Tag Archive | hope

“Happy?” Birthday

Mar5

Last week for my birthday some of my friends weren’t sure it was appropriate to say “happy” birthday. I felt loved and grateful for their concern. It’s hard to know how to care for someone on celebratory days who’s trying to live with such a huge void.

Sometimes people say, “Drey would want you to celebrate and be happy. Drey would want you to put up a Christmas tree. Drey wouldn’t want you to be sad on Mother’s Day – he’d want you to enjoy a delicious dinner and relaxing day.” My own husband has said these things. Sometimes I’ve even asked Robbie, “Drey wouldn’t want me to cry all day, right?” Desperately searching for some kind of direction – for some kind of peace – maybe even permission to not feel the pain as intensely – even if just for that day.

Mostly when people try to kindly say, “Drey would want you to be happy,” I want to verbally spar with them. “If Drey didn’t want me to be sad on my birthday why did he kill himself? If he wanted me to enjoy future Mothers Days why did he choose this horrible violent death over life? Can you answer those questions?” I don’t say these things but sometimes I think them. I know people mean well. I know my husband means well. He saw my son and I together and he knew Drey loved me. Robbie is sure Drey couldn’t possibly have wanted me to suffer through special days. And I know he’s right. But it doesn’t matter. Being right about that just isn’t helpful at this point in the grief. I’m still left facing years of celebrations to come without my boy.

With all of that said I did have a happy birthday. “Happy” looks and feels different than it used to but it was still a nice day. My Mom made me feel like the most wonderful person in the world. And I was and am grateful for soooo many dear friends – and for people who don’t know me that well! – who care enough to say happy birthday 🙂 I’m blessed beyond belief in spite of how this life now looks for me. I was always amazingly blessed – but temporarily losing what I thought was most important has helped me find what is truly most important.

What do you say to someone who just lost her son to suicide?

Feb10

What do you say to someone who just lost her son to suicide?

Nothing. You listen.

And when she can’t talk because she’s staring off into space in utter shock you just sit with her. You silently stroke her hair.

You quietly pray to God in your helplessness that He’d comfort her somehow. Because only He can do the impossible.

Don’t ask her what she wants to eat. Even the littlest of questions are too overwhelming. Just set a small plate of fruit and crackers next to her. Keep a bottled water next to her, too.

Don’t tell her you understand. Don’t tell her you can imagine how she feels. She can’t even imagine how she feels. It’s the most sickening day of her life. There are no human words to describe this – just groans. The reality of living the rest of her life without her son is simply too much to bear physically, emotionally. It’s incomprehensible.

Make sure someone is with her at all times for the first several days. The temptation to be with her son may be strong.

It may take months or even years… But in time her grief will begin to turn into useful sadness.

Hang in there with her for the long haul. She needs you.

Grateful to meet Plumb

Jan21

Grieving the death of my boy has been and continues to be indescribable.  And through the depths of this despair I have found God continually.  Loving me, comforting me, crying with me.  I’ve found Him through His Word, through friends, through running, through music. Plumb’s song Need You Now came out just after Drey had died. I’ve sobbed and belted out that song repeatedly. In my car, in the bathtub, everywhere. It is healing.
It’s helped me to be able to tell people how much they’ve helped me during this difficult 17 months and 13 days. In the depths of my pain I’ve also experienced a sense of gratitude that is so precious. Grateful to God for all of His provisions in the midst of this pain (I’ll save that for another blog). Grateful to my Mom and Dad for loving me, hurting with me, letting me stay with them and vacation with them. Grateful to my husband for his love and patience. Grateful to Drey’s friends who hurt and miss him and take the time to share that with me.
And last weekend I got to tell Plumb how healing her music has been for me. This picture shows her and one of her band members listening to me tell them about Drey, sharing a card with my blog on it, and showing them my tattoo of his name. Plumb was so kind to ask me questions about Drey. Thank you Plumb. For sharing your talent and the inspiration behind your lyrics. ❤
Got to tell Plumb how healing her music has been for me.

Plumb

Plumb

Learning to talk to people who don’t know…

Dec31

I have a job interview next week. My first in years. I’m grateful that God has me in a place to be picky with what I do next. It needs to be right for me. The culture, the role. I have far less concern about me being right for them. That feels really good! I’m blessed to be able to think out loud with my husband and a few close friends who know my performance-junkie tendencies about what it might look like to move back into the working world. I don’t want my career to be an idol. I don’t want it to be where I attempt to find my identity.
I’m giving thought to what I want to know about this organization with little worry or concern for how I’ll share about my experience. I feel confident with what I bring to the table. But but but…
There’s that question that’ll be asked. I worked full time for almost 30 years (omg – when did I get old?). But I’ve been unemployed for 9 months now. I’m not worried about how to respond to the question. I’m concerned about the “transition” questions. “My son died in August 2012. I immediately went back to work then decided in the Spring it’d be best to take some time off.” Easy enough, right? But I’ve been in this situation enough now that I know “my son died” can be a conversation stopper. The person typically searches for a “transition” question… “Oh, I’m so sorry. Do you have other kids?” “No. He was my only child.” They were hoping – without even realizing it – that the answer would be, “yes, my other children are Bob and Susie.” “Oh – how old are they…” And the conversation has been successfully and smoothly transitioned. Or another one has been… “Oh, I’m so sorry. Had he been ill?” “No. He died suddenly.” Again – a conversation stopper. I’m coming into these conversations more prepared than the other person. So I try to be ready to let them off the hook. But depending on the person that’s not always easy. It’s often downright awkward. And “awkward” is not a word I want to use when reflecting on how this interview went! So I have a plan for how to keep the interview moving forward by steering the transition direction myself. We’ll see how it goes. If it flops, it flops. That’s the freedom that comes with living through a tragedy by the grace of God. An ability to live with a humble confidence because after all, what’s the worst thing that’ll happen?

Christmas #2

Dec30

It feels as though Christmas may have been another turning point so to speak. Last Christmas I remember having to self-talk myself through the entire day. This year I had a few really good, hard crying spells at the end of the day. But through the day I enjoyed the people I was with in a subdued, reflective, melancholy kind of a way. I reflected on what was. I imagined what should have been. I just kinda took in each moment and savored the time. It was peaceful.
Christmas will never be what it used to be. And that’s okay. Given what’s happened how could I even want it to be the same? Yes, slowly I’m finding more peace. Peace in knowing I’ll carry this pain with me. Peace in knowing it’s become a little more manageable. Peace in knowing it’s okay that I’ll never be the same. Freedom too. Increasing freedom from worrying about the things that used to get to me. My perspective is different now. I don’t know if it’ll always be this way – if this will always be the lens I look through. And I don’t need to know. I’m slowly learning to appreciate each day for what it is without so much concern for the next. God has provided for me for nearly 17 months now in ways that I didn’t think were possible. Every tomorrow has to pass through His hands before I face it. I can live today.

Honor your memory

Dec23

There are some days that can’t go by without doing something in your memory. Christmas is one of those days. People talk about lighting a candle and having it burning all day or throughout dinner at a spot reserved for you. Maybe a charitable donation in your memory. I’ve considered looking at pictures of previous Christmas’s and maybe doing something special with them.

But here it is dec 23 and I haven’t been able to do anything. No tree – can’t look at ornaments you made or picked out during vacations. No pictures. I just can’t see them yet. This Christmas hasn’t been as gut-wrenching as last year. I’m grateful for that. But I’m still not “right.” “Normal.” “Clear thinking.” Whatever you want to call it. And I didn’t realize the importance of doing something to honor you – of planning something – for Christmas Day until this last weekend. I’ll be thinking of you all day. And I plan to re-read the cards people sent with memories and thoughts of you from last year. And I’d like to do something more. Something visible.

Your Dad seems to have found his footing more comfortably than me in this arena. Does that make you laugh baby? I bet it does! Your Dad being tender hearted and emotional – deliberately planning something special in your memory. And me – the sappy Mom who overflowed with emotions and plans while you were with me couldn’t be more clumsy and ill-prepared now that you’re not here. We made our plans for my first Mother’s Day without you the day of Mother’s Day. That’s hardly planning! And how we’d celebrate your birthday was decided on the day of, too. And we decided on dinner plans after your birthday! For August 8th I got ahead of the game – there was a plan a few days in advance. I know you’d be cracking up right now! You always made fun of me for being uptight. You never used that word but it’s what you meant. Remember on our last vaca I was worked up about something stupid that wasn’t going just the way I wanted it to? We were at Islands of Adventure, remember? You were walking with me. We were behind Robbie and David. You looked at me and said, “Mom it’s okay. Just relax.” And you demonstrated this thought for me by taking a deep breath when you said it. You loved me. I always knew that but I knew it in a different way at that moment. To have my child pointing out one of my flaws in a non-accusing way but rather out of concern. Wow. I reflected on that a lot afterwards. I felt blessed. Blessed by your love and blessed by your maturity.

So this Christmas Robbie – the organized one in the family (are you laughing again?!) – will decide what we can do to honor your memory.

I miss you. I love you.

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.

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.

“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…