Sharing my mourning journey as my family learns to live a new normal after the death of my 19 y.o. son in an auto accident on 10/12/08.

Posts tagged ‘family support’

Family Reunion- Dreamscape

I rarely have dreams of Jordan. I wake up sometimes with the vague feeling that he’s visited me in my sleep but I can’t remember any details. A few mornings ago the “Jordan was here,” feeling was with me. It wasn’t until I was taking a shower that I remembered my dream.

We’re in our old house. Mark, Lindsay, Merrick, Kendall and I are standing at the base of the stairs in the basement of our old house.

“Where is he?” is the impatient question from Lindsay.

“I don’t know I’ll text him.”

Right as I’ve typed the words, “where are you” into my phone, the door to the basement opens. Standing in the doorway is Jordan with a white, diffused light framing him. I’m facing the door and see him first. I can see him so clearly. The coffee with extra cream complexion, the light brown eyes that everyone says he got from me, his black hair closely cropped, like he’d just come from the barbershop and the smile that is almost as bright as the light.

Just as I’m about to shout, “He’s here,” Jordan raises a finger to his lips to silence me. He wants his entrance to be a surprise. I nod and watch as he starts down the stairs.

All their heads turn at the sound of his feet on the stairs and in unison they cry out, “Jordan,” as I watch, beaming. Mark gets to him first and pulls him in with one arm and plants a kiss on his cheek. Even though I can’t make out what’s being said, their voices are an intermingling of energy and excitement.

Lindsay, Kendall and Merrick rush towards Jordan and he reaches out to them with his right arm never releasing the embrace of his dad. I stumble towards them, smiling so hard that my face hurts. I loop my arm around Mark’s waist and he squeezes me tight. With my left arm I encircle our children and my hand rests on Jordan’s shoulder. I take in the moment, feeling the weight and texture of our entanglement. I breathe in the scents of hair, breath, comfort, safety, and shared joy that infuse our embrace.

WE are here!

Category:

birthdays, celebrations, death of son, Dreams, family support, going home, grief, Jordan, loss of child, Mother of Four

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Honoring Last Wishes- Another Look 2013

To give more insight into the idea of honoring requests and giving my new readers a fuller picture of my dad who was/is so instrumental on my mourning journey I offer again the post below.

The last few months I feel like I’ve been in a whirlwind. Traveling back and forth to Ohio when my Dad was ill, preparing for his memorial service after his death, honoring what would have been Jordan’s commencement with purple ribbons, and then Memorial Day weekend honoring Daddy’s final wish of spreading his ashes in his hometown in West Virginia. The part of West Virginia where my parents and their parents lived is fit for any postcard. The summer mountains are filled with lush green trees and roll on and on for as far as the eye can see. The area where Daddy lived was a mining town and everyone called it “#9” because that was the number of the mine that the men worked in and they lived in company owned housing and shopped at the company store.

It took us an hour to get there from our hotel and as we drove winding on too small roads that seemed to at any bend curve right into a mountain, Mark the kids and I all wondered, “Are we there yet?” Finally my brother-in-law who was leading the way pulled over on a patch of gravel off the side of the road.

“There’s the creek with the waterfall, exactly like Daddy said. It’s right here.”

My hand covered my mouth as I wept thinking back to our very last conversation when I asked him if he was sure the creek was still there and he replied, “Shoot girl, of course it’s still there.” The creek was there and he was right, Mama knew how to get there. My great-uncle who had driven with my cousin said as he got out of the car, “I thought I’d seen all of West Virginia, but I’ve never been out here.”

The area was overgrown and I looked up from the creek to all the trees and tall grass, trying to imagine what it looked like when it was dotted with small houses. What dotted the area now were yellow and black butterflies everywhere.Their presence was as if to say, “You’re in the right place. We’re here to make sure it’s special for you.” None of us had every seen so many butterflies in one place. I joked, “Daddy wanted to make sure we didn’t miss the place.” After we’d all had a chance to look around and take pictures of the waterfall and creek and the mountains as the backdrop it was time to do the task that had brought us to the spot. Mark carefully pulled the metal container from the back of the car.

I asked, “Do you have something to cut the plastic bag?” Remembering our struggle when we tried to spread Jordan’s ashes and didn’t have anything to cut the zip tie that held the bag closed.

Mark nodded and continued over to the creek just under the waterfall. Mama asked for a word of prayer and we all gathered, holding hands and my Uncle prayed for us and for the task we were undertaking. As we dropped hands I looked over to see Lindsay and Kendall crying and put an arm around each one of them holding them close. The bag was opened and Mark began to pour the ashes and we all watched as the ashes mingled and churned with the water cascading from the waterfall before drifting downstream.

I called out, “Daddy thank you for being so wise and letting us know what your final wishes were. We are so proud to honor them.”

Mark poured a bit more in and then I reached into my pocket and removed the small container that held some of Jordan’s ashes. With a high arc I flung them into the water. “Thank you Daddy for letting Jordan be with you.”

The only sounds were weeping. My mother wailed as she watched the remains of the man she’d loved since high school drift down the creek he’d played in as a boy. Suddenly we were all together hugging and crying as the sunshine warmed our backs. Mama began to quiet down and we all stepped back a little to give her space. I went back to the waterfall and just watched the water no longer clear but muddied with the ashes. As I walked back to the car, I searched the ground for rocks that weren’t broken pieces of gravel and found a coral colored rock and one stone with specks of glittering green. I put them in my pocket thinking of all the rock Daddy had skipped in that same creek.

Our day wasn’t done, Mama wanted to spread some of Daddy’s ashes around the graves of her parents and that of his oldest sister. We loaded back into the car for the next sojourn. As we pulled away from the creek Mark suddenly stopped the car.

“Look at that sign. Take a picture of it.”

I hurriedly got the camera and snapped the picture.After I read the sign I whispered, “and Daddy too.”

Category:

Amherst College, auto accident, cremation, death of son, family support, grief, Jordan, loss of child, mourning, spreading ashes

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While Sam Cooke Sang

Many of you have found my blog through my piece on the Huffington Post and to you all I say thank you and welcome. I feel the need to repost a few posts about my dad so that those new to my blog can have a true sense of who he was. I say was because Daddy died on Easter Sunday, 2011 after a brief battle with metastasized lung cancer. Below is the piece I wrote about saying goodbye.

I have been away from my blog for a while as I’ve been in Ohio with my family during my father’s illness. Sadly, I have to tell you that my father passed away on April 24th, 2011. I was able to be in Ohio with him before he died. We sat and talked and he told me what he wanted for his memorial service, who he wanted to speak and of course a saxophone playing. Daddy loved jazz and the saxophone was his favorite instrument. He had 10’s of thousands of songs that he catalogued on his computer. His jazz library could rival any formal library in the world.

As we talked I had one question for my dad.

“Daddy I know you want your ashes spread in West Virginia.”

“Yeah, your mama knows what I want. There’s a creek where I used to play when I was a little boy and that’s where I want the ashes.”

“Is the creek still there?”

With his typical eye roll, “Oh shoot girl, yes it’s still there.”

“Well I was just wondering if it would be okay to have some of Jordan’s ashes mixed with yours when we spread them.”

“Of course you can, even if it’s just a teaspoonful. You know Jordan is my boy. Now you notice I said is, not was.”

“I know Daddy.”

Daddy handing Jordan(age 2) a rock when they both got restless at church and went outside.

“Shoot, that boy and I threw rocks together when he was little down in West Virginia. Of course he can be with me.”

“Thank you Daddy.”

We sat quietly for a while after talking and I looked over and Daddy had fallen asleep.

Later that day he was moved from the hospital to an inpatient hospice facility. Our hope was that he would be able to come home in a few days after they  transferred him to oral medications. Unfortunately, his condition deteriorated rapidly and by Friday he wasn’t talking anymore but didn’t seem to be in much pain. When my mom and I walked into his room on Friday as part of our new routine I asked him what music he wanted to hear.I rolled out the usuals, Stanley Turrentine, Gene Ammons, Jimmy Smith. He shook his head “no” until I came to Sam Cooke.He wasn’t in the mood for jazz, but for gospel.
I stood rubbing his shoulder as he seemed a bit restless and then he reached out for my hand. I took his hand and told my mother to hold his other. All the while Sam Cooke and the Soul Stirrers played, “Nearer To Thee,” in the background. After a few minutes of standing at his bedside holding his hands he gently pulled his hands away. Mama and I went to sit down. I looked over at my exhausted mother and saw that she had drifted off to sleep. Daddy would close his eyes for a few minutes and then open them again, putting his hands behind his head and then trying to turn in bed. He was too weak to turn and shook his head “no” when I asked if he wanted help. I looked over at him as he lay with his eyes closed and suddenly he opened his eyes and with perfect clarity winked at me which brought me to the edge of my seat. I smiled back, so familiar with that wink and knowing this time all the words that it conveyed, “I’m alright”, “Take care of yourself” ,”Take care of your Mama”, “Goodbye.”

That was the last time Daddy opened his eyes and his gift of a wink was the perfect goodbye. He was an amazing man who taught me so much about life and not fearing death. Sleep well my wonderful father. You have earned your rest.

June 7, 1936-April 24, 2011

Category:

Amherst College, anniversaries, auto accident, brothers, cremation, death of son, family support, gifts, going home, grief, guilt, Jordan, loss of child, mourning, spreading ashes

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We’ll Miss Him and Celebrate Him Together

Numbness, longing, heartache, sadness, triumph (yes triumph), and even a bit of fear are coursing through me as I mark another year without Jordan. His death, so sudden, catapulted me into depths of despair that was never even fathomable until I found myself there. It is four years since Jordan died and as every October 12th nears, I hate that time must be marked and acknowledged by the death of my son. It is the day more than any other when I flip through all the events leading up to the police officers at the door telling us Jordan was dead and I like untangling a physics problem I wonder what event could have been injected to the day to make things turn out differently?

There are things I wish had happened. I wish that he’d stayed in New York hanging out with his childhood friends and celebrating his friend Luc’s birthday. I wish I’d called him while he was on the road, telling him to be mindful of the traffic and waking him from his slumber. As many times as I collect all my what ifs and wishes and lay them out before me the same conclusion is drawn every time. I’ll never know if there was anything I could have done to change the trajectory of the events that led to Jordan’s death.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I’m not dreading the anniversary of Jordan’s death as I have in the past and that is my triumph! The passage of time and how I’m using my time is helping me to make peace with that fact. (Thank you Tom)

Feeling less dread means that instead of turning my back to October 12th, I face it head on knowing there will be tears and sorrow but that I can also open myself up to grace and all the beauty that surrounded my wonderful boys’ life. As I’ve said to my children many times when the ache of missing Jordan seems unbearable, “We’ll miss him together.” The security of the companionship that is captured in those words also applies to our love for him. It is attainable, sustainable, and above all else eternal.

On the first anniversary of Jordan’s death Kendall suggested we commemorate it by going to Wendy’s and getting frosty’s because, as she said, “Jordan liked frosty’s.” Thinking back on the sweetness of her gesture I know that pockets of joy can be coaxed through even the most powerful grief. I’m learning that I can celebrate Jordan’s life any time I choose, even on the day he died. His last day on this earth was spent with friends and having fun, what a thing to proclaim. My son died at 9:32pm October 12th, 2008, but prior to that time he lived with a fullness that not many can match.

The hard work of living with loss is leaving me open to doing more than reliving the trauma of that day, but also capturing the precious gifts that day gave me. I heard my son’s voice for the last time and it held no regret. I told him I loved him and he replied, “I love you too.”

I’ve already asked Mark if he’ll go to the movies with me, something that Jordan loved. Maybe after the movie we’ll make our way to Wendy’s and order frosty’s, just because Jordan liked them.

Jordan Alexander Moore-Fields
August 9, 1989- October 12, 2008
A Life Well Lived

Category:

Amherst College, anniversaries, death of son, grief, Jordan, mourning

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October is Here

I don’t know where to start except to say that it is October again and the 12th, the day Jordan died is approaching. I don’t have the same dread as I’ve had in years past but my heart is heavy. The 12th will never be an ordinary day and why should it be? Heartache is encroaching and I’m allowing it in, welcoming it almost. I know that to push away the sadness or pretend like it’s just any day will not serve me well. I will acknowledge, express and care for my feelings as steps on the path to healing. For now it is a hard week, it has been a hard month and through my grief and pain I know that my family and I will remember what it was like to receive the news of Jordan’s death and the after effects. But, I’m blessed to have family and friends who I can count on to listen, even if all they hear are the sounds of weeping. The day will and come and then it will be the next day. We keep going always with Jordan in our hearts.

Category:

death of son, family support, friends, grief, Jordan, loss of child, mourning

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My First Easter

The last month has been challenging the closer it came to Easter. Daddy died on Easter Sunday and even though last year that date was April 24th, it didn’t matter that the date didn’t fall on the same day. Easter brought up all the memories of getting the call from hospice that Daddy was in his final moments and we should hurry if we wanted to see him before he died. We got there 10 minutes too late, which I think Daddy would have been relieved about. He didn’t want us to watch him die. We all filed in to his room to see him, all tubes removed and him lying in bed with no signs of pain on his face. I laid my head on his chest and called out, “Oh my daddy, my daddy, my daddy,” marveling all the while that his body was still warm and it didn’t feel like we got there too late.

This year, all the days leading up to Easter brought flashes of visiting him in the hospital, watching his fast deterioration, having a slideshow in my head of the MRI scans that showed picture after picture of all the places the cancer had invaded his body. I was dreading Easter and wanting to quicken its arrival at the same time. “Lord let me get through this day.”

I worried about Mama and was relieved when my sister told me she would be going down on Saturday to be with her on Sunday. But Mama, always the planner had already mapped out her day. She would observe her usual Easter rituals. There would be Sunrise service at 6am with her friend Mrs. Bradley, and then Sunday school before coming home and later having dinner at a friends. The last part was the different ending to the day. Dinner with Daddy was always how Easter Sunday wound its way down in years past. But she found a way to make it through the day on her own terms. I was flailing around, wanting to be with her, wanting to be with Merrick who loved his Pop so much and was showing his own signs of missing him and us.

“Mom, I wish I could come home and go to church with you for Easter.”

“I know honey, but you’ve got a few more weeks and then you’ll be home for the summer.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Can you find a church service there you can go to?”

“Probably, my friend Jeremy said he would go with me.”

“That’s a good friend. I’m glad he’s there for you.”

“Mom, I was feeling bad on Friday and I listened to “Sugar” by Stanley Turrentine.”

“Oh believe me I know the song. That was one of Pop’s favorites.”

“I just missed him and started listening to it and I love how it starts off kind of slow and then builds and then rolls between all these different rhythms. By the end of the song it was like Pop was talking to me, “Boy get on up and do what you need to do.”

“That sounds like Pop.”

“Well I felt better so I got up and went to my Spoken Word Club meeting like I was supposed to.”

“I’m glad he was there for you. I think I may need to take a listen to some Stanley Turrentine myself. It’s gonna be okay baby. I know it’s hard.”

And Easter was hard. My family went to a friend’s church with her family choosing not to go to our home church even though I’d bought a lily to sit at the base of the altar in memory of Daddy and Jordan. I couldn’t bear the part of the service where they ring a bell after saying the name of each person who died in the previous year. The sound of the bell they rang when they said Jordan’s name in 2008 still echoes in my heart.

The service at my friend’s church was beautiful and uplifting but mostly I felt numb, still so torn that I wasn’t with my mom or with Merrick. After church when we came home I did the only thing I could. I changed clothes and lied down on my bed curling up waiting for sleep to come. Mark came into the room telling me not to worry about dinner.

“Stay here as long as you need to. I understand.”

The most comforting part is that I knew he truly did understand. I talked to Daddy for a while telling him how much I loved and missed him and before I knew it I was asleep and I slept better than I had in weeks.

Category:

Amherst College, anniversaries, auto accident, brothers, celebrations, college, cremation, death of son, grief, home, Jordan, loss of child, Mother of Four, mourning

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Birthday wishes from afar

As most of you know, I have an amazing husband who loves and cares for me unconditionally. What you may not know is that today is my birthday. I woke this morning thinking of Jordan and my Dad and how much I miss hearing their voices and that they won’t be here to wish me a happy birthday. This time last year Daddy was sick, and lay dying in the hospital. They found a way through Mark to reach out to me. Here is the first email I read (sent at 5:34 am) this morning as the house is still and quiet:

Hi my Love:
Our son came to me in my dreams tonight and asked if he could be the first one today to wish you a Happy Birthday.  When I told him he couldn’t he insisted he could through me as long as I didn’t utter the words before the time stamp on this email.  This way, technically of course he would be first.  Who can argue with Jordan?  So..

“Happy Birthday, Mom.  I’m your first, and will always be.  Today, hear my voice in your heart as I celebrate you and this day.  I miss you too.   

Love, Jordan”

Now, not to be undone, I heard noise downstairs and the aroma of coffee brewing filled my nose.  An older Presence was downstairs making coffee at an hour at only which He would be awake.  I came down the back stairs of our house, warily because it was dark outside,.  When I got downstairs, Pop was there, in the big chair in the corner with a piping hot cup of coffee, in his robe, his legs stretched out on the ottoman, white socks, slippers to one side.. The blinds had been pulled up, Nessie was under her covers, undisturbed by the hour or the Presence.  He was looking out the window.  I sat on the couch, looking at him.  When I started to speak he raised his hand and commanded my silence. “Do you hear the birds singing?”  he asked.  “Yes,”. “Did you do what the Boy asked?”. “Yes, Daddy.”  I replied. He looked at me and asked again, “Do you hear the birds singing?” “Yes, but…”. Once again, hand raised, he said, “Well, tell her I said it second.  She’s my first too, you know.”  I nodded.  I saw a piece of paper with small handwriting on it.

I woke up.  Composed and sent this email.

So, I’m third, and You are so loved.  

I hope you find peace today, and hear the birds singing in the morning. It’s quite a racket now.  In the quiet hours.

I love you now and obviously, forever. 

Mark

Birthday gifts come in so many forms. I have to say that already today I’m feeling blessed and so grateful for the love that surrounds me.

Dropping Jordan off at college

Category:

Amherst College, anniversaries, birthdays, celebrations, death of son, family support, grief, Jordan, loss of child

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Wedding Vows and Compromise

From the moment one says, “I do,” and commits her life to another the whole notion of sacrifice and compromise become a part of her vocabulary. In our early days of dating Mark and I were both weary from energy depleting relationships and wanted nothing more than to find someone with whom we could truly be ourselves. During our first date we talked of hating the game playing that had defined previous relationships we each had. We went so far as to make a pact that we’d have truth and honesty as our foundation and then we shook on it. It seemed so simple. We were on the same page and looking for the same things, a committed relationship, a partner that shared our values, someone to make us laugh and listen when we needed to unburden and cry. We have found that in each other.

I love when Mark tells the story of asking my dad for my hand in marriage. We’d met my parents in Vegas and Mark’s parents were there as well so that we could introduce everyone. Mark found himself in a difficult position. His dad was insisting he do the traditional thing and speak with my father about our impending engagement. Mark knew from talking to me that if he asked my dad for my hand, the response would be, “I don’t have anything to give away.”

Sandwiched between two strong-willed fathers, I wished Mark the best as he went off to talk to my dad. True to form as soon as he began to ask for my hand my dad interrupted him saying, “Boy, I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. It’s not for me.”

Mark nervously replied, “You’ve got to understand. My dad is pressuring me to do what men in our family have done for generations. I’m stuck so please let me finish.”

With those words Daddy softened and told Mark to take a look at me standing across the room. “What did Jackie have to say about this?”

“Well she warned me you would react this way.”

Daddy grabbed him by the shoulder and said, “Do you see that smile on her face? As long as you can help keep that smile there you’ll never have any problems with me.”

Mark and I have been married now for close to 24 years. We still watch our wedding video from time to time and my favorite part is after we’ve been announced to the congregation and our making our way back down the aisle, Daddy briefly stands with this huge smile on his face and pats Mark on the back. He knew I’d found my life partner.

Life has caused Mark and I to face and stand by every vow that we said those many years ago. We’ve faced sickness and health, richer and poorer and during our wedding ceremony said in strong voices, “Til death do us part.” Death has come to visit, not leaving either of us widowed but taking our oldest child and testing all the promises we made to each other. Would we still be honest and open with each other? Would grief drive a wedge between us or allow us to grow closer even as we mourned in different ways. We’ve held each other in sorrow, weeping until no more tears would fall. We’ve flipped through pictures of before Jordan died reminiscing and breathing the blessing that was his life. But there are times when our expressions of grief and love for our son take divergent paths. I regularly watch the video of Jordan from the memorial service. I cry every time and they are sweet cleansing tears. Mark hasn’t watched it since the memorial service. Mark occasionally wears some of Jordan’s shirts and sweatshirts and I can barely breathe thinking, “Those clothes aren’t for you.” But I stay silent because I know they bring him comfort and a connection to Jordan.

Now we’ve come to another crossroad and it has to do with the picture of Jordan we used for the memorial service. It was a poster-sized version of Jordan’s high school senior portrait. My extended family each has copies and they are proudly displayed in their homes. I never got around to framing Jordan’s portrait and after he died for me it was no longer his senior portrait but the memorial service picture. I couldn’t look at it anymore. But Mark wanted to put it up next to Merrick’s senior portrait. “Merrick looks so lonely. His brother should be next to him.”

“I’m not ready to do that. Can you take it to work and have the picture there?”

“If it’s too much for you, I’ll take it to work.”

That was the plan and even though it still felt unresolved I felt less anxious about having to look at the picture everyday. I didn’t want to let Mark down and I hated that the portrait no longer represented the sweet memory of watching Jordan hurriedly tuck in his shirt as he rushed out the door to get his picture taken. I wanted to reclaim that feeling but I didn’t know how. Thursday evening I was walking upstairs and glanced in the living room to see Jordan’s senior picture displayed on the coffee table. Shock and betrayal filled me. “He promised he wouldn’t put it up but he did.”

It was like the picture had some force field around it. I couldn’t even go into the living room and remove it from the table. I ran upstairs and confronted Mark.

“You said you were taking the picture to work. Why is it on the table in the living room?”

“What are you talking about, oh wait a minute I had the picture face down by my briefcase. Irena (our cleaning lady) must have put it up. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’ll go get it right now.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t sitting well with me that I was thanking Mark for removing a picture of Jordan. I needed that picture to be transformed and I didn’t know what it would take for it to be his senior portrait again. I walked by it face down on the dining room table for a couple of days. Then on a day that I needed a reminder that there were those out there who remembered that grieving lasted longer than a season, I received a card from my friend Sue who I haven’t spoken to in ages. The front of the card read, “Those whom we love and lose are no longer where they were before. They are now wherever we are.” St John Chrysostom Sue wrote an inspiring message inside to me and signed the card writing, “Shine on sweet sister.”

I realized as I read the card that I do want to shine on and part of that for me is taking away any negative aspects connected to looking at my son. His memorial service was beautiful and as I’ve said before I wish that we’d recorded it. During the service my thoughts were far from wanting any visual reminders of the event. The first moments of walking into the church were traumatic and I gasped when I saw the picture of Jordan haunted by the too big image of him on the dais. I tried to make it through the service by not gazing directly at his picture, thinking that I could somehow preserve it as what it was before if I didn’t look at it. But I did look at it as he looked out on the congregation with a perpetual smile. That beautiful smile that everyone who knew him commented on and all I could see at the time was a picture spoiled, totally ruined by death. How dare death make us choose a picture for a memorial service when all everyone wanted was for Jordan’s death to be a horrible mistake? So I chose instead to listen, keeping my eyes closed for most of the service and letting the sounds fill me with a peaceful connection to all that had gathered to pay tribute to Jordan.

The card from Sue reminded me of two things. One no matter how alone I feel sometimes, there are so many family and friends sending, prayers, love and light to my family and me. Two, Jordan is with me always and I choose to embrace him by watching videos, listening to his voicemail message, rereading old cards and letters from him, writing to him, talking to him and yes erecting his senior portrait where it should have been all along. I took the picture of Jordan examined it closely, looking deeply into his eyes and planted a kiss on his cheek before placing it on the table next to Merrick’s picture. Mark saw it a little later and asked what made me change my mind? I responded, “I don’t want to be afraid of anything connected with Jordan and I love you and think you should be able to see your boys side by side in our home.”

I have two boys that graduated high school and their pictures will always hold a place of honor.

Senior Portraits

Category:

Amherst College, anger, anniversaries, auto accident, brothers, celebrations, death of son, facebook, family support, friends, graduation, high school, Jordan, loss of child, mourning, seeking joy

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Hearts and Flowers 2/14/12

To all who visit here I say thank you. I never imagined I’d be away from my blog this long after having foot surgery. Who knew that my entire body and mind would feel compelled to participate so fully in my recovery. I imagined myself alternating between writing furiously, reading a stack of books and catching up on movies with my leg propped on a pillow. One appendage was repaired and healing, and the parts of me I need for writing were unscathed or so I thought. Recuperation in the first weeks took all of my energy. I’m back to writing now and so glad you’re hear to share my journey.

Valentine’s Day 2012

“I hate Valentine’s Day.”

I’ve been hearing these words from my 7th grade daughters for the last week. When I push for a reason why, I’m met with,

“Because it’s a made-up holiday.”

“In middle school it’s dumb. We don’t have parties anymore like when we were little. It’s just another day.”

My reply has been, “Well it may feel dumb now but I hope you know that it can be about whatever kind of love you want to express.”

I was met with begrudged mumbles of agreement. I’m not sure if they really agreed with me or just wanted me to be quiet. It’s hard to tell with adolescents exactly what’s going through their minds. I know my girls are romantics at heart and love sappy movies as much as they love watching football with their dad and playing soccer. I was the same way growing up, minus the football, so I know that their expectations for Valentine’s day are liable to exceed the reality. I think they both would love to find that they each have a secret admirer or a boy that’s gutsy enough to express his feelings. The travails of middle school.

I remember the valentines of elementary school. Picking a special one for the boy I had a crush on and hoping he’d notice me. By junior high my anticipation of the day waned. I still looked forward to one part though. Every year there would be  small heart-shaped boxes of chocolates on my sister’s and my pillows, with a huge heart-shaped box given to my mom. Daddy never forgot. He made sure we felt special every year. Daddy even surprised me one year when I was in grad school in Los Angeles and feeling lonely. He had my roommate place a  box of candy on my pillow. Daddy was never the overtly emotional or affectionate type but he taught me how much gestures made out of love mean.

Today despite their misgivings both girls came downstairs wearing necklaces with heart charms, revealing their true feelings and showing that they’d give the day a chance. In spite of themselves they anticipated the flower deliveries that would happen at school. Every year the student council sold flowers for friends on Valentine’s Day. L and K had both bought flowers for their buddies and each other. I knew they were eager to see the reactions of their friends but also secretly hoped for flowers of their own. How perfect that they remembered each other. I’ve watched them grow so close since Jordan died. They take care of each other in a way that channels a lifelong friendship beyond their sisterhood. Love is in the air and it is the sustainable, grounded kind that sees you through tough times and rejoices with you in celebration.

When they come home today they’ll also find a surprise. As I was writing this piece the doorbell rang and there was a delivery for me. Inside was a large box of chocolates and two small heart-shaped boxes sent by my wonderful husband. I cried as I saw the boxes remembering my Dad and how special he made me feel. L and K will find hearts on their pillows just like I did growing up. My daughters are learning about love. There are many love lessons to come but one thing is certain, their foundation is one of kindness, generosity and respect.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

Category:

auto accident, celebrations, death of son, family support, gifts, grief, holidays, Jordan, loss of child, Mother of Four

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Learning to look forward-2012

Happy New Year and thank you to all who visit and comment on my blog.

I’m still getting used to the notion of a new year making its entrance without Jordan here to experience it with me. Tears have flowed already this morning as I learn to live in a world where I don’t get to see my oldest son grow and prosper. Even as I wiped the tears away my heart was grateful to have family and friends that I can share my deepest feelings with and not feel misunderstood. With every year I feel a part of my grief being transformed into a powerful love that comes from being able to mother such a wonderful son as Jordan. For that gift I always say, “Thank you.”

To all of you I wish peace, time for quiet reflection and experiences of real joy in 2012.

My family on Christmas Eve

Category:

Amherst College, anniversaries, auto accident, brothers, death of son, family support, friends, grief, holidays, loss of child, Mother of Four, motherhood, mourning, seeking joy

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