First day of school

Aug21

These past several days I’ve seen so many pictures and posts about first days of school and moves to college. ‘Tis the season. Time keeps marching on. New memories are being made. It hits me at different times that my memories of Drey have a beginning and an end. There won’t be any new ones.

Robbie is on his way home with David… he started his freshman year this week at Thomas. I want to be happy… I want to hear about his classes, about band. I want to celebrate alongside Robbie these very important milestones in his son’s life. Sometimes I can. This is such a complicated journey for us. David told Robbie a few months ago he didn’t understand why Drey did this. He said him & Drey were just starting to hang out together. He was right. Drey was usually too cool for his stepbrother that was 5 years his junior. But the last year of Drey’s life he was hanging out more with David. I guess the 5 year age gap was more tolerable once David was 13. David reflected on how him & Drey did stuff together while we were on vacation – just a few months before Drey died. Trips to the gas station for candy, the arcade room, swimming. Sometimes I feel guilty for what I’ve done to David… like somehow my baby’s choice was my fault. David didn’t ask for this. He didn’t want to carry this tragedy the rest of his life. None of us did. Staying focused on what I’m responsible for – and not picking up add’l responsibility – has never really been my strength. So I choose to give it back to God. Sometimes daily – and sometimes moment by moment. It’s too heavy for me to carry.

First day of school – 1st grade and 6th grade. I treasure this memory.

A year ago it was Drey’s Memorial Service 8/18/12

Aug18

Last year at this exact moment I was getting ready to leave for my son’s memorial service. It’s pretty unreal to think of that. In some ways I think I’m still in shock. Learning to live this new life I didn’t ask for – learning to integrate my baby’s death into my life – well it’s taking quite a while.

But I’m not crying this morning. I’m melancholy and reflective but I’m not distraught. Part of learning to live this new life is accepting that I can’t stay in the depths of despair that I was in the first several months after his death. Sometimes I welcome that realization. Other times it’s gross. How can I just go on with my life? Isn’t being distraught somehow “the right thing to do” if I really loved Drey? Learning the answer to that question is “no” is an ongoing lesson.

So why aren’t I experiencing the ongoing gut wrenching grief that dominated my life for so long? Truly, what do I have to live for? Yes I love my husband, my parents, my stepson, my friends. Yes I am blessed. But is that what I live for? No. Sadly I’ve learned my loved ones can be taken away in a second. I have a great home. Oh I know – I have my health. Hmmmm… for how long? Nope – I can’t place my hope there either. My hope is in God. My hope is in eternity. This life is not all there is. I love the one parable in Matthew and how it concludes… Matthew 25:23 shows that God praises us for when we allow Him to work through us. He does the work – but we get the praise! “His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!'” Can you imagine hearing those words when you are face to face with our perfect God? That is where I place my hope. In knowing I can delight my God as I chose to depend on Him. Not to earn His acceptance – that’s already a done deal because of Christ. But I have hope because He loves me. It gives me motivation to love others. I want my life to count for His glory. I feel it so deeply sometimes. I feel it so deeply now. I can’t help but to smile! Yes, my pain will remain for a while longer. I have made a very, very large deposit into heaven and since I’m still here I will ache. But I have joy, too! Yes. This moment I have joy! I’m learning to treasure these moments and to praise God for them. I may be crying in an hour… but for right now I have joy!

I started this post a bit sad and melancholy. But as I read that scripture and prayed throughout my typing my sadness transformed to joy even if just for a moment! I experience joy because of the sunshine, my dogs, my iPhone and even my purple nail polish. I experience joy for simple things BECAUSE I have my hope in God. These past few weeks I’ve experienced joy because of Drey’s friends and how they honor him, love him, and remember him. Look at the below page from the 2013 TWHS yearbook… what a blessing! Thank you Bethaney, thank you everyone! I love what you wrote about Drey. It’s always what I’ve thought about him – but I’m Mom. I’m biased! To read how you felt about Drey meant so much! And for it to be included in such a permanent place – thank you!

Yes, Drey graduated in 2012. But the wonderful Thomas Worthington High School 2013 folks included this page in the yearbook . Blessed!

little blond boys with glasses do it to me every time

Aug13

I’m sitting here at Panera enjoying some quiet time. Praying silently. Meditating. Yes, it’s sometimes better to get away from the distractions of home in order to enjoy some intimacy with God. I don’t hear laundry, dust or dishes shouting for attention when I’m here. But there’s always that chance of seeing a teenager with that soccer build or – like this morning – a cutie patutie blond boy with glasses.

Drey was 5 when he got his first pair of glasses. Little round glasses with dolphins on the frames. He wore them with pride. The roundness of them somehow matched those pudgy, round, chipmunk cheeks he had. I smile and tear up at the same time just thinking of that little 5 year old face. I have a picture of him at a Christmas recital where he was wearing his brand new glasses. He was all smiles. I’d like to get that picture out. But not now. It’s too soon to look at any pictures other than the ones already sitting out.

I’ve been sitting here long enough now… I think the Mom and little boy have left. It’s safe to walk towards the exit.

For such a time as this

Aug11

An article I read recently said year 2 for the bereaved is harder than year 1. That’s hard to believe. I can’t imagine anything more agonizing than those first 6 months especially. So I’m trying not to panic at the emptiness I’m feeling this morning. I miss you. I mean I’ve missed you for months but I don’t know that that’s been the dominant emotion. Why did you do this? Where did I fail you? This can’t be real? How do I live my life without you? Questions about the past and the future have occupied so much of my mind so far. This level of missing you hasn’t been dominant.

I think spending time with your friends these past few weeks has triggered this new layer. This layer of missing you is more ordinary. I’m not even sure what I mean by that. I’m confused. I like it when I can name my emotions. When I can explain them. I can’t seem to do that this morning.

God I turn to You. I ask for Your direction and wisdom. I ask for Your timing as I consider engaging the suicide community – the organizations, the charities, the events. There are so many hurting people. People who don’t know You. When Drey died – that very day he died – I heard You in the chaos of my shattered remains saying “for such a time as this.” I asked You repeatedly “What? What? For such a time as WHAT?” I read Esther a handful of times. I watched a teaching series from Mark Driscoll on Esther. A guest teacher at church taught on Esther. You were clearly talking to me and I thought there was something I couldn’t hear because I didn’t – and still don’t – have an answer. “For such a time as this.” Why did you lay that bible verse on my heart, mind and soul the very day Drey died? What’s the “this?” I remember sensing Your non-answer last year… “Do you trust Me?” and “Rest.” I eventually quit asking You and just obeyed what I thought I heard. Not out of my own ability – You did all the work. I did and do trust You. I did and do rest. Thank You for reminding me of how You put that verse on my mind. And thank You for Your timing.

You know my pain

Aug8

Dear Heavenly Father I ache, I hurt. You know the battle in my mind. The battle I don’t want to write or talk about. You know the depths. God I want to thank you and praise you even in the midst of this grossness. Not for what happened. Dear God no, not for what happened. But because this isn’t the end of Drey’s story.

But God to have him back. Right here. On this couch. “Scratch my back Mom.” Just typing his name, breathing his name, opens the floodgate.

You alone know this battle. You are my redeemer, the perfect lover of my soul. You know. I’m not alone in this loneliness. Your Spirit speaks to my family, my friends and even to strangers. You reach me through them. You hear my heart. You hear their prayers. You comfort. You protect. Thank you for knowing my pain.

Blessed

Aug7

It doesn’t quite seem possible. A year.
What have I done this past year?
Here are some highlights…

Aug ’13: ran a zombie 5k.
Jul ’13: celebrated dreys 20th bday.
Jun ’13: bought a bench at the zoo
May ’13: planted a garden
Apr ’13: quit my job
Mar ’13: saw Maroon 5
Feb ’13: turned 47
Jan ’13: had my first day of not crying since 8/8/12
Dec ’12: changed home churches
Nov ’12: it’s a blur
Oct ’12: it’s a blur
Sep ’12: it’s a blur… Hey – I know. I started attending the Grief Share support group. There’s something I remember from September.
Aug ’12: planned my sons funeral

Nope – I’m not beating myself up for not “doing” more. I’ve found a healthy pace for me. I haven’t shut down – I’ve stayed engaged with friends and family, read a shit-ton of books, I’ve had some sweet time with God. But I haven’t gone to the extreme of throwing myself into a busy, busy lifestyle either. Yep, a nice healthy pace.

I’ve learned so much this year. So much about God, about this world, about friendship, about love, about sacrifice, about what’s important. Most of all I’ve learned humility (okay – I’m still learning humility). I’ve had nothing to give. I’ve accepted meals, $ to help pay for dreys funeral, books, cards, flowers and gifts. I’ve not written a single thank you note. I’m so grateful for so many people. I’ve dominated many conversations with Drey and my pain – go figure – as the main topic. Would I be able to be the friend that so many have been to me? People tell me they don’t know how I’m surviving this horrible tragedy. I often wonder how my family and friends are surviving me!

Have I told my husband lately how amazing he’s been through this year? He has helplessly watched me in so much pain. I only use the word “helplessly” because I know that’s how he feels.

I am truly blessed.

One year. 8/8/12

Aug5

Race-ready

I believe there are a lot of people – maybe even a few hundred – who are remembering Drey especially now. Last conversations, last looks, last songs, last restaurants, last hugs. The last time I saw Drey was for lunch on August 3rd. I just spent the anniversary of that last lunch with his Dad, his Grandma and 8 of his close friends running a 5k zombie race. Probably not the “normal” way to grieve – but what’s “normal?” There is no rule book for how to grieve. Drey’s friends have been so good to stay in touch and to celebrate his life in a variety of ways. It’s meant a lot that they’ve included his Dad and I.

Somehow I’m still alive. I’ve lived a year without seeing my baby. It’s still so surreal.

I have one favor to everyone reading this:

During this month especially please take the time to check in with friends. Don’t make the mistake of assuming laughter, fun and smiles = happy and healed. Ask if Drey’s on their mind. Then listen. Don’t try to fix anything. Don’t try to make it better. Just listen. Please re-post. I want all of Drey’s friends to see this.

Race done

Re-blogged: It’s Been 3 Years…

Aug3

Really like this post so thought I’d share.

My Spiritual Walk with God

As I sit here, I reflect on these past few years and the culmination of the years that brought me to the great divide—that unmistakable point in my journey when everything changed. This review exposes the man I was and the man I continue to transform into. This is not a story of flawed to perfection; but rather one of presumed perfection to humbly-flawed.

When this review settles on me as a father, I pause and think of my Angel Girl. I loved her as any father loves his daughter. With Angel, I was taken by her gentle confidence. She appeared shy, yet had a strength that grounded her in independence and her caring spirit was her gift.

I was blessed that God prompted me to write her the following letter to fulfill a school project of hers. This was written just one month before that fateful day…

God’s providence…

View original post 329 more words

Jars of Clay – No One Loves Me Like You

Aug2

God I put on my helmet of salvation, my peace shoes, my truth belt, my breastplate of righteousness. I choose to pick up my sword and shield. Thank You for giving me these things. I am fully equipped for what sights, smells, sounds, memories and thoughts will come today. Nothing makes its way to me without Your awareness. You have perfectly prepared me. I love that You care about the little things, God. I love that You grieve with me and understand one seemingly silly little thing can cause my breathing to get fast and shallow, the knots in my stomach to tighten, can cause me to become disoriented. You are not the voice in my head telling me to “toughen up.”

No one knows me the way You do. This is such a lonely, lonely grief. No one else carried my baby for nine months. No one else held him and fed him like me. I was Mom. I am Mom. God thank You for being with me in this pain. Thank You for loving me the way You do.

“Good” days and bad days

Jul29

Today is a “good” day. It’s hard to say that – what kind of Mom has a “good” day when her son is gone? But for now the definition of “good” is different from what it used to be. In the beginning I had horrible minutes and barely survivable minutes. Then that changed to hours – then it changed to “okay” hours and now it’s days – even “good” days. A good day means I am able to smile, to find joy and peace in running, reading, or hanging with friends. It means I’m able to eat. It also means I thought of you all day, Drey. That’s still the common denominator in every day… good and bad. When I hear songs we used to enjoy together and when I hear new music. When I look downtown and wonder if you would’ve worked here in Columbus. When I see girls your age, guys your age, and nice cars. When I see little blonde boys with glasses. When I eat raspberries. You’re always here in my mind. I’m learning to have “good” days even though the pain is here, too.

I remember the first time I went for a few minutes without thinking about you… It was several months after you died. I woke up one morning and went to the bathroom. While I was in the bathroom I realized I hadn’t thought of you yet. Wow did I ever feel guilty. I’d been awake for all of 3 – maybe 4 minutes – and hadn’t thought of you. It’s a lot of responsibility being a parent to a child who’s gone, kiddo. Thanks for that! I don’t know who told me it was my responsibility to keep your memory alive, to make sure your legacy continues. But it’s something ingrained in my thinking. I wonder if it’s like that for every grieving parent? I don’t want anyone to forget you. I don’t want people to stop saying your name. I’m slowly finding ways to honor you and your life, baby. And as I find those things it takes a little bit of pressure off of me. It’s like a beach ball… trying to swim the length of a pool while keeping it completely immersed when it’s fully inflated is exhausting. But little by little when I let some air out, it’s not as exhausting to do laps with it. It’s still with me, I still hold on to it tightly and I always will. A bench at the zoo, a walk to raise money and awareness for suicide prevention, even a zombie 5k with your friends. All these things let a little air out of the ball. Do you see how many laps I can swim now, baby? In the beginning I couldn’t even pick up the beach ball let alone get in the pool with it.
I love you.

A Friend on the Walk

Living after losing someone to suicide