Easter in Heaven

I am sitting at the table on Easter Saturday, looking out to the little back yard we have and as always the cherub with the broken leg in the wee garden I plant for Michael looks back at me and reminds me that Michael in a place of peace now.

Please God, let this be true. 

I have been hoping I would dream of my boy because he talks to me in my dreams I hear his voice and it comforts me.  Lately I've needed to hear his voice.  This weekend I am going to listen to it.  We have a video of him taken a few years ago and I've not been able to listen to it yet, although I've tried to watch it.  Today I need to hear his voice.  Sometimes I am afraid that I will forget the sound of him speaking and laughing.  When he was a little boy Mikey had a high voice. But as a man he had a beautiful deep tenor speaking voice and I miss it. I miss everything about my son, except his pain. 

Just checking in.  It has been a tough few months.  With the sun and spring I feel strong enough to start to write again.  We are working on a Defeat Depression Campaign and in the next week I will post information pertaining to that.

Michael, I love you.  This is your third Easter in Heaven.  What a wonderful place to be....but I would rather you were here with me. 

Always.  Forever.
Mom.

Only Time

This past weekend was another tough weekend. Sunday in particular was a particularly emotional day.  I take these days as they come.  There no longer is the expectation that the pain will lessen.  But today was a better day so I want to look back and see if I can find out what happened and when to cause that wave to come and knock my off balance.  It might be because the other day I started to write about plans for Michael's birthday.  All it took on Sunday was to have our minister ask us to name who we wished could be there with us at Church.  My son was not a church goer but he is who I wanted.  The tears started and kept up all day.   This line is from "Finding Your Way After the Suicide of Someone you Love" and it seems to say what I feel perfectly. 
      
       "I felt like my cycle of pain...would continue year after year, and that was what I would call 'life' from now on"

     
These are the days I believe that I will never laugh with true happiness, rather than laughing out of politeness, and that I will never feel truly happy again.  I want to find a way to be happy with my life without dishonouring or being disloyal to my son and this is what I can't figure out how to do. 

In the book I'm reading the questions are posed," Will it always be this way?  Will it ever be possible to do more than just barely survive each day?"  Sometimes not.  But, sometimes.  And I hold onto that "Sometimes".  Right now I have no idea what it will be like to be a suicide survivor because I'm still in the process of taking the baby steps necessary to move towards some place of peace, some place of being able to deal with the overwhelming guilt, the unbearable pain of losing my beautiful boy and the internal struggle to keep myself in that pit of despair. 

I'm not there yet. Not by a long long way.  Only time will let me know if when I'm there. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0NoHN1TU5I

What it is

This morning I got to take my granddaughter to kindergarten.  Twenty-eight years ago I took her daddy to the same classroom.  I had no idea that it would upset me it did, once I was out  in the car and headed home.  How can time have passed so quickly and how can it all have ended up this way?  I understand the time thing..as we get older we all notice how quickly time passes don't we?   

The past two days I've kept myself busy getting organized for fall and winter.  There are still issues concerning Michael's estate needing to be tidied up.  Going through paperwork I found nine pages of emails he wrote me 17 days before he left us.  One page is poetry.  It's beautiful, sad, scared.  It broke my heart again.  I told my husband about it when he got home and he said I should throw all that out.  Never.  I will never throw away those precious last words from my son. 

Once before in my life, years ago, my mother convinced me  that the only way to recover from grief was to put that part of life behind oneself, so I burned 18 years of my life, pictures, letters, school year books, all in her fireplace.  It didn't work.  Well of course it didn't you're probably thinking but back then I was willing to try anything.  Since then I've come to realize that all our life's experiences go into making us the people we are and although I'm not quite a subscriber to "all things happen for a reason", I am one to "it is what it is". 

Today is visiting day with our granddaughter and this will get me through the day.  I've probably said before that she is the only reason we stay living where we do.  There will come a day when we won't need to be here, but for now we feel she has lost enough and so have we.  Today is Happy UnBirthday day..cupcakes, candles and a game of Cold Cold Hot to find her little gift.  For her, it's all about icing the cupcakes and putting in the candles.  Everything else is just...fun. 

Today too, the time came to start to repaint the bedroom my son lived in for the last three months of his life: the Winnie-the-Pooh room (old  nursery).   He came to live with us to feel "safe" while he continued to look for a new home and a place to live.  Perhaps it kept him alive for a bit longer, perhaps it drove him to the end.  Even though his closet remains untouched I am going to change everything about the room.  Oddly this isn't turning out to be the big deal I thought it was going to be.  Scraping off the old wallpaper this morning was therapeutic.

So, that's about it for today.  Mikey's candle is about to be re-lit.  This is the time of day when I start to feel like I've been punched in the abdomen...the pain is very physical...and this is the time of day when I either give up and let the waves come, medicate, or practice breathing knowing I just have to do it for six hours.

It is what it is. 

Nap time

I don't usually write when my head is less than clear, but today

I will take a chance that it will be okay.

Yesterday was a dark day for me.  I couldn't chase away the demons and I admit 

that I was afraid I might not get through the day safely.  I'm lucky because I'm able to recognize that these thoughts aren't healthy and I have talked to my psychologist about having a life line for times when they get tough. I reached out to someone I knew was safe, someone who would understand and just listen for a moment or two.  That's all it took and I was able to get myself home and take some medication to calm down and I managed to fall asleep.

 

I know this isn't what Michael wants for us, but there are days when we don't have the control over our grief that allows us to move on.  

I have to face the fact that my son is gone.  He is never coming back.  He will live on in my heart and the part of my soul that I share with him..but I'll never see his beautiful face and eyes again because he is on the mantlepiece in an urn.  

You would think that after 18 months my coping skills would have improved.  They haven't.  I am still angry at certain people.  I still dread seeing others.  I'm thinking we need to make a move in our life now.  We need to start to live for us, for the rest of our family as well.  My daughter reminded me that Michael's daughter needs to see more than a sad, grieving Nana.  

I need help with this.  

It's all so difficult.  

Time for some sleep. 

Thursday thoughts

These past few weeks have been reminiscent of the months following Michael's death.  I'm not able to "get a grip" on my emotions.  Trying to figure out what's caused this and the only thing I can think of is: nothing.  I'm guessing it's part of the path of grief. Maybe not, does anyone have any ideas?  Even my garden isn't offering consolation because all the bits of empty space are full, nothing is really blooming because we don't have enough sun and my eyes are constantly drawn once again to the spot Michael chose to take himself away.  I can't get that picture to leave my brain.  Thankfully I don't dream that picture so I have respite from it when I'm sleeping but it haunts me during my daytime hours.  It's like someone took a snapshot, animated it so it had arms and legs and could talk and whenever I am doing something or thinking something the snapshot jumps up and down in the background yelling..."Hey, look at me, look at me!!!"    Is this part of the PTSD I'm diagnosed with?  When will it take a quiet back corner and allow me to remember my beautiful son when he was happy? 

My doctor has upped my antidepressant and my anti anxiety meds but I know that meds aren't the only answer.  Prayer?  Yes, I pray: for strength, for peace, but we don't always get what we pray for..we just hold onto the belief that one day we will.  In the meantime what gets us through? 

When I'm out and about I feel like such a fake because on the outside I smile and talk and on the inside I'm curled up in a ball saying "take me home". 

I live for my visits with my granddaughter here and my family who aren't here.  We only get my granddaughter here one afternoon a week unless there is a special occasion and we ask specifically for her.  If we didn't ask for her I don't know if we would ever get her.  Yet those times with her are so special.  I would move from here tomorrow were it not for her.  Too many memories in this small town jump out at every turn.  I hate it.  I really do. But our granddaughter needs to know her Daddy and her Daddy's family so we stay, at least for now.

I realize this blog serves as emotional purging but it's the reason I started it.  What comes across as quiet typing is actually screaming inside my head.  Seeing what I'm thinking come up on the screen as I type has a calming effect on me...it gives me a sense that I still do have some control.  It means I haven't taken Michael's baseball bat to the walls, the windows, the dishes.  I've gotten through another day without taking my grief out on someone else.  As my oldest daughter would say, I've gotten through the day without making it worse.  It would be such an easy thing to do, to make it worse.  How easily I could cause damage and probably be excused because at times I feel a bit less that in control.  But what purpose would that serve?   I wouldn't hurt any less for having hurt someone else. 
And I need my children and grand children to know that we can all be stronger that those around who are hurtful. 

Mikey, can you hear my rants?  I've talked myself in a circle today but I'm okay now.  I love you.  I'm angry at the things you were angry at, the unfairness and the cruelty shown you, the lack of understanding and the refusal to attempt to understand, the disposable attitude you were shown by some.  But I will be strong for you because for as long as I live I will tell people the beautiful side of you as well. 

Ativan and a cup of tea will get me through this day.

Thanks for being out there for me.

Waves

Today marks another tiny milestone along the way; I have completed everything to do with Michael's estate.  This has been a difficult process.  I really dragged my feet on it, I  admit.  When Michael died he didn't leave a will so it turned out that I had to apply to administer his estate.  The lawyers suggested I use a lawyer to do this and their estimated cost was between $3 000 and $5 000.  I felt that the lawyers had already taken too much money and I felt and still do that they contributed in their way to the terrible stress my son was under.  So, I went to Staples and bought a Probate kit ($39)  After 16 months,  a few mistakes, about $500, and with help from a friendly woman at the probate office, my local notary, and a wonderful girl at our bank...it's all done.  But it saddens me because I feel like it's a thread that held me to my boy and it's been broken.  This feeling will pass I know but it's a sad feeling nonetheless.

I've put on a movie, lit Michael's candle, closed the blinds and shut out the world for the rest of the day.  This is self indulgence, I know but I have a wicked summer cold and it feels right to sniffle and shuffle about in big clothes.  It's mid-July, and I want to turn on the fireplace.  I might.  One of the things I'm learning  is that it's okay for me to do things to make myself feel better. 

Here' s something else I've been doing the past few weeks: taking movies out from the library and watching them during the day.  Such a peacful way to take my mind off myself and the dark thoughts that persist.  Today I'm watching Julie and Julia and I love it.   It reminds me how much I love to cook..but I've really gotten out the habit.  The focus of my day is still, then, to get through it without making it worse.  I've had a couple of days over the last few weeks where I've not been successful at all.  I have made them worse. It's such an easy thing to do...far easier than you'd think.

When I started to write today and had things I wanted to say but it was mostly just to check in.  I'm going to take my cold and curl up under a blanket and watch my movie.  I miss my boy. It's almost 17 months.  It can't be that long.  How have we survived without him?  God what I would give to see him smile once again or to hear him laugh.  So...here it comes...the wave.  But it will pass as it always does.  The sun is trying to shine so I'm going to open the blinds and try to brighten my thoughts. 

What's up?

Steven, don't take this personally.  It is my brain misfiring.

I've been having a panicky day.   It should only have been an anxious day but somehow it's gotten out of control.  I've come home from doing the running around I needed to do and after avoiding some that I also needed to do.  The fireplace is burning, Michael's candle has been lit and I'm drinking tea.  I'm comfy and feel safe now that I'm home.

But when I got in the house there was a message on the phone from Steven in Scotland.  We call him "son" and he calls us "mom and pops".  He and Michael were friends as children and he is walking our road of grieving with us.  I was out when he called I guess.  Anyway...I hit the play button on the phone and it said "Hi Mom" or "Hi Mama"...and I thought it was Michael calling.  Only for a couple of seconds but I was just about to scream Michael's name.  Now, Steven has a strong Scottish accent..but all that came across in the first few words was the deepness of his voice, so very much like Michael's. 

What part of a person's psyche takes them by surprise? 

Hello Michael?  Is that you?  Mama is slipping and sliding this week.  I know you understand that and won't judge me because tomorrow having dealt with the snakes I'll be able to climb the ladders. 

I'm off to put on my garden shoes and gloves and dig.  It's an out of kilter day.  I keep getting the msg reminding me that I'm on the McCracken network.  That's a good thing Michael.  Yes, I am definitely on McCracken's network..and always will be. 

If at first you don't succeed

Well, THAT didn't work.

Step one: open closet door;
Step two: run hands over shirts, hoodies, golf pullovers
Step three: breathe deeply;
Step four: bury face in brown hoodie;
Step five: breathe deeply:
Step six: Cry, and
Step seven: close closet door.

I will try another day.

Janis

Today I've been listening to music I listened to forty years (or more) ago.  I'd forgotten what great artists we had..incredible music.  Michael would have loved Janis.  Maybe he did..we didn't talk about her music but in listening to some of the music he did love I know he would have been drawn to the gravelly soulfulness she shared with us. 

Kind of an emotional day as it was check-in day about my return to work.  More about that another time. But, I was forced to face some facts about myself that I prefer to keep neatly folded away in a drawer.  So a door is closing and I'll just wait to see if another opens up. 

It was too much Mikey.  I couldn't do it.  Having made the decision to quit pretending, I feel like I've taken a weight away from you.  Was that part holding you back?  The doctor asked me if I looked for signs that you are okay, that you are near me.  The only thing I could come up with was a sense of peace.  Because you and I were so connected emotionally I feel that I will know when you've been totally released from the things you felt you were betrayed by. 

There are a couple of other things I have to do...you know what they are...difficult things...well..I guess since this writing is supposed to attempt to help anyone going through a similar situation, hints aren't enough.

I have a closet full of Michael's clothes..many of them I have no emotional attachment to because I rarely saw him in them...dress clothes...these should go to somewhere that they can be given to those who could use them.  That leaves me with two tubs of sweaters and t-shirts...those I can't get rid of.  Not yet.  I wear some of his tshirts still.   That's going to be the thing I'm to concentrate on next week.  I will do this alone.  My husband won't be able to and it's a spiritual step for me.  My God will walk me through it, I know.  It may be one of those 'bring me to my knees' moments but I won't be alone.

Signing out for tonight.  I hope this brings peace to those reading.

observations

Well, this is the third week back at work, and by third week I mean the fifth day, and by that I mean that I have just finished the 20th hour.  That's about all I can say about that.

I am very aware these days of life and lives around us moving on.  Our days pass but we remain in the same place.  I feel very disconnected from the real world.  That's just an observation, not a complaint.

The words don't come today for some reason, but I had to try. 

Another couple of observations:

• I can't deal with stress anymore
• I'm still angry, although not at my boy
• I will never have the opportunity to deal with a lot of my anger
• I like my grey hair
• I should not be working where I am working because I no longer believe in the system

I miss my son.  I can't describe the feeling..black, sharp-edged...ugly.

Time to go dig in the dirt.

Journeys

I worked this morning, only four hours.  But as I walked out the entrance so many memories came back  all at once and the tears had started before I got to my car.  I don't know if I can do this.  The people I saw today were all very involved in Michael's funeral in the honour guard.  I don't want to go back there in my mind and in my heart.  My workplace just reminds me so much of what used to be, what could have been,  should have been, what should not have been, and ultimately the realisty of what is. 

I don't like it when I feel this way.  The loneliness frightens me.  These are the days when I tell myself it's okay not to be strong. 

This morning at work I read the following:

"Healing is a journey, not a destination"

Today my journey feels like Snakes and Ladders and I guess today was just a snake-day.

14 months plus

I had one minute of insight into Michael's suicide today and I can remember it to re-tell it but the moment has passed and the questions have started again.  This is how it went:

I had wanted to have a memory quilt made for Michael's daughter and I wanted something in his handwriting to her to photo copy.  The only thing she has is his suicide letter to her and I asked her mother if it would be alright to photocopy a line of it to put in the quilt and in going through papers to file Michael's income tax I found it.   The line reads "I will love you always and forever.  Love, Daddy" and then the date he wrote the later.  That date was 15 days before he killed himself and I realized that when my granddaughter is older she may ask why Daddy wrote a letter two weeks before he committed suicide.

I believe Michael had decided to take himself away from this earth, from his suffering, from the demons in his life unless one thing in his life changed and I believe he held out hope for that one thing until the late afternoon he died.  I think something must happen inside a person's soul when that time comes because he made phone calls but certainly to those he knew would stop him he didn't let on it would be his last phone call.  I do know he did let one person know what he was going to do and that person did nothing.  He made that phone call about ten minutes before he hung himself.  How I wish that person had called the police, the ambulance, us.....anyone...or said..."just wait five minutes, I will come over"...the phone call from Michael might have been one last call for help, or it may not have.  It may have been a "please take care of my family" call, I really don't know because I can never ask.  The pain would be too great.  I do know what triggered his decision that day, that hour, that minute and there is no blame to be attached to that.  But I wonder why the person he spoke to, the person he told he was going to kill himself, the person who knew he was unstable, didn't call anyone. If he had had another half hour I would have been home.  I can't stop these thoughts.  They drive me crazy, they give me nightmares.  they keep me broken.

I know this kind of thinking is common to suicide survivors.  Maybe the specifics vary a little but the unanswerable questions, by their nature, will never stop.  It was fourteen months yesterday that Michael ended his life.  Our pain is as great as it was the night he died.  I still wait for the phone to ring and every now and then I send an email to his account(s).  Please don't misunderstand me.  I am NOT looking for peace.  I am NOT looking for happiness.  I am looking for my son..I want him back. I will miss him with every fibre of my heart and soul until I join him.  But I will NEVER ever turn my back or ignore anyone asking for help.  In memory of my beautiful son who never turned his back on someone in need I will try.  Trying is better than not trying...I know I am rambling but my thinking is all over the place this afternoon. 

Will talk again soon.

broken limbs among the flowers

Months and months ago..probably shortly after Michael died, our counsellor said to us that one day we would find that we hadn't cried that day.  Then it might be that we hadn't cried for a couple of days.  I didn't believe her.  But then one day it happened.  I realized that I hadn't cried the day before and I felt terrible, wondering how I could have not shed a tear for Michael, for our family, for myself.  Let me say here that because there are moments, days even, when I don't cry,  does not mean that there are moments or days when Michael isn't in my thoughts.  It's difficult to explain, but if you can imagine viewing everything through a sheer curtain, that's what life is like now.  I view everything through a curtain of memories of Michael. 

This morning though is a morning of tears.  Michael's candle is burning and our digital picture of frame of pictures of Michael is on and I look at those pictures and am still struck by the unreality of this.  This cannot be.  He can't be gone.  Not forever!?  Am I waiting for him to come back?  Waiting for him to say God gave him another chance to come back if he wanted to, and he did want to?  I would still make that bargain with my God.  I will go and Michael can just come back to those who love and need him. 

For now I will go outside and work on the little area I have as Michael's garden.  His angel fell and it's leg broke off the other day.  I had a moment of panic and then realized that there is something very special about broken angels so Michael's broken angel is sitting amidst the primulas with his leg propped up beside him.  I love it. 

confessions of a grieving mom.

I forgot that I get more out of writing than I give.  Feedback from friends, old and new, helps me so much.
I've been away for a few days and had some realizations about things that have happened since Michael's death so I'm going to write again  Because if you are in our position or know someone who is, maybe knowing that someone else feels these things will bring a bit of a feeling of normalcy.

1.  I cannot bear to hear a child cry. It breaks my heart because I can see they are trying to understand and it's just to much for them right now.

2.  I cannot bear the sound of an angry voice.

3.  I am angry because I think I am the only person who believed Michael was going to take himself away from us.  The only one...and I don't understand this. 

4.  I believe that I know myself better than anyone else and I believe I know that what I feel is real is is not going to ever get better.  This is about more than grief.  This is about being broken.  Being broken is okay, lots of things are broken and still function, they just function in a different way.  I am not the same person I was thirteen and a half months ago. 

5.  I am sorry for so many things I did in my life. But things done cannot be undone.  They can't be changed.  They can sometimes be forgiven but sometimes they can only be accepted or acknowledged as just being or having happened.  That's me.  It goes something like this:  "Yes, been there, done that, wish I hadn't but I did. It's something I have to live with".

6.  I love my son and I will always honour the decision that was only his to make...but I wish he had been able to get the help he needed to stay with us. 

7.  I play Animal Crossing because Michael's character is still on there.

Confessions.

Steps

5:30 a.m. I am lighting the first candle of my day.  Early morning has always been my favourite time of day.  I was looking back through my baby books the other day and saw in Michael's that some of the entries had started with comments like "Baby boy, you are still asleep as it's early morning...".  Now, even though he is no longer here in body, I continue to write to him early in the morning. 

About a month ago I was able to stop taking one of the meds I'd been taking for nearly three years.  Although that is a good thing, one of the results is that I have distressing dreams.  Sometimes Michael is in my dreams but not often.  Someone who knows about dreams and their significance would probably have a hay day with them, but I'm not interested in trying to figure them out.  Every night I fall asleep hoping he will visit me in my dreams.  I'm tired this morning but after a dream much like Toad's Wild Ride last night I'm afraid to go back to bed. 

One of the effects of Michael's suicide last year my fear of committing to anything.  I have probably mentioned in earlier posts that I am a volunteer pianist at church.  The night Michael died I had gone to choir practice, even though he had been telling me he was going to kill himself.  What was I thinking at that point???? I don't understand how I could have left, but I think I must have believed that it was just another very bad night that he would get through.  I would only be gone for an hour or so and then I would be home and we would work together at keeping him safe.  But I never got the chance.  He killed himself while I was out and while his dad was upstairs.  Somehow God must have given me a bit of a warning because I remember opening the front door and looking directly at where he was.    I'm digressing...what I started to say is that I find it very hard to go to choir practice (or anything else) in the evenings now because I am afraid something bad will happen while I am out.  This is why I haven't been able to return to work.   The thought of my workplace reminds me of those last six months with Michael and it brings on a real blanket of anxiety, almost a feeling of suffocation.  I'm not explaining it very well but what I'm trying to say is that now, a year after his death, I'm starting to understand some of the feelings I'm having.  It's almost like there are layers to grief and the top layer has peeled away exposing a different fresh layer.  This layer is different but it's still raw and painful and frightening. 

My minister commented the other day on the fact that I seemed to "be doing okay."   She's right.  I am doing okay.  But I do okay by doing the things I need to do and avoiding the things I need to avoid.  When the ability to do that is taken away from me I start to flounder.  This is what happens when I feel I have to commit to something other than my family.  I can't do it.  I'm afraid.  I need it to be okay for me to be afraid.  The time will come, I believe, when my soul will have healed enough for me to do these things.  That time just isn't yet.  I'm sorry if I disappoint people but right now I'm the person walking in my shoes and I'm doing the best I can.  The love and support of friends and family continue to give me strength to get through my days.  But it's baby steps and I'm okay with baby steps.

More about memories

5:30 am.  My husband has just gone to work and I've climbed back under the covers to keep my feet warm.  It's the 15th of February, so 10 days until "the anniversary".  Today I must write the memorial tribute for the newspaper.  I've added writting a memorial to your child to my list of "things no one should have to do". What do I say in a memorial for my son?

I started to work on this last week but had to walk away because the words appearing on the screen in front of me were sad words, words asking God to grant us one wish, words telling Michael how empty our lives feel without him.  These are facts, but these aren't things I want people to read because these seem to be about us.  I want people to remember Michael, to remember his handsome face and beautiful smile, his incredible laughter. I would love them to close their eyes and see him pitching a ball, throwing one in from the fenceline of center field to homeplate, playing on the floor with his daughter, carousing with his dogs.  There are so many faces of Michael I want people to remember. 

We have chosen a picture to put with whatever words I can put together.  The picture was taken at one of his best friend's wedding and he was so happy.  It was a good day.  Oh to go back to those days, pre-2008, such a short time ago.  Is it possible life has changed so much in such a short time?  Of course it is.  Even though we ask ourselves this question almost daily, we know that in life every second of every day is important because no one knows what the next second will bring. 

I have a close friend whose son took his own life five years ago.  These boys grew up together in the same little town and left this earth for the same reason.  We talked on the phone yesterday for a very long time about what the kids went through in their struggle to keep themselves alive and I realized that although their battle was with an illness of the mind, a battle with depression, a battle with messed up neuro-transmitters, it was a battle no different really to any with a physical illness. Ultimately, our boys suicides were the the end of their desperate attempts to live healthy, normal, happy lives. 

Sunday, our minister's sermon had an analogy of a young man's death to cancer to the story of David and Goliath but in this case, Goliath (cancer) won.  My belief is that there is no difference in dying of cancer ore heart disease or any other physical illness  or dying of depression or mood disorders or mental health issues.  A death is a death and no one is better for the loss of a life despite the individual circumstance.

When I write Michael's memorial tribute I want him remembered as Michael, who is gone from us forever, not Michael who took his own life: Michael who filled our lives with joy, not Michael who suffered so for the last couple of years of his life.  I want Michael to look down and know that for the short time he was with us he changed our lives forever and that we will always honour his memory and remember him with nothing but love. 

42 plus 1

Today is December 17th, a day of no particular note, and I only mention it because it's been awhile since I wrote last.  Boy, this is a tough month.  I expected it to be, but wasn't sure what form the difficulties would take.  As I sit writing this, Bravo is airing Music Hall and Brian Adams is singing.  I'm going to have to switch the station.  Music still remains one of the biggest triggers for sadness.  Brian Adams music brings back memories of Michael as a boy.  I can't remember how old he would have been, perhaps 12 or so, but he loved  Adams music. 

Two weeks ago I didn't leave the house during the week.  I indulged myself and allowed a mental health day,  staying in my pajamas most of the day, keeping the drapes closed, the fireplace lit, TCM on all day and Michael's candle burning.  It all seems so unfair again.  I thought I'd made it through that part.  Looking up at his picture above the mantle, a picture taken on his wedding day six short years ago, I think "This can't possibly be real.  He will be home any day."  And I've said more than a few times the last few weeks, "What happened?  Why OUR boy?"  It is just so wrong. 

I'm not aware of feeling separate from other people's Christmas enthusiasm, and I HAVE attended services and the carol festival, but there is no joy.  There's just...well,  nothing really.  For our granddaughter's sake we decorated and baked.  We chopped down a small tree and set it up in the corner. Tonight is our little Christmas with her.  There can be no tears tonight.  I have to give myself a talking to over the next two hours. 

Last night we attended a service at our church, a service held each year to allow us to remember those we have lost.  It was a beautiful service, but when it came time to hang a decoration on the memory tree I felt like I might pass out.  I haven't felt like that since Michael's funeral.  Through my mind I could see the words "if you run now he'll come home"...just like you see pictures of planes pulling banners...that type written banner ran through my thoughts.  There were four ornaments hung for Michael last night, so I knew it was true.  He is no longer here with us in the way I want him to be.

Today I went into the room Michael had here in his last months.  I had been keeping the closet for gifts and after I moved them all into the car I stood for awhile running my hands over his shirt sleeves.  Shirts, still clean and ironed, ties neatly hung, dress pants separated from jeans, and on the floor, the slippers.  I thought for a second of getting into the closet and closing the door, just to be alone with my boy, but I knew I would start to cry and I need to make it through the day. 

My cousin gave me beautiful glass angels for every member of the family, to hang on our trees.  They are beautiful, but I don't want to have to HAVE an agnel hanging an angel on the tree for my boy.  I want him back.  I don't think I will ever EVER accept the loss of my son.  And I know it's because of the manner of his death.  I don't believe it will ever get easier.  I wonder if I've said that before.  Probably.  Frustration?  Anger?  Maybe a little of each.  Sadness, without a doubt.  But regret, REGRET, regret. 

I love my son today as much as I did the day he was born.  We are so blessed as parents to have been given the capacity to love so completely.  Parental love is so all-encompassing. 

So here we are, one day closer to Christmas day.  I just realized that last night marked 42 weeks since Michael's death.  Only 10 weeks left until it has been a year.  Where has the time gone.  How have we made it this far?  Some days it is hard to be strong. 

I am tired now.  We survived the gift giving with my granddaughter tonight.  She is such a beautiful, joy-filled child.  She is our gift.  Thank you Michael for your beautiful daughter.  Please stay close to us. We miss you very much.  Please remember that each and everything we do now, it done with your daughter's happiness and well-being in mind.  I know you will understand.

November is proving to be an emotional month so I spent a few days this week with my daughter and her family. I missed my daily writing but it's very easy for me to become compulsive about things and I don't want to write just to fill up space. This week has given me time to breathe, to concentrate on something other than my own grief, to become renourished with the unqualified adoration of my youngest grandchild. I realize that I am on an upswing and that always means a downhill run in a few days but I will take as much energy from a few days of calm as I can and when the difficult days come I will be just that little bit stronger. These are the baby steps which will help get us through the rest of our lives. For there will be no end to this. The reality of our lives is that we have lost a son, a brother, an uncle a friend. Nothing can change that for us now. I will still have days where my grief overwhelms me but I will also have tiny windows of time where I am okay. I will NEVER forget, even for a second, because I'm a different person than I was the morning of February 25th. But I will survive. This knowledge is more than a baby step. It is more of a stride; there were many days I thought I would not survive. I didn't want to survive. But I do and I will. And hopefully my strength will help me help those who are trying to be strong themselves. This isn't just my journey. We are walking a tough rocky road but we are doing it together.

Someone told me that God doesn't give us more than we can handle....

....But to some people, He does.  I don't think He wants any of us to suffer, but we can't blame Him for everything that goes wrong in our lives.  I prayed daily, nightly, many times a day for help and I may have received it.  Maybe Michael lived longer than he would have without my prayers and those of others who cared about him.  Don't you think God must really have his hands full if we hold Him responsible for every rotten thing that happens in our lives?  This is the part of me which wonders if this means my faith is faltering.  I don't think it is, but maybe someone else will. 

Living, after the suicide of a family member, is so full of complications.  Some people have asked, "How could he do this to you?"...Michael's suicide was not about ME.  It was about his own incredible pain and deep deep sadness.  I've also heard, "How could you not see it coming".  Well, the sad answer to that is that I did see it coming. I watched it get closer and closer and closer..and the fear grew until it bordered on panic.  The frustration of knowing there was absolutely NOTHING I/we could do to help him is indescribable.  Had we been wealthy we might have found a facility in the USA where he might have found help.  That kind of treatment can run upwards of $100K.  We do not have those kind of resources. 

Michael's suicide has generated self-blame, post traumatic stress disorder symptoms like panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares, inability to sleep and the inability to be around people very much.  What it hasn't given us is any sense of shame or embarassment. And for those who do suffer with this  I am sorry.  Suicide is not about the survivors, it is about the inability of the person suffering, to cope with the depth of his/her pain.

We are told that there will be normalcy after Michael's suicide.  I find that very difficult to believe.   My hope though is that as we continue to learn about suicide that we will become stronger and by doing that, be able to help others

The start of day 246 - not 176. Good grief.

I'm up, burning a candle for my boy and looking for music on YouTube to post to his page. Once I read something that said that anyone who didn't believe in God only needed to listen to music to become a believer. What, other than some higher power could give us the ability to create something so powerful..and so I feel that when my words might not reach Michael, the music will.

The past two days literally brought me to my knees; hence the title for yesterday's post. The pain wasn't just a pain of the soul; it was a physical thing, like having the wind knocked out of me and drowning at the same time. I've been trying to figure out what was different about Wednesday and Thursday. Wednesday was sunny, clear, quite cold, and there was fresh snow on Mt. Cheam. The day was very similar to days which followed Michael's death. Thursday was just a miserable day so reminiscent of the many days following the loss of our son.

Shock continues to wear off still and is replaced by memories which are painful. Moments frozen in pictures stored in my memory will suddenly flash into view. As yet, they aren't happy moments. They are snapshots of my son at very sad, lonely, frightened moments of the last two years of his life. And I am overcome by the need to protect him still, to take away his pain, even after death, and to make it all mean something.

Suicide leaves a wreckage of broken hearts and souls in its wake. So many questions which can never be answered hang on. All the "what ifs" and "if onlys" play back in my thinking. So, because I'm not an abstract thinker I make a list, two lists, actually. One says "What If", the other said "If only" and I start to write. The lists are long because they can go back until before Michael was born. I think I am just looking for someone to blame. We (my husband and I) blame ourselves. Michael was our child. God sent him to us to care for 31 years ago and he ended up taking his own life. How did we fail to protect our boy from the world?

However, I don't think it's the guilt which makes me want life to just stop moving forward. I think that's just grief. How can seasons change? Why do people still laugh and joke and have fun? Can't they see that Michael isn't here? Don't they understand that his life was so unbearable that he had to leave? I know logically this doesn't make sense, but there doesn't seem to be much logic in this kind of loss.

So, I work at pulling positive thoughts out of my emotional hat. It's all for effect but someone told me once that if you force yourself to smile every morning, even if you don't feel like it, it might become a habit. My positive thoughts focus on the ones I love. I will work at getting strong because they will see and will draw from that strength to help with their own journeys down this difficult road we are walking together.