tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75614531556074266852024-02-20T13:13:31.562-08:00Until We Meet Again ....because death does not have the final word!The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-47025320168100919632018-05-18T14:59:00.000-07:002018-05-18T14:59:32.723-07:00What Five Years Without Brandon Looks Like<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Until you've left the church that you raised your children in, with one of them in an urn, you can't fathom what life is like for those left behind. Where most people have all these great expectations of what is yet to come, and hope for what they've yet to see, time for me has frozen in many ways and I feel a profound sense that I have already missed those things, that they're gone and I didn't realize they were happening. That's not to say I have no hope or joy because I do, my true hope lies not in my current circumstances or what is on this earth, thank you Jesus, because in that I would truly be without hope, but all of the greatness on this earth is now tinged with some sadness for the one not here to share it with me. Here in spirit only is simply not the same. </div>
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People move on and expect you to do the same, "friends" don't want to keep rehashing your pain, or they're tempted to think you're playing a victim or it just plain makes them sad and, like me, they're fixers and they want to fix what you're going rhough and they think that not talking about it will fix it. Ask the older generations how shoving things under the carpet worked out. Please, if you're tempted to miniimalize another mama's loss of a child, stop yourself. It is THE single most traumatic thing that can happen to her in her lifetime. Her child is gone, she's trying to be the best mom she can to the child/ren she still has, other children make her cry, she doesn't even know how to answer the question of how many children she has and how old <i>they</i> are. <i>Forever.</i> That question will catch in her throat forever. So, please just understand that this is a thicket that has burrs that scratch us up for<i>ever</i>. We will make it through, but the emotions ebb and flow. </div>
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I'm currently having a tough time with babies. I can't see them. If they come on tv, I change the channel. They represent the one thing I cannot forgive myself for right now-squandering time. But, in a month, I may want to hold babies all the time. It's something I'm working through. We work through lots of things. I went to the store today and stood in front of the avocados and stared until I had to wipe the tears from my eyes. Then, I went to the pharmacy counter and listened to the pharmacist laughing with some grandpa about his grankids, which almost made me walk off. These are things people do without thinking every single day, but for me they reminded me of when I went to the store right after Brandon died and had a complete breakdown. Every single thing is different. Not every moment, but life has those moments. </div>
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I still dream about Brandon a lot. Sometimes, like this morning, I wake up and realized, hey, I saw Brandon, and it was just kind of brief, just a fleeting thing, and I wasn't crying, it didn't linger. That doesn't happen often, it's rare, but it does happen. Three days ago, though, I woke myself up crying. I don't remember the dream now, but I remember the pain and I remember knowing it was a dream as I was waking, but the pain was so intense I couldn't stop sobbing in my sleep-wake state. I often have dreams where it begins one way, it might not involve Brandon, and then there he is, and I will end up sobbing, saying over and over, "I can't do this, I can't do this," talking about how I can't live without him, and I will wake myself up sobbing, saying that. It sets the tone for the entire day to wake up to that kind of pain. </div>
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But, I also wake up and realize that, yes, I have done this. It has not been easy, but I have done it. I have my girl, I have my faith, I have many people who've carried me, and, if you know me even a little, you know my sense of humor is intact. I actually think death has made me funnier, somehow! Maybe it's just age, do people get funnier with age? I know, you're probably thinking it's just bitterness and I think bitterness can be funny, when it really isn't, but I'm pretty funny. Well, I like to laugh, anyway, so there's that, regardless. </div>
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I'll close with this. I will never, EVER forget the phone call that forever changed my life. I will never be who I was prior to a medical examiner calling me. I don't know that I'll ever get over that whole tragic scene, it was so awful, the memory is still so, so SO horrific for me-and I had great people all around me, helping me! You know when you have a headache and you throw your hands up to your head, fingers squeezed against your head, jaws clenched, thisclose to pulling your hair out, hands over your ears, maybe your eyes squeezed tightly shut against the world? That's how it makes me feel, and inside my head I'm screaming, no, no, no, nonstop. BUT.....every yeart I am reminded of this on Facbook..... <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i><b>This popped up on my wall on the wrong day for 'recent posts' and thought I'd pass it along...You don't know what beautiful and great things God can do with your broken heart, your broken pieces, your upside down world, your bad decisions, life's injustices until you give it all to Him</b></i></span></div>
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I am in awe every single year that this quote "happened" when it did. I posted that a little over 12 hours before I was to find out that Brandon was gone and I have needed it on this day every single year since. I know who God is, I have known him since I was very, very young, but magnificence is so beyond our imagination, the depth of his love so great, his strength so might, we need to be reminded that he is the one who holds all these broken pieces. My life may be filled with great sadness, but were it not for him there would certainly be no joy. </div>
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The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-44159398057482412952017-05-03T16:48:00.001-07:002017-05-03T16:48:42.749-07:00Mayday SOS<div style="text-align: center;">
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(a funny pic of Brando when he was in NOLA with my dad, visiting his Aunt, a couple of months before he died)</div>
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*disclaimer: The post is a little angry, not funny like the pic...I put the pic in to remember to smile through the sorrow of this month</div>
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A precious friend of mine commented about her own sadness linked to May, using the SOS Mayday reference and it really struck a chord with me. Help is exactly what I need. In the rhetorical sense, not like I need someone to come over and help me...I'm far past that being possible, believe me. But, May drowns me. In fact, I dreamt last night that I was driving and the freeway ran into the ocean, the second time in as many weeks that I've had that same dream and it's a recurring theme. I don't know if it's because I'm suffocating from the sleep apnea and it's carrying over into my dreams or if it has some other meaning, like my fear (and, somehow, fascination) of bridges and massive bodies of water, but it freaks me the frick out. It's probably some sign that I'm drowning in avoidance or some crap. At any rate, SOS, this ship is going down. <br />
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I HATE May. Not like I hate Brussels' sprouts (I'm begining to come around to them, again) or I hate lasagna (duh, the international dish of death, served at memorial services the world over) or tuna helper or hate being overweight (which I loathe), but I HATE May with all the anger and words for the deepest, most ugliest hatred in the world. I hate May more than the evil drug that stole Brandon's life or the jerk who gave or sold it to him.<br />
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The entire month robbed me of who I was, stole from my daughter, not only her only sibling, but an entire life that she knew, along with many friends, because NO ONE in her inner circle has ever experienced such a trauma, and they are too young and carefree to be bogged down with such misery. It made my poor girl think she now has to fill the role of two kids and do it perfectly, all the while mourning the loss of her brother. What little joy (and there wasn't a ton) that Brandon's dad had left was completely obliterated. That damn month took a person I nurtured in my belly for over nine months, the only Brandon Hadi Kashef in this world, my boy wonder. <br />
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I open Facebook and absolutely dread seeing the reminders that I have memories to look back on. I start dreading those at the end of April because I know what is coming. I know the pain that I'll see and devastation, the grief that has no words, and I know I'll feel it like it was yesterday, but even in my avoidance, I can't help it....I look. And cry. There are no new pictures of Brandon, just recycled ones, no new memories. Llife goes on, but ours is parked in 2013. And, so I choose to focus on hating this month. <br />
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I can't be mad at God or Brandon or Baze or myself because the anger would spiral out of control and I'd be too hideous to look at...because I can hate all I want if the object of my hatred isn't a person...because I have to have one thing one time of year that I can blame for cheating me out of the life I was supposed to have, the boy that was supposed to long outlive me and for making me a person who understands grief on a visceral level and making me live with it every single day until I die. I hate being so vulnerable that I can be completely crushed under something. May did that. It wounded me like nothing else on this earth and I can retaliate no other way except to ball up every tear, every nightmare, every devastating moment, along with every single emotion in my body, and hurl it right at May's face and tell it to eff off. <br />
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And, then I'll get over and move on because I never stay mad at anyone for long...not even May. The sun will shine and piss me off for doing it, but I'll beg it to stay and I'll wish it were Brandon that I see walking on Bothell-Everett Highway in that beautiful sunshine...I'll leave the hatred behind and go back to wishing for all that will never be.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-80702575543106155012016-05-18T02:23:00.001-07:002016-05-18T02:23:17.059-07:00The Third Deathiversary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It has now been 1096 days since Brandon died. Please understand it is NOWHERE near enough time to simply be over it or "be ok now," as someone suggested to Ariana. This was an adult with children of her own who should've known better than to make such a cavalier suggestion, but it wasn't meant maliciously, so there isn't much to be done and Ariana is far too tactful to correct this person. That time doesn't exist. Yes, you learn to live with it because you must, there is no choice, but the quality of living varies greatly from one person to the next and from one day to the next. There will forever be days that we dread. For us, this is the biggie. The day that rude, new normal, intruded upon our lives.</div>
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I posted something on facebook, one day before Brandon died, and I saw it in my memories today. It has stuck with me, since I saw it yesterday morning, and it simply said, 'I wonder at what point a small crisis of faith is deemed big.' I had forgotten I'd posted that, I don't remember doing it, actually, and I have sat and marveled over my naivete many times throughout the day. It seems so weird that I was completely unaware of the devastation that was about befall me and how I'd come to really understand what a crisis of faith looked like. I had no idea. God knew. That my only son, my precious firstborn, would be dead and in almost exactly 24 hours, I'd receive a phone call that would, literally, take me to my knees. </div>
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And, I think that's where the rubber meets the road. You can stay on your knees, at the Almighty's feet, the only place there is true healing (for me) or you can get up and hightail it out of there and keep running, not daring to look back at the one who took your child. That my son can be spoken of in past tense devastates me. I'm still like a deer in headlights when someone asks me how many kids I have. I'll never forget sobbing out the words to Ariana that her brother was dead. I have no idea what it even looked like her from her side because I haven't been in her shoes and I was too consumed by my own grief to think about how to be the mom in that moment. I'm so thankful she didn't react the way I did because I don't think I could've handled it.</div>
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I know I'm pretty much a variation on the same theme, as I try to get through this. My faith is intact, but certainly not without a lot of scars. I've questioned God and gotten no answers and I know that is ok, I trust. But then...I ache....I cry...I sob quietly...and then I furiously wipe away the tears and will myself to think of<i> anything</i> else except the thing that still causes my body to recoil from the pain. I can run mentally. My mind is a size 0 from the running. Then I think of the inevitable in having to eventually face this pain that I just cannot bear and I want to get through it not around it and I'm stopped again. </div>
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I can pray, again, without completely falling apart every single time, but I cannot stay there, I cannot linger or my mind drifts to the questions with no answers. How can he be dead? Why can't I see him just one more time? Why didn't you warn me? Why did you take one half of my very existence and leave me here to grieve for the rest of my life? I'm not mad. I've yet to really ever get seriously angry that Brandon is gone, you know the movie style of anger, shaking my fist at God and hating the universe. I am not without questions or real struggles, ugly, deep, wounds, but I am nothing without God. </div>
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Every year I marvel that I had no clue what was coming. I'm still just in shock that my life seemed so normal. I made plans like they were going to happen, plans that included Brandon and it still feels a little like the universe laughed at my silliness. In reality, a loving father cried with me and didn't want that for me and it's because of him that my blog says what it does 'death does not have the final word.' One day, we shall meet again. Three very long years without my boy wonder puts me three years closer to eternity with him. The faith in that drives me to at least try to keep my eyes upward and remember who is control. It's hard, but I'm here.</div>
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Incidentally, the day of the boy's death, just a little over 12 hours before I found out he was gone, I posted this on my Facebook wall: You don't know what beautiful and great things God can do with your broken heart, your broken pieces, your upside down world, your bad decision, life's injustices until give it all to him. That post popped up on the "wrong day," somehow and I posted it because it struck a chord with me. That post popped up right where it belonged.</div>
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My daughter has the first five words of this tattooed on her arm. Brando loved this, I'm trying very hard to practice it.</div>
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The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-89087109778848494882015-10-30T11:42:00.000-07:002015-10-30T11:42:32.083-07:00When Your Youngest Child Outlives the Oldest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On October 24, Ariana outlived Brandon's days by one day. He lived for 7000 days, she had lived for 7001 on that date. I feel like that number, <b>7000</b> seems really weird, like it should mean <i>something </i>or be something special and, instead, it's just a sad number and now it's another number that will forever have new meaning to me. Not that I go around thinking of the number 7000, but I guarantee you, that bad boy will be cropping up, I'll start noticing it places, like we do with the things that have great (good or bad) significance in our lives. <br />
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Her birthday was really hard for me this year. It has been hard each year, honestly, because it's a reminder that Brandon won't get one. I try hard to make it about her, but I see in past writings that it has really been a big deal. I know that I should be so grateful to have another birthday with her, and I am. I'm so very grateful that I get to still be the mama here and that I didn't lose two children, but there are definitely a ton of mixed emotions at play. I try to focus on that, on the gifts, on her nearing adulthood and I crack.<br />
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I worry, of course, about losing her, too. I know that's part of the reason this birthday was really difficult because I really had to work hard to keep shoving the fear back that I'd lose her, one day before she got to 19 years and two months old, like I did Brandon. So, there's this ridiculous fear, fighting with the need to not suffocate the child with your worry, fighting the blackness from depression, fighting the plastered on smile. And, something has to give. The easiest to give for me is the facade of happy, don't pretend there's joy, just let everything suck the life out of me.<br />
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From shortly before her 19th birthday, until the day after (honestly, the day he died, I thought about the fact that she was going to outlive him), I did a lot of trying to reign in my thoughts, to not let them control me, to remind myself that fear does not come from God. And, instead, I find myself wandering to the what-ifs because I know that losing one child, losing ten children, does not preclude you from losing another. I wonder if I lost her, would I be ok, would I give up and die, would I still love God, would I still be able to trust his sovereignty. Because I'm not always sure I understand things <i>now</i>. <br />
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I still wonder why he allowed me to be born, knowing that I was going to have to go through this, why he allowed three generations (just that I know of) to each lose a son and will I ever have any sort of peace, should my girl ever give birth to a boy? What could we have all done differently and why didn't he direct us that way, why just allow our babies to die, the cruelest of hurts that exist? What could I have done differently years ago to prevent my son ever dying? God is still God and I trust him, but it doesn't mean I have all the answers and it doesn't mean that sometimes my faith gets frayed and I wonder if it won't just break.<br />
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So far, I am ok on the faith remaining intact, but I have Ariana. I feel like I have lost everything my heart and soul ever wanted on this earth, except for her. And, so I back away from her, sometimes, because the risk of loving, with reckless abandon, someone who could just be gone tomorrow is sickeningly frightening, at times. Yes, it's made me appreciate each day more and it's helped me to remember to let things go that I wouldn't have otherwise, but when you have one half of your heart left and it beats through that kid, it is so, so very hard to lay that heart out there, knowing in the blink of an eye, everything can change.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-9222719816305279732015-08-30T15:37:00.002-07:002015-08-30T22:36:43.415-07:00The Face of Addiction<br />
I actually wrote this post in July of 2013. At the time, I was honoring Brandon's dad's wishes by not making this public because of family. I knew I would eventually post this, though, so I saved it for the right time and that time is now. I haven't changed it, except for the typos, even though I planned to add a lot to it, because I think it says exactly what I want to. For now. There is much, much more to this, but we'll save that for another day. Please share this piece of my son's story proudly for International Overdose Awareness Day tomorrow, August 31, 2015.<br />
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Brandon was never embarrassed about his shortcomings, the demons he battled, the mistakes he made. He hated to disappoint us and felt like he constantly came up short, his real potential felt out of reach, but he wasn't embarrassed to tell people, especially if it meant he might help them. I was. I was embarrassed and afraid. In Brandon's struggles, I saw my own and I was afraid that admitting how real his struggles were, it would breathe life into them when, in fact, they'd been given more life in my denial. I know that there's real power in keeping secrets in the dark. Bringing them into the light takes their power right away and yet I still let very few people into our reality, doing what I do, trying to fix everything by my own determination. <br />
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Brandon was such a good kid. He broke many rules, but never defiantly, hurting so much at our hurt and anger. He had this gigantic heart, especially for someone in pain. When I yelled in frustration that if anything ever happened to him it would destroy us, we would never come back from it, never go on, he cried at my pain. I wonder sometimes if I didn't speak it into happening by the mere mention. If I believed in tempting the fates, this would be the ultimate proof, I guess. Brandon told me he loved me every single day, several times a day, even if he was mad at me. He put up with me telling him to pull his pants up and change his shirt and cut his hair, without saying much. When he got tattoos he knew I didn't want for him, he made sure to get faith and family so he could show what things were important to him. He was a REALLY great kid. <br />
<br />
That was the Brandon I wanted everyone to know, not the Brandon who couldn't figure out how to like himself, who didn't know that he was so good he deserved the best this life had to offer and then some, who struggled with drugs to make the pain go away. That kid would be judged and people would ask 'where is his mom' and I would say I was right here, I'm not perfect, but I love him more than my own life, I'm trying so hard, you have no idea how hard it is, but they'd already have their minds made up. So, while I tried and tried to convince Brandon that other kids would not judge him, to just give them a chance, because teenagers all have the same fears and insecurities, I kept quiet. I asked for prayer for him so often, from so many people, but most did not know our real issues. <br />
<br />
Maybe I shamed him, maybe I should've asked for more specific prayer, maybe I could've kept him alive if I'd just done something differently. Maybe not, I'll never get the chance to know, but I know this... Brandon would never want one other life lost because of someone's silence. I thought I was honoring him, honoring our family by not airing dirty laundry, but Brandon needed more help than I could give him. He didn't even get a chance to become a serious problem child because his life ended too soon. If he'd had the chance, I bet he would've gone on to be a drug and alcohol counselor or something and so now I'm going to honor him by never being quiet, never being embarrassed and being proud of the identity I have in being Brandon's mom.... the kid who helped get other kids clean, the kid who had the huge heart, the boy with those beautiful eyes and old soul. <br />
<br />
Yes, I am his mother and I am damn proud of the lives he saved, in his life and in his death. Now, I want him to be proud of his mother for making sure his death was not in vain. I already know that I will honor the boy by someday giving another grieving mom hope, but I hope I can help to ensure that no other mom has to feel ashamed or alone in her child's struggles, struggles that do not define our children, but are just one aspect of a beautiful gift to this earth. <br />
<br />
God so graciously puts the right people in our path in our darkest hour and I know it is with the understanding that this will be paid forward. I will never forget those other sweet mamas who were able to comfort me, some with their own grief still so raw, still crying themselves to sleep every night, hurting all over again with me. One mama lost her beautiful daughter in a horrific manner many, many years ago and it was this mama who first gave me hope that there someday may be a light to see, smiles to come, a life to actually enjoy and it's to this precious mama and her sweet daughter that I dedicate this post. Thank you for your courage and light and lack of judgment.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-34904285905923600342015-03-20T00:10:00.001-07:002015-03-20T00:10:57.592-07:00Happy 21st Birthday, Brando!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here's to you, BK!</div>
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March 19, 2015<br />
<br />
I went a little backwards here, I know. If you read below today's entry, you'll see why I did it this way. I tried to condense this post, but I just don't know how to use fewer words. Be thankful I didn't blog every day for the last 10 days. <br />
<br />
Today was hard. I feel like it was harder than the first birthday without Brandon, but maybe my memory is protecting me. I cried and cried and cried, until I fell asleep. When I woke up, I saw the bunched up Kleenex next to my pillow and it reminded me of those early days, when I'd find Kleenex everywhere I'd been, even at the foot of my bed, though don't ask me how it got there. I had it in my hands at all times, especially in bed, so it'd end up getting moved around, I guess. Part of the problem today was that I started it off by reading some of my earlier blog posts. BIG mistake and I know better, but I did it, anyway. I miss him so much and I hurt for the person I was before my son died and for the person who wandered through those early months in shock and, again, for the person I've had to become because of the pain. At one point, over the last several days, I actually found myself wondering 'what if I hadn't returned the medical examiner's phone call, what if I just didn't know he'd died'....I know, it sounds crazy, but mind's response to the type of pain that grief causes can be pretty far out there.<br />
<br />
I ordered a balloon bouquet earlier this morning so I'd make sure to get out of the house. Eventually, that's what I did. We went and released the balloons, with a happy birthday wish and then released some lanterns that drove us crazy. The first one sailed right into the power lines, which made us laugh and worry about the fire department being called to the site. It was not the grand scene that I'd envisioned, but I've learned to lower my expectations of perfection and just let the moment be what it is. I think that has been a gift from this tragedy, feeling free enough to release some things, some people, a lot of control, because we actually have very little control in this world.<br />
<br />
So, the night ended with a drink in Brandon's honor, at a restaurant he loved. I hope he was there with us. I sure do miss him, with every ounce of my being. Thanks for reading.<br />
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March 9, 2015<br />
<br />
I don't write often, so I decided to start his birthday post a little early, just to let people see exactly why I don't write often....b/c what goes around in my head (and ultimately penned here) is a whole lot of THIS....<br />
<br />
<i>Life is just really sucky, without you, Brandon. I miss you so much and it's hard to even want to try to find peace because I hate this earth without you sharing it with me. I can't even find the words to ask God for the peace because I end up so upset, crying so much, that's it's just to difficult to </i>want<i> to go there voluntarily.</i><br />
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It's hard to put into words how incomprehensible it is to think about all the rest of your days on this earth not having your child in it, especially when it could've been prevented. I'm sure some people think it shouldn't be dwelled upon, but it's impossible to escape the reality. Trust me, I've tried, gone to great lengths to escape it and...I've failed.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of things that I don't understand why God allowed, but that one definitely takes the cake. I know that much of what has happened in my life has been a direct result of either my choices or those before me. We live in a fallen world and bad shit just happens in a fallen world. Ultimately, God had to allow it and I still wrestle with why this had to happen, why this had to be our story. It's my life, I know I have to own it, but, really, I just do not want it.....<br />
<br />
March 12, 2015<br />
<br />
I was thinking that part of the reason for the wrestling with God is that, while I may not always be a good or honest or just person, and I may backslide here and there, deep down I thought God knew me well enough to know that I didn't <em>deserve</em> to lose a child. I know that God doesn't make bargains and there's no earning good things, but you still (well, I still) think that trying to live life right and praying for your children kinda protects you from the <em>really big</em> things, the bad things that you're afraid to say aloud for fear it may bring them to fruition. When I screamed at Brandon (when we almost lost him) <em>we won't make it if something happens to you, it would destroy our lives, we would never, EVER recover, </em>I meant it and, though I was afraid that by saying it out loud it was tempting death, I hoped that by screaming to the universe that I'd die without my son it would ensure that I'd never have to live without my son.<br />
<br />
I've had no more loss in my life, really, than anyone else. Loss is relative to each of us and, yeah, losing a child is the worst loss to ever have to live with, but it doesn't diminish anyone else's loss. We all have our burdens to carry and they hurt. And, yet, I feel betrayed. By life, by God, my family. IDK...I hate bitter people because they're miserable to be around, but I'm not sure how to endure all I've lost and just be happy about it. I've trusted that I'll see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living (Psalm 27:13) and I've trusted that hope will never put me to shame (Romans 5:5) and that weeping only endures for a night, but that joy cometh in the morning (Psalm 30:5). Oh, how I've repeated to myself joy cometh. But, the weeping has lasted for, literally, hundreds of nights and the joy, well, it has surely runneth away!! Nothing that I've prayed for seems to have been answered, no matter how faithful I've been (or think I've been) and I feel like the family curse has fallen square on my shoulders and maybe I could've turned the curse away from us, but instead I failed miserably and there's just no salvaging anything from the mess. And, this is all crazy drivel that I try to keep people away from, but maybe if I see my lunacy in print it'll wake me up or maybe it'll show someone else how sane they actually are. <br />
<br />
I had a dream a while back, just a brief one, where I was looking almost through a tunnel and, for some reason, it made me realize that I was never going to see Brandon in this lifetime. In my dream, I was awestruck by the word forever and I kept saying it until I woke up saying," forever....I have to live without Brandon <i>forever</i>," which, of course, made me cry as I woke up and realized, yet again, the reality of my situation. It colors everything in my world. In a way, I am too numb to everything and in ways I am too affected by everything, as evidenced by the fact that almost any word, at any given time, could make me start crying. <br />
<br />
Another dream I had, just the other day, had me running. Not from something, just running. I love running. I am not built for it, not even when I was thin because my legs are about 5" long, but I love feeling like I'm breaking free from something and running into something wonderful. In my dream, though, no matter how long my stride was, I couldn't go forward any faster. It was almost like stepping into quicksand, but without sinking. Maybe it's an improvement, honestly, because I've certainly felt like I've been in quicksand, but it's so frustrating to keep running without moving. Heh, the story of my life, I suppose...always running from something and not going anywhere. Not sure the point of this paragraph, drivel from the world in my head, but maybe I'll read this in five years and be fascinated at my growth. MMMHHMM.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-31895780964423569092014-12-31T19:18:00.000-08:002014-12-31T19:18:11.356-08:00Walking Into Another Year Without Brandon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been a long time since I've written. Much longer than I meant it to be, but as soon as I opened the first page, I remembered why...it breaks my heart to see the blog, to read what has happened, to look at yet another reminder that my son is not here. As a friend said, I like some fluff with my bad news, but there's no fluff to be found here, it's just straight up grief.<br />
<br />
Much has happened, but I'll try not to write a book. We moved into a new home. It's a much smaller home, perfect for us, and we like it here. It was hard to move out of Brandon's house, to know I'd never get to go in his room, again, but God gave me much peace about all of that and I was able to have some people help pack up his stuff and the rest I took care of...and I survived. I'm still so very sad that he never got the chance to live in this new place with us, sad that there are no memories of him in this house, but I know it's what needed to happen. I don't think living in the other house was helping me move forward. Not that I'm necessarily moving forward, but it definitely wasn't going to happen there. <br />
<br />
Here, I don't immediately see the scene play out in my mind, every time I get in the shower, of me sobbing through that first shower. I don't open the door the of the bathroom and imagine all the people in my living room, all the eyes on me, while I have no idea what to do with myself other than sob and stop every once in a while to wonder aloud if Brandon is all right. When I stand in front of the living room window, I don't imagine Ariana in my peripheral vision asking me what happened, while I choked out in between sobs that he'd died. I think those are pretty heavy burdens to carry around in a house and not being forced to relive them every single day has to be a good thing, right?<br />
<br />
My baby girl, my only other child, graduated from high school. I imagined the entire day being a meltdown of epic proportions, but it actually wasn't, and I held it together pretty good, for the most part. We were packing to move at the same time, so it was sort of a crazy time, but my husband was home and I guess we managed ok as a family of three. My kids were never supposed to be only children, it was one of my rules of life, after being one myself, and yet here we are. The girl walking this path, while maneuvering adulthood, and accepting how things are much better than her parents. The girl and her friends, a breath of fresh air in our lives, really. I'm sad that she has to grow up. I want all the time back that I wasted, all of it.<br />
<br />
People told me, and I'd read in many books, that the second year was the hardest. I told my mama that<br />
I just could not handle having a year worse than the year my son died. Honestly, how in the hell do you survive worse than that? She told me that that didn't have to be my story, to not take on someone else's walk and I agreed, partly because there's some of that fluff that I like and partly because I agree. I always told Brandon not to let labels or someone else's walk dictate his, he did not have to accept that that's just how it goes. <br />
<br />
And, so, I set about avoiding more, probably living less, trying to feel less, I suppose, to make sure that I didn't spend every moment of the second year crying that awful, primal wail that still haunts me. I've found that almost everything makes me cry. It catches me off guard fairly often because I really work at avoiding things that could potentially make me cry. There was still the 18th of every month to contend with, but one day I realized that I'd gotten through an 18th without crying, without even realizing it was the 18th. I wondered how in the world that could've happened, though asking it now seems silly....duh, I was avoiding. Then, one of the 18th's, one of God's special scriptures to me popped up on my phone. "Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord." Psalm 27:14. Our history with this verse goes back over a decade and I know when it pops up out of the blue, God is reminding me that He is ever present and comforting me, even when I am trying to not need to be comforted. <br />
<br />
Then, on November 18th, the 18 month mark since Brando went to be with God, a friend posted something on her FB wall that was HUGE for me. I'd planned on doing a blog post that day, since it was during my annual 30 days of thanks, being thankful for the time I did get with the boy, thankful that I know where he is, even though I desperately want him here with me...just thankful, even if I wasn't feeling particularly joyous and thankful. What ended up happening was that just thinking of blogging threw me for such a loop that I fell apart inside and ran from being thankful for anything, because what mom has the nerve to leave her son out of her thankfulness just because it hurts? I'm not really embracing a ton of logic here, as you can see, but it's the way my thoughts go, at times.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the friend posted a scripture also from the Psalms and it happens to be the very first scripture I was ever given, directly from God, after asking him for a word. At the time, the scripture was exactly what I needed to hear from God, it was an enormous moment for me. I was 20 years old, the second worst year of my life, and though I'd known God since a young age, I had a fairly new relationship with him, at that time. I've had to go back to that scripture too many times in this life, but I'm so thankful that I have it to lean on. I'm going to post some of the devotional that goes along with the scripture, so bear with me.<br />
<br />
"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Psalm 34:18. The word broken in Hebrew is the word shabar and means "to rend violently or crush; to maim, cripple or break." Shabar was used to describe ships that had been splintered and torn due to ferocious and wild winds. It was also used to describe the tearing and ripping that wild, ravenous beasts performed upon their prey. When the Psalmist declares that the Lord is near to the brokenhearted, he is reminding us that the Lord is lovingly attentive to those who are enduring unimaginable pain. If you are emotionally torn apart and wonder how you will make it through one more today, be comforted with the surety that He is with you. <br />
<br />
There is more, but you get the gist of what it is saying and oh my gosh, how huge to open facebook and see that on that day. God. God is so involved in the details of our lives, all of the details, and he made sure I got a word that I would know was right from him, right when I needed it. The detail of that crushing, that breaking, is something I so understand. I hate that I get it, but I'm so thankful that it's not only all right to feel it, but God is right here in the trenches with me and he reminds us of these things in a real, tangible way. <br />
<br />
I still have many dreams about Brandon. I can recall exactly one where I woke up and went, OK...wow, it's ok. Because, I still wake up crying. It's not the sobbing, choking in my sleep wailing of the first year, but rather a soft sobbing, the gentle sound of my crying and the wetness of my tears rousing me from sleep. And, then there's the moment the other day when I woke up and forgot, for just a moment, that he'd died. I was panicking about his meds and then it hit me...we haven't gotten them refilled because he died...remember? Oh. Yeah, I remember now. That is brutal. The shock just made everything stop for a moment. The next day, I dreamt about Brandon and, while I knew he'd died, it was like he was there, anyway. I've had similar dreams a few times, where he's shown up and I'm totally confused because I know he died. Well, in this dream he wanted to go somewhere and I said no and grounded him or sent him to his room or something. I went to his room and he was lying in bed and when I called his name, he lifted his head up and said, "Yeah?" And, I started crying and told him it was for his own good that he had to stay home, that I just loved him so much and I kept saying that over and over, I love you so, so much, until eventually I woke myself up because I was crying and saying that out loud. <br />
<br />
It is so hard. I don't embrace living a whole lot right now. Going into yet another year that has no Brandon, well it's unimaginable and it's sad. And lonely. It hurts just to do this post, but I somehow guilted myself into believing that if I left the year without talking about Brandon here, again, I'd be a bad mom. I don't do guilt, but I think you find you actually do a lot of things that you didn't think you did, after your chid dies. I cried through all of this and then someone set off fireworks and the dog started barking and that struck me as funny, so I stood in the bathroom with my Kleenex, trying to stop the tears, blow my nose and laugh at the dog. It was a funny moment. I'm thankful for the funny moments. Brandon had a great sense of humor, which he got from his mother (the girl has it, too, of course) and I know he'd never want me to forget how to laugh, even if I have to do it while I'm crying.<br />
<br />
There's so much I wish I'd written sooner, but I know it's not a stretch to understand how I cannot make myself get here. I've said this so often and I'll probably never stop...this wasn't supposed to be my life. My child wasn't supposed to be the one that others had to grieve that others had to learn from. Not my child. I don't guess I've reached the acceptance part of the grieving process yet? I don't know. I'm trying. And, I'll close with a text from a friend that I absolutely needed today. What a treasure she is and I can't wait for Brandon to meet her, someday. Oh, how he'll love her sense of humor and her beautiful spirit.<br />
<br />
"I'm not going to just wish you Happy New Year. I want to wish you something else I just can't find the damn word for it. I want you to know that in your dark moments however wrong it seems, you and your boy help each other. It seems awful and I can only imagine slightly cruel. But nonetheless, your transparency and strength, even sadness have helped people. I could so do the whole "he's still here" thing but I hate that. Still a beautiful spirit is touching others. No longer just him or just you. But in a way a work you are doing together. Get pissed about the injustice of that, and then harness it and use it to bolster you for another year. I love you and the boy I didn't know. I pray for you and miss you." <br />
<br />
And, so, I'm going to work at doing exactly what she said, harnessing it and working WITH my boy for another year. Until we meet, again........<br />
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Happy New Year, friends!<br />
<br />The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-69370479916762939682014-05-18T12:38:00.000-07:002014-05-18T12:38:31.896-07:00One Year Later<br />
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May 17, 2014<br />
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A year ago on this date, I was blissfully unaware that I was about to embark on the most painful journey that one can ever go on. May 18th fell on a Saturday last year, so although tomorrow marks the official day, it was this Saturday a year ago that I received the worst phone call of my life, from the Snohomish County Medical Examiner, telling me that my 19 year old son had been found dead. Every parents worst nightmare that, instead of counting birthdays here you begin counting the years since you had to give them back, had come true for me. <br />
<br />
I know the exact spot I was standing in when the ME told me the news and I hung up on her. I think that, in that moment, I thought I could make the news go away if I hung up the phone. I'm not even sure that lasted a full moment, but I know my own coping mechanisms and that had to be what I was thinking. I've relived that horrible moment and the ones immediately following, over and over and over. I know the exact spot and the words I used to tell Ariana her brother had died. I'm still grateful to her little dog, who was so confused by my sobbing that I tried to comfort <em>him</em>. My church still brings pangs of sadness. I still sit in different seats, mostly alone, trying to block out the pictures of my son on the screen, his urn on the stage. The phone reminds me of the hundreds of texts I had the next morning, a sad reminder that I wasn't just waking from a nightmare. There are many triggers that haven't been replaced with happy memories yet, so I keep seeing the same trauma. It's hard to watch yourself sobbing, devastated from the depths of your soul, and know that there is no fix. That first day, and probably many afterwards, I would stop crying for a second and worry about how worried Brandon would be, how sorry he'd be that we were in this pain, and then start crying, again, non-stop. I cried through an entire shower, a blow dry and a flat iron without stopping. Crying that I swear traumatizes me to this day to think about because it was so primal, so horrific. Watching someone suffer like that is horrible and I see the scene often when I walk into my bathroom. I'm telling the truth when I say that you are not aware you even have that kind of grief, that kind of agony, inside of you, until your child has gone to wait for you in Heaven. <br />
<br />
I found myself thinking then, as I do now, that God knew this was coming and wondering the things He'd been thinking about. He knew that Brandon was going to die and that our worlds were about to fall completely apart and yet he allowed it to happen. I know that, as a parent, his heart must have been grieving with ours, it still does, but what was he actually thinking, what was he seeing, why couldn't he just change something, even a little something, ANYTHING, to save his life? I don't blame God, though. I know that he intervenes in our lives repeatedly or we'd probably never make it to age five. I know for a fact he intervened just five and a half months earlier and saved Brandon's life, snatched him right from death's hands. We are humans with free will, but God is sovereign and could've intervened, again. Instead, He chose not to. <br />
<br />
Perhaps God allowed Brandon the final say. That, too, haunted me because I'd told Brandon that should anything ever happen to him, it'd wreck us, we'd never recover, never be able to go on without him. That wasn't just for dramatic purposes, I'd tasted what it would be like to lose him and it shook me to my core, I thought I might die. It became a very real concern of mine that Brandon would hurt from our hurt and regret going with God. In the end, I had to trust what I know to be true of Heaven and of the character of God and trust that he is happier than he could ever be here and that God wouldn't allow him to be sad...it's just not possible in Heaven, walking with the Lord every day. For the happiness and glory that Brandon is now living in, I am thankful, but it doesn't make me miss him less, it doesn't stop me from saying aloud, WHY...I just want him back?!<br />
<br />
I think that mortality is never as frightening as when you have children. Just the thought of them dying is horrifying, in and of itself. I've had many, many nightmares over the years about my children dying and, sadly, I actually saw this entire scene with Brandon before it happened, but, ultimately, I was powerless to stop it. Now, my nightmares are my reality and vice versa. I walk through the days crying, I am awakened from sleep crying. I dream of Brandon so, so often and 99% of the time I am painfully aware that he is no longer here. I wrote about the first several days and how I didn't dream, something very rare for me, but I knew it was the grace of God, forcing sleep on my exhausted mind and body. The first dream I had of him upset me so much it still makes me cry to talk about it. I woke from a sound sleep sobbing to the point that I was choking. After a few dreams that woke me the same way, I begged God to please make them stop for a while, until I could handle it, because they were wrecking me. And, they did stop. For a while. I guess that now I am strong enough to handle them. I beg to differ.<br />
<br />
And, so, here we are a year later and we are all still alive. Somehow, some way, we have survived. In spite of ourselves, I'm sure, but we are here. We are not thriving, I suppose, but getting through something that you are sure you will not survive the first week of, is big. I've slept my way through many days and it's been a challenge to care about this life now. When the worst has happened, it's easy to weigh everything by the same standard and then rule it unimportant. Eating, bills, money, church who cares, those things don't matter compared to losing your child. It could be a good thing, in the right context, but it could so easily make one very bitter. Because you see things like homes lost, bullying, a sick pet, whatever, and the pain cannot compare. "Really, they lost their home? I lost my child." It's selfish and self-centered and hateful, but when you care about nothing because life...living...doesn't seem possible, it seems like a natural progression. <br />
<br />
Thankfully, God hasn't allowed me to stay there. I have a greater compassion for people, most of the time (not always, I have my moments). I am thankful, too, that this didn't run me from God. I never thought it would, though I wondered if I would be so dead inside that my faith would be of no significance. I was reminded several times in those first weeks, not to lose myself because my daughter still needed me. Gosh, it was hard. It still is. The pull to run and hide is strong. I thought I was being pulled under for a while, but there was God's hand and there was my girl's face and, somehow, I allowed myself to be pulled back up. In the hardest year of her life, she has asked questions and read my blogs, so she's seen my struggles, but God has been faithful and patient. I haven't gotten answers to all of my questions, neither has she, but she knows it's ok to ask and she has seen that I do not blame God. I know he hurts with us, but Brandon is in <em>the</em> best place in the world and for that I have to be thankful. For that, I do not have to worry. <br />
<br />
One of my grief emails said that this is something that should be worked out <em>before</em> you have to walk this road and I agree. It doesn't always happen that way, but without that faith to fall back on, you're left groping around in the dark for something, anything to hold onto and, sometimes, what you take hold of is the wrong thing. I shudder to think of the darkness that would've overtaken me had I not had God to lean on, even if I didn't feel like leaning on him. What we're capable of when we hurt like that can be really scary! So, while we are not always jumping for joy that we are alive, we are also not spiraling out of control. The girl is ready to see a counselor now and I think I may follow her lead. I want her to have the best mom she can have, a better mom than she's had, she deserves it, and I'm not sure I can do it on my own. We will see.<br />
<br />
For now, it's enough to have made it. <em><strong>Until we meet, again, Brandon...missing you every single minute of every single day.</strong></em><br />
<br />
This is a poem written by Brandon's friend, Ruby, last June. She was so sweet..she messaged me and told me she didn't want to worsen my heartache, but she wanted to share the poem she wrote for Brandon.<br />
<br />
<span class="null">Three much
<br />
<br />
I haven’t been eating much
just so I can stomach this.
<br />
this ‘this’ sounds a lot
like loneliness.<br />
see, there’s been too much on my plate
for far three long. <br />
things have been happening on a scale
that ‘too’ can’t satisfy anymore.<br />
for example,
I miss you three much.
<br />
I missed you ever since you stopped <br />
being here even when you
<br />
were right next to me.<br />
<br />
you’re so going going gone <br />
it hurts four much. <br />
I am a biological model <br />
for fetal position.<br />
<br />
sometimes, I find myself <br />
(though that in itself is rare)
I find myself shaking like <br />
a broken carousel horse in <br />
the corner of my own mind.<br />
<br />
I can’t stomach this. <br />
so I’ve been hearting it instead. <br />
this heart of mine isn’t so strong. <br />
and if home is where the heart is <br />
I’ve been broken hearted for far too long.</span><br />
<br />
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The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-51853710737984100682014-05-15T18:11:00.000-07:002014-05-15T18:11:24.531-07:00The First Mother's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I thought I'd gotten through all of the firsts, leading up to the date that Brandon died. As it turns out, I'd forgotten all about Mother's Day, which happened to fall exactly one week to the day before the "anniversary" of Brandon's death. Deathiversay? I don't know what to call it. It's not something you celebrate, that's for damn sure, but it's also not something you'll ever forget and you'll be watching the calendar for weeks ahead of time. I guess it's like Memorial Day is supposed to be...a time of solemn remembrance. I've never done this before, I guess I'll probably do it wrong. <br />
<br />
I think I've been pretty well covered in prayer because the days that I dread with all of my being end up being sorta ok, it's the days leading up to it that really get me. You have all this expectation of pain, so you're flinching way ahead of time, trying to brace yourself for what's to come. Of course, this doesn't help the pain any, but I suppose it's part of that fight or flight instinct. <br />
<br />
Brandon died right after Mother's Day last year. I mean, who has to lose their child right after Mother's Day? It's completely unfair. Truly, though, I can't think of a good day to lose a child, but he died right after Mother's Day and right before Father's Day. It's hard. Really, really hard. We still have a daughter and we still have to be parents and she needs to know that she's enough and she really is, but the hole is still so deep, the wound still so fresh. <br />
<br />
I still catch myself in total disbelief that this is MY life. I was talking to my sweet friend, K, who is a few years ahead of me on this agonizing journey, and I asked her if she ever still feels that way, like it can't be true, like it's all just surreal. She said that, even after all this time, she still feels that way. I wonder if that will go away. Maybe that's some part of acceptance and maybe I'm not there yet. I don't want to accept that this is my life. I really could not have given birth to my first child 20 years ago and not have him now. Never in my wildest dreams could I have pictured that it'd end up just being me and my daughter. <br />
<br />
So, I am still avoiding. I'm starting to count calories and you know I'm looking for some serious distraction when *I* start counting calories. Lately, I don't even feel like I'm part of the world. The sun has been shining, it's been absolutely beautiful here and I don't want any part of it. I've spent way too much time with the covers pulled up to my chin, staring off into space. Today, I noticed that I was smiling during a conversation that I felt like I was watching, rather than being a part of it. It's a strange fog that I didn't expect to have to feel, again, but it's back. I drive down the street listening to a song that isn't remotely sad and I realize I can't stop crying. My body, I guess, has decided it knows what is really going on, in spite of my trying to pretend otherwise. <br />
<br />
On Mother's Day, the hardest thing was looking at the door that connected our bathroom/bedrooms. I miss hearing the sound of his door sliding open and the knob turning on the door to my bedroom and Brandon coming in to say hi or sit and talk or show me something funny. The crappy thing is that, while I lie in my bed throwing my pity party, I'm staring right at that door, a constant reminder of who is not coming through that door. And, still I stay there, asking and yet not really asking, why...how could you have let this happen? There are no answers, not that I want, anyway. I know it's grace, mercy in action, but still there are so many what-ifs, so many tortuous thoughts.<br />
<br />
Thank God for my daughter, my saving grace. She worries about me and cares for me in a way that I wish she did not have to. Her life should be carefree and filled with girlie drama, not loss, sadness, death. I am so grateful for her, though, and her attention to the details of my life. What a strong girl she is, I can't wait to watch the story of her life unfold. <br />
<br />
The picture is the last card I received from my son, for last Mother's Day. What a precious boy I had.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-68923607542794651492014-05-03T20:50:00.000-07:002014-05-03T20:50:08.293-07:00The Land of Bittersweet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Lately, I've noticed that I use that word a lot, mostly in my own head, but it describes where I live and what every single thing that could be joy now feels like. On a day that I should be happy for many reasons, I am profoundly sad. It started good and I expect it'll end just fine, but I guess it's not enough. I've spent way too much time crying and hating this day. And this state...Washington. I feel like it stole my son. I know it's just displaced anger and that's ok, I hate this state, anyway...oh, but how much more I loathe it without my son in it. <br />
<br />
I did what I needed to do and got my gorgeous daughter ready for her prom and the second she was out the door, the sadness wrapped itself around and around and around me, until I felt so suffocated I all but ran out the front door. I want to revel in my daughter's happiness at going to her senior prom (bittersweet for her b/c she does not want high school to end) and commit to memory how pretty she is, inside and out, and thank God for providing all that he has, so we can provide for her, but all I can think about is that Brandon should be here. <br />
<br />
He's missing everything now and every moment, no matter how grand, is missing Brandon and I don't know how any moment will ever be, at its very best, better than bittersweet. How can anything ever be truly right, again, with half of your heart gone? There's no cure...no pill, no drink, no food, no shopping, no nothing that you can drown yourself in, that does not come with the realization that it will never be enough to cover all the pain. When you're hit, yet again, with the facts of life as you now know it, it can be pretty brutal. Sometimes, I know when the emptiness will come because it usually follows the dreams. I still wake up crying from my dreams and it always puts me in a bad mood. I know this will happen and yet I end up watching myself lash out at some innocent victim because if I let the sadness do what it wants, I'll be even less than I am, so I go with the anger. Neither healthy, both probably normal...a laughable word right there, as if I've ever known what normal was in the first place. <br />
<br />
In truth, I know Brandon is missing nothing. It is we who are missing out, not just on being with him, but also experiencing what he is now. I know that he wants for nothing, there is no bittersweet there and he will never feel pain, again. I do not hurt less. I still can't think of anything bringing me happiness that doesn't bring with it its companions, heartache and longing...and the ruthless knowledge that Brandon will never experience another moment with me on this earth. I hate that knowledge. God, I want to just be ignorant and unaware, sometimes. <br />
<br />
I guess this is why you do the one day at a time thing because thinking of all the tomorrows without your child is really too much. In borrowing trouble for the rest of your life, you rob today of the moments of grace and joy that are ok to have. I know they're ok. In my head I know they're ok and necessary. And, yet, they are so, so bittersweet.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-76363312780939842262014-03-19T03:12:00.000-07:002014-03-19T14:27:45.857-07:00Happy 20th Birthday, Son<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I was going through Brandon's baby book the other night and found a letter I'd written to him. <br />
<br />
Brandon, God brought you to us at the exact moment you were needed. You were a life changing (and saving) present! Daddy and I have always been so much in love with you from the moment we laid eyes on you. I don't think there is a greater love than what a parent feels for a child and I hope one day you will experience the same kind of joy. No matter what kind of trials or struggles we go through in life, don't ever, ever forget how much I love and adore you. We are so much alike and I promise to do my best to steer you in the right direction in a loving manner. Believe me, I know what a challenge our personality type can be, but I also know that you can do <i>absolutely anything</i> you put your mind to, just put all that energy, determination and independent little nature to good use. God has been by you since before you were born and He will continue to guide you if you let him. Love always, Mommy <br />
<br />
I'm so sad that he never got to see that letter, so sad that he didn't get the fullest life here that he could've had. It's heartbreaking to lose anyone, especially if they were living with you and it was unexpected. There are reminders EVERYWHERE, things that were left around the house and you find later, all the pieces that made up their life, a life that will no longer be lived here, a life that you're no longer sharing with them. Losing a child is infinitely more painful and difficult than anything experienced on this earth, I'm sure of it. The shock, regret, anger, immense grief I feel at him not being here to turn 20 and celebrate another year is something most people in my world cannot fathom or understand. I barely fathom or understand it myself. I'm still not sure I understand the permanence of him being gone. The thawing of the shock is definitely happening, but it's hard to grasp a lifetime of living without your child. I keep hearing that the second year is the worst and I keep praying that it isn't true. It's almost impossible to live with the current pain...worse is just unacceptable.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I want to celebrate Brandon's life today. We got 19 years with the best boy EVER and we'll have an eternity with him, blessed gifts to be sure! <br />
<br />
Brandon, we love you and miss you so very, very much. A huge light in our lives was dimmed when you left, but we are thrilled for you that you are surrounded by the brightest light and love from the Father, each and every day. Happy 20th birthday to one of the greatest gifts of our entire life! Love, Mom, Dad and Ariana!<br />
<br />
I hope you'll watch the video that my daughter's sweet friend made for us. It's long, but I wanted to share as much of my boy with the world as possible. The picture at the very end has a hand shaped heart, using one of my daughter's hands and one of mine. When Brandon almost died in November of 2012, he was intubated and unable to speak, supposedly in a medically induced coma. I told him I loved him and his hand (strapped down to keep him from pulling out the vent tube) came out from under the sheet to make a half heart to tell me he loved me, too. It's a precious memory of mine. That boy loved his mama so much, a merciful gift. <br />
<br />
Thank you for reading!<br />
<br />
<br />The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-322931261329305762014-03-14T03:29:00.000-07:002014-03-14T03:29:21.123-07:00300 Days - Why Is My Faith On The Ground?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-nPBXmRCBT-Z18Ks1BXe25N2vFHpqdCNxr0e78LkfvPEZ5xkw8GarmXA6D8j76eoxfQVc4sHj10gBvGzT7wq5On_SORjM_hTKLJPghooHkqAKoW1GJZEbjEDyo2sQPC3ZeneSI1k7JM/s1600/20140211_092659-1%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-nPBXmRCBT-Z18Ks1BXe25N2vFHpqdCNxr0e78LkfvPEZ5xkw8GarmXA6D8j76eoxfQVc4sHj10gBvGzT7wq5On_SORjM_hTKLJPghooHkqAKoW1GJZEbjEDyo2sQPC3ZeneSI1k7JM/s320/20140211_092659-1%257E2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
This is a combined post, I guess, some recent musings, along with another milestone, if you will, 300 days since Brandon died. One day, I'm sure these horrible anniversaries will stop being such a big part of my life, maybe once I'm past all the firsts, who knows. I still can't believe I ever got past the first week. I guess you do it because your body has involuntary actions that keep propelling you forward. I know science isn't all of it, but it has to be the majority of it, because those first hours and days still haunt me on a pretty regular basis. The wound is still gaping.<br />
<br />
I walked into my room the other night and said, "Why is my faith on the ground?" I really think I spent way too much time as an only child speaking to my imaginary friends because I sure do a lot of talking when there is NO ONE around lol! I know...I just do a LOT of talking-period. So, even though I really was speaking to no one in particular and it was in reference to a piece of my sign gallery being on the ground, I immediately saw the relationship to my life and knew the obvious answer: Because I haven't picked it up. Heh. And, that's what I said, "Heh." <br />
<br />
That sign gallery and the wall it hangs on is one of my favorite things to see in my house. I know that scripture, so a piece of wood missing from the wall hanging doesn't stop me from saying it daily, but for some reason I just won't super glue the hook, again, so it will stay put. Much like I've been doing with God. I know his words in my heart, in my head, in every part of my being and I know where I'll turn no matter the storm, when push comes to shove, but I'm not picking it up. I let it fall and I see it every single day, but I can't make myself fix it. Talking to God for other people is easy. People need prayer, I'm all over it. I've been pleading for a friend's brother, the heart of this mama broken for her mama and I know God is there, I feel him, but then I set it back down. I pound this scripture into my head because I know I have to remember all the traits of love...love is SO very many things...but then I see that faith is missing and I get it. Where is the faith? Faith is much more than just believing something to be true, it's KNOWING it to be true, sometimes in spite of mountains of supposed evidence that would have you believe otherwise. <br />
<br />
I saw one of my favorite clients the other day. She has been with me the entire seven years that I've been preparing taxes. Gosh, did I get a lesson in research my first year, but she trusted me and we've had a special connection ever since. She noticed my tattoo and asked me about it. I told her what it said and that Brandon had died and she felt so bad for asking, but I don't mind people asking. Baze told me I was going to regret getting something in such a visible place and I told him that was the whole point and it is! He keeps his covered all the time, he can't bear the looks and questions and I can't bear to wear long sleeves which will cover my boy's name. I love my tattoo and I'm proud that I have such a beautiful memorial for my kid and more than happy to talk about it. <br />
<br />
So, we had a nice chat and I think if there's one client I'd say has really made me re-think my decision to not go back, regardless of what I'm doing, it's her. She loves me and she hugged me several times and she said, "You're a Christian, aren't you?" I nodded and she said she knew it. And, it's not because I walk around in obvious perfection, never a doubt in anyone's mind who I worship, it's because of my faith in Brandon's new life. I trust that God was merciful in allowing him to go home and I trust that God didn't make that decision lightly, knowing the trail of heartbreak it'd leave behind, but the best decision for Brandon had to be made and that was to allow him to go home. She said to me the very same things, almost verbatim that I say to my daughter on a regular basis, "We don't know what he was spared from, what kind of suffering he may have had to endure." And, I said, "YES, yes that is exactly what I've been saying," and it made my heart leap just a little because I know it was confirmation, yet again, that Brandon was allowed to go for a reason. My heart is so broken and I've actually spent HUNDREDS of days crying...in a row...life doesn't seem possible without him, but I know that God knows his children and he knows I will go on. Somehow. My friend, Ernie, said the same thing to me at Thanksgiving, that he could tell by looking at me that I'd eventually be ok. I saw that look in my client's eyes. I knew that she knew I'd be ok. It hurts dreadfully, it's a pain you would never, ever wish on your worst enemy, it has taken people out, it's horrific, but I have faith. Faith in God and his love for me, my daughter, my husband and, most importantly right now, my beautiful son. Love never gives up and love never loses faith. <br />
<br />
Faith may fall, but love never doubts that it'll get picked up again. And, it will. It's there when I shed the tears and second guess every single decision I have ever made in my life. Every one of them. Picking the faith up off the ground may not (probably will not) magically fix all of that, but maybe I can start to see something in my life a little clearer. We are strong, we will endure, God wants his best for our lives, for all of his children.<br />
<br />
And so, this new person, whom I barely recognize, wonders at the hope of ever getting somewhere healthy and sane. You just have no idea what 300 days of solid grieving does to a person. I am always going to be a different Lisa. I think God has guarded my heart well and I still have a sense of humor, I'm gracious, I love to give, things like that, but I just feel so different, so lost, almost like I'm in shock, which I am not. Three hundred long days of trying to reconcile the old Lisa's life with the new Lisa's life and trying to convince myself that it's for the best. I will miss this boy, I will long for his presence for the rest of my days. It may not look pretty at all and I hope it doesn't scare anyone away...it is reality.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-83088327278583298712014-03-04T18:11:00.000-08:002014-03-04T18:11:46.729-08:00The DreamsI woke up crying, again. I was so sad and distraught in my sleep that it woke me up and then I was so sad when I woke up that I started sobbing, again. I had another dream where I don't think I saw Brandon, (I went back to look for him and swear he wasn't there) but I couldn't stop crying about him. I vividly remember that, in my dream, the anguish was consuming me on such a level that my body ached. My head hurt, not a headache, but my head actually hurt to touch it, from the pain of him being gone. Baze was there and we were in Brandon's room and I leaned against the wall sobbing and just fell down the wall into a heap. Then, I was in a classroom or something of the like, just sobbing and sobbing. <br />
<br />
I tried to remember every detail, but it was a two part dream and when I went back to sleep and woke up, I must have forgotten some of it. I just know that when I woke up I couldn't shake the sadness. I thought to myself, what day is it, is it the 18th, why today? To wake up and know that there is no cure for that feeling, that you will have that hole for the rest of your life, is a wretched pain, heartbreak that is just devoid of an apt description. I wish I had one. I don't feel like I can convey the pain that is losing a child, an entire part of you, and longing for him, every single day.<br />
<br />
Outside of my bedroom door, the floor was creaking and I thought it might be my daughter, so I tried to cry softly, but she heard me and asked me about it later. It scared her. Maybe it scared me, too. It does scare me. I don't think I can handle a lifetime of heartbreaking dreams, waking up feeling totally helpless and so very sad. <br />
<br />
I don't know how to help my daughter when, evidently, I cannot help myself. I don't know what it's like to have a mother so distraught that she wakes herself up crying. I don't know what it feels like to lose your only brother...something that I have actually had happen, but I was too young to remember. My girl, unfortunately, will be profoundly affected by such a loss. It's already been 9 1/2 months. Is that a long time or a short time? My girl is strong, I see it, I know it. I thought I was strong, but I cry in my sleep. How do you keep the grief from killing you? Is it any wonder that I have sleep issues? Who wants to sleep when they face waking up like that and if you do wake up like that, who would want to wake up? It's a real problem that is my reality...all of these questions and many more.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-67738078325915854022014-02-25T21:29:00.001-08:002014-03-12T23:43:47.848-07:00BK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwoZkOZjs6_i6ddY6FC1yv4lCEd04T2t7AYBwMNhkmXANFYLYcmQ3U036N2TEQrLiPRky7_JID-aH7oFs-rouX69so5Te1Mxol8Aug3aJop_4omHjSPHYwxc5Lg24GKav-GEi8uoiJx0/s1600/20140222_154305%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwoZkOZjs6_i6ddY6FC1yv4lCEd04T2t7AYBwMNhkmXANFYLYcmQ3U036N2TEQrLiPRky7_JID-aH7oFs-rouX69so5Te1Mxol8Aug3aJop_4omHjSPHYwxc5Lg24GKav-GEi8uoiJx0/s200/20140222_154305%257E2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I've mentioned my tendency to just avoid and it's amazing the ways life just will not let you get away with certain things. A few days ago, as I was minding my own business, this came in the mail. It's just a little jewelry package and there's the BK sticker. My boy was well known all around this area as BK. Initially, my breath caught and then, naturally, I burst into tears. I looked all over the place to try to figure out why in the world this sticker was affixed to the package and never solved the mystery. I don't think it was a sign, necessarily, sometimes a sticker is just a sticker, and I'm sorry, but I don't want signs to make me cry. At least I don't think I do. Anyway, it's just these sorts of things that get you, when a year ago, it would've been amusing, something I might have called Brandon down to look at. <br />
<br />
Later that day, I was watching a show and they were talking about a character, Brandon, or BDog as some of the team called him. OMG, that was one of Brandon's nicknames. I end up thinking that it was BS because I was trying to go through some avoidance, couldn't the world just knock it off and let me be. I went to sleep and promptly had two days of dreams about Brandon. Not my normal dreams, either, very different, odd dreams, dreams that I know were because I couldn't stop thinking about Brandon and running from thinking about him at the same time. I woke up on that second day because I was talking and crying in my sleep, again. When I woke up and realized what I was saying and why I was crying, it made me start crying, again, until I fell back to sleep. Clearly, avoidance isn't working. UGH! **Edited 3/12/14** I just want to add what it was that I was saying so I won't forget. People will sometimes make the remark, "I hate this day," something that is ALL me because if you know me, you know I'm all or nothing and I either love something or I hate it. So, if the day is crap, I'm all about, "I hate this day." I've taken it to the next level, though, with what's happened to Brandon and over the course of the last eight horrible years..."I HATE THIS LIFE." I don't say it often, I'm trying to not get all caught up in the pity, but sometimes, I just blurt it out. When I'm sitting there crying and knowing that the tears over my son's life aren't going to stop, wondering how we all got here, it seems to fit. That day I woke up talking, that's what I said...I woke up to the sound of my own voice saying, "I hate this life." Beauty, huh?!<br />
<br />
I actually think all of these things were around the 18th. I missed that exact date, again, which always amazes me because it has to mean that life is moving forward, like it or not, but I feel stuck in May 2013. When I thought about it later, I remembered that I was very upset on that date, seemingly out of the blue, but I was sick and I remember telling myself that I had to find something to distract myself because my lungs couldn't take me sobbing all night. Evidently, I did, for a few days, anyway. <br />
<br />
Grace looks different each month, each day, I guess, depending on what I need and it looks like I still need a ton. March is coming up, which means his 20th birthday is coming up and, already, I'm borrowing trouble for that day. I'm torn between wanting to do something big and significant and giving in to an all day in bed thing because how in the world am I going to get through a day that will never come...an end to his teen years...how do you face the unfairness that your child never got a chance to see how great his life was going to be?! I hope that someday it will be with a smile and I will take the BK stickers as a reminder of one of the greatest loves of my life and tell myself that maybe, just maybe, God is reminding me that Brando is thinking of me, too.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-59271121366993342672014-02-12T13:48:00.003-08:002014-02-12T13:48:38.986-08:00A Life UnrecognizableI found out the hard way that I am not ready to be around babies. Toddlers are ok in a limited amount and girls seem to be the safest bet. Babies are another story. We had a young couple in my office with a wee baby who was covered. I walked by and mentioned him being covered and the sweet daddy immediately uncovered him to show him to me. All I saw was Brandon. That baby's deep blue eyes and thick head of hair just got me. I managed to comment about how adorable he was before I made it back to my desk and started crying. It still makes me cry just thinking about it. You see a baby and you see all the hopes and dreams of the world, all of YOUR hopes and dreams and I saw all the lost hopes and dreams, minutes wasted, time I can't ever get back on this earth. <br />
<br />
And, damnit, I want him back. I'm tired of randomly crying my eyes out and speaking of my sweet boy in the past tense. It's still hard to say I have A teenager. I have teenagerS. People ask me what I do in the off season. My reply is I have teenagers. I know they don't necessarily need the details, but it grabs my heart so hard, every single time. Thank God for my girl, but she is not supposed to be an only. This is all wrong.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I saw two clients who'd remembered that Brandon almost died right before the last tax season. Of course, they both asked me how Brandon was doing. Time stops. Sometimes, his death will come up because people will ask me what I'm going to be doing next year and hearing me say I want to be a funeral director is just not something that goes over well like, say, a wedding planner. Ninety-nine percent of the people pause, put on a fake smile and say wow that's great (or interesting or what have you) and we can move on and close up. Some people, though, ask me what led me to that decision. I tell them and, again, move the conversation along and close-up. But, people who've been coming to see me for years have a different conversation with me and it's always a struggle to not cry. The first client that I told yesterday had a noticeably stricken look on his face, utter shock. The second client cried. Her boyfriend was handing her my box of Kleenex and I'm just sitting there, like, "Yeah, so the year sucked....and is this phone number correct?" UGH! I know that part of it is that they have kids that are Brandon's age and close to the girl's...it hits home. I remember being the parent who cried when I heard something like I told them and being so thankful that my kids were alive and I remember thinking that I would never make it if something happened to one of my kids. I'm still not sure I can, but I am still here saying that almost nine months later.<br />
<br />
So, to recap my life these days...some adults aren't safe, babies aren't safe, the bed isn't safe because it wants to suck me into the darkness, my husband isn't safe because hearing him reminds me of Brandon being gone, pictures aren't safe-they make me cry, music isn't safe, my thoughts aren't safe because they may take me to resentment that isn't deserved, the phone isn't safe because it could be the damn funeral home calling, AGAIN....gawd...I could go on, but this turned into a rant and it's not...it's just another weird assessment of how things change. My life is so totally unrecognizable. The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-68561247182530134962014-01-23T15:24:00.000-08:002014-01-23T15:24:01.148-08:00The iPod<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Xzw6010mw685Ffc0HgHCK-fdjPNDIgkegXW7m0hUmS87bMkqHG59GNEfrL8lufVL6rYvJS6Vpgt9Sph64Tz59fEDWeDgt_Bn0kjLF2bOG6yluqzMxmwMOshrJJaugLxCHDpYGE_xj4E/s1600/fam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Xzw6010mw685Ffc0HgHCK-fdjPNDIgkegXW7m0hUmS87bMkqHG59GNEfrL8lufVL6rYvJS6Vpgt9Sph64Tz59fEDWeDgt_Bn0kjLF2bOG6yluqzMxmwMOshrJJaugLxCHDpYGE_xj4E/s320/fam.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Yesterday I made a new note to myself: do NOT put the iPod on shuffle. I was driving and that stupid device was determined to put on every song from Brandon's viewing and funeral or songs that ended up on my pod because he bought songs through my iTunes account. I'm always surprised when Jimi Hendrix or some crazy dubstep or Janis Joplin ends up playing through my speakers. Today, it just made me cry. I'm sure the people in the cars near me wondered what the heck was wrong with me, as I kept mopping the tears from my face with my shirt and my hands, an act that was, ultimately, futile, but I sure tried. I got my errands done, made it to work early and went about the business of wearing my public face. It's not always a bad thing, it forces me to push through, but it's not all that easy.<br />
<br />
Late in the evening, I stood in front of the washer and folded towels, proud of myself for getting a load of laundry washed *and* folded. Marveling over such a small accomplishment is just how things are now. And, I stood there wondering if I was ever going to have a good day, again, because I truly cannot see it. I have good moments and eight months ago I couldn't have been convinced that I'd ever have one good moment until I died, so there's forward movement that gives me hope, but I cannot see how it's possible to long for all I won't have without Brandon and still have a good day. Those things don't belong together. Every single day is a reminder or 100's of them, because they're everywhere. The iPod is just one of many. I know someone whose very life assures me that one day I'll be able to smile with the memories instead of crying with them, but I don't see that strength in me. She is so strong and triumphant, with so much grace and joy, I am fighting to breathe. I miss him so much and it still hurts to think about him because there are so many things I wish I could change. Today, I will have to settle for the towels and the tears of remembrance...at least I have the memories.<br />
<br />
In closing, I want to include a post from Brandon that was about the picture at the beginning of this post. Such a wise soul, my boy, and I wish I had told him more often how proud I was of him. He'd just gotten two gigantic tattoos and he was commenting about them. <b>BrandonHadi Kashef</b> <i>Thank you! That and Faith on the other wrist mean quite a bit to me, I don't think there's much more in life you need besides the two</i>.<br />
The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-66374651158109538872014-01-22T00:13:00.001-08:002014-01-23T01:25:58.083-08:00Hope and Fight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-d415maIOKIxEDHWE_aeXFBexcEWuewdcLIdhHCvgAraHZsqhZhir-qXA-h0OjKYzUZBUoqHmTMTByblQ2iMIm4DicdZn96TtgC3HkNEIORDQZZeZ9VLgT5-6iICJtW9zX15psg9GOGc/s1600/exodus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-d415maIOKIxEDHWE_aeXFBexcEWuewdcLIdhHCvgAraHZsqhZhir-qXA-h0OjKYzUZBUoqHmTMTByblQ2iMIm4DicdZn96TtgC3HkNEIORDQZZeZ9VLgT5-6iICJtW9zX15psg9GOGc/s320/exodus.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I had an entirely different blog post planned, but I've been derailed because I didn't want to forget this and the post would be too long if I kept them together. I saved the other one and it'll get it up as soon as I can. <br />
<br />
I keep landing on this scripture. God brought it to life for me in a very different way the other night. I had the TV on in the background, as I was trying to sleep, and felt like I was just supposed to turn it off. I rarely do that unless I am sure that I am about to fall right to sleep because I don't want to spend any extra time with my thoughts than I absolutely have to. I began talking to God, something that, sadly, I don't do very often, because I end up crying...sobbing, really. This time was no different, but I kept at it. I was telling Him how I see myself floating alone out in the middle of a very dark ocean and that I can't even gather the energy to want a life preserver. I'm just bobbing around, up and down. Somehow I must be treading water because I'm not drowning, but I so desperately want to let go and just go under, just drift away. And, then, this scripture became so clear to me. Instead of fighting, like a drowning victim who takes everyone under the water with them, all I had to do was just put my head back, as if I had a life jacket on, so I could just rest my head on the part that floats up behind the head. Only I had no life jacket on, but all around me in the water I was surrounded...my head resting in His very arms, those big arms holding up my entire body and I got it...stop fighting! Lean back and I will hold you up. I wish I could describe it better, I should've grabbed my phone, but I had such peace, I didn't want to break it. Trust me, though, it was an awesome vision and an awesome feeling with it...very reassuring.<br />
<br />
Maybe someone needed this right now or maybe I just needed to remind myself. Sometimes, it's so very dark, I'm afraid the light won't come back. I'm not trying to be morose or dramatic and I'm not trying to be a victim or get attention, I'm telling you like it is. It's damn dark. When it persists and you can't breathe, but you're trying to breathe and you think you're going to give in to what is calling you, it's damn scary. The more you let go, the easier it gets to let go. Letting the darkness have me was getting a lot easier than fighting it, but I know it's because I was fighting by avoiding and the fact of the matter is that I did not need to fight. <br />
<br />
Today, I don't need to fight, I don't <i>have</i> to avoid. I have some resolve and some fresh hope, after being inundated with scriptures on hope and God renewing my spirit. It's not easy being hopeful right now. Pain this bad doesn't bring the good hope because I swear all you can do is hope to die to avoid it, but our spirits were made to want more and I'm sincerely trying. I still have no idea how I will do this life without Brandon, how there will be anything that feels like OK, again, but not chasing the darkness is a vast improvement and I'll take it. I know that light snuffs out the darkness and I know that light is there, even if I cannot physically see it and for now that is enough. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-7717508585278891272013-12-30T22:45:00.000-08:002013-12-30T22:45:41.526-08:00Christmas Notes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIsiVhTU1vEFyVaMvycFneCXvW1U-EBFBZw9zXY4i0FVTxnARJ1PybLckGNZcWA0Kaq0Q4FU8xI4W-80qElI9TboA-GY77mFCVHs5W9PpCBnsIZRDVYTLJeF0-3MUWZ7oh1p3VIhSvcI/s1600/20131224_180033%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIsiVhTU1vEFyVaMvycFneCXvW1U-EBFBZw9zXY4i0FVTxnARJ1PybLckGNZcWA0Kaq0Q4FU8xI4W-80qElI9TboA-GY77mFCVHs5W9PpCBnsIZRDVYTLJeF0-3MUWZ7oh1p3VIhSvcI/s320/20131224_180033%257E2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>A Holiday Memorial</b><br />
<br />
As we light these 4 candles in honor of you, we light one for our grief, one for our courage, one for our memories and one for our love.<br />
<br />
This candle represents our grief. The pain of losing you is intense. It reminds us of the depth of our love for you.<br />
<br />
This candle represents our courage - to confront our sorrow, to comfort each other, to change our lives.<br />
<br />
This candle is in your memory - the times we laughed, the times we cried, the times we were angry with each other, the silly things you did, the caring and joy you gave us.<br />
<br />
This candle is the light of love. As we enter this holiday season, day by day we cherish the special place in our hearts that will always be reserved for you. We thank you for the gift your living brought to each of us. We love you.<br />
<br />
My Grief Share facilitator and friend gave each of us these candles and the little saying, (adapted from The First Christmas After a Death by Susan Dunn) and it sits on my fireplace until Epiphany, with the other Christmas stuff. I do have to choke those words out as I say them, so I've only lit the candles a few times, but it's a sweet reminder of so many things.<br />
<br />
The "short" story is that Christmas went better than I'd anticipated. I had my little meltdown and my blog spew beforehand (that post is coming on another day...it's not a happy post so I don't want it here yet) and then everything was ok. Not great, but truly ok is a good thing. Someone asked me, the other night, how I was and in that moment I was actually ok...one of the only (if not THE only) times that's been a reality since May 18th and I didn't even realize it, until later that night. I truly know that prayer is sustaining us. Living without Brandon doesn't get easier as time goes on, at least not yet, and especially during the holidays, but two ok times within a few days is pretty remarkable. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZSQPHkEskV0AnljXQspo3ucMK36NRHt-Di125ar-fn8kx8p1OsJFb_z0aeG5QXVSN01peLLQTJUekK90jgX9bup7Sx89G4d0S_maqNd0_U87JM3lFROrOUcV2ADnbQhnTVhuFhcNLS8/s1600/20131225_083812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZSQPHkEskV0AnljXQspo3ucMK36NRHt-Di125ar-fn8kx8p1OsJFb_z0aeG5QXVSN01peLLQTJUekK90jgX9bup7Sx89G4d0S_maqNd0_U87JM3lFROrOUcV2ADnbQhnTVhuFhcNLS8/s320/20131225_083812.jpg" /></a></div><br />
There's a picture of the girl with her new jersey. Christmas didn't have to feel forced for any of us, I don't think. We did allow the girl to wake us up at 8am, which was most unpleasant for me since I hadn't slept at all or only slept for a couple of hours...I forget now which, but it wasn't much sleep, regardless. I figured I'd go right back to bed, as soon as we opened presents, but that didn't happen, so some things got rearranged a bit, which was also ok. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh14tG7Hj4TAnNlCPMZ1f1EmaO1kMkVqxloB5u75Lx0aKDGJLN95-f-C-X0p3UEbgGisU2mrlgnjlNX8vkxLnwXLVBRPaBBsZ1MNaz5aywtSVfgJ_3JQkBgx5mSgj2XXJ0Q9wU-W6oDD6Q/s1600/IMG_20131226_153337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh14tG7Hj4TAnNlCPMZ1f1EmaO1kMkVqxloB5u75Lx0aKDGJLN95-f-C-X0p3UEbgGisU2mrlgnjlNX8vkxLnwXLVBRPaBBsZ1MNaz5aywtSVfgJ_3JQkBgx5mSgj2XXJ0Q9wU-W6oDD6Q/s320/IMG_20131226_153337.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I have a new Christmas tradition: decorating a random tree (nothing fancy, just a few things that are gonna get blown away or whatever) with balloons and Christmas decorations. I plan on refining it a bit and having better decorations, maybe some battery powered lights and maybe Brandon's initials somewhere. I think this is a tradition that he would've thought was cool. The family thought I was nuts, but really who is gonna say no to the mom under these circumstances? No one in their right mind. I was unable, however, to convince them to drive me to the snow and real Christmas trees. Oh well. As an aside, I'm looking rather albino-ish for some reason and I'm short, but not that short...the man and girl stand on a hill. <br />
<br />
One of Brandon's best friend's came by the day after Christmas and that was sorta hard. He brought scads of goodies that he made, which made me immediately think of Brandon because his family doing that always really touched my boy's heart. His friend is a good kid and really misses my boy and it's just a little unnerving to have to be the calm presence in the room because the poor thing is crying and crying. My heart hurts in so many different ways because of the loss of that kid. I'm so grateful that Brandon had friends like that in his life, though, and I really hope he understood how loved he was by so many people.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-66919228987388911282013-12-13T23:15:00.000-08:002013-12-13T23:15:11.189-08:00<i>Dear Brandon,<br />
<br />
I wonder...what does God allow you to see? I know there are no worries there, but are you praying for me? Do you see me crying in your room, do you hear me asking why I couldn't have gone, too? Can you feel the pangs of my guilt when I look at all I have, but can think of nothing except what's missing? Brandon, I don't know who I am, I'm so lost. You thought I was the glue, but I'm not, I don't think I can keep even one thing together without you. <br />
<br />
On the surface, it looks ok. Do you see past the surface? I hope not. We are all cracks and facades and emotions teetering on the brink of destruction. We are faces in public, but faceless, without an identity, in private because half of our identity is gone. We are an ever so slight breeze away from being blown over the edge for good. I am scared.<br />
<br />
Have you been by your room? Probably not, I guess. I keep the heat on in our bathroom and your door open, so it takes the chill off. I cannot bear to have your room cold, I come undone. Your dad is going to freak at the power bill, I think, but I don't care...your room will not be like a morgue. I said that because I know you'll get the irony in it. You'll see the humor. Such a wise, funny soul. I sure miss your laugh. I want to call you in from your room to look at a funny commercial. Come ask me to watch something on You Tube, I promise to not hate You Tube, anymore.<br />
<br />
Were you there when I lit the candle for you, on the 8th? Did you hear the putz say MY name instead of yours? I'm not sure if you would've laughed or been ticked off. I would've been mad, then you'd have been really mad, then I'd have said, "It's ok, Brandon, be gracious, he has also lost a child." I did tell them that it wasn't nice because it really wasn't, but I was gracious about it. It's further proof that I don't belong with those people. You know, the people who've lost a child. This is not the way it's supposed to be. Dreading Christmas, worrying about the burden on Ariana, as the only child left, wondering if we ever knew who we were or if we'll ever be ANYTHING, again. How can I be one of those people? Can I join you. Please?<br />
<br />
The tree is up. She is full of icicles, just like you would want. The angel is on top, also to your liking. We are thinking of trying to find a new angel, one that lights up. That would be ok, right? I don't think I can get rid of this one, though, because you grew up with her. I'm going to give the light-up star to Freecycle, though, because you never were fond of it. Both of you kids love the angel and I want what you want. I truly don't know how I will manage on Christmas. I'm trying not to think too much about it or I'll run away from it and that wouldn't be fair to your sister. I thought about having Max and Tyler over for tortilla soup (Max has asked a couple of times), but I don't think I can yet. If one of them sits in your chair, I'll have to excuse myself and that wouldn't be very polite. So, what will we do? I don't know. You won't be here to give me any presents and the only present I want is you. Could you put in a word with God tonight, tell him your mom really needs some help or she may not make it? I'd appreciate it. I love you and miss you so very much, Brando! I hope to see you in my dreams soon. <br />
<br />
Love, Mom-O<br />
<br />
p.s. better put in a word for your stubborn grandpa, too...although I bet you already have, you're a good kid! Oh and say hi to Paul Walker for me, would ya :))</i>The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-87850772837572870462013-12-04T17:30:00.000-08:002013-12-04T17:30:16.361-08:00200 DaysTwo hundred days of:<br />
<br />
-Aching<br />
-Longing<br />
-Crying<br />
-Disbelief<br />
-Begging<br />
-Yelling<br />
-Dreaming<br />
-Peace<br />
-Regret<br />
-Guilt<br />
-Racing heartbeat<br />
-A heart that barely beats<br />
-Depression<br />
-Denial<br />
-Emptiness<br />
-Fears about my daughter<br />
-Face in my hands<br />
-Anger<br />
-Grace<br />
-Determination<br />
-Giving up<br />
-Hope<br />
-Dreams about Brandon<br />
-Late night sobbing into the pillow<br />
-Faith<br />
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Those are just 25 of the things that I have felt/experienced in the last 200 days. Most of those things weave in and out in the same day, along with many other feelings that, at times, seem impossible to corral. I miss Brandon so much, it's hard to believe that there will one day be a world that is ok or right...it seems out of reach, most days.<br />
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Thanksgiving was ignored, but Christmas must be dealt with. Right behind Christmas will be 2014. How can we be living in 2014 and how can the calendar have the nerve to flip to a whole other year...a different year than the one my boy died in? I don't want another year. I want the others back. How can I just go back? I want it, more than anything right now.<br />
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Christmas will be here, before we know it. The passage of time is like a clock spinning wildly out of control, the arms crossing each other, every few seconds, while we watch, bewildered. So, I got my decorations out, before time got even more out of control. I actually got all the fall stuff put away and a few of the Christmas decorations up. My goal was just to get anything up by yesterday. I managed that. Mostly through tears. We are not a family of three, we are a family of four, what in the hell will we do without Brandon here, how will we make it? How could we even <i>want</i> to make it? But we do, we will, in spite of ourselves. Our hearts long for some joy, some freedom from all the pain, a memory to bring even a faint smile, instead of a flood of tears for all the memories we will never get to make. We will do whatever it takes to cushion the blow for my daughter, who is now an only child. I pray that by trying to soften the blow for her, my husband and I will also be able to consider the miracle in the date we're observing and remember that there are many other miracles to come in this life.<br />
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I did do something good for myself. Rather than stay on the path of self destruction I was on, I've changed a few things...one of them is that I quit smoking, again. Last year, I managed to not start smoking through Brandon almost dying in front of me, but losing him sent me right back there. I gave myself six months. I went beyond that a little bit, to November 30th, but that was my last day. It's not easy this time around because I'd been smoking way more than I ever have and just not caring about the fallout, but I'm praying that my stubbornness serves me well. I have some other things I need to address, like getting in shape, and I'll get there in my own time. I don't want this life to drag by miserably. I want it flying by with lots of fun times. I want to be with my son, but I don't want to go dragging a burdened, miserable body to the gates of heaven, just glad I got there and missing life in the process. Brandon would want us all living. In fact, I'm sure our victories are his, as well, so I'm on the lookout for even the smallest of victories to share with him. The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-25239105784258364342013-11-18T17:38:00.002-08:002013-11-18T17:38:37.007-08:00Day 18 - Thanks for the MemoriesOn Facebook, for the month of November, I post 30 days of thanks as my status. I knew this November was going to be a real challenge, but I committed myself to really digging deep and reminding myself that, yes, I do have much to be thankful for. <br />
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Today, November 18th, 2013, is six months without the greatest boy ever. Six months and one day ago I'd have never believed that, were this to happen, I'd still be alive six months later. If you've ever lost a child, or even someone you love, you will understand when I say, you are certain that the earth will swallow you whole from the pain. I was certain of that before Brandon died and I maintained that certainty after he died. Maybe I just hoped really hard that I wouldn't make it, I'm not sure. I do know that I fully understand not being able to think even one day ahead of where you're at. It will crush you.<br />
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Today, I am choosing to be thankful for the memories that I have. It's a very difficult thanks, believe it or not. Having your mind intact is a mixed bag; with the memories come the tears, the anguish, the hole in your life that you're aware of. I have cried every day for the last six months. The tears, blessedly, do not fall with the same frequency or volume, but they are always right there, just under the surface. I still recoil at the memory of the phone call that changed my life and the wailing that followed for weeks after. Those memories are absolute torture, for lack of a better, stronger word for the pain they cause. I wonder, sometimes, how much easier it might be if my memory just stopped working. However, I know that having 19 years of memories around my boy is a huge blessing. No one else had *our* memories, no one else spent as many days on this earth with that boy as I did and thank God that I am aware of what I had all those years. I can look at pictures and, although that usually brings the tears, I can remember the day or that time of our lives and all the feelings that go with it. The memories are there and I can get lost in them for however long I choose. Someday, those memories will bring smiles and happiness, instead of having to mop away the tears.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-46052853462339613392013-11-13T00:54:00.000-08:002013-11-13T08:58:43.517-08:00Avoiding the 18th and the TurkeyI have, as usual, been terribly undisciplined with my writing. It dredges up so many tears that it's just easier to stay away. I still have several posts waiting to be published and tons of voice recordings I have yet to transfer to the typed word. So, I figured that since I felt like it would be ok to type a few words, I'd take advantage of it. The added benefit is that it means I probably will not blog on the 18th, which is OK with me because the 18th continues to be a profoundly sad day every month. The 17th is usually just as hard, if not harder, as my body and mind prepare for the date in the background, without me even being aware.<br />
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I had a really bad week, the week before last. I can't remember if I blogged, but I was struggling terribly, every single day, and felt like I was just getting sucked deeper and deeper into the griefsand (quicksand for the griever). I know you aren't supposed to struggle in quicksand, even though it's against your natural instincts, and I couldn't figure out if that was the problem with the griefsand. I was starting to get really scared about the future because of how sad I felt every second and how many tears I cried. I still fall into a state of total disbelief and I'll tell ya, the understanding that it is real settling into your bones can suck the life right out of you and yet that fight or flight instinct kicks in and you realize you're flailing your arms to try and catch your footing. The voices in my head were thoroughly confused about which side of the tape to play. Side A(lright), "You are ok. O....K." and the other side is, "You are a horrible mom who didn't do enough, why didn't you do things differently," and all the conversations that go along with side B(ad side). Thank God and I REALLY mean thank God that I have a side A, but when they're flipping over several times within a five minute period it can be a little unsettling.<br />
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To make matters worse, I wasn't sleeping. For about two weeks, I was sleeping for no more than five hours, waking up as early as 5:30 am on some days, just wandering around the house. My sleeping pills weren't working and my normal morning pills that make me drowsy enough to need a nap were acting like placebos. I think I got some things done that needed to be done, at least for the first ten days, but then the energy just went and the emotions got stronger. The last three days I have slept an embarrassing number of hours. Seriously. If I told you how many hours, I'd end up getting phone calls from doctors offering to see me pro bono, I'm sure of it. No, I wasn't manic and this isn't a depressive cycle (well, no more depressed than I ought to be), I have just always had crazy sleep habits and to say they've gotten worse the last few years, understandably the last six months, would be a huge understatement. <br />
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I came to the conclusion that I just cannot do Thanksgiving. It was just going to be me and my daughter and I cannot go there. She got invited to Leavenworth, which she loves, and I invited myself to Reno, where I have friends that I love, but I will have plenty of time just to myself, too, as tons of people still overwhelm me a bit. I will be where Thanksgiving won't be an issue, I can just pretend it away this year. November is not a happy month for me, anyway, so I'm just trying to get through in one piece. However that has to happen is a-ok.<br />
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The other thing I'm going to do is start writing a book. Not because I think I can write a book, because I know nothing about doing such a thing, but an author friend and I talked about it and the short story is that it's an act of faith in what God will write the ending to be. My testimony has a big, ugly, unfinished ending and so I'll just start at the beginning and trust God to put the bow on it. One thing I'm sure of is that it's going to be THE most extravagant bow ever...mark my words.<br />
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The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-82478785739771575772013-10-26T10:55:00.001-07:002013-10-26T11:09:50.388-07:00For My FriendsI read a post this morning, something I think Rabbi Kushner had written, that spoke about how (during your darkest hours) you lose some friends because they care so much about you and it hurts them to see you hurt and you lose some others because your loss reminds them of their vulnerability. I totally understand that. Maybe I've even been that person. <br />
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One thing I somehow hadn't foreseen happening was that I might end up costing myself friendships because what they have hurts me. I know that's just a nice way of saying I'm jealous and maybe even resentful, and those things are not pretty or nice, but then losing a part of yourself is never pretty or nice. I withdrew from most people, as it was, and the few I let back in have been mostly on my terms. I don't know, maybe subconsciously I felt like it was something I could actually control, in a world that has spun crazy out of control. <br />
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That post really made me face what I've been doing: keeping my friends who have kids (especially sons) at arm's length..or further. I don't have many friends who've lost kids, at least not close friends, but of those who have, few have lost their teenage son. Of course, even if they have, they didn't lose their son named Brandon, their only son. No matter what, I can make what is already horrifically isolating even more isolating. While I am so thankful that most of my friends haven't walked this road, it feels so unfair that I am in excruciating, agonizing pain every day, while their lives get to just go happily by. It is so hard. Of course, I don't begrudge my friends their happiness and I am happy for them that they are in the season of life they are in, but time stopped for me five months ago and I just don't know how to participate in lives where the clock hasn't stopped. Brandon was so much like me that it is, literally, as though part of me died with him, so I have no idea when the clock will start ticking, again.<br />
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Early on, a stranger wrote to me through facebook how she'd lost her son, Brandon K., at almost the exact age my BK died...19 years and two months. That person I could relate to. I felt a special bond to a complete stranger, while fighting the impulse to cut out every close friend I'd already had. It's an odd thing, this continuous pain. I want the hurting to stop. I need my friends and their words of comfort, sometimes their silent comfort, but it is an immense struggle. So, please don't take it personally, it's not meant that way. I adore my friends, but I just don't know what to do with you all right now, when reaching out to you makes me recoil in pain. Thank you for not expecting more than I have to give. I promise you that I am trying to reconcile these feelings and remain your friend, but it is a slow, slow process. I still pray for you all, I read your posts and look at your pictures, even when they make me cry. I know it is not something you are doing intentionally and I will work harder at being intentional with my friendships, if you can give me some time to figure it all out. Right now I just do not know who I am. I know who I am not, I am not the same person I was before May 18th. I hope that means that, someday, I'll be a better person, a better friend, I just do not know when that will be, as there are no maps for this sort of thing. The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-16800833177596131052013-10-25T09:48:00.000-07:002013-10-25T09:48:35.531-07:00It Wasn't Long EnoughI was dreaming about Brandon this morning. It was a weird dream, like most dreams are, so this will probably be a weird post, but I'm gonna write it, anyway, because I don't want to forget it.<br />
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In my dream, I'd fallen asleep and then, after a few hours, I'd been awakened by something. As I crossed the room, out of the window, I could see Brandon, his best friend, Steve, Ariana and one of her friends, casually lying on top of the pool (we don't have a pool), just laughing and enjoying themselves. I got dressed and went downstairs and told Brandon that he couldn't just have people over without letting me know they were there. The house was a complete mess and I told the kids they needed to come in and get things cleaned up. As they came in, I looked out the back door and saw that the pool had been filled with tons of crayons, under the water, and I remember wondering what that was all about. I was also worried about Ariana because I was worried about what everyone else had been influencing her to do. It was at that point that she told me she couldn't go to school because her hair was too short. She'd let her friend cut it really short and the reasoning was that it was a trendy style on Sex and the City. I've never watched that show (not even sure that's the right title)so I have no idea where that came from, but I was really ticked off that all of her hair was chopped off. I was pretty sure that the girl in the dream was there because Brandon was there, not for my girl, and that's what made me mad, that she'd let her influence her haircut. Then, I just decided, who cares, it's only hair, it'll grow back and, well, at least she's here, who cares about hair. While Brandon was doing the dishes, I looked at his hair and realized he'd cut his, as well, and left this God-awful tail. We have very curly hair and um, curly hair doesn't do tails, so he basically had this ball of hair at the nape of his neck and I said to him, "This IS going to be cut off immediately." It doesn't sound funny, but it was a funny mom moment.<br />
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I was trying to keep things as normal as possible, be the mom, even though in the subconscious part of my dream state, I knew Brandon wasn't actually supposed to be there and wouldn't be staying and I remember worrying about how his hair would look, when he went back. Silly, I know. I wanted to ask him where he'd been, even though I knew where he'd been, but I knew he couldn't come back to visit, so I wondered if maybe he'd actually been alive all this time, but I was too afraid to actually voice all those things. I remember thinking, "How will I explain to everyone that Brandon is here?"<br />
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At some point, Brandon went upstairs to do some things and I sat down to relax. He then came downstairs and his eyes were very droopy, like he was very, very tired. I realized right then that it meant he had to go. He said he was tired and was gonna go up to bed and he held my hand and said goodnight, I love you, and I remember thinking that I needed to tell him to change his shirt because it wasn't appropriate for where he was going, but there was no time. He turned his back to go up to bed and I jumped up and said hold on, I'll come up with you and I followed him up the stairs and he was just gone. I woke up to my own voice, saying, "It wasn't long enough, it just wasn't long enough."<br />
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Having a dream where it seemed like normal, everyday stuff, where I just talked to Brandon, and I didn't wake up crying was a really big thing. It almost felt like I was actually spending time with him, not completely focused on the fact that he had died. I was aware, I am always aware, but this was different. I wanted to go back to sleep to see him, but I knew he was gone, again, and it wouldn't happen. And, it sunk in hard...it was not long enough. I want him back, I need more time. Then, I started crying and could not stop and that's ok. It hurts that death has separated us for a while. Death is the sharpest instrument there is and it has pierced me in the most painful spots I have, over and over, so some uncontrollable crying is to be expected, I guess. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the depth of this pain. You don't cry normal tears. They rise up from a place in you that you don't ever want to know about and once you know about it, there's no going back, you're left forever breathless from the impact.<br />
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It's really hard to wake up and realize you that you will not be touching your child today. How desperately I want to feel his skin on mine. But I had a dream that didn't wake me up sobbing, so I'll take it as a sign that I can handle that now, even if I end up crying for the next hour after the dream. It's ok, right? I think that's ok. I know our separation isn't permanent, but I hate it nonetheless. Things are not right in the world and I don't think they'll ever be right, but I think it will get more bearable...at least it seems to be the natural progression of things. Still, I cannot wait for the day when death will be no more. I don't have the present with my Brando, but one day, sooner than I can imagine, I will have an eternity to talk to him. A whole eternity! Can you imagine such a thing?! Until then, I pray that God continues to bring him to me in my dreams. I need to see him, even if it's not long enough.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7561453155607426685.post-88374113117283101642013-10-11T10:35:00.000-07:002013-10-11T10:35:07.381-07:00Thanks For The Little While10/10/13<br />
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I have five posts waiting to get posted and here I am starting another one. Forever the procrastinator, I guess, something that death hasn't helped. Oh well.<br />
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Tonight I went to a support group, sponsored by The Compassionate Friends, geared towards getting the bereaved parent through the holidays. My normal grief night (as my daughter calls it) is put on by a different organization, Grief Share, and it's a smaller group, held at my church, with people I know. In other words, it feels much safer, and it's also closer to home. <br />
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As I was driving there, I was really struck by what I was doing and how I couldn't have ever imagined that I'd have to be doing it, just a few months ago. Last year at this time, I was thinking about the holidays in relation to when (if) my husband would be able to come home, what I needed to buy to prepare and when I'd start decorating. Last year I was like some of the people out there now...I had no idea I'd need these people. Now, I'm going to strange churches, walking up the steps with other people who are just like me: they've all had a child (or children, which I cannot fathom) die. We are out there. Everywhere. You probably interact with many of us each day and may never know. I pray that you never <i>have</i> to know. As the guest speaker said, "I'm sorry I have to know you, but I'm really glad you came." I still can't get over the vast amount of literature out there on grief, especially in regard to losing a child, or that there are all these "secret" groups in cities all over the world. God, I wish I'd been chosen for membership in a different club. I think almost any other club would've been ok. Things are just so different and never, ever can I go back. <br />
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How I hate the truths of death: you will never get over it, you can never go back, you will now have a new normal and my least favorite at this moment...the second year is the hardest. Oh my God, NO! I'm not even sure I'll make it through the first one yet and you're telling me it's going to get <i>worse<i>?</i></i> I know why and it's why I was prepared for this first year to get really difficult, not easier...because the gift of shock wears off. As the speaker said, we defrost. I know we have to defrost to grow, to be able to move through it and not get stuck on frozen, but the thought of more pain is...crushing, I guess. I really try not to borrow trouble, which is why I was a little leery about going to a group that was going to "prepare" me for something so hard. I hate surprises and yet, I'd rather stay in a place where I can pretend that it's not going to be different, even though I know it's going to hurt, instead of dreading the pain ahead of time. When I get shots or give blood, I always tell them not to warn me, don't try to help me prepare myself because I'll prepare all right.. by moving the hell out of the range of target practice. If only I had that option now.<br />
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And, so, I dragged myself to a new group, a new room full of bereaved parents, because someone in this household has to be prepared, someone in this household is supposed to be doing this support group thing, right? I looked around the room and, as I thought might be the case, saw that I was the youngest mom there. No matter how similar our stories might be, no other mom lost my Brandon...my forever teenage boy. I wondered if the other people were taking similar notes, wondering what my story was, wondering how long it had been since death had forever changed me. I looked at the few couples there and wondered how their marriages were faring...are they able to comfort each other or are they too broken to grieve together, is the pain ripping their marriage apart? A woman sitting near me looked how I felt...eyes swollen, her shoulders heaving up and down with her sobs, hands full of Kleenex, her broken heart on the ground, right at her feet, right near my own heart. Death snatched her son 13 days before mine, just after he'd turned 21, and she said she just misses her son. I know. I really, really know.<br />
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After the guest speaker was done, we broke up into smaller groups and then, after we were done there, we came back into the main hall to close. At the end, we formed a big circle to hold hands (and I hoped no animal sacrificing or seances would be held-hey, I was new) and say the name of our child/ren, and one of the main facilitators spoke, though I couldn't tell you one word of what he said. There were books to check out, some great poems that I'll share later and lots of pictures of kids that have died, and there I was thinking OMG this is like an AA meeting. We have our little sticky name tags, we're reminded that everything said is confidential, you can spot the newbies to the meeting right away because the pain, the struggle, is hanging off of them like cheap clothes. There are people who are 35 years in and people like me who are a few months in and the long-timers welcome you and handle you very carefully, but you see in their eyes the knowledge of what is to come for you and you look away and try really hard to keep it together, to not turn and just run to your car and never come back. I stayed. The entire time. I even showed up before anyone else because I had the time wrong and that alone almost had me back at the door, but with God's grace I made it.<br />
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The main thing I took away was the title of this post. The speaker, a local psychologist and published author, lost her little boy at a young age. That first Thanksgiving her daughter, who had been the eldest child until the son's death, was told she had to give a blessing, something that was the responsibility of the youngest child, a status that was now hers. Her daughter was young and initially balked at having to give thanks when she didn't feel thankful for anything. She was told to go into her room and think of something and, before the dessert was eaten, she decided she was ready and her simple, yet profound, prayer was, "<i>Thanks for the little while</i>." <br />
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That's right...while we're counting what we've lost and how different things are, when the tears won't stop coming and I am angry that I wasn't allowed more children (even though no other child could come close to the boy) and wishing we had another 60 years with Brandon, we have to say, Thank you God, thank you sweet boy, for the little while. For however much more of the little while that will be in my life, I promise to whisper that message as often as possible and use it to keep your memory alive in this world and contribute something wonderful to this world...as a thanks for the little while. Love and miss you so very much, my precious boy...my little while.The Kashewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08038153248240086556noreply@blogger.com7