TO MY SON

                I stare at your pictures, one at a time and yet all at once.

                I listen to music, songs that bring sad to my throat -

                Blur vision and memories of you

                As a baby, a child, and a man.

 

Yes I remember when, one memory at a time and yet all at once.

Your death day – three years now - and the weeks and months

Of shock defrosting into such a deep pain                                    

 Triggered by sounds, sightings, and random events.

 

                I have questioned, one at a time and yet all at once.

               The what ifs and whys, life’s worth, and my God,

                If I could continue, if I would survive,

                If I would forget your face or your voice.

 

Now memories mix, one at a time and yet all at once.

More of the precious, the friendship, the love that we shared -

The essence of you as time speeds, yet stalls –

 Three years now – how can that be?

 

                In memories, one at a time and yet all at once-

                I hug air with my arms – hold tight with my mind -

                Hold you in spirit and celebrate your life as it was

                As my baby, my child and your own man.

                               

I released you, once at a time and yet all at once.

To your maker, your heaven, forgave those that killed.

“Go to God, son,” I said. “I’ll be OK.” I lied.

How can it feel like you’re just on a trip, still connected to me?

 

                Heartstrings were formed, one at a time and yet all at once.

                Before you were born, and strengthened with time --

                Continuing now – how long is this twine

                That connects us still with invisible thread –

                                Seen only by God, and by us.

 

 

HOLIDAY COLORS

The colors of the holiday season, for me, used to be green and red with shiny accents of silver and gold. These colors and twinkling lights permeated my street, my home, and every store where I shopped. They also filled me with joyous anticipation, and made me smile.

 

Then my son died, and although those colors were still in my environment, all I could see was the blue of depression, and the purple from the bruising weight of my loss. I had the opposite of anticipation – the desire to hide from or skip the holidays completely.

 

The year before he died, my son gave me a digital camera for Christmas. We went outside, at night, to take pictures of my house, and the neighbor’s houses with their lights and many lawn decorations. “You’ve got to get with the program, Mama Jean,” he said pointing out that my home had plenty of lights, but no decorations on the lawn.

 

So the first holiday season without my son, to honor his memory and his wishes, I did decorate. And I bought a lighted angel and a Christmas tree for my front lawn. I went to my nephew’s holiday gathering; I watched his children joyously open presents. But I had no joy, and I didn’t invite any family, or friends, to my decorated home. I did acknowledged my son and my loss by writing out cards to him for each holiday, and sending balloons aloft on a very grey day. I did not bake cookies, I did not send out cards, and I flew to my brothers, in Denver, to spend New Year’s Eve. So I survived that year with a combination of tradition and escape. Despite the decorating, and the visiting I forced myself to do, the colors of those holidays were the colors of his absence, deep purple and blue.

 

Two more holiday seasons have passed - each slightly less painful. The blue of depression was just as deep but not there all the time. The bruising purple was slowly becoming a memory, but crushing when it surfaced. I purchased a wreath for my door and another lighted tree for my lawn.

 

In an article from the summer 2006 edition of “We do not Walk Alone,” grief educator Dr. Alan Wolfelt says, “depression has gotten a bad name in today’s society.” He considers it a necessary part of the grieving process because, “It slows your body down”. Have those painful blue and purple days, when my mind and body slowed, given some of my grief a chance to process and heal?

 

The last stage before acceptance listed by Kubler-Ross, is depression. However, those stages were intended for anticipatory grief – not for the loss of a child. Dr. Wolfelt, speaking to bereaved parents, also said that, “Grief and mourning do not come in predictable stages; they are more like waves and sometimes a tsunami comes…times when you see something or smell something and you’re right there again.” This resembles my experience during the past three holiday seasons.

 

As I write this I am in a pretty good place. I have many more good hours than bad – sometimes weeks pass before the pain returns briefly. I am hoping that this year the colors and smells will remind me of the joys of holidays past when my family was whole. I have survived three seasons. I know I will survive the fourth. I have hopes that the holiday colors this year will be less purple and blue. I have hopes there will be no tsunami. And I have plans to bake cookies, and purchase another decoration for my lawn. Perhaps a reindeer?

            In memory of: Anthony