New Year's

New Year's eve holds the promise of fresh starts, dramatic resolutions (many of which I have never kept so I have given up), champagne toasts and if you are with the one you love a kiss to greet the next year. Our New's Eve this year will be very different than last year, and yet if I could rewind the clock I would. It was a quiet evening with just Mike, Joe and myself. Tony and David had gone to a concert and were gone until just before midnight.

Even though we were within a week of losing Joe forever, he was still here, I could sit by him, work the crossword puzzle with him, even though he could not offer any answers to the clues,I could hold his hand. I could give him water and medicine to soothe his beastly pain. I had a planned purpose for the day instead of rambling through life enveloped in this shroud of pain.

The Perfect gift

Every year we search for the perfect gift for those we love. It may be boots, books, or baby clothing for an impending birth, a wallet or a picture of an important event.

But my Mom found the most perfect gift, yes after 55 years, it was impeccable. We sat there opening presents and there in a wonderful bag was my "Flower in a Sidewalk" frozen in time, never to die silk flowers. As I pulled out of the bag my Mom sat up straight and said we need to fluff up the petals. But as I glanced towards her she cared less about the flowers, the tears in her eyes were for me.

So to my Mom, who took the time and the energy to find the gift of my lifetime, I thank you. And I thank you and Dad for always being there for me, Mike, Tony and David.

The Book

You have asked for me to write it and I have resisted. You have asked when will I write it and I have resisted. You have asked if you could help and I have resisted. Until today when I finally opened the five inch binder of Joe's postings as well as mine. I took an inch of a step towards writing the book.

But even by dipping my toe into the waters of my grief I felt the aches and pains in my joints. The physical pain of loss. The tears in my eyes fogged the words I had written. I was not clear in my direction of what was important to say, the gravity of my message, the fact that we were blessed to be with Joe until the end.

The book will come, I have made the first step towards that, but patience may be the author along with a strong heart.

We Miss You

Wish you were here Joe. We miss you tons and love you lots. Love Mom, Dad, Tony and David.

For All of You

Yesterday was the hardest day, I pulled myself through the sludge, the incredible fog that dulled my brain and my heart. But I would have never made it through the day without every one of you, yes you who have steadfastly stood by our side as devoted soldiers, fighting to keep our heartbreak at bay.

The pain of Joe's birthday was unbearable in the morning. But then came the comments on Facebook, the emails from friends, the lavender from my mom and dad. And Tony and David who were equally as dulled down struggled between avoidance and wanting to remember so every correspondence gave them a ray of hope.

What took my breath away were the Men of McCallie. Each one of Joe's closest friends called, texted and one visited our home. To you I tip my hat because at such an early age you get it.

I am, we are, forever grateful for your love, your acts of kindness, your messages and your support. So we wish you a Merry Christmas and only the best for the New Year.

Golden Birthday

Today, Joe, you would be 21 on December 21, so this is your golden birthday. Instead, it will be me, your dad, Tony and David remembering you along with aunts, uncles, grandparents and friends. We planned to change our venue and go to a place we have never been before hoping to separate us from the pain, but after Tony's surgery we will be at home. Our new plans are to put the tree up and fill it with Tony, David's and your ornaments. Then we will move on to a movie, one we think you would have picked and of course chomp down a large bag of popcorn.

You asked me a year or so ago at the beach "What was I like as a child?" I knew you had no memories before 2008 and your second chemotherapy, so we talked for a long time about your childhood. How you needed, wanted matching socks to your shirts, how you helped me with the twins when they were battling asthma and allergies, how you spent hours putting small sticks between the slats of our deck. How you would build legos and the fact that you loved Pavarroti and the three tenors. You would watch videos of their performances pretending to conduct using old church bulletins as your sheet music. You wrote a paper when Mr. Rogers died, who was your hero. And you always made sure your brothers and friends were going in the right direction. You never took a picture without your arms draped around your brothers or friends. How you could never finish an art project until McCallie. We talked about how you changed your name when you were three and how we knew then you had your own path to follow and we were along for the incredible ride.

And it was an incredible ride and we thank every day we had a seat. In the end you loved us and we loved you and that was all you cared about.

The Mom Factor

Never a dull moment with the Restaino's and it started with the arrival of Tony and David late Friday night. We spent time catching up and all appeared to be the start of a wonderful Christmas break. That is until Saturday. Tony woke up with pain in his abdomen, which seemed to be increasing by the hour. In the early afternoon we headed to the emergency room and several hours later he was in surgery to remove his appendix. And although this was so different, and much easier than Joe, the florescent lights, the smells, the checking, double checking and the constant pushing of the call button for pain medications brought back all those memories. We were only there 24 hours which left me with the question of how did we do this for years? Well, the answer is simply that is what you do for those you love.

And in the darkness of Tony's room with me sleeping in a chair, although at the age of eighteen he is legally an adult, I knew I could not leave him since he is and always will be my son. Just the same way I could never leave Joe. Call it the "mom factor".

Don't Know If....

Don't know if you should call, hug us or ask about our plans for the holidays. These are the million dollar questions. So many big events happened in a short amount of time a year ago. Joe's birthday, Christmas and then his death the first part of January. This is truly a rocky road, but for us we have decided what is important, and that is to be together.

First is we will not be at home for Joe's birthday. It will be a time for us to huddle around and remember a son and a brother in a different location. We will be home for Christmas with my parents, my niece, John, Tony and David; frankly because we cannot bear the thought of celebrating without them.

Then we will remember all the incredible acts of kindness towards our family over the past years. Without your love and support our family would have never found a way to put one foot in front of the other.

So on December 21st, Joe's birthday, we will take one more step towards healing. Just one foot in front of the other....

Snowing

It is snowing in Charlotte, not a common event and I am sure every child is holding their breath hoping for a day off from school. But I remember a year ago this past December when we had flurries and I tried in vain to tell Joe about the snow. But he could not engage at that point so we all stayed inside snuggled in blankets in our room.

Joe loved the snow and I have a vivid memory of him and his brothers playing in piles of it in a freak snow storm in Dallas. They posed for a picture in our foyer bundled in sweaters, jackets and socks on their hands for mittens, because why in the world would you have mittens in Dallas. Every time it snows I think of that picture. The happy times, his bight shining brown eyes, and of course as always, his arms draped around Tony and David.

When does it end...

When does the pain end. Will it be today or tomorrow, three years from now or never. I don't have the answer and my grief counselor says I am doing a remarkable job of moving on and keeping Joe's memory alive with his scholarship fund and Joedance film festival. Ok, not to downplay her importance of my healing, but memories are not what I signed up to keep alive. I worked hard to bring Joe into this world as healthy as possible and to keep him safe as he grew up, but then came his cancer and I had no control of his destiny. Never in my life did I feel such desperation as I felt the sands of his life sift through my fingers never having a way to keep it in my hands. Our family was not fighting poor decisions but rather a beast that devoured my son. A beast with no compassion and offered no second chances.

Candlelight

We have returned from McCallie (yes we are burning up the road between Charlotte and Chattanooga) and a wonderful evening of Candlelight. We have only missed one in the past seven years, and I still love this McCallie tradition. But this year was difficult. I have not spent much time in the chapel since Joe's service. I remember that night so vividly. It was cold outside and the chill in the air seemed to creep in around me, invading my fond, warm memories of past visits. This is where the Honors Scholars weekend started for Joe, Tony and David; where Joe and Tony received Cum Laude; Baccalaureate takes place here; where Joe did both of his chapel talks, and Tony and David will deliver their talks this spring.

I have always felt comforted in the McCallie Chapel, a place the boys gather every morning for announcements, guest speakers and talks given by faculty and students. My breath caught in my throat when I walked up the steps, I felt for the strength of Mike's arm as we entered hoping not to feel that chill I had felt this past January. I walked into warmth, as if a light blanket had covered my shoulders, and then there was Sam's smiling face, David's roommate. He stepped outside the pew gesturing us to join him, and as I sat I knew the tears would come, but Sam would have none of that business. He chatted about Wake Forest, Tony and David, and the week they would spend at the beach before graduation. Then there was the hug that lingered from Avery's mom. It was Rich's dad who talked about our first dinner when they were freshman and Joseph who played his cello more beautiful than he did at Joe's service.

The chill did not creep in, the chapel was warm and full of hope, and this time for us it was not filled with tears.