Hair

So after a year now what? For some reason my thoughts were after January 8th I would feel a slight burden lifted from my aching shoulders. I would see Joe as a child with his "off the wall" shining hair, or in middle school with his incredibly long "thirteen year old" hair or better yet his proudly displayed side burns as a freshman at McCallie.

No, the first image I see when my head hits the pillow is nothing but skin stretched over bones during his last days. They are stubborn memories allowing the fond ones only a fleeting pass before they are squelched. They are memories cloaked in darkness, grey and cold, and leaves me shivering.

So I have taken up of habit thumbing through a few pictures every day of Joe's various hair stages-long, buzzed, and of course those amazing sideburns just before sleep takes me away to either my dreams or nightmares. My reasoning is this simple, if those are my last images of Joe before sleep maybe they will squeeze the haunting memories out. Not forever but just enough to allow me to rest.

One Year

This day is very different than last year. Today Joe left our house for the very last time and we commenced starting the task of saying goodbye to him. I don't remember much of what happened over the next week but there are images, snippets of memories that have lingered. I remember him leaving the house in his Upenn golf shirt and thermal shirt, it was very cold that day and I wanted to make sure he was warm. I remember putting the house back together. Then the surreal drive to the funeral home where we saw Joe for the last time and thinking how he would have hated that they "popped" his collar.

Vivid and clear are the memories in the wee hours in the morning. That is when I laid beside my son waiting for Hospice and the funeral home. I fell asleep, a sleep so deep I had to be shaken awake. I did so stubbornly. I did not want to leave my dream to face the grey just before dawn delivering me to the task of making phone calls.

The Last Glance

I have struggled with this posting, always thinking I should never write publicly about this moment. I am pulled in two directions, one of privacy and one of sharing. So here it goes.

An image came rushing back to me while spreading his ashes at McCallie. It was his last glance. After days of not moving, his eyes closed shut, no food or water for a week we knew Joe was within hours of his death. In the last week I always sat beside him on our bed, holding his hand stroking his forehead as we took turns administrating pain medications. He had what they called the "death rattle"; he was running out of air and his heart was racing. I remember Mike saying to him even though we would miss him terribly we would all be OK and remember him forever.

As Joe struggled for every breath I held his hand tighter. Then with one last gasp, he turned his head, opened his eyes and looked at me. It wasn't a look of fear, but one of I will miss you all so much. It was the last communication I had with Joe, and is burned in my memory forever.

It was the best conversation I ever had with my son.

The Truth

I am so tired of being sad.

Finding the Light

Mike and I had dinner with one of Joe's closest friends in Charleston several weeks ago and visited with his parents. During the evening I kept thinking of Joe and how everything would eventually circle around. We would attend their college graduations, weddings and rejoice the news of their children. But then I thought after what has been lost I have so much to relish. Tony and David carry the light for us to live on after tragedy. And I am so grateful.

The Fine Line

Our family has a fine line that we choose to cross everyday. It is always the quandary of answering the question of how many children you have, or for Tony and David how many brothers and sisters. And we stand daily at the fine line of do we tell or not. It came up today at a new doctors office. We squirmed just a bit and answered "yes it just these two children", but we all felt the guilt of not recognizing Joe. Not that we have forgotten him, it is just we don't want to explain and see or hear their hollow condolences. To be honest they don't know us nor did they know Joe.

I still struggle with our answers, not to ignore Joe, but not wanting to have to explain. And everyday I stand on that fine line as does Mike, Tony and David.

Privacy

Joe was always a private person. He held his feelings close and his emotions in check until circumstances became overwhelming, and that was usually when the flood gates would open. Sometimes it would be his uncontrollable anger about his cancer, or it was his crushing grief of leaving his family and friends behind.

But I do know this, in the last two years he opened his heart to all of us, twice through his Chapel talks and many times in our home. I remember one night in particular when Joe and I talked while the rest of the house was fast asleep. We were huddled close to each other, whispering so not to wake Mike, Tony and David as they slept on our bedroom floor. He leaned over to me saying how he had been cheated, asking why his life was being dashed away. I had no answers to his questions, but I am forever grateful for our conversation.

This brave young man stepped out of his private world and allowed us to walk with him to the very end. What an incredible gift.