I'm dreamin' tonight of a place I love
Even more then I usually do
And although I know it's a long road back
I promise you
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light beams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light beams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
If only in my dreams
Today I went to the store to get all of the children a Christmas ornamant as I do every year. And who,who do you think I found the first one for...you Jeffrey. Only this time it wasn't of a basketball player or a black santa...it was a precious gold, glittery ornament that I can place your photo in so that somehow when all of the kids come down the stairs on Christmas morning, you will be there hanging on the tree- a small part of our lives. But what will really stink is that no matter how hard we try- it will never ever be the same again. You will never be here for Jesus' birthday party. You will never ever be here for the Christmas Eve party with Grandma and Grandpa Burd. You will not hear Grandpa read the Christmas story. You will not eat Grandma's rolls. You will not watch as people crazily try to control their children as the gifts are torn open and the pandemonium continues. The laughter, the fellowship, the hugs, the love that is such an inherent part of who we Burd's are. And you will not be here.
You will not be here at 6am Chrustmas morning when Katce screams at the top of her lungs how "Santa has come" and to get up. She will not be able to crawl on your lap and cuddle in your stinky armpit. She will be lost. Hell Jeff, we'll all be lost. And we'll smile, and we'll pretend. But we'll all know- know that you are not here and will never ever be here again. This will be the hardest day without you yet. I do not want to eat Lacey's homemade cinnamon rolls without you. I do not want to have Grandma and Grandpa over for dinner without you or skype with Tierney and Jake and now Amelia without you.
But Jeff, what do we do? You have left us now choice.
The song says, "I'll be home for Chrustmas", but you are not here....yet in some strange way...I think that you are home for Christmas. You were never happy here on earth...not completely. There was always a piece of you that had been hurt and damaged and no matter how hard we tried- we couldn't fix it...happiness for you was unattainable.
But this year...this year...you are Home for Christmas...safe in Christ's arms and perhaps for the very first time, you will be happy...totally happy. I guess that helps some to imagine you with Christ under the tree, looking at all of the angels, having a huge celebration....I guess if I had to give you up that giving you up to jesus where you are finally happy and with no pain makes it worth it...at least for this moment...at least for today...
Thursday, December 22, 2011
We (every Christian on the face of the earth) Are Responsible
Children
by Ina Hughes
We are responsible for children
who put chocolate fingers everywhere,
who like to be tickled,
who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants,
who sneak popsicles before supper,
who can never find their shoes.
And we are responsible for children
who can’t bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,
who are born in places we wouldn’t be caught dead,
who never go to the circus,
who live in an x-rated world.
We are responsible for children
who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
who sleep with the dog and bury goldfish,
who cover themselves with Band-aids and sing off key,
who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
who slurp their soup.
And we are responsible for children
who never get dessert,
who have no blanket to drag behind them,
who watch their parents watch them die,
who can’t find any bread to steal,
who don’t have any rooms to clean up,
whose pictures aren’t on anybody’s dresser,
whose monsters are real.
We are responsible for children
who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
who like ghost stories,
who shove dirty clothes under the bed and never rinse out the tub,
who get no visits from the tooth fairy,
who don’t like to be kissed in front of the carpool,
whose tears we sometimes laugh at, and
whose smiles can make us cry.
We are responsible for children
whose nightmares come in the daytime,
who will eat anything,
who have never seen a dentist,
who aren’t spoiled by anybody,
who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
who live and move, but have no being.
We are responsible for children
who want to be carried and for those who must,
for those we never give up on and
for those who don’t get a second chance,
for those we smother, . . . and
for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to
offer it.
Even though my son killed himself...I would not trade the thirteen years that the Lord blessed us with Jeff's presence. It was an honor to parent and get to know him. Please consider adoption...so many children need good parents. It is needed. It is Biblical. And it is our responsibility. If you do not believe in abortion- you better believe in adoption. Think about starting your new year with a new family member...the statistics are in your favor....
by Ina Hughes
We are responsible for children
who put chocolate fingers everywhere,
who like to be tickled,
who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants,
who sneak popsicles before supper,
who can never find their shoes.
And we are responsible for children
who can’t bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,
who are born in places we wouldn’t be caught dead,
who never go to the circus,
who live in an x-rated world.
We are responsible for children
who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
who sleep with the dog and bury goldfish,
who cover themselves with Band-aids and sing off key,
who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
who slurp their soup.
And we are responsible for children
who never get dessert,
who have no blanket to drag behind them,
who watch their parents watch them die,
who can’t find any bread to steal,
who don’t have any rooms to clean up,
whose pictures aren’t on anybody’s dresser,
whose monsters are real.
We are responsible for children
who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
who like ghost stories,
who shove dirty clothes under the bed and never rinse out the tub,
who get no visits from the tooth fairy,
who don’t like to be kissed in front of the carpool,
whose tears we sometimes laugh at, and
whose smiles can make us cry.
We are responsible for children
whose nightmares come in the daytime,
who will eat anything,
who have never seen a dentist,
who aren’t spoiled by anybody,
who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
who live and move, but have no being.
We are responsible for children
who want to be carried and for those who must,
for those we never give up on and
for those who don’t get a second chance,
for those we smother, . . . and
for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to
offer it.
Even though my son killed himself...I would not trade the thirteen years that the Lord blessed us with Jeff's presence. It was an honor to parent and get to know him. Please consider adoption...so many children need good parents. It is needed. It is Biblical. And it is our responsibility. If you do not believe in abortion- you better believe in adoption. Think about starting your new year with a new family member...the statistics are in your favor....
Monday, December 19, 2011
Jeffy's Boyhood Picture
When we first adopted the children, I got each of them a picture that reminded me of them. Ironically, Jeff's picture was of a boy praying. It wasn't until after he died that I noticed the angel looking over him actually has a tear in his eye....
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Tomorrow...tomorrow...I love you Tomorrow...
The sun'll come out
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
There'll be sun!
Just thinkin' about
Tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs,
And the sorrow
'Til there's none!
When I'm stuck with a day
That's gray,
And lonely,
I just stick out my chin
And Grin,
And Say,
Oh!
The sun'll come out
Tomorrow
So ya gotta hang on
'Til tomorrow
Come what may
Tomorrow! Tomorrow!
I love ya Tomorrow!
You're always
A day
A way!
Tomorrow...
Tomorrow I will go to church like I do every Sunday and pretend that everything is alright. Tomorrow I will fight back the tears as I sit next to my beautiful lil niece Mandy and I watch her become my parent and cradle me as I cry about every song that is sung and every word that is spoken. I will fight the tears with a huge lump in my throat,. My heart will pound as I pray for someone else's child. I will look pretty outside, but inside I will be a mess. I will see Jeffrey in each corner of the church and I will dread running into each one of his old friends. But I will go and I will do it because it is tomorrow, and in my tomorrows- that is what I do- what is expected of me.
The only difference about this tomorrow is that my children will sing their first Christmas concert without their brother listening and watching with his big toothy grin on his face. Even though I will see Jeffy in my heart and in my memories- he will not be there. And while I try to watch my other children perform, I will be watching Jeffy "not being there" instead of enjoying them.
I wish I didn't dread all of this. I started out tomorrow in the Christmas season by being so filled with the Christmas spirit and so overwelmed with joy that I just knew this was going to be the best Christmas ever. But as each tomorrow comes to pass, I am filled with torment and trepidation that I will not make it through another day. I want to yell. I want to scream. Wait! Wait! something is not right. Something is amiss. We cannot have Christmas without Jeffy. We just cannot. How will I fake this? How will I let this tomorrow pass with out completely falling apart inside this insanity called grief? I do not know.
I am frightened. I am frightened everytime I see people fighting in a store. I am frightened everytime I see or read of the silly disputes people have. I want to yell, "Do you not know that there may not be a tomorrow filled with peace and joy and hope?" People waste so much time on stupid things. They get angry at their loved ones and live without them on earth when they are really here to enjoy. How dare they? How dare anyone let the sun go down on their anger and waste this precious life being mad at their loved ones. I do not know. I only know that as I face tomorrow again without my son, that I would give anything, anything to have him back with me. I would give anything to hear his voice, to feel his touch, and yes even watch him walk away from me in his anger. When I lost him to suicide, I lost a piece of me that I cannot get back- a hole I cannot fill. And for some reason- I do not want it filled.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will go to church. Tomorrow I will try to look pretty. Tomorrow I will open my Bible; I will study God's word and I will learn to get through that day without my son. Christ will help me overcome this next fear so that I may be ready for tomorrow again....
God help me...please.
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
There'll be sun!
Just thinkin' about
Tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs,
And the sorrow
'Til there's none!
When I'm stuck with a day
That's gray,
And lonely,
I just stick out my chin
And Grin,
And Say,
Oh!
The sun'll come out
Tomorrow
So ya gotta hang on
'Til tomorrow
Come what may
Tomorrow! Tomorrow!
I love ya Tomorrow!
You're always
A day
A way!
Tomorrow...
Tomorrow I will go to church like I do every Sunday and pretend that everything is alright. Tomorrow I will fight back the tears as I sit next to my beautiful lil niece Mandy and I watch her become my parent and cradle me as I cry about every song that is sung and every word that is spoken. I will fight the tears with a huge lump in my throat,. My heart will pound as I pray for someone else's child. I will look pretty outside, but inside I will be a mess. I will see Jeffrey in each corner of the church and I will dread running into each one of his old friends. But I will go and I will do it because it is tomorrow, and in my tomorrows- that is what I do- what is expected of me.
The only difference about this tomorrow is that my children will sing their first Christmas concert without their brother listening and watching with his big toothy grin on his face. Even though I will see Jeffy in my heart and in my memories- he will not be there. And while I try to watch my other children perform, I will be watching Jeffy "not being there" instead of enjoying them.
I wish I didn't dread all of this. I started out tomorrow in the Christmas season by being so filled with the Christmas spirit and so overwelmed with joy that I just knew this was going to be the best Christmas ever. But as each tomorrow comes to pass, I am filled with torment and trepidation that I will not make it through another day. I want to yell. I want to scream. Wait! Wait! something is not right. Something is amiss. We cannot have Christmas without Jeffy. We just cannot. How will I fake this? How will I let this tomorrow pass with out completely falling apart inside this insanity called grief? I do not know.
I am frightened. I am frightened everytime I see people fighting in a store. I am frightened everytime I see or read of the silly disputes people have. I want to yell, "Do you not know that there may not be a tomorrow filled with peace and joy and hope?" People waste so much time on stupid things. They get angry at their loved ones and live without them on earth when they are really here to enjoy. How dare they? How dare anyone let the sun go down on their anger and waste this precious life being mad at their loved ones. I do not know. I only know that as I face tomorrow again without my son, that I would give anything, anything to have him back with me. I would give anything to hear his voice, to feel his touch, and yes even watch him walk away from me in his anger. When I lost him to suicide, I lost a piece of me that I cannot get back- a hole I cannot fill. And for some reason- I do not want it filled.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will go to church. Tomorrow I will try to look pretty. Tomorrow I will open my Bible; I will study God's word and I will learn to get through that day without my son. Christ will help me overcome this next fear so that I may be ready for tomorrow again....
God help me...please.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Not There
I remember when we first got the children. The boys came with a bag of girls clothes. It wasn't intentional, an accident of the "wrong bag". But the boys were so excited to go and pick out their own clothes, bedding, and etc. Jeff loved brand named items always. He loved the newness of new clothes- to have something noone else had ever had.
Every morning at Christmas, I would be amazed how he always got me the exact appliance I needed. I never told him, but he just watched me throughout the year and knew instinctively what I needed to make our busy lives easier. Jeff was good about that. He didn't show much emotion outright, but he showed it in so many small ways. So many "Jeff" ways.
I think the most amazing memory of Jeff at Christmas was the year I opened the gift from him and it was one of his favorite stuffed toys and whistles. I knew he had given me one of his precious treasures and it brought tears to my eyes. I looked at him and he looked at me and we knew...we knew the love was there. I remember through the years looking at that toy and remembering what that gift cost jeff. It cost him giving away something that was his and to a child who had everythig taken away from him, that was huge to give up a possession.
Last year he didn't have any money so he gave me a picture of a smurf that he'd colored. I know for a college kid that seems silly, but Jeff knew me so well that for me. I would rather have something they made for me than a million dollars. Today that picture is one of my most treasured gifts and will stay in my treasure chest where I keep all of my priceless possessions. The look on his face when he gave it to me was priceless...no apologies...just waiting for me to make over it which I did...
Last year he didn't have any money so he gave me a picture of a smurf that he'd colored. I know for a college kid that seems silly, but Jeff knew me so well that for me. I would rather have something they made for me than a million dollars. Today that picture is one of my most treasured gifts and will stay in my treasure chest where I keep all of my priceless possessions. The look on his face when he gave it to me was priceless...no apologies...just waiting for me to make over it which I did...
It had been very hard this Christmas season . The wave of grief has been hitting hard and knocking me over so much that I feel as if I will drowned in my tears. I compensate by pretending nothing is wrong, but it is. It is so very, very wrong. I cannot fathom how we decorated the tree without him. How we will make cookies, or food without him. Mainly I cannot imagine waking up Christmas morn without his smiling face always watching quietly from the sidelines to see what everyone else has gotten and if they are happy. His ornaments hang from the tree, but he is not here. His treasures and clothing lay in a trunk downstairs, but he is not there.
So I make my pilgrimage to the old cemetary and I place a poinsetta in the urn and I wipe off the snow...and he is not there. I stop, I stare, and long to see him where he is. My heart aches because I cannot be with him. I long to figure out all of this mess and to turn back the clock. Every song, evry place, every friend of his reminds me that he is not there. I do not know what will happen. I do not know how I will cope. I just know that I will. I will ride the ebb of this tormenting, agonizing grief, and I will overcome it. I will not ever be whole again. there will always be a huge piece of my heart missing. The tear will never really heal, it will just become a scar, that like any war wound, I will have stories and pictures to brag about. But it will still be that , a war wound. One whose battle I fought long and hard and lost; lost so dearly and lost so much. I didn't want to fight that fight. I didn't even want to be a soldier in that war, but I was "called" and try as I might to put a deaf ear on that call, I answered it with vigor. The call to be an adoptive Mom was so strong that it nearly bowled me over with the urging. God knew who we were and what we were capable of...or did He? But who am I to question His will when I have so very much to be thankful for.
I sometimes wonder if this time...this time He may have given me too much. I could handle raising these children, but I am sure having troubles with the burying part. This was not in those contracts, not on any dotted line. I want a "do over'...I want to escape back to last Christmas and hold Jeffrey in my arms and beg him to move home...I want to face possible hate and rejection...after all, anger would be better than this, right? I do not know. And I guess after a while I get tired of not knowing and looking to see if he is there.
Where is Jeffrey? Everyone says he is happy and he is in heaven...I know I believe it, but as a mother I cannot fathom that... I just cannot. I selfishly want him. I want to hold his hand, stroke his hair, cook for hime, fold his clothes, ....I sometimes wonder if I could unbury him and hold him forever. Does this make me crazy? I do not know- I've been crazy before over these kids.
Like the time the teacher made Timara take off her hat that she agreed Timara could wear for pictures and her hair stuck to her head. Then that teacher wouldn't let her call home to have me help her with her hair. Boy did I rake her over the coals. "Well Mrs. Burd, I have apolojized, what would you have me do?" the teacher said sarcastically. "I would have you make yesyterday never happen!" I blared back with my hands on my hip. "that is impossible", she said quietly. "Yes, and tell that to my daughters humiliated spirit." That teacher never messed with my kid again. I pulled her outta school and waited for a better one to come along.
Like the time that some kid called Dragos a retard and Timara picked the fat kid up, laid him on the ground and made him eat dirt. Noone messed with her brother, but her.
Like the time James through rocks at the school window to see how many it would take to break it....five...it takes five.
Like the time Lacey swallowed Campho Phenic and had to have her stomach pumped. If I hadn't insisted , "Do it- pump her stomach," that child would be here walking today.
Like the time Tierney read a book by herself after we struggled all year to get her caught up in reading. She graduated sixth grade with all her friends and I balwed in my seat.
Like the time Joshua had a severe pain in his abdoman and the docs couldn't figure out what was wrong and I insisted I stay overnight with him in the hospital. He didn't want to be babied, but I didn't care. i rubbed his head until he went to sleep and watched him all night.
Like the time Dragos beat all the fat kids in the 70 meter run in track and I wept on my knees as I cheered him on. Only to look in the stands and see everyone weeping too. Pretty good for a kid who wasn't supposed to live much else walk or talk.
Like the time I prayed to God to take Katce from this world when she had meningitous and was in so much pain- or give the pain to me- anything than watch her suffer so. And God broke that fever that very next minute.
Like the times I watched Kayla suffer as she wauted for her bio dad to show up even though he never did. how I buried her head in my lap, and figured out how to bail him outta jail so she could see him. I never told her where he was. A kid doesn't need to know that adults in their lives can be idiots.
Like the time I held jeff as he cried and cried because his heart was so broken that his bio dad walked away from him and didn't love him. I lied and said I knew his dad did that he was just too young and drugged out to keep him.Like the time I found Jeff hiding in a corner afraid to tell me he had wet the bed because he was afraid that I would make him sleep inthe bathtub with peed underwear on his head like had been done to him by other "parents". Like the time he begged me not to lock him in the closet when he was bad because it too had been done before. Like the time I held him while he was going through r
ritulan withdraw and fighting anyone in his path. Like the time I listened to him call me a "bitch" and telling me his whole life was my fault and watching him walk away. Like the time I lay on the floor with the flu and I puked and then Jeff puked together all day in pain, but together. Like the time Jeff stole our car because he couldn't deal with the fact that Katce may die of meningitous and begging someone to help him mentally. Like the time I didn't sleep all night because Jeff was angry and kept sleeping with weapons under his bed and praying he wouldn't hurt us. Like the time I begged the prosecuting attorney to just get Jeff help and drop the domestic abuse charges. Like the time I spent my whole week finding jeff a job, bringing him home to live, staying up with him, watching him every minute until I could get him talked into getting help and then when I did I found him the next day dead. And finally, like the time katce and I covered him with a blanket before they laid him in that cold ground to be buried forever.
I worry over them and mother over them all everyday. Death didn't stop that with my Jeffy. Even when he left our home, I still called in the storms to check on him. I still wonder if he is happy and what he is up to.My mothering him will never ever stop. is this normal? I do not know.
Like the time the teacher made Timara take off her hat that she agreed Timara could wear for pictures and her hair stuck to her head. Then that teacher wouldn't let her call home to have me help her with her hair. Boy did I rake her over the coals. "Well Mrs. Burd, I have apolojized, what would you have me do?" the teacher said sarcastically. "I would have you make yesyterday never happen!" I blared back with my hands on my hip. "that is impossible", she said quietly. "Yes, and tell that to my daughters humiliated spirit." That teacher never messed with my kid again. I pulled her outta school and waited for a better one to come along.
Like the time that some kid called Dragos a retard and Timara picked the fat kid up, laid him on the ground and made him eat dirt. Noone messed with her brother, but her.
Like the time James through rocks at the school window to see how many it would take to break it....five...it takes five.
Like the time Lacey swallowed Campho Phenic and had to have her stomach pumped. If I hadn't insisted , "Do it- pump her stomach," that child would be here walking today.
Like the time Tierney read a book by herself after we struggled all year to get her caught up in reading. She graduated sixth grade with all her friends and I balwed in my seat.
Like the time Joshua had a severe pain in his abdoman and the docs couldn't figure out what was wrong and I insisted I stay overnight with him in the hospital. He didn't want to be babied, but I didn't care. i rubbed his head until he went to sleep and watched him all night.
Like the time Dragos beat all the fat kids in the 70 meter run in track and I wept on my knees as I cheered him on. Only to look in the stands and see everyone weeping too. Pretty good for a kid who wasn't supposed to live much else walk or talk.
Like the time I prayed to God to take Katce from this world when she had meningitous and was in so much pain- or give the pain to me- anything than watch her suffer so. And God broke that fever that very next minute.
Like the times I watched Kayla suffer as she wauted for her bio dad to show up even though he never did. how I buried her head in my lap, and figured out how to bail him outta jail so she could see him. I never told her where he was. A kid doesn't need to know that adults in their lives can be idiots.
Like the time I held jeff as he cried and cried because his heart was so broken that his bio dad walked away from him and didn't love him. I lied and said I knew his dad did that he was just too young and drugged out to keep him.Like the time I found Jeff hiding in a corner afraid to tell me he had wet the bed because he was afraid that I would make him sleep inthe bathtub with peed underwear on his head like had been done to him by other "parents". Like the time he begged me not to lock him in the closet when he was bad because it too had been done before. Like the time I held him while he was going through r
ritulan withdraw and fighting anyone in his path. Like the time I listened to him call me a "bitch" and telling me his whole life was my fault and watching him walk away. Like the time I lay on the floor with the flu and I puked and then Jeff puked together all day in pain, but together. Like the time Jeff stole our car because he couldn't deal with the fact that Katce may die of meningitous and begging someone to help him mentally. Like the time I didn't sleep all night because Jeff was angry and kept sleeping with weapons under his bed and praying he wouldn't hurt us. Like the time I begged the prosecuting attorney to just get Jeff help and drop the domestic abuse charges. Like the time I spent my whole week finding jeff a job, bringing him home to live, staying up with him, watching him every minute until I could get him talked into getting help and then when I did I found him the next day dead. And finally, like the time katce and I covered him with a blanket before they laid him in that cold ground to be buried forever.
I worry over them and mother over them all everyday. Death didn't stop that with my Jeffy. Even when he left our home, I still called in the storms to check on him. I still wonder if he is happy and what he is up to.My mothering him will never ever stop. is this normal? I do not know.
I just want this ache to stop overtaking me. i want to just be soft, and peaceful and quiet inside. most days I am, but not today. because jeffy is not there. he is not where I expect him nor where I want him to be. I will have to reast in the fact that this Christmas will happen, it will come and go and we will make new memories...but that Jeff will not be there....
Saturday, December 3, 2011
The Panic
Today was a good day. In fact, today was a great day. And it is on these days that somewhere, out of the blue, panic will set in. A panic over Jeff that is so strong that it is like a wave of nausea that quickly makes you throw up. It isn't like this always, just sometimes. But the sometimes are hard and they hit so dark...if it weren't for Christ...I wouldn't recover the nausea...I would just throw up all day...
When James called and said that there had been an accident- my heart sank. I could feel my throat tighten up for about 3 seconds and I wanted to panic. But as he continued to narrate the story and it was clear that Timara was helping a friend who was just in a scary accident at school, but was alright...I began to breath easier. And while there were prayers sent up and much concern for the parties involved...it was "do"able. Little did I know...
We arrived at the school to watch Timara's game and I was prepared for the uncomfortableness that I always get when entering that gym. The acute awareness that Jeff was here. His people were here. Much of his life was spent right here in this gym. What I wasn't prepared for was how I would ract when I saw Timara's friend, Em, who had been in the accident. There she was, sitting on a low bleacher, pale as a ghost, trying to stay quiet and be a part of the game- yet not. Her mother sat behind her, carefully monitoring her daughter. The closer I got to sit with them, the more I felt obsessed with Em. I could see the bruising. I could see some scratches and blood. I could see she was still frightened and in pain. I could see I needed to mother her. And then came the panic. The overwelming need to push her mother aside, take Em into my arms, and make her awful care accident away. I wanted to take her home, mother her , and make sure that she was well. It ran through my mind more than once that I would have her in the hospital right now, that I would demand every test on the face of this earth in order to insure her safety- needed or not. But I don't know this child this well, and I am not her mother, who is a great mother, and would never endanger her child. So, I kept babbling to her, trying to nonchalontly mother her, and somehow get this awkward feeling about Em and her appearance and her owies to go away. I watched her so much that I could hardly watch the game. I could hardly concentrate....the need to "fix" her was overwelming. I kept watching her...kept questioning her mother, kept offering to help in some way. I had to mother this child and the feeling got stronger and stronger until I almost reached out and stroked her pretty lil head. And it wasn't until her mother took her home early to rest that I looked up and I realized why I was feeling panicky- why I couldn't get Em and the need to take care of her out of my mind. It was him....
I heard the buzzer sounding. I knew that we had lost the game. But my eyes remained fixed on the records board up on that gym wall. Fixed on Jeff's name. Fixed on Jeff's accomplishments. Fixed on his life. And then it hit me..the panic...the hot tears...the overwelming sense of loss. the need to turn and run and run and bury my head in anyone who could shelter me from this pain. It was Jeff...I wanted to mother Em because when I came upon Jeff's car and realized there was blood and realized...I had to get into that car...and that I couldn't ...and that it was too late...I could not mother him. i could nit make this better. i could not ever ever make him better again....I fell to my knees and raised my hand to the only entity who could help Jeff and that was God. And the ambulance came...and I couldn't see him...and I couldn't touch him....and I couldn't make sure he was dead or heaven help me...alive... I could only do what what I was told....answer questions and walk away...But with Em....I could help...I could take care of her...I could mother her...I could make it all better. Only I couldn't- for Em is not my child. She has a mother. A good mother. One who would die for her. So I, I had to remain trapped in this horrible panic of helplessness because she was not my child- nor was she Jeff. And so i sat. i sat in a room full of people and I wept. I wept for Em. I wept for me. I wept for Jeff. I wept because it wasn't supposed to be like this. Not for him. Not for me. Not for us. I felt all of the memories as rush back. All of the baskets. All of the finish lines. All of the cheering. All for Jeff. I saw him....winning, striving, hearing me cheer him on. I saw all of races. All of his fouls, his baskets, his touchdowns. All of the things that made him the great athlete that he was.
And I wept until I looked up and met his eyes......
"Looked up didn't you..." he said quietly and I nodded. "Don't ever look up..." and he took my hand and padded it."The car is on this side why don't you take kate and go out there..." I nodded again.
I looked around and realized that everyone in that gym had no idea that pain that I was in. They had no idea that while they waited for their daughters to amerge from the locker room, that my life had went to hell and back there in that five minute interval of time. Will it always be like this? Will i always get well meaning hugs, but feel so alone, and so knowing in a room full of people. Will I and I alone alwyas have this sick know;ledge that in a split second your life can change, and scare the hell out of you for the rest of your life. Will there ever be a normal? Will there ever be a day when i can't see him, sense him, hear him, and smell him? Will I ever be able to live?
I do not know. I know that when Sarah asked to watch Katce inthe hallway...and I made up some lame excuse that she couldn't I wanted to turn to her, take her hands, and yell, "Are you kidding me? I have to watch her. I have to know where she is all of the time. What if something happens to her...I love you sarah and you are a great mother, but I have to see her every minute. I have to!" I love Sarah. She is truly a great gift. But she does not know (and I pray to God she never does). The panic. The fear. The sheer terror of not seeing Katce and sometimes the overwelming sense of dread that this death could snatch another one from me.....take another one of my babies and leave me to die this slow death of this disease called life.
No, I do not feel like this everyday. I do not panic everytime when I cannot see them or they are away from me. Omly sometimes. So if you see me, or any other parent who has lost a child either by suicide or any other means, hug them, smile at them, look into their eyes with genuine concern. And when they say that they are okay...know that sometimes they are lying and just. just be their friend. (Thanks for the hug tonight Michele Siple...you have no idea how much it helped)....
When James called and said that there had been an accident- my heart sank. I could feel my throat tighten up for about 3 seconds and I wanted to panic. But as he continued to narrate the story and it was clear that Timara was helping a friend who was just in a scary accident at school, but was alright...I began to breath easier. And while there were prayers sent up and much concern for the parties involved...it was "do"able. Little did I know...
We arrived at the school to watch Timara's game and I was prepared for the uncomfortableness that I always get when entering that gym. The acute awareness that Jeff was here. His people were here. Much of his life was spent right here in this gym. What I wasn't prepared for was how I would ract when I saw Timara's friend, Em, who had been in the accident. There she was, sitting on a low bleacher, pale as a ghost, trying to stay quiet and be a part of the game- yet not. Her mother sat behind her, carefully monitoring her daughter. The closer I got to sit with them, the more I felt obsessed with Em. I could see the bruising. I could see some scratches and blood. I could see she was still frightened and in pain. I could see I needed to mother her. And then came the panic. The overwelming need to push her mother aside, take Em into my arms, and make her awful care accident away. I wanted to take her home, mother her , and make sure that she was well. It ran through my mind more than once that I would have her in the hospital right now, that I would demand every test on the face of this earth in order to insure her safety- needed or not. But I don't know this child this well, and I am not her mother, who is a great mother, and would never endanger her child. So, I kept babbling to her, trying to nonchalontly mother her, and somehow get this awkward feeling about Em and her appearance and her owies to go away. I watched her so much that I could hardly watch the game. I could hardly concentrate....the need to "fix" her was overwelming. I kept watching her...kept questioning her mother, kept offering to help in some way. I had to mother this child and the feeling got stronger and stronger until I almost reached out and stroked her pretty lil head. And it wasn't until her mother took her home early to rest that I looked up and I realized why I was feeling panicky- why I couldn't get Em and the need to take care of her out of my mind. It was him....
I heard the buzzer sounding. I knew that we had lost the game. But my eyes remained fixed on the records board up on that gym wall. Fixed on Jeff's name. Fixed on Jeff's accomplishments. Fixed on his life. And then it hit me..the panic...the hot tears...the overwelming sense of loss. the need to turn and run and run and bury my head in anyone who could shelter me from this pain. It was Jeff...I wanted to mother Em because when I came upon Jeff's car and realized there was blood and realized...I had to get into that car...and that I couldn't ...and that it was too late...I could not mother him. i could nit make this better. i could not ever ever make him better again....I fell to my knees and raised my hand to the only entity who could help Jeff and that was God. And the ambulance came...and I couldn't see him...and I couldn't touch him....and I couldn't make sure he was dead or heaven help me...alive... I could only do what what I was told....answer questions and walk away...But with Em....I could help...I could take care of her...I could mother her...I could make it all better. Only I couldn't- for Em is not my child. She has a mother. A good mother. One who would die for her. So I, I had to remain trapped in this horrible panic of helplessness because she was not my child- nor was she Jeff. And so i sat. i sat in a room full of people and I wept. I wept for Em. I wept for me. I wept for Jeff. I wept because it wasn't supposed to be like this. Not for him. Not for me. Not for us. I felt all of the memories as rush back. All of the baskets. All of the finish lines. All of the cheering. All for Jeff. I saw him....winning, striving, hearing me cheer him on. I saw all of races. All of his fouls, his baskets, his touchdowns. All of the things that made him the great athlete that he was.
And I wept until I looked up and met his eyes......
"Looked up didn't you..." he said quietly and I nodded. "Don't ever look up..." and he took my hand and padded it."The car is on this side why don't you take kate and go out there..." I nodded again.
I looked around and realized that everyone in that gym had no idea that pain that I was in. They had no idea that while they waited for their daughters to amerge from the locker room, that my life had went to hell and back there in that five minute interval of time. Will it always be like this? Will i always get well meaning hugs, but feel so alone, and so knowing in a room full of people. Will I and I alone alwyas have this sick know;ledge that in a split second your life can change, and scare the hell out of you for the rest of your life. Will there ever be a normal? Will there ever be a day when i can't see him, sense him, hear him, and smell him? Will I ever be able to live?
I do not know. I know that when Sarah asked to watch Katce inthe hallway...and I made up some lame excuse that she couldn't I wanted to turn to her, take her hands, and yell, "Are you kidding me? I have to watch her. I have to know where she is all of the time. What if something happens to her...I love you sarah and you are a great mother, but I have to see her every minute. I have to!" I love Sarah. She is truly a great gift. But she does not know (and I pray to God she never does). The panic. The fear. The sheer terror of not seeing Katce and sometimes the overwelming sense of dread that this death could snatch another one from me.....take another one of my babies and leave me to die this slow death of this disease called life.
No, I do not feel like this everyday. I do not panic everytime when I cannot see them or they are away from me. Omly sometimes. So if you see me, or any other parent who has lost a child either by suicide or any other means, hug them, smile at them, look into their eyes with genuine concern. And when they say that they are okay...know that sometimes they are lying and just. just be their friend. (Thanks for the hug tonight Michele Siple...you have no idea how much it helped)....
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