A man of God- Pastor Matt Rohde

I couldn't look around...my eyes were full of tears and I was petrified. I couldn't see my kids. I couldn't see Trudy. I could only clutch Tim's arm and try to keep standing. I could see that we were almost to the front, but how I got there I'll never know. Run...run fast and run far! Yell...turn around and yell! Tell them that they should have listened! Tell them that you told them he needed help! Tell them that if they would've left him alone and let you mother him that it would be okay now. He wouldn't be dead. You wouldn't be here.
We sat down...and waited. waited for them to bring up the casket. Waited fro my sons and Cody to carry Jeff's body. I sobbed. And then - Tim sobbed. And I died inside with each shake of his body. See what you did? If you would've tried harder. Chased him longer.Why? Why can't we go back? Why can't we have a do over? We tried so hard and no one knows how hard. And we tried for what? For this? For this death...he would've rather been dead than be alive with me? I suck...I must really suck.
I stole a glance at my now seated children who were not glancing back. They were in so much pain and I couldn't change it...heck, I couldn't even stop wallowing in my own self pity to help them.
Pastor Matt stood up and I watched him struggle to maintain composure and for the first time in all of this mess...a joy began to spread over me. A prayer- a true prayer flooded my heart  and I begged God to help this man deliver a eulogy for a child whom he adores. Pastor Matt's loss was a great one and he wouldn't get through this funeral with out God. He wouldn't be able to be used as a useful tool for God if he didn't have a huge amount of prayer....and so for the rest of the funeral I began to pray for everyone involved. Jeff's life needed to stand for God. Jeff's testimony  could be a thread for countless others to be saved. So as Pastor Matt began to speak...I spoke too...and the heaven's were opened...
Pastor Matt had been an influential part of Jeff's life since we moved back to Michigan in Jeff's freshman year of school. I'm not exactly sure why, but I can only guesstimate that it had alot to do with the similarities that Matt saw between himself and Jeff. Jeff adored Matt and he knew that Matt was always in his corner. When Jeff could not speak to us or open up...he could open up to Matt. And while in Matt, Jeff had a pastor, mentor, and friend...Tim and I had a trustworthy man of God who could and would help our son. Many, many times when Jeff was struggling- it was Matt who was able to mold him, and make him into that young man that God intended. It was Matt who could teach Jeff a lesson with a mere life application and Jeff would get it and grow and Matt would move on to teach Jeff whatever God showed him. Jeff never ever forgot that Matt was in his corner and he knew that no matter what, Matt would stand by him and help him and petition God for him.It was Matt who taught Jeff about sportsmanship. It was Matt who taught Jeff about winning his peers for Christ. It was Matt who continually pulled Jeff out of the fire much of his high school years. I honestly believe that if Jeff hadn't had Matt, that we may have lost him to suicide his sophomore year. But Matt never quit on Jeff. Tim and I would argue with Matt, disagree with him, but Matt stood firm and he would continue to fight for what he believed God had in store for Jeff. Such a struggle for a pastor so young, such a great task, but Matt lived up to it time and time again. I was grateful that Matt was there for Jeff, grateful that Jeff made amends with Matt after Jeff had walked away from their friendship for a brief while, grateful that Matt stood his ground with Jeff, but still made him see that he loved him as did God. But mostly I was grateful that Matt stood on this pulpit, flooded with love and sadness for a young man whom he fought to keep alive in both life and Christ. Matt's job today would not be easy. He would not be able to do it alone...but he would do it. he would do it for Jeff's memory, but more importantly he would stand up there for a God whom he loved more anything else. A God whom brought him to his knees and he would use this opportunity and this awful death and he would win kids to Christ. Jeff's life and death would not be in vain....not as long as Pastor Matt's faith was in charge...

Good-Bye My Lil Blackbird

Pack up all my care and woe
Here I go, singing low
Bye bye blackbird
Where somebody waits for me
Sugar's sweet, so is she
Bye bye blackbird

No one here can love and understand me
Oh, what hard luck stories they all hand me
Make my bed and light the light
I'll arrive late tonight
Blackbird, bye bye

One Last Look

The car rounded the corner and it was a frightening display. We were over a half an hour early and the parking lot was already packed. Packed with so many cars that I'm sure you could hear the crickets chirp everywhere except in that church parking lot. The feeling to flee was overwelming simply overwelming. I could feel my heart pound and I glanced over to see Tim grow stoic . We parked the car, took Katce to her bio-Grandmother in the nursery, and fled down the stairs passed Jeff's open casket down to the "family" room.
The "family" room was packed. Honestly, I knew we had a lot of family, but never ever, did I know that we could pack a room like we did that day. It seemed stifling to me. I didn't talk, I didn't acknowledge one single person in fear of falling completely into an abis of insanity. I walked to a far back room, shut the door, and I sat there as Lacey nursed Caleb. Caleb, my grandson, my pride and joy. Joy. There in that small corner was joy. Finally there was joy somewhere in my life. And I watched him and I watched her and I clung to the joy that I had as she nursed my small little grandon, who was so dependent on her for every aspect in his life.
I heard cries, actually wailing , and I opened the shut door just a crack to view the scene now taking place outside in the "family" room. It was the kids bio-family and there was alot of them. Aunt karen was cryin and clinging to Tierney and asking about me. She hadn't had a chance to embrace her sadness with the children and ii couldn't do anything, but shut the door and hide. I couldn't go to where she was emotionally. I couldn't because if I did I would curl up in a ball and never return to reality. This reality, bad as it was, was better than no reality at all. I peeked out again only to see a man that I didn't recognize among them. Could it be the kids' bio-dad? Surely he wouldn't be so bold as to come here onthis day of all days. he would be breaking the law- be in contempt of court. I drew back into the room.
Tim came in and said without me evening telling him my thoughts, "No- it is not him. It is an uncle." Relief washed over me and I wept in Tim's arms. "Come on...you need to come out here...it's about to begin..."
Scott began to tell us what to expect from the days event, where we would go, how we would get there, but I heard nothing, I only saw the intense grief all around me. Why- why did you do this? Don't you know that this is real? That this irrevocable? Why, Jeffrey, why? They were pulling my arm- telling me I had to say good-bye to Jeff before they closed the casket. The crowd cleared and I felt like I was the head of some morbid parade. I didn't want to say farewell- farewell to my son, farewell to him in front of a million people. Katce was in my arms now and we were covering up Jeff with the quilt so he would be warm. I didn't know where the other kids were, I didn't know anything except this certain, sick, shakey feeling that began at my head and trembled down to my toes.
"Jeffy won't be cold now Momma when he goes to heaven?" the quiet, little, mouse voice whispered as she buried her head in her Daddy's chest.
"Yes Baby, Jeffy will be warm now," I insisted, but really feeling that it wasn't quite true. They were taking her away ...they were ushering me away from him.
No...no...NO...I could feel my heart breaking. We are not doing this. I am not doing this. I rubbed his lil head and I held his lil hand and I begged him to get up, to wake me up from this bad dream ! Please don't make me do this..please ...You can do anything...heal him...heal him for me...or take me...take me instead...I could feel the urge to crawl in with him- to curl up into a coil like a snake and strike at anyone touching him. This was my child, my one last look at him and you're stealing me away. I can't let go...I can't say good-bye. i began to choke on the overwelming emotion. I began to sob and throw up tears as if I was an insane sprinkler system. Tim cliutched me and I hid like a battered child behind his large body and I clutched him and he literally held me up as I walked away- away from my son- away from his lil head- his lil fuzzy head- his sweet soft smile. It was so hard- so very hard- and that smile is etched in my memory as vivid as if it were today.

"Oh Baby, you're just a scared little boy," I said to him as he crawled on my lap his awful tenth grade year.
"Yes, " he wept and I held him as he sobbed and sobbed. And it was alright. He was alright. For two glorious years there was hardly any depression- hardly any moods. I should have held him forever. If only I had known. If only I could have prevented this. But I didn't and now he was gone- that wide toothy grin gone from my life forever....forever is such a long time even today....

Doing the Right Thing

I opened my eyes to and looked around...then the dread came to clain me once again....it was true, Jeff was dead. Today I would have to summon up all of the courage I had and allow people who really didn't know us or our family to bury my son. They would put him in a deep, dark hole and bury him forever. Why? What was the point of life if we are all to end up in death. The tears streamed down my face. I didn't care. Mary Kay had left my life days ago and my identity had been swallowed up by this mass confusion and this lack of sleep. It would be another day of people saying nice things, of holding me, of touching me. Trudy would be there, Teresa would be there, and my Katie Aronin would be there- but would they be enough? Could they stop me from throwing myself on the casket and fighting to keep my son's body here with me. I thought of running- of getting in the car and running and never coming back. Afterall, I had failed and surely if I failed one child, I would fail another. I didn't want to face the people who hated me- the Jeffites...the people who believed all of the lies...who took him in and away from me. But I had no choice. I've never had a choice. Never ever had to be anything but responsible and today I was sick of it. Sick of doing what was expected and needed. I was always obedient- always doing what I was told- always protecting children from the idiots who claimed to be their parents. And now this...now I was the idiot and somehow I'd failed and God had taken my son from me. A son that I had given up every hope and dream for. A son who I'd gladly have died for instead of this pain. A son I'd sat in the rain for, nursed when he was ill, been humiliated by, shared life and love and now death. Where was his smile. Where was his voice? Where was the reward of a job well done. It was in death. It was gone. And now so was I. I wouldn't run, I'd do what I was told, but this time it wouldn't turn out well- it would turn out badly...forever...forever it would suck and I would have to do what I was told.
For as long as I can remember, I have been afraid. I have a memory of being harmed as a young child, vivid memories of sex, and always knowing that if you were a good girl, people would love you. I came from alcoholic parents who never seemed to be convicted that their kids came first, that morals mattered, that being loved and cared for were more important than the almighty dollar, or a lovelife for them. Oh, they loved us to be sure, but I never felt protected- never felt safe.My mother worked her fingers to the bone, trying to provide for us. She loved us with all her being, but was so misguided in what love really was, that her morals shrouded even the small trust I had in her abilities to parent properly. My father was so much worse. He made tons of money, but never shared it in child support or helped our mother parent in any significant way. He cheated on my mother always, and I remember as a little girl laying in my bed, listening to the giggles of him with women who were not my mother. His answer to life was to work all he could, buy all he could, have sex all he could, and have children who performed everything in excellence so he could occassionally brag on us.
 It became apparent to me early on that if my siblings were going to have any kind of childhood, that I had to protect them from these morons, and parent them myself. And that was no easy task. I hid them as my drunken father tried to shoot my mother. Kept them at bay in another room when Mom tried to OD on sleeping pills because she just couldn't deal with life. Never shared with them the letter from the sanitarium that she loved us, but just couldn't be our mother. Stayed up late calling bars to find them, to figure out how or what we would eat for dinner. Pulled a wagon six miles into town for my mother, loaded down with my siblings, to chase my father down, and confront him on his latest affair- embarrassing to a ten year old. Wore trashed clothes or clothes that no one else wore, and taught myself to sew to have pants long enough so that my peers wouldn't tease me. Told a man I wouldn't do naughty things with him while I (at nine years old)babysat his children (he later raped a girl in Texas).Endured countless drunken sporting events where my dad yelled at me to get "my *ss up and jump farther"-only to decide that being embarrassed totally outweighed being a success in sports.Watched as they made the heroic decision to divorce, and tell us it was for the best. Then later watched them go through a string of affairs and thinking that there had to be something better than this. I got a job at fifteen, lied about my age, and began to get what we needed, and take care of my sisters the best I could. At the time, my childhood didn't seem so bad. It seemed normal. All of my friends had idiots for parents- everyone interested in doing whatever to make them feel good. It was the age of swingers, shakers, and movers. It was the age of abortion, burn the bra, and technologiacal genious. It was also the beginning of moral decay in a society that desperately needed morality especially for children.
To escape- I married a young, an alcoholic and soon, unbeknowst to me,a cocaine addict. I had two beautiful children, but the unhappiness was so apparent in both of us, and I longed so for a normal life.We were doomed to have a failed marriage from day one. I yelled and demanded from him what he was too drunk and young to give. He retalliated by hitting me one July 4th, and I left him, filed for a divorce, assumed all the debt.  I picked myself up by the bootstraps, did what I always did, took care of my kids, parented them , went to church, and got miraculously saved. I gave to God what I'd longed to give to someone- my whole being. And I began to build for my children the childhood I had always longed for and be the parent I'd always dreamed of having. I became the wife that would make any husband proud.
Then I became obediant to God. Following His every call. And finally, I could see the rewards, the rewards, of trusting and giving up , and having a life that most people dream of. I did what was right and although there were hard times, there was never a sense of dread- never a sense of complete loss and devestation- never no hope. Even when Bill died, I had hope. Even when I lost my babies, even when my Mom died, there was hope, but I didn't have it now. I didn't have it today. Hope died with Jeff, and so did my obedience, my trust, and my love.
 And so I put on my new black dress, not from Goodwill, but a store bought dress. I looked in the mirror and saw an empty woman devoid of joy and I walked away- away from that awful look. I went downstairs and slid past the crowd, past the caring, past the love, and I did what I only know to do. I looked at Katce, and held her in my arms,  watched my children recoil into their grief, saw my husband hold his confusion deep in his heart, and I got in the car to bury my son.

The Night Before the End

Going home together the night of the visitation was an exhausting experience. We were all so tired and none too sure about the next day. Laughter was scarce and everyone kept to themselves. It was so hard for me because the kids still wouldn't let me mother them and the constant barrier they had set between us was really getting to me. When sleep finally claimed me, I was awakened an hour or so later by Katce's screams. She was crying for Jeffy, something she had done for the entire week. I soothed her and her Daddy snuggled her. And I crept from my bed away from the cuddling - away from the feelings of love. I went downstairs and bawled on Katie Aronin's shoulder once more and became at least a little calmer. But then she too went to bed and I was left alone again.
Why did Jeff do this? Why? Didn't he know how much we loved him and how much we needed him. I had it all fixed. He would start his job on Monday, go to the doctor's that same week, maybe go on the mission trip, we were figuring it out? It was so dark and still outside, so I went and sat on the porch and wondered where God was, and why He allowed this. I had done everything He'd ever asked- everything. And yet here I was again, standing in the midst of death. Death that had claimed my Mother, my Husband, my beloved Grandmother, and seven Babies- only to add an eighth.
Are You out there? Do You really care? I pray for these kids and for this husband, but I cannot pray to You for me...I cannot talk to You...I am tired of obeying...tired of giving up so much...You asked too much this time. You have asked me to love a child deemed unloveable- I did that. I fell totally head over heels in love with this child. You asked me to give up  my sewing business, my art show, my home, my life- all for this child. And he did nothing, but hurt me almost everyday. You asked me to endure a year and a half of public scrutiny, when he left after smashing up my heart, my body, and my home. You asked me to forgive him when he never asked for it or even apolojized. I did that. You asked me to accept him every time he walked through the door. You even asked me to get all of the charges dropped if I could , walk away from restitution - beg the courts to get him mental help. Then I even took him back in - the first moment that he asked, and now You take him. I have to find him dead. All of the blood, the gun, the eerie midst of rain, the yelling, the complete and utter confusion, the total lack of comprehension. Suicide....You allowed him to commit suicide. Hadn't I found my mother in time before she killed herself? Hadn't You allowed her to live? Why? Why not him? Why couldn't he have lived too? You allowed him to kill himself? WHY? I want to know Why? Don't You think I deserve that much? I need a sign...a sign that You are here...A sign that somehow, someway I won't be swallowed alive by this awful, awful pain and guilt....
And there was no answer- only stillness...there was no miracle...only death, but as I walked toward the door to go into the house, a light appeared across the river, a bright light on a house somehow just turned on...Was that my sign? I didn't know...I didn't know anything anymore accept that I was completely alone in a house full of people in a world that had finally and indefinately deserted me after all I had did to change it, all I had did to protect it. I wasn't even angry....I was just - just sad and done and disallusioned with a life that I had once believed was a fairytale.
 And somehow...in a few hours- I would bury my son...the the only person I had ever felt like I totally failed. A failure at being a wife and a mother. All I ever wanted to be and I had failed. The weight was so heavy on my heart and my spirit that I was consumed, so consumed that I no longer wanted this life that God gad given me. Tim didn't need me, the kids certainly didn't need a failure like me...heck my dad wasn't even coming to the funeral. I had failed Jeff after years of living my whole life for them and thoroughly enjoying it...this is what was left...an empty whole of death....and as I laid my head back on the pillow I cried myself to sleep in the arms of my best friend- who unfortunately was also my dead son's father.

Jeff's "Baby" Sister

The day passed by rather slowly and we were all exhausted. People came and went and I remember thinking that I couldn't believe just how many people truly loved my son. As the day came to an end, Grandma Hill dropped off Katie-Grace to us so that she could have her own private visitation. I dreaded this. Telling her that Jeff was dead was already a huge situation for her little mind to comprehend, but to have to show her his body was, quite frankly, heart wrenching. She was quiet and frightened as Tim held her close to his heart. Everyone looked on as we made our way to the casket. That dreaded casket- the one that made me want to freak out every time I laid my eyes on it and it's occupant.
"Is that Jeffy?" she asked timidly almost inaudibly. Tim nodded and I began to stifle a sob. "But I thought he was living with Jesus in heaven...." her little voice trailed off again as Tim held her close. Tears began streaming down her face. "I want him to get up now...could we wake him up and take him home now?" she begged to know. Could we...could we please- I really want that too. How about we both just get in there and get him out and take him home to his bed.
But all that came out of Tim's mouth was, "This is Jeffy's body. It is here so we can say good-bye to his face. I know it's hard to understand, but Jeffy loves you and misses you and it will be okay. Do you want to talk to him?" Yes, yes I'd like to talk to him, I'd like to run right up and hold him and love on him and beg him to stop this dead stuff and come home. Katce just held her Daddy and cried. We stayed there while she asked questions for a few minutes and then Tim said it was time to go home.
"No Daddy," she began to plead, "we cannot leave Jeffy alone!" That's right Tim, we cannot leave Jeffy here alone! "He's scared of the dark and cold and he won't like it! We have to take him home, please Daddy! Please don't leave him here.....I want him to wake up...I want him to hold me...please Daddy...Jeffy needs his blanky...." You are right Baby, let's just take him home and get him a blanky. he'll wake up and we'll be okay and he'll hold us and everything will be okay...could we do that Tim? Could we?
"it's okay Baby, Daddy will make sure that Mr. Daniels will leave the light on for Jeffy and take care of him," I assured us both as I spoke and smoothed her brow. "We'll bring Jeffy a blanket to cover up with tomorrow and then he'll be warm...." my voice trailed off as I tried to reassure us both.
She began to sob as we left and begged Tim to let her stay. She was saying everything I felt...sort of scared me to know that she was feeling what we were feeling. Guess she should, she'd been through a lot with Jeffy and she loved him so much. She never ever gave up on him even when I did....
 When Katce's birth mother came to us and wanted us to take Katce, our kids jumped right on board and rallied like they always do to help someone in need. Each child did all they could to step up and help, but no one did more than Jeff. He was so protective of the birth mother even that he got into a fight at school when the father of the baby began to brag what a "slut" Katce birth mother was or how he'd "bagged her". Jeff was ready to annihilate because he knew that the birth father had harmed Katce's bio mom and Jeff knew that she was forced into the situation. And so although he was uncomfortable with his feelings, he fiercely protected the mother of his new sibling from the moment he knew that she was carrying his baby sibling until the day of his death.
It was no surprise to me the unabashed love that Jeff had for Katce even from the very beginning of her life. He adored her and she adored him. He held her, changed her, burped her, and even cleaned up her baby puke. I remember waking up in the middle of those first few nights at home with her, and being in a panic because she wasn't in her bassinet. I tor down the stairs to find Jeff all curled up around her, feeding her a bottle, crooning a sweet melody. Tears fell down my face with pride with this child who barely kept his room clean. And so it was from that day forward that Katce was Jeff's exclusive lil sister. He got up every night to take her 3pm feeding, even on school days- he didn't care. There was something about her that his heart just ached to be with her and since I had never seen him so taken with anyone or anything- I was ecstatic to see him like this.
When Katce became ill with meningitis and we were uncertain that she would live or die, Jeff came and spent the night with me at the hospital. He began very scared and quiet. He was jumpy and couldn't even stand to touched her with all of the tubes that were hooked up to her. He was so frightened that when we got home, he'd hardly speak.
It was then that Jeff went out that night joy riding and stole our car. He would get so scared of life and the changes that he couldn't control that he got into our car, started it with stolen keys, and left unbeknown to us. He later got pulled over by a police person and Tim had to go get him. But that was Jeff. He was afraid to face hard times and good times. He couldn't control the situation, but he could run, and run he did. That became a serious pattern that he would repeat many, many times in his life. And one that we couldn't ever seem to break him of.
But after Katce got home, his love for her never faltered and neither did his fierce protection of her. Even when he moved out that awful day, he always checked on her and she always ran to him. She was his baby Sis and he was her biggest brother. People say that Katce will get over this in time, but I do not believe that she will get over it or forget. I believe that had Jeff known how he would have hurt these kids that he wouldn't have killed himself because despite his temper or his sometimes ill treatment of them, he loved them. He loved his Katie-Grace. When Jeff took his own life, he took a lot of things, but he couldn't take one of the basic elements that we will need to escape this nightmare- he couldn't take our love for him. He couldn't take Katce's and he couldn't take mine, Tim's, or the other kids' and I will help Katce remember the brother who adored her more than she'll ever know....

The Visitation

Watching my children grapple with the death and dead body of their brother was overwelming. But more overwelming than dealing with the massive crowds of people who came to the visitation. There were people everywhere- all over in fact- and I was frightened and tired and I longed to be away far away. People were hugging me, touching me, and I was feeling smothered and so near insanity that I could hardly contain myself at times. They needed to grieve- I know that. They needed to express their condolances, and I probably needed to hear them, but every face became a blur as I faced near exhaustion and the looney bin. Katie Aronin stayed by my side and protected me from some of it. My niece Mandy did the same as well. But the craziness in my mind that a bunch of people were in our space, touching my son, seeing my son, touching my children, and sharing this exclusive, private grief was so very hard. I couldn't go to the casket and throw myself on it, because that wouldn't be the sane thing to do. But I wanted to, I wanted to very badly, and I fought it everytime I saw someone touch my son. The room continued to be filled with people all day and into the night. There were lines everywhere and then the music began to play on a laptop- the music I had chosen for his funeral- not his visitation and I began to falter. I was talking to a dear, sweet woman and her family- when the music seemed to be getting louder and louder. It seemed to be permiating my whole thought process. I asked them to please have it turned off. But no one did. I could hear the music, I could see him in that awful casket, I was reliving everyday of the last week as that music continued, the room was smothering me, the people were smotheringme, I couldn't get enough air, and I could feel every ounce of sanity leaving my body and vomitting all over the world around me. And so without any foreknowledge, I began to yell, "Please- PLEASE- turn that music off!...." I kept repeating it, I began to falter, I began to lose it, and just couldn't breath.... Tim grabbed my arm, drug me outside, and I beat on his chest, (just as I had done at Bill's visitation so many years ago).
"I want them out! I want this music off! I want my children and I want to go home....." I sobbed and sobbed. And he did what he always does...he held me, he soothed me, and he explained that other people felt like I did and they needed this whether I liked it or not. He spoke to me forever and talked me back to reality- what little there was of it. And I, like I have always been taught to do, regained my composure and reentered the world of grief and death. I walked back into the room and back into my son, laying in a casket- DEAD. And that day, that day of visitation became a dream to me- a horrid dream that would get worse the next day as I would have to lay my son to rest, in a casket, in the ground, and never ever be able to rub his little head, or smell his familiar smell, or see his beautiful smile again, and I would have to do it in front of a hundreds of others who felt the same way, and I would have to watch my children and their friends die inside. But I would do it- I would never be the same- never ever , but I would do it, because it was the right thing to do and goodness knows- I am all about doing the right thing and obeying God....but as each moment came to fruition I began to realize that my life wasn't my own any more and this grief and guilt were going to eat me alive for the rest of my life...at least that is what I thought that day and for many days to come.