Tag Archive | christian suicide

Blessed by friends and memories

Dec18

I had coffee with a dear friend today.  She’s been in my life for over 20 years.  I am blessed to have so many close friends.  Like – real close.  Not just work buddies who go their separate ways when they don’t work together any more. 

She shared about her & her husband watching TV recently and they saw a little boy that reminded them of Drey.  They both said it – they both realized it.  So sweet.  So, so sweet to know this.  It is a heavy weight a Mom carries… the weight of keeping the memory of her child alive.  It’s precious as others share memories of Drey with me. I love hearing what they remember. And God does it ever feel good to smile when I think of him!

This is a picture from one of our Florida vacations. It was 2005. I love the look on David’s face – he was clearly so impressed with Drey’s cannon ball abilities! Sweet memory.

Cannon Ball 2005 - Drey impresses David!

Cannon Ball 2005 – Drey impresses David!

I miss you.

Dec17

I’m missing you big time. Big time. I just want to see you come through the door. I want to hear your voice. I want to feel your hug.

We used to talk about lots of stuff. I miss those conversations.

I remember you standing in front of the mirror in the downstairs bathroom and helping you with your earrings. That’s not something I thought I’d share with my son. Who’d you get your ears pierced with anyway?

I remember you studying at the dining room table in the Spring. You were listening to Kid Cudi and I started singing the lyrics. You weren’t surprised.

We were gonna get tattoos – I told you if you got the Romans 12:2 verse on your ribs I’d get “Romans 12:2” somewhere on me. You liked that bible passage. You liked the psalm the Braun’s included in your grad card too. Who knew I’d end up with 3 tattoo’s – all in your memory. At the JT concert a woman said, “You look like a soccer Mom. An inked up soccer Mom.” I am. Even when I’m 80 that’s what I’ll be. Cuz you’ll always be 19 in my memory.

There’s a lot of things I haven’t tackled yet. Maybe next year. Still no Christmas tree… Every ornament was so special. Baby’s first Christmas. Vacation memories. Hand made ones from when you were little. Hell no I can’t look at any of those and I sure can’t look at ’em for a month straight. I don’t know what to do with your clothes, your dresser, bookshelf. The rocking horse from your first Christmas. So they sit in your room. Your retainer. Your phone. Your wallet. The lotion you used on your face. Everything sits.

I miss you so much. I always want you to be part of Christmas. I’m so glad Grandma Kathy put out pics of you and a craft you and I made together for her years ago. And the Build A Bear for Grandpa Gene. I took pics of every step as you made it. I’m so glad Grandma and Grandpa saved those. You need to stay part of Christmas.

I miss you every day. But it’s especially deep with the Christmas season. And the new year. My birthday. And Easter. And vaca week, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, your bday, July 4 parade, in August, back to school shopping, trick or treat, and at the grocery store, the zoo, seeing nice cars and 19 year old kids, soccer fields, dentist appointments, being in worthington, driving past twhs. Awesome, Drey. Just awesome.

The good, the bad, and the indifferent

Dec16

Looks like The Tragedy was just a blip on your radar screen.
No card. No call. No contact. How long has it been?
Hey – remember me?
Is it easier to just push it out of your mind?
Lucky you.
See that picture of me smiling?
No – it doesn’t let you off the hook.
Nice try.
The others?
They’ve been a blessing. Even though they were on the peripheral.
God is so good in spite of you.
In spite of me…
What would I have done? Lived my happy little life.
What would I do now? Lean in – no fears.
But who knew before The Tragedy?
I’ve been schooled.
Forebear.
Forgive.
I think of you.
I wish you well. Truly.

The blame game

Dec9

I am still at the beginning of my new life without Drey – my 19 year old son who took his life 16 months ago. In these short 16 months I have wrestled with God and for the most part clung to Him. And (not but) there’s a subtle, quiet undertone that creeps up making me realize how fragile my faith is.
Just a few days again my husband and I were at the downtown Columbus Christmas lighting celebration. It’s amazing I even wanted to attend! We were freezing our butts off standing in the hot chocolate line when a bundled up little boy with glasses turned and looked up at me. My immediate thought was, “Why are you mocking me God? You know it’s a big deal that I even wanted to come out tonight and this is what you allow? You know little boys in glasses are a huge trigger for me! Why would you, God?” In my rawest most impromptu moments I still blame God for my baby’s death. It’s my default setting. And I can’t help but wonder what other ways is my unbelief popping out and I’m too numb to see it?

But I won’t beat myself up for my seemingly pitiful faith. I will return again to God and praise Him for having shoulders big enough, patient enough, merciful enough and loving enough for my doubts.

I pray someday my knee jerk reaction will be to blame satan and this fallen world – not my holy perfect Father.

20131209-083331.jpg

You’re still not there

Nov26

I’m headed home from New Orleans today but you still won’t be there.
The depth and duration of this pain – this void you left – is indescribable.
I remembered a new memory while I was here. A memory of a joke from 15+ years ago about you and S going to college together out here. That time should be now… But you’re not here.
I find myself wishing I could crawl in bed with you and scratch your back. I can see your bedroom on Pittsfield in my mind. The piles of clothes and shoes I’d have to step over to get to the bed. You never did get too old for mommy lovin, did ya? I think of all the times I did that. I remember you’d smile just a little before your eyes would open. I’d get a pitiful little moan out of you about how cold it was as I’d tuck the blanket back around your neck and shoulders. I lingered several mornings…. Just kinda took you in and thanked God for you. I wish I would’ve lingered more mornings. But no – no shoulda coulda woulda’s. I am grateful for the times I did linger. Those are precious memories I cherish.

A few more firsts

Nov23

Hi Drey.

I survived a few more “firsts” this week.
My first flight since our May vacation before you died.
You had gone to the Olentangy prom the night before and our flight was leaving at 6:00 or 7:00 am – some crazy early hour that I had booked because I wanted every minute possible on vaca as a family. You slept on my shoulder the whole way there. I was uncomfortable but I didn’t move. No way was I giving up a second of my 18 year old baby resting on me.
I lived through seeing my first palm tree. Remember it was always our contest ever since you were little? Flying into Orlando and scanning the surface for the first palm tree while we were about to land? I know you were too old for that the last couple of trips we took but you still played along – sort of. I didn’t look out the window of this flight… I’m south so I knew they were out there. But I didn’t look. I saw my first one as the shuttle bus drove us to the French Quarter. It wasn’t a very pretty one and it was in an odd place. Wedged underneath a low overpass. Alive but all brown.
So now I’m officially on my first vacation. I’m grateful to be somewhere you’ve never been. And I will have a great time. But you’re still here. I take you everywhere.
I love you baby.

Rhythm of life

Nov14

I’m learning the urge to convince people I’m okay is especially strong after posting something vulnerable.
Self protecting? Man pleasing? A bit of both.
I met the cutest, most sincere and honest young lady last night… Her dad recently died by suicide. Her pain is accompanied with a desire to push forward, to enjoy the normal things a high school kid should be doing.
Suicide is so evil, so painful and gross. You have no choice but to spend time questioning. Where were you God? What did I miss? Why? What was he thinking? How did I not know how much pain he was in? Should I have… ? The questions are exhausting. Your mind won’t shut off. You replay the days and weeks prior to the tragedy. Every conversation. Then you get a break from the barrage of self-questions and acknowledge he’s gone. You miss him. It aches. So this is the grief part. Then you flip back to the questioning. It’s an exhausting, long process of emotional chaos.
Then you get a reprieve. One that lasts longer than 5 minutes. Then another. You are somehow integrating your pain into your life and it isn’t ruling you every minute. You think more about other people. You begin poking your head out for longer periods of time.
Then you meet another who’s at the beginning. And by the grace of God you ache, you care, you pray for them. You remember where you were and can see how God’s been comforting you. Caring for you. You want to give that away. You want to pray, to help somehow.
Maybe this is the new rhythm of life.
I’m okay.

Hell

Nov13

Remembering is hard.
Remembering helps me see Gods faithfulness through tragedy.
Remembering sensitizing me.
Remembering cultivates gratitude.
God help me with this balancing act of Pain and Joy

Busch Gardens Tampa May, 2012

Busch Gardens Tampa May, 2012


TWHS Rock

TWHS Rock


Choose a funeral home.
Breathe.
Write an obituary. What days?
Call dad.
Cremation?
Choose an urn.
Call doctor. Get sleeping pills.
Viewing first?
Pray.
What will he wear? Oh God no make it stop. This isn’t happening. I just bought him those shoes. No. Not for this. No God.
Pull weeds.
Crack jokes.
Self protect.
Photo boards.
Songs.
Where to have the funeral.
Breathe.
Call Nissan.
Paycheck arrived. Fuck. Already closed bank account online. Cry hard at Huntington. Hate seeing people. Write “deceased.”
Pamphlet. Pictures.
Visit dad.
Write down medicine consumption.
Too many questions. I don’t know what I want to eat, who I want here, if I want the blinds open. I don’t fucking know. Stop asking so much of me.
Cancel phone.
Delete from favorites? Fuck. Not now.
Call dentist. Oh God.
Call Fidelity.
Cancel auto insurance. Explain why. Fuck.
Candle light vigil. Can I handle it? I’ll decide just before it starts.
Can’t shave my legs. Too shaky. Call mom – need nair.
Can’t answer phone.
Want to let people know I’m grateful they’re reaching out. Can’t talk. Send an email?
Read the cards or wait?
Where do we want donations to go?
People saying stupid things.
Will I speak at funeral?
Who will do funeral?
Soccer game memorial.
Don’t throw away milk carton. Drey held it.
Smell his clothes. Breathe him in.
Pray.
How’s Fred?
Cobalt. Fuck.
Too many decisions.
It hurts bad.
It can’t be real.
Make it stop.
Let me die.

How do I pray?

Nov12

Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by the number of people I’ve met through a suicide loss that I shut down and don’t know how to pray for them at all.   I knew maybe 3 or 4 people as of August.  But now just 3 months later I’ve met dozens, dozens. 

1 Thes 5: 16-18  “Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.”

I am thankful for how You’ve been softening my heart, God.  I am thankful for how You’ve shown me it’s far better to live by Your priorities than what mine were.  So maybe that’s what you mean by being thankful in all circumstances.  Your word doesn’t say to be thankful FOR the circumstance… but IN the circumstance.  Yes, thank You for pointing that out to me!  Yes!

vs 17… “Never stop praying.”  I talk to You all day throughout the day.  My problem in this season isn’t prayer in the broad sense of the word – it’s that I don’t shut up long enough to hear You.  Praying is communication.  Communication is talking and listening.   

How do I pray for so many people?  People I’ve met just a handful of times?  People with unique circumstances, painful losses.  I picture their faces.  I picture them in the setting where I met them.  Their tears.  Their anger.  Their guilt and confusion.  The look of shock on their faces.  There’s no making sense of life now.

Rom 8:26 “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

Matt 5:4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”  God help them grieve.  Bless them as they mourn.  Comfort them.   Help them do the “next thing” whatever that may be.  Reach out to someone else who’s hurting, get out of bed, draw closer to You, take a breath.  Whatever the “next thing” is.  I pray these things for each person.  Thank You for loving them far more than I ever could and for meeting them exactly where they are.  Thank You for knowing exactly what they need, Father. 

S who lost her son 10 years ago. C who lost her husband last month. R&N who lost their son 6 years ago.  M&J who lost their son 4 years ago.  D who lost her boyfriend last year.  W who lost both her mom and her husband.  M and M who both lost people close to them . M&G who lost their son. V who lost her sister. R who lost her son. V who lost her husband and for her two small children.  J who lost her husband last year.  The older couple who just lost their son.  A who lost her friend 3 years ago . D&J who just lost their brother.  L who just lost her husband.  The entire M family – especially S, Dad and husband who lost their dear daughter and wife K just last weekend.  J&R who lost J 6 years ago.  B who I will meet tomorrow and her 2 kids – they just lost husband/dad 6 weeks ago.  D&S and D’s family as they mourn the one year loss of D.  K as she continues grieving for her Super N.  MA for the loss of Ski.  B for loss of his father 20+ years ago.  Thank you for his servant heart towards helping others learn to live again.  For J and the loss of her daughter just 30 months ago.  C who lost her Mom years ago.  MBSS blogger.  And I pray for Fred, Robbie, David, Kris, my parents and Fred’s parents, Drey’s dear friends… Jeritt, Jayson, Austin, Robby, Max, Ryan, Alli, Morgan, Bethaney, Cary, Jenna, Kevin, Britney, Molly, Alec, Ben, Addie, Peiman, Ian, Josh, Grace, Gabe, Victoria and so many more.  Thank You for knowing everyone I’ve neglected to pray specifically for on this chilly Tuesday morning, Father.   Thank You for the crisp white snow that blankets my patio.  Thank You for filling me up yet again with Your love, peace and compassion.  Truly those who mourn are blessed and comforted.

“I’m calling to see how you’ve been doing since graduating high school…”

Nov8

I got a phone call yesterday.  Thankfully I didn’t hear the phone so it went to voice mail.  The message was for Drey.  It was from a Marine recruiter… “This message is for Fred Meine – I’m calling to see how you’ve been doing since graduating high school…”  Stop.  Delete.  Not sure what else was said after that.  I talked my lunch into returning from my throat back into my stomach.  Then somehow by the grace of God I was able to thank God we don’t have a landline that Drey would’ve shared with people.  Thank You.  There are so many hard circumstances we are faced with daily.   But I can be very grateful that telling a stranger over the phone that Drey’s gone is not something I’ve had to do since those first few months.  Thank You, God! 

I so want to be a grateful person.  Truly I do.  God is it ever hard.  It’s hard not to question You.  Sometimes I wonder if I failed to meet Your expectations somehow.  What other logical explanation is there for why a good God would allow the one thing I love above all else in this world to be taken from me?  To teach me a lesson?  To teach me YOU are my God and not my son?  To teach me my husband is more important than I ever treated him?  I fight these thoughts.  At the root of them is not only a lie about You but I’m also blaming myself for Drey’s death.   I fight these thoughts with gratitude.  I fight these thoughts with the knowledge that evil does exist.  We do have an enemy.  He plants lies – accuses You, God, of wrongdoing.  I fight these thoughts with the knowledge that this is NOT our permanent home.  Eternity is a long, long, time and in light of eternity this pain will be a “light and momentary affliction.”  But God I get so weary.  So discouraged.  It’s stuck to me.  This loss, this horrible tragedy.  I physically wear it, carry it on my shoulders, my neck, sometimes my face.  It’s like a scarf.  It’s everywhere I go.   Sometimes it’s so tight it’s suffocating.  I wear it when it’s appropriate but also when it’s not – but I have no choice because it’s part of my very being now.  I wear it when I go swimming.  People look.  People wonder.  That’s odd – why not take that off?  It’s heavy and cold around my neck when I get out to dry off.  Other times it’s veil-like.  Everything I look at is muted – tinted in sorrow. Will it ever come off in this lifetime? Or will I just learn how to wear it with grace and beauty?

Wow. I am really melancholy today. It’s time to go for a run…