The Tortoise and the Hare

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

"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. 

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.

Justin is #9

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

Sergeant Thomas

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. 

A Young Justin

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.

A Young Maggie

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.  

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.

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. 

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.