New Beginnings

Our weekend was filled with celebrations. A graduation for a mom from Seminary who worked for her degree over several years, a baptism for a set of twins, and a college graduation of a friend's daughter that has achieved her dream to attend the USC masters program in Film Studies. Each of them starting a new chapter in their lives, with all the promise and hope of the future, and I teared up through every party and ceremony. I cried for Joe and his dashed dreams.

But through the flurry of all the celebrations I remember two acts of kindness. First the gentle and loving hug from Mary and second the comforting embrace from Joe (not my son but a friend). Both were powerful enough to be chiseled into my memory and allowed me to cry.

The Under Current

The underlying tension, running like silent waters, eventually puts a strain on all of us. Just when you least expect it you are pulled into the current, and as tempers flare in the heat of anger, you fight to be back on an even keel.

In the end, with our heads above water again, where we directed our anger was nothing more than a camouflage, a distraction, a defense mechanism of our true feelings. They way we were is our only desire.

Not Alone

Today I heard a friend of mine lost her husband at the age of 49 of a heart attack. Her son held him in his arms until he died. He was 19 and most likely older today than he was yesterday.

I don't know if it is easier to watch a loved one die over years, or lose them suddenly. I know with Joe we had time to talk, express our love, but still at the end it was not easy. The truth is no matter how it happens it is gut wrenching and painful.

So to everyone who has lost someone dear suddenly, or through a long illness, my thoughts are with you. Especially today for Susan and her son Sean.

Mother's Day

This day, which in the past has been an opportunity to reflect on the joy my sons have given me each year, is now mixed generously with sorrow. I have been the recipient of cards, poems, letters and even some interesting jewelry, always treasuring them and tucking them away for safe keeping. My tradition was to read previous cards before adding the new ones to the box. I could not do that this year. I can't even bring myself to open the box so these cards are in my dresser until I have the strength to add them.

I did receive dear cards and emails from family and friends; but the one missing is from Joe and causes tears to roll down my cheeks. I don't even try to hold them back. I silently repeat to Joe how much I love and miss him. Then I close my eyes remembering happier times and how thankful I am for Tony and David.

Floating On Air

Just when things are the darkest, which I have been struggling with the past few days, an email pops up in my inbox and changes my day for the better.

This past week David has been frantically shipping transcripts, recommendations and a personal statement to St. Andrews, Scotland for their Creative Writing Summer Program. He has wanted to do this for two years but, for very obvious reasons, has always been pushed to the "back burner". Today the email related the news he was accepted.

I am so proud of him as he takes a step closer to living his dream of being a writer.

Better Days

I am grateful for better days. Today was one of them. I attended a Family Advisory Committee meeting for the Levine's Childrens Hospital this morning, walked with a friend in the afternoon, ran errands and corresponded with the Headmaster, Kirk Walker, about Joe's scholarship fund at McCallie. It ended up being a productive day.

So my goal, starting tomorrow, is be productive. Whether it be doing the chores that I loathe or the things I love, my mantra is keep moving forward and connected. Long days in the our home allowing flooding memories only takes me under a cloud.

I will concede to my grief and permit myself to rejoice better days.

Transforming A Room

We dismantled Joe's bed. The one we spent so many hours sitting on the edge, holding his hand and talking. This bed has been where I kissed him good night since he was 5 years old. This was the bed where he decided not to do chemo therapy again, hoping that surgery would be the cure. The bed that I sat beside and the rest of the family slept on the floor before he moved into our room. I want to saw a bit of that bed off to keep beside mine.