We were ushered out of the church so fast that it made my head spin. There was absolutely no time to even realize what had just happened. The vans pulled up and we got in. I don't know where all of my children were- but they were not all with me. That continued to bother me horrendously throughout the next minutes, days, and months. The knowledge of knowing exactly where they were at every moment was an and is an absolute- a protection mechonism that somehow if I knew where they were- I could protect them from this death. The ride was horrible. How does one ride to the buriel plot of their son? How does one even wrao their mind around that. I didn't know. I felt like a caged animal. My children were so into their grief that I couldn't reach them. The isolation from them so complete that I felt incomplete. This was all happenening too fast. How would I ever overcome this? What if I couldn't?
The cemetary was packed and it was cold. Pastor Matt began to speak. His mouth was moving, but what was he saying. I wanted these people gone. I only wanted it to be our family. How had this gotten so far out of control? Where did all these people come from? Where were they this past week? Why didn't they help me help my son? They said we have to leave...oh no...I cannot leave him...I cannot put him in the ground. I could feel myself coiling up into the fetal position inside. I will die from this. I know I will. They will not let me hug the casket. They will not let me comfort my children. My life from here on in is over. I am dead. I have nothing. I have failed Jeff and now I have failed them. Why God? Why? Why make all of my dreams come true just to crush them.
My children were quietly making their way back to the vans and I was stuck watching them suffer....watching from what felt like so far away.They got into the vans and the silence was so deafening. What had I done to ever deserve this from them. Why won't they let me mother them? I didn't understand. So as we left Jeffy in that cold, dark unmarked grave, we left everything I thought I was and evrything I believed that I would ever be and my life was never the same again...not even today...
Monday, July 25, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
The Daughter of my Heart; Sarah Raterink-Lovell
How does a person even begin to write about watching a child in pain? How does a mother sit and suffer as her child faces the biggest challenge of her life? I do not know these answers. I didn't know them then, and I certainly do not know them today. But what I do know is that on the day of Jeff's funeral when Sarah took the stage to sing Jeff's favorite Christian song, she was dying inside. She knew it. Her family knew it. Tim and I knew it. And God knew it. I watched this beautiful, young woman, who could never intentionally hurt another human being, suffer beyond what any child should have to suffer as she took the microphone to honor one of her very best friends. She was there to honor a young man whom she had watched go from "happy go lucky" to spiraling out of emotional control. Sarah had done everything humanly possible to get Jeff to get some help, but like us, Sarah couldn't get through to him, she could only love him, pray for him, and try to be his friend. Her friendship had put her "on call" with Jeff 24 hours a day and she, and her fiance Chris, had spent many a long night talking and trying to minister to Jeff. So to watch my lil Sweetie take the stage was a horrendous hurt for me and I began to pray as never before that God would fill her full of his Holy Spirit and use her to minister to these people, to give her strength beyond measure, and to hold her safely in His wings.Her job on that day was far more important than any job she would ever face....she had to testify through song, that even though Jeff had committed suicide, he was a saved man and he believed with all his heart that Jesus Christ was his Saviour.....
We first met Sarah singing at church. She took the stage one Sunday evening, somehow standing next to her brother John, scared to death to sing in front of the church. I remember thinking what a gorgeous, vivacious, young woman. I literally was blown away by the sunshine she radiated each and every time she walked on a stage or entered a room (and I still am). Sarah's faith is so strong and grounded, that when she hurts, you can feel her Saviour ache for her just by her gentle, sweet presence. The voice that came out of her body that day was angelic, and as the song went on I was excited to see how God would use this beauty to light up His world. I didn't know it then, but Sarah was to become such an inaugeral part of our family that her joys would become my joys and her hurts would become my hurts. She would become so many things. First, she would become Katce's lil caregiver in her early baby years, coming to give us a break whenever she could, and just take Katce out to play. Next, she was to become one of the few women that my daughter Lacey would come to love and trust with her whole being and call her best friend, and in that process, I too (as well as Tim) would grow to love her like a daughter. Lastly she would become a mentor for Jeff the last four years of his life culminating in being one of the last people to see and talk to him alive. The latter would leave a mark and eventually a scar on Sarah's heart that she will never get over, but she will get through.
The last week of Jeff's life, he chose to make many wrongs in his life right, and I unknowingly encouraged him to do this thinking that I was helping him get rid of his guilty"demons". But I believe now, that I was in fact, helping him set the stage to "right his wrongs" and "go in peace".
Sarah, too, played a part in Jeff's last days. She filled his nights with hope and his days with a sense of reality of who he was to her and to God. In essence, she literally loved my son to death. She taught him and made him feel worthy and for that I am eternally grateful. I cannot speak of the things that happened between my son and Sarah on the day Jeff killed himself. I cannot speak for Sarah, and I would never ever presume to know her pain; the pain of betrayal, the pain of utter loss, and the feeling of genuine guilt. But I can say, that for Sarah, Jeff's suicide has brought to this Sweetness, a test of faith and a testimony of love. For my sweet lil Sarah had to come to a very humbling place, a place I had to come to, a place we will all have to come to: We are not God and loving someone, sometimes just isn't enough. Jeff made a choice and he knowingly not only involved this sweet girl, he also underestimated her faith in her God, herself, and her love for my son. Because for Sarah, Jeff still lives. She remebers not the final hours, but the days, the months, the years that she was allowed to be a prat of his life. She is still his friend. She is still committed to him, to us and to God.
So as this beauty took the stage and mustered up the courage to sing for her Brother, I thanked God that he chose her to be there all along; on the good days, the bad days, that awful day, and now in our everyday. For without Sarah, my son wouldn't have known the unconditional love of a girl whom he could always call "Friend" even in death, she was true to him. And she is even today...
Love you Sweetness,
always and forever.
We first met Sarah singing at church. She took the stage one Sunday evening, somehow standing next to her brother John, scared to death to sing in front of the church. I remember thinking what a gorgeous, vivacious, young woman. I literally was blown away by the sunshine she radiated each and every time she walked on a stage or entered a room (and I still am). Sarah's faith is so strong and grounded, that when she hurts, you can feel her Saviour ache for her just by her gentle, sweet presence. The voice that came out of her body that day was angelic, and as the song went on I was excited to see how God would use this beauty to light up His world. I didn't know it then, but Sarah was to become such an inaugeral part of our family that her joys would become my joys and her hurts would become my hurts. She would become so many things. First, she would become Katce's lil caregiver in her early baby years, coming to give us a break whenever she could, and just take Katce out to play. Next, she was to become one of the few women that my daughter Lacey would come to love and trust with her whole being and call her best friend, and in that process, I too (as well as Tim) would grow to love her like a daughter. Lastly she would become a mentor for Jeff the last four years of his life culminating in being one of the last people to see and talk to him alive. The latter would leave a mark and eventually a scar on Sarah's heart that she will never get over, but she will get through.
The last week of Jeff's life, he chose to make many wrongs in his life right, and I unknowingly encouraged him to do this thinking that I was helping him get rid of his guilty"demons". But I believe now, that I was in fact, helping him set the stage to "right his wrongs" and "go in peace".
Sarah, too, played a part in Jeff's last days. She filled his nights with hope and his days with a sense of reality of who he was to her and to God. In essence, she literally loved my son to death. She taught him and made him feel worthy and for that I am eternally grateful. I cannot speak of the things that happened between my son and Sarah on the day Jeff killed himself. I cannot speak for Sarah, and I would never ever presume to know her pain; the pain of betrayal, the pain of utter loss, and the feeling of genuine guilt. But I can say, that for Sarah, Jeff's suicide has brought to this Sweetness, a test of faith and a testimony of love. For my sweet lil Sarah had to come to a very humbling place, a place I had to come to, a place we will all have to come to: We are not God and loving someone, sometimes just isn't enough. Jeff made a choice and he knowingly not only involved this sweet girl, he also underestimated her faith in her God, herself, and her love for my son. Because for Sarah, Jeff still lives. She remebers not the final hours, but the days, the months, the years that she was allowed to be a prat of his life. She is still his friend. She is still committed to him, to us and to God.
So as this beauty took the stage and mustered up the courage to sing for her Brother, I thanked God that he chose her to be there all along; on the good days, the bad days, that awful day, and now in our everyday. For without Sarah, my son wouldn't have known the unconditional love of a girl whom he could always call "Friend" even in death, she was true to him. And she is even today...
Love you Sweetness,
always and forever.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Jeff's Dad
They began to play the photos of Jeff's life and everytime a new phot came across the screen, memories flooded my very soul. And with those memories came great joy. JOY. Joy- a novel concept, something that had been missing since all of this happened. Tim was sobbing now and so I held him close. I could feel the bruising as he clutched my arm during his sobs. So hard for him to let go of Jeff..always was. Tim could never ever give up on one of his kids, but especially Jeff. Tim had wanted Jeff to be his son long before I had any clue what life had in store for me as a mother...I guess when you pray for an addition to your family, that you should really be quite specific.
I remembered the internet photo caption read, "This boy needs a Dad!" and Tim was sold. He was ready to adopt Jeff then and there, but not me. I was frightened to the core. "Are you kidding me...adopt five kids?" I truly believed Tim to be insane. How could a white family from Michigan even begin to parent a bunch of black kids from New York. But after several attempts to sway me and me acting like a scared brat for a week- that's exactly what we did. We met, fell in love with, and adopt those kids. They were great kids and so easy to love and Tim was an awesome dad. Even to Jeff, but especially to Jeff. Jeff was so hard to parent. Hot one minute and cold the next. But Tim had a way with him and he never gave up on Jeffrey. No matter what Jeff did...Tim couldn't walk away and he always gave him the benefit of the doubt. Even when Jeff committed three misdemeanrs in his sophmore year...even when he smacked around his siblings...even when he ran away...even when he said he hated us...even when he said he wished we'd go to hell...Tim never gave up. He just couldn't - it's not in his character.
But the pain I felt in this man today was that of a broken man who could never ever forgive what Jeff had done this time. Tim had tried so hard with this son. He'd drove him to games, changed schools, went to practices, worked overtime to provide the best of everything, studied with him, reasoned with him, begged and pleaded with him, and even moved our entire family back to MI when Jeff was getting into trouble in NM. But taking his life, his own life was something that Tim couldn't or wouldn't forgive. Jeff's life was a gift from God, and Jeffrey's walking away meant that his life had meant nothing. If anyone knows anything about my husband, it's that he is a terrific father and he truly feels it is his mission to be a father to the fatherless. And now Jeff had taken that "life" and snuffed it out and in the process, snuffed the life out of Tim as well. I didn't know what to do except hold him and love him. I tried to be aware of the children. But all I managed to do was be aware of Tim and his profound soorrow- an angry sorrow that still exists to this very day.
Anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a Dad and that someone special is my husband, Tim Burd.
How would he deal with this profound hurt in the months to come...I could only wonder. But as the funeral moved on and I still felt a steady peace and joy...I began to truly understand the pain of others as Sarah stood to sing....
I remembered the internet photo caption read, "This boy needs a Dad!" and Tim was sold. He was ready to adopt Jeff then and there, but not me. I was frightened to the core. "Are you kidding me...adopt five kids?" I truly believed Tim to be insane. How could a white family from Michigan even begin to parent a bunch of black kids from New York. But after several attempts to sway me and me acting like a scared brat for a week- that's exactly what we did. We met, fell in love with, and adopt those kids. They were great kids and so easy to love and Tim was an awesome dad. Even to Jeff, but especially to Jeff. Jeff was so hard to parent. Hot one minute and cold the next. But Tim had a way with him and he never gave up on Jeffrey. No matter what Jeff did...Tim couldn't walk away and he always gave him the benefit of the doubt. Even when Jeff committed three misdemeanrs in his sophmore year...even when he smacked around his siblings...even when he ran away...even when he said he hated us...even when he said he wished we'd go to hell...Tim never gave up. He just couldn't - it's not in his character.
But the pain I felt in this man today was that of a broken man who could never ever forgive what Jeff had done this time. Tim had tried so hard with this son. He'd drove him to games, changed schools, went to practices, worked overtime to provide the best of everything, studied with him, reasoned with him, begged and pleaded with him, and even moved our entire family back to MI when Jeff was getting into trouble in NM. But taking his life, his own life was something that Tim couldn't or wouldn't forgive. Jeff's life was a gift from God, and Jeffrey's walking away meant that his life had meant nothing. If anyone knows anything about my husband, it's that he is a terrific father and he truly feels it is his mission to be a father to the fatherless. And now Jeff had taken that "life" and snuffed it out and in the process, snuffed the life out of Tim as well. I didn't know what to do except hold him and love him. I tried to be aware of the children. But all I managed to do was be aware of Tim and his profound soorrow- an angry sorrow that still exists to this very day.
Anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a Dad and that someone special is my husband, Tim Burd.
How would he deal with this profound hurt in the months to come...I could only wonder. But as the funeral moved on and I still felt a steady peace and joy...I began to truly understand the pain of others as Sarah stood to sing....
Sunday, June 19, 2011
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...
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...
Thursday, June 16, 2011
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
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
Sunday, June 12, 2011
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....
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....
Saturday, June 11, 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)