single post.
He was a gifted child. He talked and walked very early. His vocabulary grew by leaps and bounds as did his physical development. I was asked once if he was a risk taker. I have to say he was but not without thinking it through.
For example as a toddler in the temper tantrum phase, he laid down carefully first then kicked his legs, holding himself steady with his arms. He tried this technique only twice before giving it up for more creative ways to get my attention.
His love of superheroes started early. It might have been fueled by the Superman pajamas, complete with a cape, I bought him. By age 3 he was an expert at climbing on chairs then flying down, taking into consideration the height and trajectory. He climbed to the back of the sofa and did a double jump, to the cushions then the floor. This definitely got my attention. In good weather he took his act to the outdoors, usually the swing set. He factored in my watchful eye and started small, flying off a moving swing. Through the years with my attention diverted to his younger brother he advanced to jumping off the roof of the neighbor's play house. He had thought it through and decided whatever the backlash, it was worth it to be a superhero. He is still a superhero in my eyes.
Tomorrow's post will review his name's meaning, The Just and the Upright.
He was a gifted child. He talked and walked very early. His vocabulary grew by leaps and bounds as did his physical development. I was asked once if he was a risk taker. I have to say he was but not without thinking it through.
For example as a toddler in the temper tantrum phase, he laid down carefully first then kicked his legs, holding himself steady with his arms. He tried this technique only twice before giving it up for more creative ways to get my attention.
His love of superheroes started early. It might have been fueled by the Superman pajamas, complete with a cape, I bought him. By age 3 he was an expert at climbing on chairs then flying down, taking into consideration the height and trajectory. He climbed to the back of the sofa and did a double jump, to the cushions then the floor. This definitely got my attention. In good weather he took his act to the outdoors, usually the swing set. He factored in my watchful eye and started small, flying off a moving swing. Through the years with my attention diverted to his younger brother he advanced to jumping off the roof of the neighbor's play house. He had thought it through and decided whatever the backlash, it was worth it to be a superhero. He is still a superhero in my eyes.
Tomorrow's post will review his name's meaning, The Just and the Upright.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
My Gentle Girl
Maggie was a very easy child to raise. She only required two swats her whole life. She was so sensitive to my feelings that it only took a look from me to send her back on track. I called it "The Mother Look."
She was not only very sensitive to my feelings but also to everyone around her. She was the friend who was always there to listen; the sister who always had time to help her brothers through their hurts and fears. Her caring ways made her a sought after ear.
She was a beautiful little girl, picture to follow, and very bright. Once when the children were all very small we were reading from a book her Godmother had given her. It was "Noah's Ark." We all took turns reading it, I went first, then Justin, then Brandon. When it was Maggie's turn she took the book and said in her little girl voice, "They put the chicken in the boat and they closed the door." It was so succinct and so funny that the story became a beloved family memory.
She was driving by the time I had my back surgery. She drove me to the hospital, was up there visiting at every opportunity and bought me stuffed animals from the gift shop. Other teenage girls would have taken the opportunity to do things they shouldn't given the freedom she happened into. And she was right on time to drive me home.
Once there she helped me change clothes and helped me into bed where she stayed sitting next to me in case I needed something. I would drift off to sleep. Upon opening my eyes she would immediately ask, "Do you need anything, Mom? Water? A new pillow? Do you want the TV on?"
She encouraged me to push through the pain and work up to walking daily, gradually extending the distance. She had read through all of my post op instructions and was holding me to them, quietly, gently but firmly.
She was awarded a scholarship to a private nursing school. I think that was the perfect choice of career for her, though I don't think she would have stopped there. I think she would have gone on to get her medical degree. She talked about it often. All she wanted to do was help people.
I miss her cheery disposition. She rarely had a down day. If she did she would brush it off and go out with a friend to do something to take her mind off it. I admired her ability to shake things off. I admired her. Period.
She was not only very sensitive to my feelings but also to everyone around her. She was the friend who was always there to listen; the sister who always had time to help her brothers through their hurts and fears. Her caring ways made her a sought after ear.
She was a beautiful little girl, picture to follow, and very bright. Once when the children were all very small we were reading from a book her Godmother had given her. It was "Noah's Ark." We all took turns reading it, I went first, then Justin, then Brandon. When it was Maggie's turn she took the book and said in her little girl voice, "They put the chicken in the boat and they closed the door." It was so succinct and so funny that the story became a beloved family memory.
She was driving by the time I had my back surgery. She drove me to the hospital, was up there visiting at every opportunity and bought me stuffed animals from the gift shop. Other teenage girls would have taken the opportunity to do things they shouldn't given the freedom she happened into. And she was right on time to drive me home.
Once there she helped me change clothes and helped me into bed where she stayed sitting next to me in case I needed something. I would drift off to sleep. Upon opening my eyes she would immediately ask, "Do you need anything, Mom? Water? A new pillow? Do you want the TV on?"
She encouraged me to push through the pain and work up to walking daily, gradually extending the distance. She had read through all of my post op instructions and was holding me to them, quietly, gently but firmly.
She was awarded a scholarship to a private nursing school. I think that was the perfect choice of career for her, though I don't think she would have stopped there. I think she would have gone on to get her medical degree. She talked about it often. All she wanted to do was help people.
I miss her cheery disposition. She rarely had a down day. If she did she would brush it off and go out with a friend to do something to take her mind off it. I admired her ability to shake things off. I admired her. Period.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Becoming Unstuck
At the 7 week mark, I find myself stuck in neutral, not willing to go back but not finding the drive to move forward. I don't like this place. It's non productive and I find myself not wanting to go anywhere or do anything. Looking at myself objectively it occurred to me this may not be the healthiest place so I tried an experiment today.
The one household chore I despise most, other than cooking, is dusting. I told myself that if I got myself up and dusted one room I would reward myself with a bubble bath complete with candles. As it turned out I felt so good after completing one room that I got out the vacuum cleaner, then the bathroom cleaners. Tomorrow I will challenge myself again to dust the main bedroom and remove the clutter of keepsakes from the dresser.
Whether we're grieving or not we tend to get stuck in one place. Challenge yourself to take the first step whether it's something menial as mine was, or stepping out of your comfort zone by trying something new. Push yourself to make the first move. Be kind to yourself though. Make a to do list with only one thing on it. That list will eventually get you moving. Do not throw it away. It's there to remind us that there is more to our world and we need to live it now for NOW is the only thing that is assured. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow is uncertain.
The one household chore I despise most, other than cooking, is dusting. I told myself that if I got myself up and dusted one room I would reward myself with a bubble bath complete with candles. As it turned out I felt so good after completing one room that I got out the vacuum cleaner, then the bathroom cleaners. Tomorrow I will challenge myself again to dust the main bedroom and remove the clutter of keepsakes from the dresser.
Whether we're grieving or not we tend to get stuck in one place. Challenge yourself to take the first step whether it's something menial as mine was, or stepping out of your comfort zone by trying something new. Push yourself to make the first move. Be kind to yourself though. Make a to do list with only one thing on it. That list will eventually get you moving. Do not throw it away. It's there to remind us that there is more to our world and we need to live it now for NOW is the only thing that is assured. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow is uncertain.
What now?
I ask myself what now? What do I do next? How do I fill the time until darkness turns to light?
This is a lonely time. The cards and letters have stopped coming. I feel as though people are forgetting my son. But what I feel and what truly is are two different things.
Justin's friends in Omaha have put together an event in late August, around his birthday, to celebrate his life. They have not forgotten and I am very touched and grateful that they have done this and that I can be a part of it.
It is partly a remembrance, partly a birthday party and partly a fund raiser for his young boys. I'm working on a lap quilt to donate for an auction. As I was working on it yesterday I found myself counting the stitches. There was no need to count. I wasn't working on a pattern; just edging the blocks by machine. I don't know if it was the conscious or subconscious mind trying to put order to a world that no longer makes sense to me.
I was talking to Justin on the phone the day I completed the quilt top. I called it The Happy Quilt to brighten my living room. Now it will be donated to a cause; in loving memory. I still call it The Happy Quilt because I was when I put it together. And my hope is that whomever gets the quilt will be made happier by it's vibrant colors.
Working on it fills my afternoons and brings back the memory of my last conversation with Justin the day before the accident. The dialogue between us was lovely. It always was. We expressed our love for one another and ended by saying, "Talk to you later." This is later and I do still talk to him just as I've done with Maggie for the past 10 years.
I was asked if the memories of them fade. They don't. Everything is still very vivid when I visit those places. Sights, sounds and aromas are still as photographically ingrained into my memory as if it was yesterday that we were together.
I'm living now for the event in August. When that is over I will need to become more creative to pass the time from darkness into light.
This is a lonely time. The cards and letters have stopped coming. I feel as though people are forgetting my son. But what I feel and what truly is are two different things.
Justin's friends in Omaha have put together an event in late August, around his birthday, to celebrate his life. They have not forgotten and I am very touched and grateful that they have done this and that I can be a part of it.
It is partly a remembrance, partly a birthday party and partly a fund raiser for his young boys. I'm working on a lap quilt to donate for an auction. As I was working on it yesterday I found myself counting the stitches. There was no need to count. I wasn't working on a pattern; just edging the blocks by machine. I don't know if it was the conscious or subconscious mind trying to put order to a world that no longer makes sense to me.
I was talking to Justin on the phone the day I completed the quilt top. I called it The Happy Quilt to brighten my living room. Now it will be donated to a cause; in loving memory. I still call it The Happy Quilt because I was when I put it together. And my hope is that whomever gets the quilt will be made happier by it's vibrant colors.
Working on it fills my afternoons and brings back the memory of my last conversation with Justin the day before the accident. The dialogue between us was lovely. It always was. We expressed our love for one another and ended by saying, "Talk to you later." This is later and I do still talk to him just as I've done with Maggie for the past 10 years.
I was asked if the memories of them fade. They don't. Everything is still very vivid when I visit those places. Sights, sounds and aromas are still as photographically ingrained into my memory as if it was yesterday that we were together.
I'm living now for the event in August. When that is over I will need to become more creative to pass the time from darkness into light.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
A Time for Relection
I sit alone in an empty house reflecting on what could have been but never will be. I feel sorrowful but I don't despair. Despair comes only occasionally now, out of the blue like the sudden onset of a summer storm. I'm seven weeks into my latest journey; Justin's passing. The time for despair is almost over.
I am most saddened that my three grandchildren knew so little of their parents' love. The oldest, 12 tomorrow, knew only sixteen months of his mother's love. Justin's oldest boy, 4, knew his father's love and delighted in it. He has only happy memories now for which I'm thankful. My heart breaks when I hear him say "I miss my Daddy." I tell him we all do so he doesn't feel alone in his sadness. The youngest boy, just 3 months old, will never remember his dad.
My heart breaks knowing I'll never see Maggie graduate from nursing college or see her walk down the aisle on her wedding day looking beautiful and radiant.
I am somber knowing the earthly pleasures Justin was working on shortly before his demise. He wanted to buy a house and remarry the love of his life. I mourn for her loss as well.
I will never see my beautiful children raise theirs, to teach them what they knew best; to be loving, caring, selfless, reach for the stars adults like they were.
In April when I was saying my goodbyes to Justin, not knowing it would be the final goodbye, I handed him a small amount of money. He said, "Thank you, Mom. I'll be doing this for my children one day." I nodded yes.
It's good to not know when our time will be up. It would take away all our hopes and dreams.
I am most saddened that my three grandchildren knew so little of their parents' love. The oldest, 12 tomorrow, knew only sixteen months of his mother's love. Justin's oldest boy, 4, knew his father's love and delighted in it. He has only happy memories now for which I'm thankful. My heart breaks when I hear him say "I miss my Daddy." I tell him we all do so he doesn't feel alone in his sadness. The youngest boy, just 3 months old, will never remember his dad.
My heart breaks knowing I'll never see Maggie graduate from nursing college or see her walk down the aisle on her wedding day looking beautiful and radiant.
I am somber knowing the earthly pleasures Justin was working on shortly before his demise. He wanted to buy a house and remarry the love of his life. I mourn for her loss as well.
I will never see my beautiful children raise theirs, to teach them what they knew best; to be loving, caring, selfless, reach for the stars adults like they were.
In April when I was saying my goodbyes to Justin, not knowing it would be the final goodbye, I handed him a small amount of money. He said, "Thank you, Mom. I'll be doing this for my children one day." I nodded yes.
It's good to not know when our time will be up. It would take away all our hopes and dreams.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Footprints in the Sand
Footprints in the Sand
One night a man had a dream
He dreamed he was walking with the Lord
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand;
one belonged to him and the other
to the Lord. When the last scene of his life flashed
before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand.
He noticed that many times along the path of his life there
was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times of his life.
This really bothered him and he questioned the
Lord about it. "Lord, you said that once I decided to follow
you, you'd walk with me all the way. But I have noticed
that during the troublesome times in my life, there
is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why, when I needed you most,
you would leave me."
The Lord replied, "My precious, precious child,
I love you and would never leave you..
During your times of trial and suffering, when
you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you."
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
How long do I keep my loved one's possessions?
The answer is as individual as you are. Remember, you are in charge. You know what's right for you.
Just summoning the emotional strength to go through their things can be daunting. I know people whom after 5 - 10 years can't bear to do it. Is that right for me? It doesn't matter. It's not my decision to make and we need to respect others' decisions.
I know of several people, mostly women, who have gone through their child's things, tidied up their rooms and have left them that way. It was their child and their house. They have the right to do what they want.
It's easy for those outside the circle to judge what we do and when we do it. But once inside this dark circle nothing seems to make sense any more. We're guided by our emotions.
10 years after my daughter's death I can suppress those emotions but they're never really gone. They're not at the forefront of my thinking, normally. 6 weeks after my son's death I'm still in the 7th circle of hell. Emotions guide every move I make; everything I say. I know it will be this way for a while.
I have kept everything I saved from my daughter's dorm room for 10 years. I have no intention of letting any of it go. There is an exception with my son's things. Because his sons are so young there are things I'm keeping until they're older, like his green beret's and dog tags, for instance. By the time they're old enough to want them I'll probably be senile and won't know the difference. For now I need those things very much.
What I'm saying is that there is no right or wrong answer for the length of time to hold onto possessions. Each of us is different and each circumstance is unique. Keep what you need for as long as you need it.
Just summoning the emotional strength to go through their things can be daunting. I know people whom after 5 - 10 years can't bear to do it. Is that right for me? It doesn't matter. It's not my decision to make and we need to respect others' decisions.
I know of several people, mostly women, who have gone through their child's things, tidied up their rooms and have left them that way. It was their child and their house. They have the right to do what they want.
It's easy for those outside the circle to judge what we do and when we do it. But once inside this dark circle nothing seems to make sense any more. We're guided by our emotions.
10 years after my daughter's death I can suppress those emotions but they're never really gone. They're not at the forefront of my thinking, normally. 6 weeks after my son's death I'm still in the 7th circle of hell. Emotions guide every move I make; everything I say. I know it will be this way for a while.
I have kept everything I saved from my daughter's dorm room for 10 years. I have no intention of letting any of it go. There is an exception with my son's things. Because his sons are so young there are things I'm keeping until they're older, like his green beret's and dog tags, for instance. By the time they're old enough to want them I'll probably be senile and won't know the difference. For now I need those things very much.
What I'm saying is that there is no right or wrong answer for the length of time to hold onto possessions. Each of us is different and each circumstance is unique. Keep what you need for as long as you need it.
Photo of missing artwork
This is a photo of Maggie's Wine Glass charcoal drawing which is missing. If anyone knows where the actual one is please let me know.
My children's belongings
Experience has taught me to wait at least a year before parting with anything.
In my daughter's case I had two weeks to clean out her dorm room and in my son's case I had 10 days to clean out his apartment.
The first week was spent in such raw pain and the feeling of walking in quick sand the only thing I could do was make funeral arrangements between meltdowns. My children's belongings were the last thing on my mind until I heard from the college and the apartment complex respectively.
While they were very kind they still had their rules.
Subtract the first week from the dorm's 14 days. That left 7. Subtract the first week from the apartment complex's 10 days. That left 3. 7 days may seem like plenty of time to clean out a dorm room but not when you calculate the distance from Honolulu to home, dealing with two funeral homes, one there, one at home plus Christmas and New Year's thrown into the mix.
In both instances I had to make rapid decisions that I'm regretting. If you're in a situation like mine make sure you take someone along with a clear head. But the clear head must have your best interests at heart.
In my daughter's case I gave things away randomly to her friends on her floor. I don't remember going through a pile of clothes on her couch. In my haste I gave them all away. If my clear head who was along had had my best interests at heart that never would have happened. Luckily I did go through her drawers and closet. I found Christmas gifts she had bought before her trip and keepsakes that I have and cherish. But I'm missing her artwork. She was talented with a charcoal pencil and had done two beautiful drawings that are still missing, ten years later. I've asked everyone who knew her well if they'd seen them. They hadn't. Those drawings haunt me to this day. Were they in the pile of clothes on the couch? I'll never know. There were beautiful little hand made memorials that the girls on her floor left on her door or outside her room. I took them home but my clear head threw them out. I was hurt and angry over that. Be sure you are in charge and I can't stress enough that your clear headed companion has to have your needs foremost in their minds.
Cleaning out my son's apartment went more smoothly because of the experience I had with my daughter's things.
I remembered I was in charge. That's hard to keep in mind when you're in a fog of loss and pain. And I had a good, kind clear head with me. All small items were boxed up to be gone through later. He lived across the country from me. I made a return trip a month later. His things are safely stored in Jessica's garage. I brought back as much as our suitcases would allow. The large items were given away or donated and I have few regrets over those. I couldn't keep everything and for the most part accepted that.
A memory that's still so vivid in both my children's homes is I felt like I never wanted to leave. I felt I needed to touch and smell everything yet contrastingly felt the need to flee. I was caught in the time warp of waiting for them to come home and realizing they never would.
In my daughter's case I had two weeks to clean out her dorm room and in my son's case I had 10 days to clean out his apartment.
The first week was spent in such raw pain and the feeling of walking in quick sand the only thing I could do was make funeral arrangements between meltdowns. My children's belongings were the last thing on my mind until I heard from the college and the apartment complex respectively.
While they were very kind they still had their rules.
Subtract the first week from the dorm's 14 days. That left 7. Subtract the first week from the apartment complex's 10 days. That left 3. 7 days may seem like plenty of time to clean out a dorm room but not when you calculate the distance from Honolulu to home, dealing with two funeral homes, one there, one at home plus Christmas and New Year's thrown into the mix.
In both instances I had to make rapid decisions that I'm regretting. If you're in a situation like mine make sure you take someone along with a clear head. But the clear head must have your best interests at heart.
In my daughter's case I gave things away randomly to her friends on her floor. I don't remember going through a pile of clothes on her couch. In my haste I gave them all away. If my clear head who was along had had my best interests at heart that never would have happened. Luckily I did go through her drawers and closet. I found Christmas gifts she had bought before her trip and keepsakes that I have and cherish. But I'm missing her artwork. She was talented with a charcoal pencil and had done two beautiful drawings that are still missing, ten years later. I've asked everyone who knew her well if they'd seen them. They hadn't. Those drawings haunt me to this day. Were they in the pile of clothes on the couch? I'll never know. There were beautiful little hand made memorials that the girls on her floor left on her door or outside her room. I took them home but my clear head threw them out. I was hurt and angry over that. Be sure you are in charge and I can't stress enough that your clear headed companion has to have your needs foremost in their minds.
Cleaning out my son's apartment went more smoothly because of the experience I had with my daughter's things.
I remembered I was in charge. That's hard to keep in mind when you're in a fog of loss and pain. And I had a good, kind clear head with me. All small items were boxed up to be gone through later. He lived across the country from me. I made a return trip a month later. His things are safely stored in Jessica's garage. I brought back as much as our suitcases would allow. The large items were given away or donated and I have few regrets over those. I couldn't keep everything and for the most part accepted that.
A memory that's still so vivid in both my children's homes is I felt like I never wanted to leave. I felt I needed to touch and smell everything yet contrastingly felt the need to flee. I was caught in the time warp of waiting for them to come home and realizing they never would.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
A Sojourn in Grief: She was 18, just three weeks short of 19, a young ...
A Sojourn in Grief: She was 18, just three weeks short of 19, a young ...: She was 18, just three weeks short of 19, a young mother, working hard to make a good life for her and her young son. During the week she at...
A Sojourn in Grief: Justin's back story - Post #1
A Sojourn in Grief: Justin's back story - Post #1: Still reeling from the pain, Justin called to tell me he was being deployed to Iraq. He left one year to the day of his sister's funeral...
A Sojourn in Grief: Justin's back story -Post #2
A Sojourn in Grief: Justin's back story -Post #2: In February of 2008 he met Jessica. He came to visit me in Florida in April of '08 and she was all he talked about. He was utterly and c...
A Sojourn in Grief: Justin's back story - Post #3
A Sojourn in Grief: Justin's back story - Post #3: The flight school was 100 miles north of Phoenix through mountains and canyons, it turned out to not be a feasible commute and he had to tak...
A Sojourn in Grief: Justin's back story - Post #4
A Sojourn in Grief: Justin's back story - Post #4: Justin was a marvelous father to his two small boys. One morning in June he picked up his 4 year old from day care with the intention of tak...
A Sojourn in Grief: Follow me
A Sojourn in Grief: Follow me: Those are the stories behind my mourning and grief. Follow me as I travel from a time of intense pain to a new peaceful life even without two of my t...
A Sojourn in Grief: Expertise
A Sojourn in Grief: Expertise: I am not an expert on grief. I am not an expert on anything. My goal here is to heal through writing and help others along the way. Due t...
A Sojourn in Grief: Pic of Justin and Maggie together as teenagers
A Sojourn in Grief: Pic of Justin and Maggie together as teenagers: Together then. Together now. Justin and Maggie.
A Sojourn in Grief: Anger Management
A Sojourn in Grief: Anger Management: At some point in our grieving process we become angry. It may come right away or it may take a few weeks to a few months. Depending on our c...
A Sojourn in Grief: "She Cried" by Justin Thomas
A Sojourn in Grief: "She Cried" by Justin Thomas: She Cried - A Song Justin wrote and recorded for me
A Sojourn in Grief: Take control
A Sojourn in Grief: Take control: I think all of us at one time in our lives have set up dominoes on their short ends to watch them tumble over; sometimes a straight line, ...
Take control
I think all of us at one time in our lives have set up dominoes on their short ends to watch them tumble over; sometimes a straight line, sometimes a pattern. It only takes a little push to start the process. They will continue to fall until you've run out of dominoes or you pull out the next available one to stop the tumbling yourself.
This to me represents life. We can sit back and watch the tiles tumble down or we can intercede. Pull out the next available tile, my friends, and take control of the downward spiral life tosses our way some times. Reposition the dominoes into a new pattern, a better one, and give it a big push.
Anger Management
At some point in our grieving process we become angry. It may come right away or it may take a few weeks to a few months. Depending on our circumstances there may be someone to blame but most times there just isn't so we hold those temper tantrums in. I don't recommend doing that. It festers like a boil and grows. From my experience when my daughter died I was angry with her for not listening to me when I told her not to skydive. But how could I blame her when I'd done risky things against my parents' advice? Then I became angry with God for taking her from me. I lost my faith. That lasted 20 minutes and they were the loneliest 20 minutes of my life. The truth is we simply don't have the answer to why these things happen. It's frustrating and brings about anger. I'm angry now that two of my three children are gone. I don't understand the "why" and there is no one with the answer. We get platitudes, don't we? "God needed another angel." "The good die young." "God plucked a beautiful flower from his garden for his table." "He or she is at peace now." "He or she isn't suffering any more." That's fine for the person who passed but what about the living who have to go on without our loved ones?
Here are a few of the ways I learned to express my anger:
1) Pound the mattress with your fists
2) Close your windows and scream and cry to your heart's content
3) Go to the thrift store and buy glass dishes. Throw and break them in the outside trash can. There is no mess to clean up afterward.
4) Kick or throw a plastic wash bucket. It makes noise but doesn't hurt anything.
5) If you don't need noise, throw sponges, a lot of them.
6) Tear up old newspapers or magazines.
7) Pound nails into an old piece of wood.
8) Clean out your closet or another trouble spot in your home.
9) Lie on the bed and kick your legs and flail your arms
10) Vent your anger with a friend but not someone who is grieving with you. Choose someone who is somewhat detached. Phone calls are just as good as in person.
11) Write your feelings down. We own our feelings. They are not right or wrong. Get them on paper or in a file on your computer. Hide the file or notebook so there is no fear of it being found. You will want to honestly express what you're feeling without fear of being judged.
12) Seek counseling or a grief support group. This was listed last because we have to wait for an appointment or wait for the group to meet. I think it's very important to be part of a group or have a good counselor. But sometimes our anger overwhelms us and we need a quick outlet.
I hope at least one of my suggestions helps you release your pent up anger. As I've stated I'm not an expert on anything. This is my second round of losing a child and they work for me. Let us have a little peace in our new lives. God Bless.
Here are a few of the ways I learned to express my anger:
1) Pound the mattress with your fists
2) Close your windows and scream and cry to your heart's content
3) Go to the thrift store and buy glass dishes. Throw and break them in the outside trash can. There is no mess to clean up afterward.
4) Kick or throw a plastic wash bucket. It makes noise but doesn't hurt anything.
5) If you don't need noise, throw sponges, a lot of them.
6) Tear up old newspapers or magazines.
7) Pound nails into an old piece of wood.
8) Clean out your closet or another trouble spot in your home.
9) Lie on the bed and kick your legs and flail your arms
10) Vent your anger with a friend but not someone who is grieving with you. Choose someone who is somewhat detached. Phone calls are just as good as in person.
11) Write your feelings down. We own our feelings. They are not right or wrong. Get them on paper or in a file on your computer. Hide the file or notebook so there is no fear of it being found. You will want to honestly express what you're feeling without fear of being judged.
12) Seek counseling or a grief support group. This was listed last because we have to wait for an appointment or wait for the group to meet. I think it's very important to be part of a group or have a good counselor. But sometimes our anger overwhelms us and we need a quick outlet.
I hope at least one of my suggestions helps you release your pent up anger. As I've stated I'm not an expert on anything. This is my second round of losing a child and they work for me. Let us have a little peace in our new lives. God Bless.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Expertise
I am not an expert on grief. I am not an expert on anything.
My goal here is to heal through writing and help others along the way.
Due to the length of time(10 years) between my daughter's death and my son's I have some perspective on my own grieving and healing process. I also know there is much hope for sunnier days as time passes.
It has only been 6 weeks since my son's death. Presently some days are unbearable. Others much better. A lot of it depends on the amount of sleep I'm able to get.
I take comfort in his music, his old letters and cards to me and his pictures.
I brought home several of his shirts which I wear so I can feel surrounded by him. He gave the best bear hugs.
I take comfort that he is reunited with his sister whom he dearly loved and he no longer lives with the guilt he wasn't able to overcome for buying her the skydive ticket. He is at peace with her. We will find it too.
My goal here is to heal through writing and help others along the way.
Due to the length of time(10 years) between my daughter's death and my son's I have some perspective on my own grieving and healing process. I also know there is much hope for sunnier days as time passes.
It has only been 6 weeks since my son's death. Presently some days are unbearable. Others much better. A lot of it depends on the amount of sleep I'm able to get.
I take comfort in his music, his old letters and cards to me and his pictures.
I brought home several of his shirts which I wear so I can feel surrounded by him. He gave the best bear hugs.
I take comfort that he is reunited with his sister whom he dearly loved and he no longer lives with the guilt he wasn't able to overcome for buying her the skydive ticket. He is at peace with her. We will find it too.
Follow me
Those are the stories behind my mourning and grief. Follow me as I travel from a living hell to a new peaceful life even without two of my three children.
My hope is that you will find comfort and solace in my words as I begin the process of healing through writing.
Justin's back story - Post #4
Justin was a marvelous father to his two small boys. One morning in June he picked up his 4 year old from day care with the intention of taking him fishing after they drove up to his old place in Prescott Valley to pick up some of his things for his new apartment in Phoenix.
Moments after arriving at the home his little boy noticed something on the XBox under the TV. It was a loaded handgun. He asked, "Daddy, what's this?" and pulled the trigger.
The bullet entered Justin's chest between the ribs on his left side. He uttered, "Call 911," and went down, life over at age 34 on June 7, 2013.
Moments after arriving at the home his little boy noticed something on the XBox under the TV. It was a loaded handgun. He asked, "Daddy, what's this?" and pulled the trigger.
The bullet entered Justin's chest between the ribs on his left side. He uttered, "Call 911," and went down, life over at age 34 on June 7, 2013.
Justin's back story - Post #3
The flight school was 100 miles north of Phoenix through mountains and canyons, it turned out to not be a feasible commute and he had to take a room in a mansion with other pilots in the program while Jessica rented an apartment for her and their son in Phoenix close to her job.
The intense pressure of training plus living with the influence of a few not so good men, his personal life started unraveling. About a year into his two year program and living apart from his wife and son his marriage was in a shambles. Soon after there was a divorce. That's what the paperwork said but they still loved each other very much and they never stopped parenting the way they'd promised they would. My grandson was well on his way to becoming the sweet, bright, beautiful, very loving and well adjusted child he is today.
Justin finished his helicopter training with benefits left over so he started the fixed wing program to be completed at the end of this summer. He never quit. Try as hard as he could he wasn't able to find a job in his field so he took on several small jobs to make ends meet. Whatever it took.
In the meantime he met a girl named Nikki. She had been told she was unable to have more children but became pregnant several months after they met. Another beautiful son was born in April of 2013.
Justin's back story -Post #2
In February of 2008 he met Jessica. He came to visit me in Florida in April of '08 and she was all he talked about. He was utterly and completely in love. He was living and working in San Antonio, Texas at the time. He had a country and western band. She loved his music. She loved him and he returned her feelings ten fold. They were married in 2009 and a short time later had a son. They were excellent parents from the start. I spent the first few weeks of the baby's life with them to help out but soon learned they were naturals as parents. As soon as Jessica was on her feet I left, confident in the knowledge that the first born son of my first born son was in the best of hands. It was a beautiful time in our lives. Justin was completely enthralled with his new son, calling me with every discovery and every part of his development. I would make many return visits.
Justin worked small jobs, performed with his band as vocalist and lead guitar but his favorite job was his son. Jessica returned to work and supported them while he followed his dreams.
There was something Justin always wanted to do while in the Army. He wanted to be a helicopter pilot. Jessica bought him two tickets for flights to see if he was going to like it. He fell in love with it and knew after the first flight it was for him. Soon after his maiden flights he started his search for an accredited program that accepted VA benefits. He found one north of Phoenix in Prescott, Arizona. As luck would have it there was a branch of Jessica's company in Phoenix. They packed up and moved from Texas.
Justin worked small jobs, performed with his band as vocalist and lead guitar but his favorite job was his son. Jessica returned to work and supported them while he followed his dreams.
There was something Justin always wanted to do while in the Army. He wanted to be a helicopter pilot. Jessica bought him two tickets for flights to see if he was going to like it. He fell in love with it and knew after the first flight it was for him. Soon after his maiden flights he started his search for an accredited program that accepted VA benefits. He found one north of Phoenix in Prescott, Arizona. As luck would have it there was a branch of Jessica's company in Phoenix. They packed up and moved from Texas.
Justin's back story - Post #1
Still reeling from the pain, Justin called to tell me he was being deployed to Iraq. He left one year to the day of his sister's funeral. As terrified as I was I felt secure knowing lightning doesn't strike twice. At least not yet.
Justin was an excellent soldier, committed to his country and his purpose. He got a tattoo on his upper arm before he left. It was of the American Flag with the words "Never Quit" underneath. He lived by that. Several months after arriving in Iraq he applied for the special forces program. He wanted to be a Green Beret. Just before his year was up he was on his way back to the States to Fort Bragg to go through the Qualification Course. It was extremely demanding both mentally and physically. He had to be at the top of his game at all times. He didn't quit. At the end of the Q Course the candidates were instructed to go through one door if their name was called and another if it wasn't. His name was called. He walked through the door not knowing what to expect. He said on the other side of that ominous door was a recording of S. SGT. Barry Sadler's "Ballad of the Green Beret." He knew he'd made it. He never quit.
He continued in the Army for a few more years but wanted a new direction. He didn't think he could give both the Army and hopefully a family his undivided attention. He was a perfectionist. Whatever he did, he gave it his all. He was honorably discharged ready to move on to the next chapter of his life.
She was 18, just three weeks short of 19, a young mother, working hard to make a good life for her and her young son. During the week she attended nursing college. On weekends she worked 12 hour shifts at the hospital. She really wanted and deserved her dream trip to Honolulu to spend Christmas with her oldest brother, Justin, who was stationed there in the Army. She was thrilled to be going and I was happy for her. She asked nothing of me but to borrow my luggage.
She had asked for a skydiving ticket as a Christmas gift. It was something she mentioned she wanted to do when she came to pick up my luggage and I vehemently discouraged. But Justin, being an avid skydiver himself, wanted to fulfill her wish and bought her the ticket as a combination Christmas and birthday present. It was the last gift she would receive. The date was 12-22-02.
It had been a busy Sunday, the last weekend before Christmas. Gifts had been purchased but had just been wrapped earlier that day. I sat down for a quick meal and had almost finished when the phone rang. It was my son, Justin. He sounded as if he was in the Holiday spirit enjoying his sister's visit, laughing. But it wasn't laughter. It was shock and raw pain. He said, "She's gone, Mom. She's gone." It took a few seconds and the question from me, "Who's gone? before I heard the answer. I knew it was coming and dreaded hearing, "Maggie," he sobbed. "Maggie's gone." It was as if I'd been deeply pierced in the stomach and the knife began to turn. I remember screaming, "NO!" Then I collapsed in the chair by the phone. Sobs began. When I could speak I asked what had happened. Justin choked out, "The chutes didn't open. She and the instructor were both killed. I saw it happen, Mom." My heart sunk further feeling his guilt and anguish.
She had asked for a skydiving ticket as a Christmas gift. It was something she mentioned she wanted to do when she came to pick up my luggage and I vehemently discouraged. But Justin, being an avid skydiver himself, wanted to fulfill her wish and bought her the ticket as a combination Christmas and birthday present. It was the last gift she would receive. The date was 12-22-02.
It had been a busy Sunday, the last weekend before Christmas. Gifts had been purchased but had just been wrapped earlier that day. I sat down for a quick meal and had almost finished when the phone rang. It was my son, Justin. He sounded as if he was in the Holiday spirit enjoying his sister's visit, laughing. But it wasn't laughter. It was shock and raw pain. He said, "She's gone, Mom. She's gone." It took a few seconds and the question from me, "Who's gone? before I heard the answer. I knew it was coming and dreaded hearing, "Maggie," he sobbed. "Maggie's gone." It was as if I'd been deeply pierced in the stomach and the knife began to turn. I remember screaming, "NO!" Then I collapsed in the chair by the phone. Sobs began. When I could speak I asked what had happened. Justin choked out, "The chutes didn't open. She and the instructor were both killed. I saw it happen, Mom." My heart sunk further feeling his guilt and anguish.
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