Memories

It has been an incredibly tense and stressful week or so. Not that all weeks aren't tense and stressful, but this one more than others. The stress and frustration burdens the pain and grief so much more. I feel so motivated to write, but I have myself blocked off too much to dig that deep. Some days it is just too much to feel. But reminders of my tragic event pop up when I least expect it. A visit to a doctors office that seemed innocent enough left me rattled and unsettled. He, too, had recently lost his son. We shared the pain with words unspoken and it was good to not have to say anything. However, it still blindsided me. My dreams are frequently both blessed and tormented for entire nights by memories and thoughts of my oldest son. My middle son's laugh is starting to sound exactly like his brothers. Plus with his hair growing a little longer, he resembles him more and more. It is both a blessing and a curse, for both of us. A few days ago I stumbled upon a notebook, while cleaning. It contained the speech I wrote and delivered at the memorial that was held at my son's high school. Since I have no new words at the moment, I wish to share with this with you now. This was written and delivered two or three days after his death.



"Some of you may already know this, so forgive me for being redundant. When Austin was young he went to North school here in town from kindergarten through half of 5th grade. He was the sweetest kid with his blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was such a ham, loving to make people laugh. He was always so sensitive to other peoples feelings. He loved his friends and he loved playing AYSO soccer and being a boy scout. In the middle of 5th grade, we moved to our new home in a new town, where he became part of that community, playing soccer, acting in a middle school play, doing all the stuff middle schoolers do. He was a bright and funny boy who loved people and tried to make them feel good. He spent a year and a half at the high school playing varsity soccer & hanging out with friends, getting his license and growing into a bright, caring young man. When his dad and I separated and his dad moved back to Sycamore, Austin jumped at the chance to go back to those schools. That is where he felt at home, where he felt he belonged. He loved being here. Playing football was his dream. While playing soccer he tore his meniscus and couldn't play football his senior year. I think I took it harder than he did. Last summer he went to Europe and had the best time of his life. When he got back, he had grown. Independence and worldliness was under his skin and I started to see the man he would become.

So now, I have no words of understanding and I have no explanation. If you are feeling hopeless, reach out! And hug your mom. She loves you more than you will ever know. Austin, my beautiful, smart, funny boy ended his life with a permanent solution to a temporary problem. As teenagers, we have no concept of time and how life does get better with age. We also do not realize how many lives we touch, even as adults. Austin loved a lot of people, but I don't think he understood how many people loved him. How many smiles he brought to faces, how many days he made better. I know he would be touched. I know he also would have made some silly joke right now. He would have loved the Zorro tribute. We often laughed that Zorro was his Latin alter ego. I appreciate the extensive outpouring of support from the community. But I am truly overwhelmed at the maturity and thoughtfulness of the students. Austin chose great people to call friends. And I thank you all so much for being a part of his life. I know you made it brighter."

Re-writing these words now, I have no concept of how I spoke these words to these kids, teachers, friends & family. I don't think I could speak them now. Austin's death was ruled an accident, we would find out days later. We can hope, but we can never know. And regardless of whether it was intentional or not, he is still gone, and that is what breaks my heart.

Falling

It occurred to me the other day that you can tell a lot about people by the way they fall down. Now, most people try really hard not to fall down, but it happens to us all occasionally. Sometimes we stumble, sometimes we fall, sometimes we are gently nudged and then trip and sometimes we are shoved violently down the stairs when we were least expecting it. But how people react to the fall is where their true character shows through.

Some people lay at the bottom of the stairs broken and bloody and just wait to die.

Some people lay there screaming until someone comes to help them, needing someone to bear witness to their pain and suffering, incapable of pulling themselves up without the help of someone else, needing constant reassurance that they can get up and it will be okay.

Others get up on there own but take their time, all the while being patient and forgiving of themselves and others -usually these people have some good friends that they lean on for support and their inner strength shows through on a daily basis.

Some people jump right back up because they don't realize the gravity of what just happened to them. They just move on not realizing what just happened and never think too deeply about it.

And some people jump back up, look around and hope no one saw them fall. They tend to bruise deeply, needing time to understand and fully feel the pain.

It is the latter group in which I am most familiar with and since I can't resist a good analogy and am the writer of this blog, it is this group I will discuss.

These people fall down & jump back up. Not even sure how injured they are until they've walked around a bit. They walk tall when people are watching & limp when not observed.  They have internal bleeding that someone should fix, but they put a bandage on it so no one will see it. Sometimes they even get angry that no one notices how much they are in pain.  The gaping hole gets coverd with gauze & cosmetics and they gasp in pain when others look away. They smile good morning while clenching their teeth.  They do not allow others to see that they were hurt, that they are vulnerable. Especially if you were the one that pushed them down the stairs. They refuse to give you that satisfaction. Its a silly thing. Really. Now don't get me wrong, there are times we need to hold our guts in and carry on but usually we need to get somewhere where we can be sutured up.

My whole point to all of this is I have always resided in this group, which I'm sure you guessed. When my son died I could not contain it, I could not pretend I was okay. I could not move.  I relied heavily on these skills though when I was poked & prodded to find a "new normal." It was survival.  But I try really hard not to allow myself to revert to these ways as I realized the mistake in these ways. I realized I may have taught my son how to do this without meaning to. That it may have left him unable to reach out or know it was okay to be hurt and to show that hurt to others. That I taught him to hide it all but never how to process it. And I'm so injured. So devestated by his death and his loss of life. It feels like betrayal to not show that. Plus I do not want to miss opportunities ever again to tell people how much I love them or go out on a limb to tell people what they mean to me, or even to tell them they hurt me and affect me. That they do matter to me. That everything we do affects someone else. Never do I want to miss that opportunity again. I need to know I said what needed to be said and did not assume someone knew how I felt.

But sometimes old habits die hard.