Tag Archive | suicide

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

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

Race done

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.

I want him back

Jul28

“Surely Your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”
I don’t know how to reconcile Drey’s death with this bible passage, God. Sometimes I am at peace with You. I trust You and I FEEL Your peace. But sometimes I don’t. I have my head knowledge about You and Your goodness. But it’s one thing to KNOW a thing. It’s a whole ‘nother thing to experience it, to FEEL it. And I ain’t feelin it.
I don’t understand. I don’t understand how I got here. I don’t understand how life keeps going. I look at Facebook and see what my friends are up to. So many family pictures and joy. Why me, God? Why can’t I still have my boy?
I’m enjoying quite the pity party this morning. I imagine people reading this (assuming I even post it) and thinking it’s been nearly a year… she should be further along in her healing. I can hear the well-intentioned comments that come across as shallow platitudes when I’m in a mood like this one… “you should be grateful for the 19 years you had him. He always did belong to God.” When I’m in a Spirit-filled frame of mind I know I am blessed. And the peacefulness of knowing I’m blessed by an amazing God can co-exist with the pain. But sometimes I just ain’t feelin it.
Today I throw a big temper tantrum and proclaim my life sucks. I want Drey back. I want to see his face, touch his ears, see those muscular soccer legs, see that smile, hear him say, “Hey, Mom?” which is how so many of his sentences started. I want him back.

Bohemian Rhapsody

Jul21

What a great weekend – Jazz & Rib Fest and Picnic with the Pops. We listened to the music of Queen at the Pops – loved it! Then they did Bohemian Rhapsody. Robbie had commented that was the song he was most excited to hear. It’s such a fun song – can’t help but think of Wayne’s World when I hear it. But then it began…

It’s typical really. I’ve said it hundreds of times and I’ll say it hundreds more… things are different now. And once again I wasn’t prepared. Robbie & I had completely forgotten what the lyrics were.

If I want to self-protect I’ll need to stop interacting with people, stop listening to music, stop living. Because that’s the only answer if I want to stay away from any reminders of this horrible tragedy. But that’s not what I want AT ALL. I want to live in a BIG way! So I’m back to the topic of guarding my heart.

For quite a while after Drey died I would put on my spiritual armor every morning. I would visualize every single piece of armor being put in place. Funny how I’ve gotten “strong” so haven’t taken the time to do that in a while.

Ephesians 6: 14-17.
14: Stand your ground, putting on the belt of truth and the body armor of God’s righteousness.
15: For shoes, put on the peace that comes from the Good News so that you will be fully prepared.
16: In addition to all of these, hold up the shield of faith to stop the fiery arrows of the devil.
17: Put on salvation as your helmet, and take the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

In February I began praying that God would keep me weak. I wanted to stay as dependent on Him as I was in those first 6 months. There was one time I literally laid on the kitchen floor and couldn’t stand without praying. I was that dependent. That are no words to express the depth of grief. And there are no words to express the depths of God’s love I experienced. But then I lived through Christmas – and somehow that was a milestone for me. I realized I was going to have to continue living and that I could live through even horrible days where memories flooded my every thought. This was a good milestone and I am grateful for it. But it was at this point that I began trotting down my autonomy path. It was so subtle – just a few hours here and there and then a few days here and there the, “I got this from here, God” attitude crept in. When I realized that was happening I began praying that God would keep me weak.

So when Bohemian Rhapsody started I was singing… then I stopped singing and held Robbie’s arm nice and tight. And then I was okay. It’s like a huge wave coming at me – sometimes I’m underwater too long – other times I pop back up quickly. This night I popped back up quickly. It was a sweet reminder for me to pray without ceasing because I don’t “got this.” I need God. I need His Spirit to lead me, to prepare me, and to teach me how to love and live more deeply. And I pray to God to help me remember to put on my armor each morning. God knows exactly what I’ll face each day. Nothing takes Him by surprise.

20 short years ago

Jul10

Drey 1st pic with Mom

Drey 1st pic with Mom

The emptiness is back. Who am I kidding… it never really left. It was more tolerable. But I knew July and August were coming. I knew it. And yet I didn’t know. And now I’m here and I know.

Can’t you distract yourself? Think of something else. Drink a little – or a lot. Go shopping. Dive into a project. Jump back into your career. Exercise and get your body uber-healthy.

These are all good things in the right dosage. But they don’t make a lasting dent in this grief.

Losing your child is gut wrenching.
Losing someone violently is hideous, surreal.
Losing someone because they chose to die is agonizing.
All three together in one day, in one instant, is simply not survivable apart from God.

July 10, 1993 I woke up in labor at 7:20 a.m. Mom’s remember these things. My pains weren’t too intense and were about an hour apart. But I knew. He wasn’t born until nearly 26 hours later. He always was a stubborn little shit. He got that from his Dad.

I love you. I remember you. I miss you.