Two Long Months

This is mostly for my sweet teen followers, but it's applicable to everyone.

Brandon made a BIG difference in many, many lives in his short time on this earth. None of you forget that. Carry his legacy on for generations and don't let his death and his beautiful life be in vain. Live like today is your last, which means loving every person you can with all you have. If they don't have you tomorrow, they will have the memories of your love to sustain them.

Burying a child is the most horrific pain that can ever be experienced on this earth.  It is primal, a guttural wailing in the soul that begs for relief that can't be found.   You cannot hide from it, dull it or pretend it doesn't exist.  It will not be ignored.  It will ache and ache and ache some more and when the gift of shock wears off, it will hurt like hell all over again.  I think people would be ashamed of what I'd trade, without batting an eyelash, to have him back.  For one day.  One hour.

Before you take that risky step, before you take a ride from a drunk driver, before you think that doing something one time is no biggie, stop and picture your parents in a fetal position begging and pleading to God to give you back and, when the answer is no, they cannot have you back, picture them begging God to take them, too.  I've had to utter the words, "My son passed away," more times than I can count and each time my heart breaks all over, again. 

This season of your life is a hard one.  Gosh, you couldn't pay me enough money to be a teenager, again, but I promise you, it's a short one.  Things will get better.  Someday, you'll have kids at your feet calling you mommy or daddy.  Please, please do not make your parents sit at a funeral home sobbing over pictures of flowers and caskets.  Call me.  I will give you a ride.  I will give you a shoulder, I will just sit and stare at the wall with you, if that's what you need.  Remember my boy and remember that what Brandon wanted for all of you was to be ok, to be healthy and free.  And, if you name all of your kids Brandon, well, that would be awesome, too :))

One of the most ridiculous platitudes-if it can even be called that-has been one of the most reassuring....everybody dies, sometime.  It's not a pretty statement, but it is reality.  Sadly, we lost a beautiful soul too early, but we can all honor his life by helping just one person.  We will all die, someday, and I hope you will all be with us in that spectacular Paradise, but until then, be there for just one person that you wouldn't have otherwise been there for.  Brando would just love that.

Surprised By My Death

When I got on the plane to leave Las Vegas, it was just a few days after the Asiana crash.  I know that take-off and landing are the most dangerous parts of flying and, quite often, a time of serious nerves and jaw clenching for me.  This time was different.  I sat on that plane absolutely sure that that was the safest place to be.  I swear I wanted to make an announcement right then that no one needed to fear a thing because I was on that plane and it was not going down.

Sitting on the tarmac, my thoughts drifted to Brandon, again, the place where my mind is most often parked.  That usually causes my heart to drop into my stomach because I think about how losing Brandon does not preclude me from losing my daughter or my husband or both.  It sounds so morbid to think like that, but there's nothing like a death so close to home to make you brutally aware of how you have no control over anything bad happening to you.  It can always be worse.  Ask Job, he can confirm that. 

I would, however, be surprised to wake up in front of God.  In all of my musings on what can be lost, I am sure that my own life is about as safe as it gets right now.  I'm not sure enough to go stand in front of a bus and see if I become invisible, but I'm sure enough to want to go sky diving and feel like I could be in a 10000 take-offs and landings without one hair on my head being harmed.  I think it's because I wouldn't have minded the plane crashing and waking up in front of God and seeing my boy.  I know my life could not possibly be so beautiful and easy as to be whisked off to my son, less than two months after his death. 

As I sat down on my second plane, in Oakland, the lady next to me said, "Oh gosh, I hate flying at night, I really try not to."  I asked her why, just to entertain myself.  I knew the answer and I was prepared to tell her all about the reality.  She said, "Because if something happens, I want to be able to see what is going on."  Soooo, does daylight make plunging to your death, along with a couple hundred strangers, better...easier?  I almost told her exactly how I felt.  This plane is the safest place for you, because God is not going to let something happen to me.  There's no way He is letting me go to my son yet.  In fact, you should consider coming home with me because the car I'm riding in will be the safest one on the road.  Seat belts?  You don't need no stinkin' seat belts.  I know, it's sorta morose, cavalier and I sound like a victim.  Believe me, I feel like a victim right now.  At any rate, what I said was, "Oh, it'll be fine."  I told myself I'd leave it at that, unless she asked why.  She did not.  I don't know how long I'll feel this way because I'm not even sure of what "this way" means, I don't how to define what I'm feeling (invincible...unstable...who knows), but know that if I die anytime soon, I'm gonna be very surprised.

Googling Brandon's Name

I'm becoming the poster child for what no mom should ever have to do.  I thought that 'no mom should ever, ever have to do CPR on her own kid' was the hardest thing I'd ever have to do, it'd be the biggie to wrap up the manual of things a mom shouldn't have to do.  It wrecked me.  I relived it constantly, probably because I was afraid that what happened is what would happen....I wouldn't  be there in the moment he needed me to do it again.

I became obsessed about an extra comma in the FB image I created.  I had to go see if the picture from the memorial service had that extra comma.  Not being at home, I didn't have the obituary open in the browser.  So, I had to Google my son's name.  Do you know how very wrong it is to Google your child's name and see that the first result is an obituary?  It's so far deeper than heartbreaking and profoundly sad that I can't even describe it.  It's just wrong.  There's my son's name all over Google for all the wrong flippin reasons.  How did we get here?!  No mom should ever have to see her son's name and picture on Google like that. 

No mom should ever have to endure a phone call from the medical examiner, much less several conversations with a medical examiner.  No mom should have to play the what if game, wondering what she could've done differently to have her child on this earth with her.  No mom should ever have to discuss the cost of a funeral or any other death related costs with anyone.  No mom should ever have to write an obituary or eulogize her son at his memorial service.  No mom should ever have to pick out viewing clothes for her child and have to decide if they will do a burial or a cremation.  No mom should have to wonder why she can't die so she can see her child, again.  No mom should ever have to see her child's death certificate.  No mom should ever have to pick out an urn for her child and be left with only the ashes of her child and an empty room full of belongings that will never be used by her child.  No mom should have to avoid food, locations, tv shows/movies or activities that her child loved, in an attempt to keep the searing pain at bay just a few minutes longer.  No mom should have to be broken to pieces because she didn't videotape her child and is dying to hear his voice, again. 

I know this list could go on and on and on.  I feel like all I have right now are things I shouldn't ever have had to do.  Never ever.  It's not fair.  Death sucks, especially when it's out of order.  My life is all out of order and I don't even know how to begin to set things in a new order.  I don't have the desire to do that.  I want the old back.  We can't make a new way, somebody is missing.  He'll always be missing.  I wasn't going to have an only child.  No mom should have to see her baby end up an only child.  No mom should have to pause when people ask her if she has kids.  I still don't know the answer to that.  I'm not familiar with one word answers and just saying yes seems to cheat Brandon out of his story.  So many things I never wanted to do, never should've had to do and now do not want to do.

Second by second.  One day at a time is still way too overwhelming.  It's unimaginable that days are just ticking by, taking me with them, totally against my will. 

Joy and Sadness

For those of you who don't play Words with Friends, it's a game, like Scrabble, where you have tiles that are used to make words.  A couple of nights ago, I went into one of my games and those were my tiles.  JOY IS BK.  That's my boy, Brandon Kashef, known as BK to so very many people.  I looked and looked at those tiles, totally amazed.  I doubt I'll ever see that combination of tiles in my tray, again, and I know it's not a coincidence. 

I haven't really asked for "signs" regarding Brandon.  Most of the time (99.5%), I am secure in knowing where he is and that he's happy, much happier than anyone on earth could possibly be.  I am human, though, and I've had a couple of moments where I've cried out to God, telling Him I just need to know for sure.  I know his heart would break for mine and the thought of him being sad for all of us is too much.  Heaven has no sadness, though, so I have to believe that he's content just walking with the Lord, until we meet, again.  I'm still not totally sure how to view those tiles; he is joy, like living in complete joy or that's my joy-BK.  I guess either way works, but the point is, it was really quite something to see and such a neat thing I was given.  God cares so much about us, if it takes game tiles to reassure us, He meets us where we are.

Conversely, I miss my boy so much, I practically ache from head to toe, inside and out.  I found myself wondering today, if someone told me that I would lose Brandon at 19, and I had a choice, would I have still had kids?  The truth is, I don't think I know the answer to that.  I think that, yes, I probably would've.  I was always meant to have children, something I knew from the time I was a teensy child, myself.  I think I would've said yes because I couldn't have known how horrific the pain of losing a child could be, never having experienced it before.  Were I to see into that pain, though, I think I'd have said no.  Having my kids is one of the few things I don't regret in this life and nothing I'd ever want to take back, but reconciling that happiness, that completeness, with the deepest, most wretched pain in the universe is impossible. 

And, I'm still struggling with God's sovereignty.  He knew.  He's been everywhere I've been.  Why couldn't He send a messenger to tell me something, to warn me, to do anything?  Knowing He was going to allow Brandon to go home, why didn't he make absolutely sure that Baze was home for his 19th and last birthday here?  I absolutely know that Brandon was spared from the heartache that goes on in this life.  Somehow, God decided that what he had to do was done in those 19 years and it was ok for him to go home.  That sovereignty I trust in wholeheartedly, I just don't  understand why he went so suddenly, no chance to say goodbye, no final moments together.  A blessing, also, that I didn't have to see my son taken from my house in a bodybag breaks my heart that my boy died without his mama.  Brandon is happy, happy, experiencing a joy like we can't fathom with our earthly minds, but I just want him back.  We can go home together, later.

Leaving Brandon's House

Monday, I sent my daughter off to spend a couple of days with my dad, before they both flew to New Orleans yesterday.  It's been hard not to talk about it, but it was a surprise for my sister.  I don't keep secrets well, mostly because I don't lie well, but it seems we pulled it off.  This trip had been planned for about six weeks prior to Brandon's death or, believe me, she would not have been going.  Sixteen days we will be apart.  She has never been away from me for 16 days and, really, I don't think this is a good time to start doing drastic things.  Yes, that's drastic.  Right now.  She is the only child I have left and letting her go so far away is hard.

Equally hard was leaving my house...Brandon's house.  I flew to Vegas to stay with my Mama so that I wouldn't have to stay alone in his house for 16 days, but leaving took a lot of strength.  I have good people house/dog sitting.  Still, it took a lot of strength.  I want to be where there are so many memories of the boy.  Being around those memories still breaks my heart.  So many fine lines in life right now.

From the time Brandon was born, I have checked on him, every single night that he was home.  Ariana never worried me quite as much.  Even if I would forget to check on him, and just climb in bed, my heart would beat wildly and I'd be filled with dread over what could happen and what if, by not checking on him, I cost him his life?  With Ariana, I was comforted by praying over her and trusting she was safe.  I had to see Brandon with my own eyes and know he was breathing. 

In this house, Brandon and I have a Jack & Jill bathroom between our rooms.  So, every night, I'd walk down the couple of steps and slide open the door to his room and check on him or tell him to take his meds and get some rest.  Since his death, I still walk in there and check on his room, every single night.  I look around and make sure things are "ok".  At times, I'm tempted to pretend that Brandon will be back.  If I thought I could get away with it, I would fully embrace denial and pretend that he's away at college...then medical school...then his internship...and just too busy to call.  It seems so much easier than leaning into this sadness.  What I decided, instead, was that I would keep looking at Brandon's room to remind myself that he is really.not.coming.back.  When I look in his room, I can still see Baze in there, curled up on his bed with one of his shirts, absolutely broken, crying because our son would never be back.  It makes it hard to deny the reality with memories like those.

So, I got on an airplane yesterday.  And cried.  For two hours.  Quiet, subtle crying, tears welled up in my eyes, much of the time, blurring everything around me.  I wanted to sob and tell the woman complaining about her peanuts that my son was dead.  Do effing airplane peanuts really matter.  Who cares if they're stale.  Hush up.  I wanted the whole plane to know that my son just died.  He was only nineteen.  NINETEEN!  I wanted to show them his picture, show them what a beautiful life was just snatched away, tell them how much I hate death.  I wanted to tell them that even in this, life's cruelest of tragedies, the deepest sorrow anyone could go through, it doesn't mean I've reached maximum capacity.  Life still goes on.  There will be more pain and suffering.  In my life.  How fair is that?  I told them nothing because I think the Marshals would tackle me, but mostly because I don't want to tell them those things.  I want to sit and have my private grieving session.  With a couple hundred strangers. 

And, while I was sitting there, crying over having to leave Brandon, it suddenly struck me...my husband had to fly home to his dead son.  Imagining having to fly home after learning of my son's death was too much.  I started shaking and had to dig furiously in my purse for Kleenex becase the tears were spilling over, everywhere, and my nose was running like crazy and my stomach was shaking from the sobs wanting to escape.  Oh my gosh, the agony.  How did my husband do it?  I guess the same way we are doing all of this...no choice, we have been forced, the clock keeps moving forward and we go with it, like it or not.  And, then he had to fly back home with the knowledge that he would never come back to a house with Brandon in it.  It's hard for me to believe that with half a heart, I have to endure my own grief, much less the grief of a spouse bearing the same pain.  I hurt so badly for someone else having to live this pain.  He doesn't talk much about it and I don't push because it hurts me, too, talking to my sweet son's other parent, and I don't want him to know I'm crying in the background because his grieving heart cannot take it.

Still trying to remember to breathe.  I have to apply the oxygen mask to myself, first, before trying to help someone else.

A Blame Addendum

I was thinking about my blame post because of a message my husband sent me.  I was sitting with my friend, who was doing my hair, and talking about my blame post and how I did not blame my husband.  My phone chimed and it was a PM from my husband.  All it said was, You can blame me for being too late in bringing him here and....., that was all it said.  I looked at her and was like ok, what the heck, that's downright spooky...is he listening or WHAT?  Then I said, "OK, well, if he heard our conversation, he'd know that I, in fact, do NOT blame him."  Well, about that time, the light went on and I realized that he must've read my blog entry or, actually what I'm thinking, just the title because he says he cannot read them.  Maybe in time.

The timing of that message was just sooo creepy.  Anyhow, as I lay in bed last night, it occurred to me how very ironic it is that I don't blame him.  We have parented together for over 19 years and have probably been on the same page in the parenting book about 15% of the time.  No joke.  I have blamed him for every stumble the kids have had, with the iexception of the boy's foul language (b/c there is just no denying where that came from) and this.  His death.  I don't even understand how of all things, THIS is where we don't blame each other, we blame only ourselves.  Maybe (I hope not) it will come with the anger stage?  I don't think there's a blame someone else stage and I think right now we must both still be struggling with guilt, but I'm not even sure where we are, stage wise.  I seem to go through them all within five minutes, at times, what do I know.  Maybe it's grace.  Do you think maybe that's part of grace?  I hope so.

And, as I ponder grace, I ponder the love that has to be there to extend it.  I want to keep reminding myself of the love of a Father to send HIS only son so that mine could also spend eternity with Him...and ME.  Faith, right now, as with grief, is not a linear path.  I'm struggling so much and I usually won't listen to someone else try to comfort me with it, it's something that has to be entirely mine in this season.  This song below 10,000 Reasons by Matt Redman has been played probably 10, 000 times on my computer in the last week.  It may not be your type of music.  Sometimes, it doesn't feel like mine, but at the end of the day, I want my lips to keep singing about all of the reasons, even if my heart isn't so sure right now.  

In case, you really just aren't up to listening, here are the words.  Really let them sink in.  I know it's no small miracle that I can even be in this place right now.

Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name

The sun comes up, it's a new day dawning
It's time to sing Your song again
Whatever may pass, and whatever lies before me
Let me be singing when the evening comes

Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name

You're rich in love, and You're slow to anger
Your name is great, and Your heart is kind
For all Your goodness I will keep on singing
Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find

Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name

And on that day when my strength is failing
The end draws near and my time has come
Still my soul will sing Your praise unending
Ten thousand years and then forevermore

Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name

Jesus, I'll worship Your holy name
Lord, I'll worship Your holy name

Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
Jesus, I'll worship Your holy name
I'll worship Your holy name

Who Do I Blame?

The blame game will probably make semi-frequent appearances here.  Honestly, it's mostly rhetorical and something I just have to work out and this is as good a place as any to try to do that.

That question, for me, has a lot of history behind it and it starts with the Grandma who raised me.  None of this story is meant to dishonor anyone in my family, I'm simply speaking of history as I know it.  As a baby, my Granny was very sick and not expected to live.  At some point, she was given to some neighbors.  As she told it, those neighbors had already lost several children to illness, so I guess the next logical thing to do was to give them someone else's child to die?  This was 1925  in podunk Oklahoma and I'm thinking they do things differently nowadays.  At any rate, she did not die.  So, this other family raised her, while her daddy (her birth mom died in childbirth or shortly thereafter, maybe, I don't remember exactly) remarried, had other children and raised all of her siblings with his new wife.  My Granny went on to have three boys in three years, all with different dads, and did not raise any of her children to adulthood.  She did the best she could, a single mom working her ass off in an era that was not kind to single mothers.  Those three boys all had kids that they did not raise for all of their childhood.  As I mentioned, my Grandma raised me and that started at the age of two, until I went on to live in a foster home my last couple of years of high school.  One of my uncles even signed away his birth rights to his first son, never seeing him, again.

I saw this generational legacy and was determined to stop it at my generation.  My sister had had already had a son that she was raising and I knew that no one would ever raise my children.  I think I figured if I could just get them through the teen years, then the cycle would be broken, we'd be safe, all would be ok.  I prayed many prayers about the things that had been passed down, generation to generation, everything from this cursed curly hair (trust me, it is a curse) to addiction to raising our own kids to our tempers, even to things spoken over me that weren't recognized as curses, but definitely were.  I don't mean like voodoo curse, I am speaking about the power of the spoken word.  It is so mighty and powerful.  We throw words around like they are nothing, I'm the guiltiest of the guilty when it comes to this, but we have to understand that we could be cursing generation after generation with our carelessness.

My Grandmother buried one of her sons (as an adult), my dad buried his only son (as an infant) and now I have buried my only son as a teenager.  I didn't pray about this.  THIS I didn't think about or see until Brandon died and I began to question God about how truly awful the things are that have been passed down and why he would let me bear a son to lose him at nineteen.  I prayed a lot for Brandon.  A ton.  I struggle with wondering if I prayed enough.  Sometimes, I felt more secure in avoiding directed prayer because I was too afraid of the what-ifs.  I simply couldn't bear to think that God might actually let him die, like if I felt I had to beg God, maybe, I would think to myself, that meant God could really take him, if He chose to.  I mean, I know that all we have is not ours, including our children, but sometimes in my heart of hearts when I said He could have it all, in my little voice I was whispering, "But not one of them....right, God?  Not before me, right?  RIGHT?  You would not ask me to let go of one of them.  You couldn't."

I'm a big fan of the blame game and I'm quite good at it (which is not a good thing) because I can lay blame on someone else faster than you can say whodunit.  I hate guilt and people trying to manipulate me through guilt, so I pretty much don't do it.  It's a wasted emotion that robs people of their lives.  Right now, though, I am really having trouble figuring out who to point the finger at.  I will, literally, stand in the middle of my room and say out loud, "Who do I blame for this?"  Do I blame God?  God is sovereign and I both trust in that sovereignty and question it, since He chose to allow Brandon's death, when He could've snatched him right from death, again.  Do I blame my parents for bringing me into this world and passing down such a painful legacy?  Do I blame my husband for parenting differently than I did?  Maybe this is God's way of making sure we don't pass on anymore sickness.  And, OMG what if He makes sure with my daughter and she has to suffer the same loss...do you think if we make sure she has all girls she will be immune?  Ultimately, my finger pointing stops here.  Why didn't I see the potential for tragedy and just say no to children...why didn't I pray harder, longer...why didn't I learn to parent better...why didn't I keep him in church more...why did I not make every.single.day of his life the best day of his life?  If I had been the perfect mom, I'm sure this would hurt a lot less.

Before you start looking up the numbers to refer me to the mental hospital, let me assure you that this is all part of how I am trying to work this out.  I do feel awful.  In knowing that I have ZERO control in this life, when it comes down to it, I still feel that I could've done something, even just changing the direction of one step, to keep my boy with me.  I want him back so badly and wondering how I could've possibly kept him here, is something that keeps haunting me.

While I blame, I also comfort.  Many emotions are fighting to be front and center in my mind right now.  I blame myself and, in the same breath, try to remind myself that Brandon left a huge mark in this world.  I am not being punished.  Really, really wonderful people have also lost children.  My guess is that most people who have lost children are probably pretty wonderful.  I truly have no idea what Brandon was saved from in dying young.  I fought for him, really and truly fought for him, since I found out I was pregnant with him.  I loved him the best way I could, with every ounce of my being, which brings me back to blame because maybe it wasn't enough, but then I go back to getting over myself and say, it was the best I had with what I have.

Tonight, a boy at church called out, "Mom."  I turned.  I scolded myself for turning towards a boy's voice and then started crying because I'll never, in this lifetime, have a son to call me Mom.  I will end with what I read, immediately after that happened...it's from a new book by Dr. Daniel Brown, called Embracing Grace. 

Guiltiness gnaws at all of us.  We worry that our specific wrongdoing has crossed an invisible line beyond the limits of grace.  Plus we labor under a vague sense that we haven't done enough, prayed enough, or been good enough to be worthy of God.  This biblically rich, highly accessible message offers you sturdy truths to silence condemnation and self-reproach.

And that's just it.  Deep down, I know the truth and I know that I neither earned my son or lost him because I wasn't worthy.  Right now, it doesn't stop me from begging for another chance to do better by Brandon, be a better mom, a better person, but I'm sure I'll eventually stop playing this game and accept what has been given to us all.  Grace.  I am generous with it.  For you.  For me....not so much...but I bet I'm about to learn some things I never knew about it and it's probably just in time.