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

Thankful.

I spend a lot of time being angry and disappointed about the things that were taken from me or that have happened to me. I think most people do not realize how INCREDIBLY thankful I am for the gifts in my life. I have never participated in a 30 days of Thanksgiving, but thought I would just see how long it took me to come up with 30 things I was thankful for. It took me 2 minutes to write 30 things. They are heartfelt and meaningful even if they seem vague. They all mean something very personal to me. I could have written 1000 more things I am thankful for. Every moment of almost every day. Childbirth, the good night kisses, footsteps in the hall, kids climbing into bed with you to wake you up, all of it... but here is what I came up with:


1 The chance to know and love my first born son, Austin
2 The chance to look at things through my daughter, Carissa's eyes
3 The wonderful

 humor of my son, Brandon
4 The reassurance and love from my husband, Kevin
5 The gift of good friends
6 The lessons from bad friends
7 Second chances. 
8 Family. With all the good, bad and ugly that comes with it.
9 The feeling of dreaming and possibilities
10 Sunrises
11 Sunsets
12 Birthdays (even though I don't like the age that comes with them)
13 Movies & books - the thoughts and creativity of others taking me into a different world
14 Music. Always music. For putting a beat and some lyrics to a feeling I feel. For making my heart happy with the right words and for pouring out my anguish I can not speak.
15 A home to call my own
16 My own creativeness, especially when it is expressed
17 Laughter. Without it, the world would be too cold.
18 The light in my child's eyes.
19 Sunbeams pouring through windows on cold days
20 Rainy days and a blanket
21 The world's beauty, it still catches my breath
22 Christmas Eve, when the world is quiet and full of magic
23 Christmas morning, the family togetherness and Christ
24 Good deeds done for people who need them the most, by the people least likely to give them
25 My children's smiles
26 The laughter of my loved ones. Especially if I was the reason they were laughing
27 Opportunity 
28 Forgiveness
29 Love - the really, really, really good kind.
30 Reminders to be thankful for what we have, always.

Searching for a face in a crowd

It has been an emotional month with getting married to this most perfect (for me) man and having a dream honeymoon to follow. Lots of love and emotion flowing, with an undercurrent of loss. Noticing there is someone missing at every major event does not come easy and without heartache even in the most joyous of occasions. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind there is a young mom screaming at me wondering where he is, how he would look and how he would be reacting. There is an old, tired mom telling her to shut up, for she can not take the screaming nor the pain. We are back to reality after a blissful honeymoon, which has been a very harsh adjustment. Trying to hold on to the strings of joy and happiness in a fast paced life is difficult. It seems as if people really try to rip that from you. Not wanting to let go of those good positive feelings but yet adjusting to everyday life again has been a challenge.

I have lived in or near a college town since I was 14. When I was young, it was cool, a little older - it was a place to party, yet older still - it was an annoyance to deal with people in MY town and now I just avoid that side of town. Its inconvenient with the masses of students and traffic it brings, but I have learned when to avoid certain areas. I really have never given it much thought, until yesterday. I drove to get some Jimmy John's for lunch (they are so freaky fast, but they don't deliver across town to my office!). I had a couple of stops to make, so the route took me through the campus area. I was, for once, enjoying my drive, thinking what a beautiful fall day it was. How even though this campus has been named one of the most dangerous now, it is still a small town, nice campus, where girls and boys (who look younger every year) can walk to classes in general safety and enjoy such a fine day with the leaves changing and falling and the crisp air in their lungs. And then it hit me. Like a Mack truck running me down like something out of Maximum Overdrive. My son would have been one of these kids. Not this campus, not this town, but he would have been one of them. I looked for the young men in hoodies and earbuds, slouching down the sidewalk without worry. I looked at every face I passed as the tears rolled down my face. I looked for him, knowing I would never find him. Not on this campus or any other. He would not feel the crisp fall air on his face. He would not have a conversation with the pretty girl walking next to him. He would not attend class, or graduate. Or go to keggers, or be part of a fraternity, or be part of anything but our hearts & memories. I had to pull over in the parking lot of the bookstore (where I worked when I was 15), where I bawled like a crazy person. I miss him so very much. Every day I can go through the motions. I can feel joy and pain, happiness and loss now. But I miss him with every breath. I feel robbed of my time with him and I feel so very sad that he did not get to experience these things. I feel differently about everything. But mostly, I just feel loss now, more than anything. Just a hole in my heart that will never heal. Wondering and searching, but never finding.

I do think that day changed my view of the campus. In the future, instead of being annoyed by these rowdy kids taking over MY town, I shall try to welcome them, smile at them and not be angry at their youth and ignorance (for I am not any more wise). They are far away from home, in new places with new faces, scared and excited about the future. I would want someone to do that for my son, so I shall try to do it for someone else's.

For ever after...

It has been so long since I’ve written, I am almost not sure I remember how. I have no agenda for this post, or any thought to where it may go. I miss writing. I am not sure I remember how to dig down deep and examine the broken shards of my heart & soul & put them onto paper. But, tragedy & loss affect us so deeply and entirely that we must force ourselves to examine those shards periodically or we fall apart all together. They start forcing their way out into everyday life if we refuse them. There is always an underlying sadness and ache that is within everything we do. It is important for me to realize this and try not to mask it, but to let it co-exist with happier days. To deny this sadness is to let it overtake the happy. To recognize and acknowledge it allows them to be together but separate. But it is so hard. The memoires flood back at the most unexpected moments, violently and without warning. Hateful are they, in their attack on my vulnerable emotions. Vicious in their relentlessness. I don’t want to remember, but I don’t want to forget either. Is there no middle ground? I understand the meaning of trauma and torment much more than I wish to. And then there is just ache. I miss my son, so very much. I miss the sound of his voice and the happiness in his laugh. I miss every single thing about him. And even with time, that doesn’t get easier or the feeling of loss less severe. It seems like yesterday he was standing in my doorway, yet it seems like 100 years since I have heard his words. Time is a bizarre thing. Grief, even more strange. It interweaves itself into every aspect of life. So that every day, every instance you feel more removed from other people. More different, more unlike them. More capable of understanding others, but yet less capable of being understood. Every action and reaction is affected.  Life is changed in death. 

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.

Hopeful?

On the never ending search for my “purpose”, (insert funny “The Jerk” reference here) I have been praying. A lot. Trying to hear what it is that I am supposed to be doing. Trying to figure out what path I am supposed to take spiritually, emotionally and financially to get me to where I am supposed to be.

Let me start by saying I am not what you would call inspirable. I do not see other people doing something and think – I can do that too. That is not me. I do not want to run a 5K just to say I can, or climb Mt Everest because some other person did. I am intrigued by what inspires people, or what drives them to go on, even in the face of adversity, but I am not inspired by them. This is a new concept to me. I am a realist (often referred to as negative). Realists do not generally get inspired easily.

I tend to be a bit obsessive and sometimes drive myself crazy. Sometimes I have to just shelve ideas as I cannot think about them anymore without making myself crazy and annoying those around me. Just about the time I shelved the idea of a new path in order to save my sanity, or what is left of it at least, I had lunch with a friend. I met this remarkable person a couple years ago and we became friends. She presented me with an opportunity that spoke to me. It would not leave me. The possibilities of success and freedom from my 9-5 excited me in a way that I was afraid were gone for good. The possibility of movement from my current position to something new keeps the negativity at bay. Moving in a good direction, instead of just being miserable where I am whispered to me when I said no to the idea. Now, just moving in itself is not always good. I have analyzed, rationalized and thought thoroughly through this plan.

But, I decided to listen. For once in my life, throw away the naysayers, the negativity, the “security” and just listen. To actually think I could just allow myself to be happy. To think positively. What’s the worst that could happen if I tried? I fail? I have failed at a lot of things I was sure of, why was this so bad? And failure isn’t so bad. I feel like at least I can say I tried then, that I would know it wasn’t right. But I have this feeling in my gut that this opportunity is going to take me far. Not necessarily that this is THE thing, but that it will take me on the right journey. That through this I will discover that thing, or it will at least open another door that will take me closer.  Maybe I need to listen with an open heart, and an open mind, and be less skeptical and I might make the right move. This is so very scary to me. I am based in security. I am a naysayer. I am too critical. And here I am saying to hell with it, throwing caution to the wind, not caring what someone might think and giving it a chance. It’s very liberating!

The one thing my friend said to me that stuck in my head and will until I die is “Who am I to say I can’t do something?” I don’t think she even realized the significance of what she said. But I did and it will not leave me. It makes me question why I think I know so much. Why I think that I am in control? Has it not been proved to me that I am not? Who am I to question what God has in store for me? Who am I to tell him I don’t think I can do something He has granted me the possibility of doing? I cannot even put into words what this statement says to me, but I can feel it. It inspires me in a way I have never been inspired before.  It feels good to feel confident that the path you are about to embark on is the one you are supposed to be on. Not necessarily that it will be easy or triumphant, but that you are one step closer.

Maybe it’s just the change of doing something new, something with potential that is fun and energizes me. Either way, it feels ok. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t scary though. I continuously wait for the other shoe to fall. And crush me. Not in the way of the little bumps in the road knock you down, but the huge life altering ones that gut you and leave you on the side of the road paralyzed, writhing in pain and fear. I don’t expect people to understand, at least most people. Not unless they have gone through life altering traumas. But I am excited about the possibility of a re-invented life! I just hope I can keep up some positivity. But for today, being hopeful and excited about the future is good enough for me.