the life I never planned

I never planned this life, I planned another one. BUT I have accepted the life I have as the one I was destined to have. Was it easy? Of course not! 

But in doing so I truly have been left with the gift and that gift is gratitude. Gratitude for every moment however short that God put my children on this earth and I treasure each and every one of those moments with my heart and soul. I am blessed with the best family and forever friends. They fill my life will love and inspire me to be the best person I can be. Some days are better than others, and I am reminded how flawed a person I am on those bad days!

I could easily feel sorry for myself but despite my circumstances I will never feel the victim, it's all about attitude so I try to keep a good one.

I'd like to think that maybe now I'm a nicer person, a bit more patient, rather more generous then before. My heart if open to forgiveness and I love deeper and am more respectful of others than before.  

Just maybe through my experience of loss I've gained a bit of perspective. That I appreciate what I have just a teensy bit more than before because I've lost so very much....

Do you deal with your life with a glass half full or a half empty attitude? 

We all face illness, death of our loved ones, job loss, our kids, loneliness and isolation, marital or relationship and financial stresses. 

I've kept a personal journal, done therapy, relied on my friends and family, blogged, prayed, screamed, walked on the beach, used sleep techniques when i wasn't sleeping and then prayed some more.

How do you do it? How do you deal with your life's challenges?

my son and baseball - I remember

I was watching the Brewers-Cardinals playoff baseball game last night and when the umpire got hit by a pitch, when a memory washed over me. This happens sometimes after you loose a child a memory from a time when life was sweet and times were just perfect, sometimes these memories just need to be shared.

Eric started playing baseball when he was about nine with all of his buddies from our community. When he was about eleven or so he became a pitcher. He was quite good at it too and that's just not his mother talking. He pitched on local teams- at all age groups, JV & Varsity, AAU,and American Legion and a bunch of others I can't even remember the names but the point is he loved it.

We spent many many years traveling around our state going from tournament to tournament with the teams he played on. Eating dinner at ten or eleven at night staying in hotels, we have many cherished memories of our time with our son and our baseball family.

At one particular game Eric was pitching and he threw an off speed pitch into the plate, the ball bounced up and clipped the umpire in the chin. Somehow the ball slipped under the mask and being that pitchers can be wild as teenagers and catchers can't catch everything, that poor umpire went down like a ton of bricks.

The noisy ball park went silent as we all watched as the umpire laid flat on his back un-moving the catcher leaning over him.  You could have hear a pin drop and I watched my son on the pitchers mound freeze for a moment. Then as if in slow motion he headed in the direction of home plate concern etched all over his face. All of us holding our breaths with eye's still glued to the umpire splayed on the ground we heard through the deafening silence these words  in a cracking voice "THAT was a BALL."

blog and release!

This weeks Fridays Confession Booth is going to be a bit serious, so if you're looking for a laugh or want to read a light post about how I taste out of the pot while cooking and don't wash the spoon, well this isn't your lucky day. Come to think of it I do do that really, I confess.

Thanks again Kristen at a little something for me for letting me bare my all in a safe place. This little bit of something has been on my chest for five years actually. I rears it's ugly head every once in a while so I thought I'd take a page out of you're book Kristen and write about it; air it in a public forum and see if I can let it go then.
Blog and release!

Five years ago my daughter Gretchen 30 yrs. who I had the privilege of raising from the age of five when I married her father and my son Eric 22 yrs were killed by an inattentive tractor trailer truck driver.

Gretchen and Eric

The death of a child is a horrible nightmare but somehow those words don't seem to do justice to what that loss does to the world of a mother. But there were blessings too, my family, my husband who was a rock, my loving children, my mother, my brothers and their strong a loving wives, my Aunts and Uncles and my cousins who are so close that sometimes they feel like siblings; especially the girl cousins since I don't have sisters!

Their funeral was a blur the grief and pain of their loss was incredible and yet numbing all at the same time. Most every family member attended and were incredibly supportive even though they all live in different states some as far away as Hawaii and New York. Their presence was such a comfort, I needed them and they too were feeling the loss and shock of the suddenness of their deaths.

The ( I think three cousins) who were unable to come because of work or child care issues called, sent Mass cards and beautiful notes of love and condolence. And that support and love was endless and continues to this day some five years later.

BUT THERE WAS ONE- I have one cousin who never called, never wrote, never acknowledged the death of my children. My mother called her on the morning of the accident and told her about their deaths and  I never heard a word. NOTHING till this very day.

How do you ignore the death of your own flesh and blood? She is my mothers niece, her father my Uncle Joey was my Godfather, our mothers were sisters.

We had just seen each other the year before when our mother's other sister passed away and she hung out with my son, me and my husband at the funeral. And although she didn't know my children really well because of the generational differences, we were close as children.

As we moved into adulthood we kept in touch, seeing each other from time to time, family functions, weddings, funerals (never as frequently as my cousins on my fathers side of the family) however there was never a harsh word passed between us.

As you might imagine, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about my children. Then every once in a while I think of my cousin and I wonder why. The reason remains a mystery and calling her after all this time to ask I'm just not sure I can or even want to.

I confess, I don't believe I could ever forgive her for ignoring the death of my children for forgetting to care; it hurt me to deeply. And I now know it's time for me to let this go.

dream

RememberRED-Change



It's a change we're never prepared for, one that is so difficult to adjust. It can invade your dreams but helps us process grief while sleeping. When my kids died I had difficulty with change; who wouldn't right? 


I decided to use this prompt to share one of my what I call         "change dreams."

My panic rises when I realize I'm alone. The street is dark and the weather snowy.

There is somewhere I need to be but I don't know where; my hearts beating loudly.

I feel a heaviness; a weight on me, Is is a backpack or is it a burden, I don't know for sure?

My body moves forward, the need is overwhelming;  as I push against the wind the snow pelts against my face stinging my skin until it is numb.

Every step takes every bit of energy I have in my body.

Tears mixed with snow covers my face; I brush them away then dip my head into the wind and push on with purpose.

My muscles screamed out with each motion my body heavy, exhausted but I HAVE to move forward.

I'm blinded in this storm, where am I going?

my girlfriend with the beard and a PhD

If you've ever been to therapy you know it can at times be a bitch. I went for over four years after the kids died, my grief was deep, my world was crushed. I used to be so hard on myself I constantly wavered between wanting to rush through the process and being stuck with my issues, but through it all my goals were clear. Work on my grief issues, develop better boundaries in my relationships,  bring balance who I was as an individual, manage the stresses of the accident as they arose, address my PTSD symptoms, address my dysthymic (depressive) symptoms.The list seems rather short but it entails many things to go into in this post without boring you to tears.

For example here's a couple (the symptoms) - being afraid ( scared to death and not knowing what i was afraid of), not sleeping, blue even black moods, God awful feeling of emptiness and longing for the children; the list goes on,  you get my drift ?

Anyway, when you do all this work in therapy with your therapist or doctor you build a rapport. Thing are far from easy especially when they do that thing they do and you push yourself past your comfort zone and you go to places you don't want to go; that my friends is basically their job in a nut shell.

I have the warmest feelings for my therapist, he pulled me out of the darkest moments in my life threw me a life preserver and showed me how to get my life back. I have a good life, I have hope, I am happy again I'm not so sure i could have done it without professional help.

We talked yesterday for the first time since Feb when I had my last session. Bill and I are going to drop by his office for about fifteen or twenty minutes today to deliver some tomatoes from our garden (something I always did as a patient) and to say hello.

Through my rose colored glasses I see in him sort of  a girlfriend with a beard and a PhD. Of course he's not a girl or my friend, however he does have a beard and a PhD and the man is a damn good therapist for which I will be eternally grateful.

People have told me I was really lucky with him and I've heard some horror stories from others about their experiences with therapy. What say you?

i came face to face with a suicidal person

I was in the doctors office today waiting for my wound appointment and there was a man next to me also waiting, he was in a wheel chair. He had been having trouble with his chair, frankly the thing was falling apart and I went and asked the receptionist to get on of the hospitals just in case. I was worried his son wasn't going to get him through the door without the thing breaking apart; so we got to chatting after I mentioned in the nicest way that for his own safety he might want to consider an upgrade. He then told me he'd been in the chair for over twenty years.

I was tempted to shy away from "the question" but i didn't want to sit and have that difficult silence set in so I always just dive right in with tact of course and I asked him. " Are you in the chair as the result of an accident or an illness if you don't mind me asking," he replied "illness the mentioned a name of the horrible illness I couldn't quite frankly pronounce and is not familiar to me. Then he went on to tell me he woke up at forty one with a back ache a few days later he was in so much pain that could not be managed, he eventually due to this condition went down to Duke University Hospital and had his spinal cord severed. (to relieve the pain) OMG how terrible is that.

Then he started to talk about wanting to go to heaven to see the baby brother who died at one day old but not in the context that was comfortable, there was an urgency to get there. I know for instance as a Catholic my faith tells me that I will see my children one day, but this man wants to go to heaven and he wants to go tomorrow; he said so. I on the other hand look forward being reunited with my children one day but am in no rush to do so. He said some other things regarding death that frankly made me more than a little concerned. He then turned the conversation to how he's been on medication for years for depression and they don't help one bit.

I have never been face to face with a suicidal person before but I knew for sure he was, he was so sad just drained of all life. This man's spirit was broken and he was crying out for help.

I'm not sure why but my heart just told me to speak to him to tell him how I had found hope so I spoke. I told him how my kids died together and how terribly horrible I felt afterwards. (For the record I was never suicidal but I remember wanting to go to sleep and wishing to stay that way because being awake meant pain.)  I explained that I went to a doctor and talked about my loss and how it affected my life and it took years, many years for me to make peace to remake my life after they died. Then I told him, my doctor was a man who didn't have children and regardless of the fact or that he had never dealt with my type of loss he was still very capable of tremendous understanding and empathy and he helped me very much. And that I sincerely hoped that he'd consider finding someone to talk to.

Then I reported him to the medical staff.
Said a prayer for him too.
Has anyone had any experience with a suicidal person or have any thoughts on my experience with him?

five years since their deaths

Life; it goes on around my husband and I these past few days but the numbness is back a bit. Five years have passed since the kids died; gone in a blink of an eye.

It seems like so long ago sometimes and then on other days it seems like yesterday. My family in and out of the house; the immediate family that is and some close friends. Cards and e-mails from the usual friends, the ones that never forget to remember the kids passing or our family. And a few lovely e-mails from a few new blogger friends, there are no words. Food and drink have passed our lips, pictures of the kids, stories shared of good times when they were still with us.

Who knows better then us that life goes on and although we share our own  little bit  ton of misery my husband and I, we gain comfort in having our family here with us, we gain comfort in the kind words expressed by family, friend and friendly bloggers alike.

“For then you shall forget your misery, or recall it like waters that have ebbed away. (Job 11:16).”

I had considered briefly putting pictures of  Gretchen and Eric but I thought instead of putting pictures of the kids I'd would honor them by showing you how we their family and a few friends are honoring life after their death by living it. You can see a picture of my children who died in 2006 by clicking here if you'd like picture..

This is not something easy for Bill or me especially when anniversaries and holiday's come around as you can well imagine so you will not see us in any of the pictures.

left Jess, Adam, Emmanuel, Gerard, Alexandra
front Xavier 

left Matt, Mary & Gonjoe

Sydney pushing Matt in the pool

my sister in law Denise and  niece Alex

my grandson Xavier

left my hubby's ex Cathy, our daughter Heather, niece Alex, grandson Emmanuel

Jess with super balance, Gerard and my grandson Adam

kids in the den playing with video games

my friend Susan

my brother Gerard

could you imagine a mommy limit?

My daughter Heather and I were chatting on the phone today, firming up arrangements for the family get together's planned for this Thursday and into the holiday weekend; confirming when her brothers off, when my brother and family arrives and when my husbands ex gets into town with her little niece Jess. You see the day is fast approaching, the five year anniversary of Gretchen and Eric's death. July 3rd is the day.


Anyway during our phone conversation Heather told me her little cousin is going to stay with her and her hubby for five weeks. The child is a cute little fifth grader and is being raised by a disinterested mother, my husbands exes sister. The little girl text-ed her today to tell her how happy she was to come' live' with her. The use of the word live instead of visit or vacation sent up a bit of a caution signal to my daughter. Lets face it, there's a difference between visiting and living so my daughter naturally followed up.Wanting to make sure the child knew that there was an end date to the arrangement, that she would be returning home in time for school to start.

My daughter and her husband are wonderful and loving parents to my three grandsons, they have a lovely home which is "that home". All the kids in their community are always welcome and tend to gather there to play because it is so welcoming and comfortable.

She made sure the child understood that it was a visit and they talked about some of the fun things we had planned for this weekend and beyond. Then as mothers do she said to the child." after all Jess you'll miss your Mommy and be ready to go home after five weeks won't you?" To my daughters dismay the child replied quickly "no not really I've lived with her long enough."

And with the shadow of my loss looming ever so much closer I can't help but reflect on what type of mother I was to my children when they were little and who I am to them now that they have grown. And  in all the days since Gretchen and Eric have passed and in the days to come not only will keep those memories close but I will continue to honor my children who are still with me in the hope that they will honor me.

Maybe I've just lived a sheltered life. I cannot in my wildest dreams ever imagine those words passing a child's lips; any child's lips. Little girls that age are supposed to have such a special connection with their mommies, they not only want to be with them, they want to be them.  How is it that a small child could have reached her mommy limit; is there such a thing as a mommy limit for a child?

Could you ever imagine your child saying such a thing?

I longed for a hug

Affection.

Choose a time when either the abundance or lack of affection (either by you or someone else) stands out, and show us.  Bring us to that time.  Help us feel what you felt.

I picked up the phone on the third ring, it was my Mom. She's getting on in age; in a fragile voice shaking with emotion she said to me “the doctors office just called they told me I have colon cancer."  “I’ll be right over." I replied. I hung up the phone but not before the tears came.

My husband rushed into the kitchen I slipped into his arms the place I know so well, my safe place. The place I went to time and time again after the kids died; the familiar hands that held me as I cried, as we cried and talked about our loss. From the shelter of his arms I mumbled, “how can they tell her that over the phone, it just seems so cold doesn't it?"  The familiar feeling of dread crept into my senses again it was my constant companion after the death of our son and daughter. I took a deep breath and said, "Honey we better get over there she shouldn't be alone." 

We didn't even dress we just filled our coffee cups and crossed the short stretch of wet grass to Mom's house, we arrived within minutes. We held hands gaining strength in that connection; two always stronger than one we walked up to the door. The door flew open and before I can even kiss or hug her she exclaimed. "I have cancer the least you could do is bring me a freekin cup of coffee," then she turned and walked into the kitchen. My heart just sank and my stomach twisted into a knot. I had imagined walking in and embracing my Mother comforting her but that didn't happen of course; so I made her the coffee she desired. 

When all was discussed and Mom had calmed some she walked us to the door.  I put my arms around her, her spine went rigid, and her arms remained stiff at her side. I told her that she would be OK that we loved her that we'd take care of her no matter what. I was surprised by the powerful feelings of rejection I was experiencing. I would have done anything for her to hug me back; I longed for that connection to her especially now that she was sick. As I released her I could feel the tears stinging at the back of my eyes; the thought of losing my mother so soon after my children was too much to bear. Then quietly my husband and I slipped out the door.  

Determined to do whatever I could for Mom, I got back to my house and put a call in to the doctor’s office and made inquiries about what they told her on the phone that very morning. As it turns out they wanted her see a specialist to have a screening test for colon cancer; she didn't have colon cancer! I exhaled a deep sigh of relief; I must have been holding my breath; then I walked into my husbands arms.

waiting for the other shoe

This week's prompt focused on character development. We asked you to tell us what your character - or you -wants. It's a way to get to know your character or yourself better.

I have a confession to make; I wasn't the greatest student when I was in school. The thing I disliked most about school was reading. When completing school I went right to work and did not attend college. 

I married early at the age of 22 and started a family right away. It wasn't until I had my children that I learned the how purely divine it could be to immerse myself in good novel. How could I have not realized earlier how truly wonderful reading was? Each book I read was like a mini vacation a learning experience and with that realization I was hooked. I then began ingesting books sometimes as many as two or more a week. 

Until the accident that is. Did you ever get the feeling like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop? That feeling was so intense after my son and daughter died in the accident that I couldn't function for quite a long time.

The worst of that has abated but my concentration is still affected. It's been almost five years now and I'm fully functional except for one thing that has still not returned; my concentration. I cannot concentrate long enough to read a novel from cover to cover. I'd loved to sink my teeth into a good book, and I miss that so much. Oh how I wish I could.

a letter to kyle busch

Dear Kyle Busch,

With all due respect, since you don't seem to know it's worth repeating; if the sign say 45 mph it is based on the road conditions and not on the skill or acumen of the driver even if he is famous!

photo from virginia pilot

This car is not a toy as you seem to think and even stated to the officer who gave you a speeding ticket-OMG!. You were driving it down a two lane highway that was near a subdivision, by a popular lake where there is a church and a day care. That means, people use this road for bicycle riding, bus stops, farm equipment, to go about their every day lives.  What were you thinking?

THIS IS NOT A TOY

If I may be so bold I would like to give you a bit of advice. I comes unsolicited but with a good amount of personal experience so listen carefully. People have lost their lives on the roads doing things a heck of a lot  less stupider than you; and you my friend are pretty stupid. 

Driving 128 mph in a 45mph zone shows a pathetic lack of judgment, and your wife was in the car? What in heavens name were you thinking? Do you know how lucky you were you didn't kill someone- or yourselves? 

You do not even want to know the extent of trauma that a vehicular death causes, besides the death alone, what happens to the family. But I do; as the mother of two victims of vehicular deaths.

You need to be punished, to be taught a lesson.  I sincerely I hope you learn from this mistake. If you think your skills are too good to have an accident, that you're too popular, if you think you're too rich or a class above regular justice then the rest of us who break the law, then you're going to hurt someone someday. You are no different, when you get behind the wheel of a car there's always a chance, there's always a chance. Jerk!

As always feel free to comment...

solace

My community is a small one; it is not uncommon for young and old alike to know one another or at least know of one another. My son Eric's second grade teacher and her husband are our friends, my daughter Gretchen even baby sat their children. Her husband’s parents are lovely people; they of my parents’ generation and are the quintessential southern couple. He the gentleman farmer, she the devoted mother-grandmother and both are born and bred in this community. They also have another son and although I had only met him once years ago before he moved away, when he passed away tragically from cancer; my husband and I knew we would go to the funeral.

I must admit I had some concerns that I wouldn't have been strong enough to deal with other grieving parents. I was worried I was too weak to be in the presence of their pain without getting lost in my own; after all this was my first funeral since my own children's some months earlier.

Upon entering their church their son greeted me with a hug so hard he almost crushed my ribs. I think it was when I looked into his eyes and saw just how vulnerable he truly was I knew I would be OK, that I was stronger than I had originally thought. He then said to me, "It will mean so much to Momma that you came today especially considering;" and his words hung but their meaning was clearly understood to me.

Then he guided me through the throngs of people that were crowded around his mother. She stilled for a moment; it was almost as if she sensed my presence, raising her head tears filling our eyes as our gazes met. I stepped closer and we embraced for a moment as I spoke words of comfort to her. Pain and sorrow were etched deep into the expression on her face. Then in a quiet voice almost a whisper cracking with emotion she said to me “I expect we'll be talking soon" and without a thought I nodded my head in agreement to her statement.

I expect we'll be talking soon - powerful words of acknowledgement of a connection that transcended any generational differences, which transcended the fact that she is a southern woman and I am a woman of the north and it transcended the manner in which our children perished.

With those words we recognize our mutual need for the depth of empathy and understanding that comes only from another mother who is grieving.

-post card- my wishes

After the kids died I remember I was frustrated. If I could only have a few wishes granted- just three- it would have helped me tremendously as I went thru the process. Here's what they would have been.

Wish one would have been the obvious I wanted my kids back, that the awful accident that took their lives had never happened, that it was all some terrible dream. That I would turn over in my bed, my husband would wake me up with my usual hug and a cup of coffee and life would go on as usual. But we all know that was not going to happen. And although I didn't get bogged down in a lot of “what if’s” or "if only-s” I did indulge in this wish if only for a moment.......

My second wish was that my grief/pain and the journey that I was about to take came with an instruction manual. I didn’t know what to do if what I was feeling was right, if I was going crazy. I desperately wanted someone-anyone to tell me to do this on this day feel this on this day, something suited just for me. Too much of what I went thru was frankly “about me” and nobody had the answers I needed because it was personal. It scared the pants off me more often than not, never knowing what to expect next. Up one day, down the next it is so disheartening; it really is, and everyone heals in their own way, so who knew? I would more times than often get impatient with myself, my healing seemed to move at glacial speed if you ask me.  It was hard not to compare myself to others, to feed off their pain so I avoided those who were in my circumstances and used a therapist for support.

And my third wish was that I wanted “it” to be over, when in fact it’s never really over. What I really wanted and tried to do was to rush to get past the pain- because pain is"it". But the fact is there was more than one "it" in my reality, there were two. And unfortunately there's no getting past either of them. I had to feel every stinking bit of the first one; the pain. I've mentioned this before; I did a lot of suffering when my children died and I can’t imagine a mother or father who wouldn't. It is a necessary part of the healing and I found that out. I had to set aside wanting to be strong, wanting to do what I thought everyone else expected of me and just gave myself permission to feel whatever I felt without judging myself.

The other "it" I have come to understand is the journey itself, that will be the rest of my life. The bond I have with my children cannot be broken, not even by death.... so now I just live the best I know how.     

        

 “Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel a free to delight in whatever remains to them?” 

Rose Kennedy

-post card- my journey-my road

I will say this I have received more loving compassion, sympathy and empathy then any one person can ever hope or imagine receiving since the death of the children.

But to truly understand what it is like to travel the road of a mother after the death of a child or in my case two then you must travel it yourself. I will also say that I would not wish this fate on my worst enemy if I actually had one. It is my hope however when I write about my experience I give you a glimpse and a better understanding of what it was like for me. Who knows maybe some day it may be helpful to you- heaven forbid- if you have a friend or a loved who is experiences the death of a child, or maybe your just curious, that's OK too!

I was looking through some pictures and this picture jumped out at me. Most people refer to grief and bereavement as a journey. If I could illustrate to you what the road were to look like- feel like, it would be this picture. The death of the kids put me at a crossroads in my life, it left me never knowing where I was going where my life would take me next.

My road had many pot holes however, it was filled with emotions that at times I found difficult to control and I was plagued with self doubt. I was easily overwhelmed by things that were once natural for me to do and I had great difficulty making even the simplest of decisions.

I stopped dreaming for a long time until my dreams turned rather vivid; they became a window to my subconscious. They believe it or not revealed many things to me which helped me along the road.

I have questions that will never be answered- that is a hard fact to accept. I had difficulty with the changes that the kids death forced upon my life and had problems adjusting to the changes. It is frightening, was depressing and could sometimes be isolating.


Every stage of this experience  was so profound so overwhelming when I was in it until the next stage came hit and then I'd do it all over again. I was hard to imagine that things would ever get better that the barrage of emotions that was ripping me apart internally would ever subside; but it did. Letting go of different issues that arose felt like losing my kids over and over again. It sounds a bit crazy but its true, it goes without saying that trauma made me feel pretty crazy most of the time. 

I have an acquittance who is a Minister whenever I saw him, I would worry aloud about this or that but mostly about that I had't been attending church for a period of time- had questions about my faith. He would say to me "this is your journey- on this road you are never alone don't forget that". He of course was referring to not only to the blessings of my amazing support system of family and friends but to remind me that God was by my side.

I know I will travel this road forever but not alone, until the day that I am reunited with my children. My road is lighter now not at all as dark as it used to be. The pot holes are mostly filled with more positive things like joy and hope and forgiveness and finally I am no longer afraid.... finally.

‘Do not fear, for I am with you; do not anxiously look about you,

 for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, 

surely I will uphold you with My righteous right

 hand.’ Isaiah 41:10

-post card- and then the tears came

Holidays and the kids birthdays can be terribly difficult since their deaths.

Surprisingly enough on my birthday this Sunday I found myself struggling a bit,  here's why.

This is one of the few days when I am truly the center of attention, not the attention giver and thats a hard role for me.

We had a nice dinner out, my mom, my husband, my son-in-law and daughter, the boys and my son. I sat and watched all of the people I love gathered around me and I am reminded of all that I have in my life and I am grateful.  At times like this however I can't help but see the empty seats at the table in my mind and feel their absence in my heart.

 Since the accident I tend to get a bit emotional about these things, here is what my sons card said.....

I love you as a Mom

the wonderful woman

who has done more for me 

than any other person in the world.

I love you as my friend,

someone who understands me, 

takes time to listen, 

 and truly cares about

 how I'm doing.

I love what you made me-

a happy child,

a grateful adult,

and someone who will always

look up to you.

Happy Birthday

and then the tears came.

-post card- protect us from all anxiety

In the hours and days following the accident that killed the kids the phone kept on ringing. There were reports that the accident site was a terrible scene, the coroner was away for a holiday so there would be delays releasing their bodies. The accident details were reported on the national news, reporters were calling the house, Fed- Ex was delivering packets from high priced attorneys promising to "represent" us as if somehow money would compensate us for our loss. I had lost all sense of what was normal as my anxiety grew to levels well beyond what any one person should be able to bear.

I've never really given much thought to why the words  that are below are part of the liturgy but my pastor brought it up this week in his homily since the gospel teaching dealt with Jesus teachings on worrying. Many Catholics, myself included tend to listen to those parts of the Mass that have always been- without ever questioning why.

There is a part in the Catholic Mass after the Lords Prayer and before the Sign of Peace where the Priest does a declaration of praise or a doxology if you will; at each and every Mass he says:

 Deliver us, Lord, from every evil, and grant 

us peace in our day. In your mercy in, keep us free from sin,

 and protect us from all anxiety, as we wait in joyful

 hope for coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

It seems in a previous parish my pastor had a parishioner who was a mental health professional who had an issue with part of the prayer ( protect us from all anxiety ) he felt anxiety was necessary even a healthy part of life. I tend to think worry is healthy to a certain degree, anxiety when it reaches levels so great it can't be managed and interferes with your life is just plain unhealthy.

My level of stress and anxiety was off the charts those first days and stayed that way for a long time, this type of stress makes you alert to everything- does something to your brain. The bumps in the night were real to me then, I heard each and every one of them since I hardly ever slept. Its hard to explain the feeling of being intensely afraid but not really knowing what I was afraid of, it is an awful experience. My sense of safety was gone, I was constantly plagued with this feeling that another shoe would drop, that something awful was going to happen to us again. So I waited and waited some more, rarely able to get the rest I needed to function normally.

Once ordinary occurrences like the sight of State Troopers speeding down the Interstate were enough to make my blood run cold until I checked to make sure my children were OK; the vision of their cars lined up in my driveway the morning of the accident seared in my memory forever. A dashboard light on the car had new meaning to me, the slightest threat that anything would place me stranded on the side of the highway, the place my children perished filled me with paralyzing fear.

My life as it was felt horribly wrong to me for a very long time, there was part of me clinging for all I was worth to the past before the accident; as another part of me was at the same time acknowledging  the need to move on, my turmoil was intense.

I think the point I'm trying to make is that prayer takes time, a quiet mind, focus and dedication,  none of which I was capable- due to my anxiety. I would venture to guess that might be why this is included in the Mass. Anxiety can be a barrier to God and it was for me for a time. So if you ever attend a Catholic Mass and wonder if praying to protect a person from anxiety is worthy of your time, take it from me it is.

- post card- the letter said "please forgive me"

It came in a plain white envelope on what would have been Eric's 23rd birthday it said, "please forgive me"- he was responsible for the deaths of my children, it was an accident. Of course there was more, but that was what counted all that really needs to be shared.

I always know eventually I'm going to be writing something more about my experience with the loss of the kids, although I'm never sure exactly what I'll write about on this blog or when. However sometimes my mind is made up for me, by circumstances beyond my control.


The state police said the truck driver was distraught was beside himself with grief. Even though I was in complete and utter turmoil  over the death of my children I couldn't help but wonder how he must be feeling? I couldn't stop thinking that his life would change forever that day as surely as ours would.

For some reason I couldn't get another image out of my head. What would happen if my oldest daughter was driving with the boys in her mini van and got distracted - hit someone by accident- killed them, how would I want her to be treated? With malice and vengeance or with compassion?
Then I knew I would forgive him, I had to- wanted to.

I've struggled for the past few weeks listening to the gospels while in church, the beatitudes, blessed are they who mourn for they shall be comforted, blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Love, compassion, mercy, forgiveness, I have an entirely new understanding of these words the things Christ said on the mountain side thousands of years ago.


Ordinary time when we hear many of the Gospels of Matthew.  I've always thought that was such a funny name for this time of year as we prepare for the Easter season since the messages are far from ordinary for me- since their deaths.

Then I was reading another blog a few days ago, it was just heart wrenching- a loving mother reflecting about her child's birthday- the first after his loss. For us mothers I'm afraid its like we're in this club that nobody wants to belong to. I hear another mothers story and my heart breaks, I relate.  But for me something  happens that I can't help, I guess I should be used to it by now. When I hear of another's loss I go right back to "that place" and for me my thoughts turned to those first birthdays after my kids deaths as I read that mothers words.


It should be said that truck driver never responded to our letter giving him the forgiveness he asked for, part of me knew he wouldn't. However his sister was leaving court on the day he was sentenced, looked me straight in the face bowed her head as if showing a sign of respect. I think of him from time to time, its my hope he's found some measure of peace. 

It is freeing to become aware that we do not have to be victims of our past and can learn new ways of responding. But there is a step beyond  this recognition... It is the step of forgiveness. Forgiveness is love  practiced among people who love poorly. It sets us free without wanting anything in return.   
 Henri Nouwen

  

- post card- Death of a child- guilt and marriage

It has been said that the death of a child can put a strain on a marriage.

When our son Eric was in high school, a team-mate on his baseball team died in an accident, that boys parents didn't make it. Now I can't say what caused the break up, or how their marriage was before the boy died. What I can tell you is the strain is terrible, parents grieve differently, communicate differently have different needs that the other spouse has to try to understand and respect. Then there are the added pressures too of -caring for siblings, jobs, court, criminal proceedings, financial concerns, our children's death was very public, some parents blame each other; the list is endless.

Today I was thinking about guilt- I am a Catholic after all. It's been said we know all about guilt. But I was thinking about regular guilt not the Catholic kind (that comes from divorce or missing church, turning your back on Catholicism) I was thinking more the kind I felt after the kids died. For the first two years, my husband and I went to therapy together as a couple. I continued in therapy on my own for at least that much time after. But as a couple our marital strengths and attitudes towards each other before the accident vital to how we would weather the storm, my therapist hinted at this in the beginning. The night the kids died I remember laying in bed shaking in shock and I turned him and said, "this is the worst day of our lives, every day after this will be better". My therapist viewed us as solid enough as a couple- that statement as hopeful. Little did we know what hard days we had ahead and that the days getting better part would come with doses of guilt.

When the kids died my husband was just like me- devastated.  I just would have crawled under a rock and died if it wasn't for the fact that he didn't find me and pull me up every single day. He on the other hand would tell you the same thing about me, that I held him up. I know we were fortunate to have each other to lean on that we didn't have to do it alone.

We spent long hours talking, it was not uncommon for us to be up all hours of the night crying together always asking the question why them, why us? Endless mornings sitting in the den over coffee looking out the windows as the seasons changed figuring out how to move on with our lives. Always asking and never getting the answer we needed. How could one tractor-trailer in the middle of the night on an empty Interstate drift off the road and run over our kids at the exact minute they were walking from Eric's broken down Honda to his sisters SUV. What are the chances in this universe that that would happen? And why couldn't it have been us, we would have gladly traded places with them.

When you are in such pain, when you are stripped bare of all that you are you slowly but surly you crawl back out of your despair and then it hits "the guilt". I felt that since my kids death my marriage was better, stronger than it had been before. My kids were dead and I was reaping benefits as a result. I knew my husband felt the positive changes in our marriage too, the guilt however was mine alone. My marriage which was a good and loving one before the accident had transformed into a  much deeper more satisfying one. You learn a lot about making peace enough to end many wars. Since it seems that all I  did while grieving was to have little wars within myself,  I made peace with the guilt. I made a choice to look at the positive changes in my marriage as a gift. Was it a gift from God, from Gretchen and Eric or the gift of a talented therapist- maybe all four? Either way we happily received it and are the better for it.

How about you? Have you had any experiences with guilt? How did your experiences affect you?

-post card- I am a grieving mother, what I am not is....

What I write on this blog will be about my experience from my perspective.

I will honestly share my personal experiences to the extent that I am comfortable disclosing them-  I was affected to one degree or another with grief, trauma, panic attacks,  adjustment problems and depression after the kids died in the accident. 

I'm not comfortable quoting nor will I ever show parts of the DSM-IV manual (The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) in this blog, you will never find me purporting to be an expert because I am not one.  I see this on some other blogs regarding all kinds of subjects and frankly it disturbs me. Anyone can Google anything and post it on their blog. I think this kind of information is good and powerful when it is presented in the proper way or by a person who is qualified.

My therapist never once whipped out that DSM-IV, I would have hit him with it. What I needed was to be guided thru my nightmare by a person qualified to do so, I needed reassurance that I'd make it thru to the other side. Did he use the DSM-IV? He's a PhD, I'm sure he did, that's why he got paid the big bucks!

My therapist and I spent long hours working on reducing my symptoms of trauma- difficulty coping with change both by talking thru it and by me writing my thoughts and feelings in a therapy journal.  I worked hard and created a personal awareness of my thinking patterns that were ultimately the cause of a few pretty dark depressive episodes which were keeping me stuck.

We worked on rebuilding my identity making sure that the mother I  am  now after the accident is balanced with who I am as a wife, daughter, sister and friend moving forward.

There were so many layers and  issues that we uncovered that needed to be addressed; my fear, sadness, guilt, anger, questions of faith and yes....... forgiveness for the truck driver that took the life of my children. 

If you'd like to read my story just because it interests you, if you feel you can learn something from it, if what I write helps you,  then I will be gratified. The writing of this blog is necessary part of my continuing healing process, but I am not an expert.

I am grieving mother.

-post card- Grief- is like a sweater

The thing about  blogging is you get to invite  people into you life to whatever extent you feel comfortable; and  in return you get a peek into theirs. I guess it's human nature that we tend to seek out others with the same interests- hobbies, senses of humor, and people who have the endured the same trials in life.


I have read a few blogs since I have started this blog; blogs written by mothers whose children have died. For some their loss is new for others more time has passed. For all the grief unimaginable- unexplainable to those who have not endured it. We all travel this road differently, no two journeys are the same. We are as unique as were our children. But the longing that ache we feel for our children never goes away- this we all share.

Our sadness comes at us in waves like the ocean; our emotions can feel like the most horrible roller coaster ride that one never gets off. I can't help but remember on the day of my children's funeral I spoke to my Godmother, my Aunt Frances on the phone, she was in the hospital quite seriously ill and unable to attend the funeral.  What she said to me I will always remember...

She said "grief is like a sweater some days you wear it and it's so heavy that you can hardly stand it - other days you wear it and you hardly know you have it on". 

Aunt Frances knew loss, one can hardly reach well into their 80's and not be touched by it. She knew that day to lovingly tell me that sweater wasn't ever coming off, that I better make peace with wearing it- forever.