Not too late

I just posted this on my Facebook:

When it seams as if all you hear are horrible things, awful accounts of violence and sickening events...remember all is not bad in the world. Look for the beauty and the peace and the people who love unabashed. Look at the teenagers who are curing cancer, smiling through horrible times, writing poetry and still have hope. The world is not as awful as it seams...The change in the world, the beauty, starts with each of us.


But I felt like there was more to my statement. This week, I have read at least 10 articles about horrible things that have happened in the world involving teenagers. I have read an article about 3 kids who were bored and shot an athlete, I have read a story about kids who broke another kids arm and yet another that states that a group of teenagers beat an 88 year old man, who defended our country, to death. It honestly makes me want to vomit. It makes me want to curl up inside my home, crying and just wait for the end. But then I remember, there is more.
Sensational, horrible news is less than 10% of what happens in the world. There are teenagers curing cancer, developing products that we will use well into our retirement years, and there are teens every single day making a huge difference in the lives of everyone around them. Those teens grow up and become "us". When my son died, and all was lost in the world, the one thing that I remember that keeps me going on those dark, dark days is kindness and hope. That there is goodness & kindness in the world still. His schoolmates, his friends - they all reached out. All of them. Even if they did not know what to say or do. They reached out and shared a word or a story with me. Most of the grown adults I know, were unable to do that. They didn't know what to say, so they said nothing. These kids could not be silenced by "etiquette" or "saying the wrong thing." The youth of the world are polite, they are considerate, they are hopeful, they are caring, they are full of ideas and beauty. They are full of creativeness and have not been beat down by life yet. They are fresh and energetic and passionate, because no one has told them they cant be. What a disservice we do to ourselves and to the world and to these kids when we squash those things. We attended a memorial at my son's high school days after his death. I really don't know how. I don't know how I got there, or stood up in front of those kids, or spoke. But the thing I took from that experience is what I needed most. Hope, Love, Kindness. Those kids came from different backgrounds, had lots of their own problems, did not know me, some did not even know my son, but all of them reached out, said a kind word and took something from the experience. They might not have all been eloquent, but they all possessed true caring and generosity. Some were more in tune and sensitive than many adults I know. I have had the gift of knowing some of those kids more in the last few years, and I am better for it. I have said many times, that we are blessed to have this generation to turn our world over to. They will make a difference. Yes, there are the bad events, yes, there are even some bad people. But those have always existed. WE can choose to talk about all the awful things that happen, or WE can choose to point out the kid who is a first generation immigrant, who takes care of her family so there is no time for social or athletic events and yet manages to get straight A's and get a scholarship to college. WE can choose to rave about the teenager who is working on identifying certain cancer strains earlier. WE can choose to point out the kid that should have turned out "bad" but chose to rise above and do better for himself and his country. WE can choose to point out the kid who brought a smile to the face of someone who desperately needed it. WE can choose to talk about the kid who volunteers after school and weekends because they KNOW they can make a difference, even if it's in the life of just one person. WE can choose to talk about all the kids every day who make good choices and do the right thing. WE can choose to admit we weren't  and aren't any better. So instead of bashing the next generation, why don't we give them a hand. Tell them how wonderful and truly unique they are. That they aren't all just products of bad parenting, bad environments, or a bad world. The world can be whatever they make it. And we can help. It's not too late.

Mother’s Day 2013

 Mother’s Day 2013. What a bittersweet day for me. It was too emotional to write that day, although that is when my creativity flows the strongest.

On one hand, I am extremely blessed. I have been a mother for more than 20 years. I have given birth to 3 beautiful, healthy children that have taught me so much, given me so much joy and filled my heart with more love than I knew physically possible. I have felt the sweet snuggles of babies, the joy of first words and steps, the pride of seeing my child do the right thing, the sweet sticky hugs that never go away, and the life lessons. On the other, I have one son who will never call on Mother’s Day. Or, any other day, for that matter. And while it is apparent every day, special occasions are harder to ignore. I have felt the pain of loss so intense my heart still hurts every single day. I have felt the detrimental ache of what ifs and if only’s. I bore the weight of knowing I will never see my oldest son do any of the things he should have done. I have heard things I have never wanted to know, and seen things I never wanted to see. And yet, I am still breathing.

But this post is not really about my bittersweet day, it is about something else entirely. It just happened to manifest itself on that day. I have been thinking about how I can get involved with helping an organization that I felt passionate about. Perhaps something with kids, self esteem, teenage pregnancy, suicide, something along those lines? Something I knew a little something about, and could give back from the hard lessons I have learned in my life? And I kept looking at my calendar, thinking I was unsure how to fit it in, but not letting that deter my thinking. However, I was unable to settle on a “cause”. And then I received this message in my inbox from a very special girl in my neighborhood. And she shared with me her post about Mother’s Day. And seeing me through her eyes was the most wonderful gift I could have received that day. It truly touched me. And as I was discussing this with my husband, after I was done crying, of course, he said to me…"Laura, maybe the problem isn’t really what organization you should get involved with. Maybe, looking for a cause is not the right thing. Maybe you need to realize that living your life every day, and being you, touches more people than you could possible realize." (This is paraphrased, he words things much smarter sounding than I). So after I picked myself up from bawling again...I realized I had lost touch with the original idea of this blog, this purpose I have. It was the very reason I had set out on this blogging journey. For myself, and for all of us to remember that each and every one of us has the power, every single day, to give, to make a difference just by being you. You may not realize people are watching, or even realize they know you exist. But they do. And you freaking matter. A lot. 

Happy Birthday, son.

Honestly, I have no words. I have nothing new to contribute or even say. I tried to write a poem to read tonight as we released balloons in my son's honor. He would have been 20 today. But no words came. I posted words that were inadequate on Facebook. I sat and stared blankly at the screen waiting for some poetic words to come to mind to share with friends tonight. I sat and stared while trying to write something meaningful here today. I am spent. I have nothing. There are no words of encouragement, no words of regret, no words of sorrow, no words of understanding. There is just nothingness.


I scanned pictures to Facebook of birthdays past. We only got to share 17 of them. I looked at his smiling face, searching in his eyes for when something changed. I looked for demons, I looked for sadness, and I looked for answers I knew I would not find. And I was right. I found nothing but the beautiful face of my son. I felt anger for things I would never get to know. Things that I must know, but can not. I watched us sing happy birthday to him and heard his beautiful laugh and saw his smiling face. And for just a moment, it was as if he was here, and never had gone. But then he blew out the candles and the picture went dark. Never had there been a better scene. No director could have timed it so perfectly, no writer could have written it better. In one moment, we went from happy, joyous moments of smiling people and love filling the room to utter darkness.

Numb, please.

The dreaded date is upon us. Only a few more days until the day marks 2 years since my son died. I have been playing a losing game of cat and mouse with the acknowledgment of this fact. In the last two years I have been trying to work on so many things. Forgiveness, mostly of myself, understanding, love, growth, tolerance, etc. But there seems to be no end in sight. It seems when I get over one hill, there is another large hill behind it that I didn't quite see. In two years, I have lost a son, gained really great friends, lost friends who I thought would never walk away, learned to depend on a man who has yet to let me down, gained a husband (the dependable man and the husband are one of the same), taken two great trips, had my world ripped apart again and again, been attacked by words of people who need to tear people down, been harassed and misunderstood. And loved. I have been loved. And I have tried to find those bright spots in the world, in each day. Because they are there. And they are magnificent, even through the pain. I have tried to smile. I have loved a little deeper. I have tried to brighten someone else's day and try to remind people how much I care. If anything else, to make sure I avoid so much guilt, next time.  But as this week approaches, all I want to be is numb. I don't want to feel anything, I don't want to be. Even my body knows it, with its aches and pains and crushing gravity. It has been incredibly difficult to get out of bed each day. Perhaps I should just acknowledge my pain and the date. But its an odd thing. Why would this date hurt more? Every day my heart hurts. Every day. It's unlikely that it will hurt more on the 24th. But the approach of the date brings the flashbacks a bit more prominently to mind, and as much as I try to avoid or deny it, the date is significant. I remember the day the world stopped turning. Even if I don't want to. I remember what I was doing, where I was, and every event after that. I remember the searing pain in my chest. Because it is still there.
For someone who is sentimental and feels the passing of time like a huge grandfather clock echoing in her ear, the date is crushing. It forces acknowledgement and remembrance of things I would like to forget. I don't want to forget he lived. I just want to forget he isn't still living. I almost wish I could go absolutely bat shit crazy and invent a nice little story. That would hurt a lot less. I'm angry, and in constant turmoil, and in constant pain. I really cant relinquish, quite yet, to submersing in that feeling, because, as always, I am afraid its not one I can come back from. There have been so many things that have happened, in the last 6 months even, that I can not comprehend. And I am tired. I am so freaking tired of aching. And trying to understand. And trying to go on. I just really could use a rest. Maybe in March I will feel better. Or perhaps not. His birthday is the 26th. He would have been 20. Perhaps April? Perhaps I can just plan to live from April through Thanksgiving. And then from the holidays through March 31st, I will just exist. My entire life has been spent smiling through the pain, but I fear my smile is broken.

Quit wishing away your time

Every day, during the week, I count down til Friday. I always say there is a 10% mood increase each day. So Monday I come in and I am at 50%, Tuesday 60%, Wednesday 70% etc, etc. Saturday and Sunday are at 100%. Somewhere between 9pm Sunday night and 5 am Monday morning we reset to 50%. Today, 9 days away from the 2 year anniversary of the worst day of my life, that has shattered my world and left a gaping hole in my heart that will never heal, I realized that is such a stupid way to live. I am wasting every day waiting for the weekend. I am wishing away most of my life. Those are times I can not get back, not ever. I am working towards changing the part of my life that makes me most miserable (the things within my control) but it will take awhile. And that is how it will be. But it really is a sad thing to just wish most of your life away because of your circumstance. Work on changing it, yes! Start today, yes! But most of all, enjoy all the in between. Because that is where life happens and memories are made. They aren’t only made on Saturday and Sunday. They aren’t only made when you are not burdened. They are made every minute. Every moment, so enjoy those times. It will be what carries you through the bad. It will be what lights the darkness, even if its just a little. Trust me.

Dear Blog...

Dear Blog,

Please quit nagging me. I know you are here. I know you are being neglected. I know the moments have passed and the words and their insightfulness have died while you were waiting for me.

In December, I was going to write about the tragedy in Connecticut. Even though every person on every soap box was also writing about it. I did not want to write from a political point of view, or even from a loss point of view. More of a simple statement, said with love. Which is get off our soapboxes and love. Make better people, not better rules. Then I decided the issue was too raw so I would write about family and loss during the holidays. Then it was a reflection on the year. Its major blissful events, and its turmoil, its losses, its abandonment. 2012 was a busy year. Engaged, starting a business, kids, work, getting married, going to Ireland, renewing great friendships and having ones end unexpectedly. Then it was a lengthy discussion of what a parent is supposed to do when a member of her bruised and broken and hurting family, tells her he does not want to live anymore. The tremendous pain and anguish, of knowing what is on the line, of being fearful that every day, maybe one of your amazing, brilliant, absolutely beautiful persons who you love more than anything in this world, may not wake up, because they chose not to.

But it was all too much. I used to wonder if people who went crazy knew they were going crazy. The answer, in my most humble opinion, is yes. They see it, they feel it, but there isn't anything they can do. Just as no matter how much you love someone and how much you want to fix everything for someone, you just cant make them do what you want. It is all still too much. Every day I work on trying to find purpose and energy and POSITIVENESS. Every single day I try. So the problem now, you see, is in order to be POSITIVE, I do not know how to balance the things that I need to write to you about. It causes me to avoid you like the plague (funny how people use that saying still today in 2013; I mean, really, the plague was over 600 years ago). I have always struggled with middle ground. Meaning I do not have one. I do not know how to balance.

So, you see, dear blog, it is not you, it is me. I hope to return to you soon, as I do so miss you.

Your's Truly,

Laura