Blogging when it is Important

When my son died five years ago, I started blogging like crazy.  Writing out my feelings was therapeutic (it still is.)  I wrote on a few different sites.  I happened upon one that was a paid social networking blogging site called Bubblews.  I wrote and wrote and wrote.  I connected with many people.  And we earned money while doing it, quite a bit actually for simply writing and connecting.  I made a mistake though.  I didn't save all of my writing elsewhere.  The site went under with zero warning.... That's what sucked the most.  They didn't think about the fact that maybe some of us wrote meaningful stuff there.  Bam, the site was gone.

I had written poetry, lots of it, about my son, about life.  In the dark hours during those dark days, I wrote.  I saved some of it, but not all.  Today, a memory came up on Facebook with a link to a poem I wrote there about "What's it like in heaven" that i was writing to my son.   I have looked on all of the places where I saved stuff & it's not there.  I did save some stuff on my laptop which went kerplunk at some point....  That may be the one that I pulled some stuff onto another hard drive.  I'll have to look.

But wow, it made me think about how when it is important, you need to keep multiple copies of it.  Thankfully, I did for a lot of stuff, but not everything.

I was thinking today, once again, about the weight of grief.  It's exhausting with its heaviness.  You don't always realize it is there.  Sometimes you actually feel joyful about something, but maybe it's that guilt then that weighs on you.  How can you feel joy when your son died?

I'm often so tired.  And I'm wondering if this is why.

The Grief Chronicles: 1123

I just wrote this on my other blog
https://thegriefchronicles.wordpress.com/2016/01/29/1123-days/

Food

I wrote this in a grief group on Facebook today.

Somehow, unfortunately, I guess I've become more accustomed to this horrible loss. It's been 3 years.... 3 years since I lost my precious 13 year old son... I remember those first several months... I remember seeing foods he loved. I remember cooking pasta & realizing that my piggy boy wasn't eating anymore & therefore, I didn't need to cook as much. (I still cook as much... I can't seem to stop).... Or pancakes. he loved pancakes. I hate to cook potatoes because he would always peel them for me. It still occasionally hits me at unexpected moments. I'll suddenly see reese's peanut butter cups and remember when that was about the only candy he would eat. Or I'll see Nutella and remember he was eating that the night before he died. I still look around our table and hate that there are only 6 of us there now, instead of 7. For the longest time we kept the leaf int eh table that we needed because it was too crowded for 7.... I hated to remove it. But we have a small house. So I finally had to take it out. All these stupid, stupid unfair things that just suck.

I wish I had Faith

Faith would help.

Not only is my faith in shambles, I am cynical.

I want to believe.  I need to believe.  But I don't think I believe in anything anymore.

Pondering Grief

Originally written Jan 20, 2014

As I sit in my bed in the wee hours of the morning, I'm thinking how I have spent nearly every night for the last 384 nights like this, wide awake.

Awake and heavy-eyed, I am pondering grief. Grief affects every person in a manner unique to themselves. My husband and I have grieved very differently from one another since losing our son a year ago.

He's very private; I'm very public.
He doesn't want to cry in front of the kids; I have cried many, many times in front of the kids.
He doesn't talk about his feelings with his friends; I want to talk about my feelings with my friends.
He feels the need to go to the cemetery often; I feel like I should go to the cemetery, but I don't really want to go.
He has turned to God because our son's death makes no sense; I have turned away from God because our son's death makes no sense.
He trusts God; I fear that I can no longer trust in anything.

We both miss him so much that it hurts. We have both felt like running away since Nolan's death. We both have aged probably five or ten years in the last year. We both have shed innumerable tears. We will both love our son until the end of time.

With You, A Poem

This was originally posted on Bubblews in September of 2014.

If only I could be with you
I'd listen to you talk
I'd watch the way your eyes light up
I'd watch the way you walk

If only I could be with you
I'd listen to you play
Your fingers up and down the keys
Music speaks what you wish to say

If only I could be with you
I'd watch the way you move
Fancy footwork on the soccer field
You finally finding your groove

If only I could be with you
I'd watch the way you draw
I would soak in every picture
As I imagined what you saw

If only I could be with you
I'd feel the way you touch
I'd cherish every hug and kiss
I would love you so very much

The Complexity of Grief

This was originally written on Bubblews by me on October 2014

Looking at photographs of you will make me cry
Looking at photographs of you can make me smile
Videos of you usually bring tears
I have anger at all times: sometimes simmering beneath the surface, other times exploding , often misdirected
I pray for a sign, yet I'm no longer sure if I have faith
I don't talk to you as much as I should, but I miss you more than is imaginable
Sometimes I push your memories away from me instead of immersing myself in them
The pain still feels physical after all of this time
As it nears two years without you, I continue to wonder how it can be true. I will even occasionally pinch or slap myself to try to wake from this nightmare
Losing my thirteen year old son unexpectedly in his sleep because his heart simply stopped is not something that I can just get over.

The Birth of My Son

originally published on bubblews in December 2013

December.... Traditionally, December is my favorite time of year. It always has been. Not only is it Christmas, but it is my birthday. Then, along came Nolan in 1999 and even more reasons to love it. With 2010 came the birth of my daughter ella, so December has always been special to me.

My eldest child, Nolan, my first-born, had a due date of late January. As a first time pregnant mom, I worried very little. People are pregnant and give birth every day. So when I went into the doctor for my check-up on December 21, 1999, I had no fear. I had borderline high blood pressure the last couple weeks. However, I wasn't worried. When the doctor measured me and noted that I hadn't grown in 2 weeks, I was not worried. When she sent me over to have an ultrasound, I still felt no fear.

As the ultrasound techs started noting things and talking quietly, I began to think something might be wrong. I called my husband and said you might want to join me at the dr office. By the time he arrived, they told me "you are having a baby tonight"... They proceeded to tell us that our child looked to be only 2 pounds or so. He was approximately 6 weeks early. We were scared.

Around 10pm, the medical team started me on pitocen to try to start labor. After about an hour, they realized that my sweet child's heart rate was dropping every time there was a contraction. The consensus was that his small body could not handle labor. The decision was made to prep for a C-section. At this point, it was near midnight, it was near my birthday, my 30th birthday. As they prepared for delivering my first child, I realized it would be on my birthday.

Shortly after midnight, I heard my son's first cry. It was an amazing, scary sound. My husband and I both burst into tears. We were already in love with this child more than words could ever say.

He weighed in at 3 pounds 12 ounces. He was small, but healthy. He only stayed in the hospital for 9 days. They sent us home with our precious son on New Year's Eve 1999.

13 years later, New Year's Eve 2012, our son was dead in his bed from a virus to his heart.

13 years we had with this beautiful child.

13 years were not enough.

I miss him immensely.

I want him back

677 Days, A Poem

This was originally posted on Bubblews November 2014. 

For nearly two years, I have risen from my bed
With such miserable thoughts inside my head
I have hoped without hope that it was just a dream
I have hoped without hope that life wasn't as it seemed

For nearly two years, life has seemed off-kilter
There's a knife in my spirit that hurts and bewilders
I have cried tears of anger, bitterness, and sorrow
I have cried knowing I won't see you tomorrow

For nearly two years, I have tried to distract
Wine, coffee, and movies haven't hidden the horrid fact
I have felt dead among the living
I have been false with the smiles I'm giving

For nearly two years, I have struggled to breathe
While inside my soul's agony seethes
I have despaired over fate's decision
I have looked at Faith with complete derision

For nearly two years, our five are now four
Oh how I wish for that one child more
I have watched my others with bittersweet joy
I have missed my sweet, precious boy

Would I have Wanted Him to Suffer

Numerous thoughts permeate the mind of the grieving mother. Random thoughts. Warped thoughts. Angry thoughts. Sad thoughts. Questioning thoughts.
Would I have changed the way that he died if I had a choice?
Meaning this: not change the fact that he died. That's a given, of course. If I could do anything to bring him back, I would. If I could live my own life in a 4 X 4 cell eating nothing but bread and water knowing that he was alive and well, I would.
No, the question that goes through my mind is this one. Would I have rather known he was going to die so that I could have had the time to say goodbye?
In case you haven't read my posts about the loss of my son, he died completely unexpectedly in his sleep. We had no warning. He went to bed "healthy" and died sometime during the night. He was thirteen.
No chance to say goodbye.
No warning.
The trauma of finding him.
Would I have rather he had cancer? Would I have rather we went to the doctor and they said, "The outlook is grim." ? Would I have wanted him to suffer simply so I could have more time with him?
I have a friend who is watching her sweet two-year old suffer. He has brain cancer.
Yet, she has hope. There is still a chance for a miracle. There is still time to talk to her child. There is still time to hug her child, to love her child, to see a glimpse of his beautiful smile.
The morning my son died all hope died.
Selfishly, I would say I would want to have had a chance to try to save him. I would have wanted to say goodbye. Yet, no, I wouldn't want him to suffer. I remember seeing him cry tears of fear and pain when he was little getting an x-ray, getting a shot, feeling sick. But at least I could hug him and try to make him feel better.
Of course, this speculation is a moot point. My son is gone. And I had no choice in the matter.
Photo credit: my own
+Grief +Grieving-mother +Nolan

originally published on Bubblews 11/13/14

Up in Smoke, a poem

My dreams of the future have gone up in smoke
Three brothers are now two
Three brothers that should have grown up together
Two brothers had to bury the other

Five rowdy siblings in a crowded house
Where space was limited
Yet love and laughter were abundant
Now there's more space and less laughter

Five high school graduations, college applications
Weddings and children and jobs
Brothers as best men, as godfathers
Years of always there for each other

I, in my old age, surrounded by my five children
And their husbands and wives and children
Content as I grow old
A heart swollen with love and pride

Instead my beloved child has died
My world has crumbled
My heart now has a gaping hole
My dreams of the future have gone up in smoke

photo credit: my own +Poetry +Jillybean1222-poetry +Grief +Grieving-mother

My Dad and my son

My dad is a wonderful grandfather. He loves each of his grandchildren dearly. I feel so blessed when I watch him with my children. He always had a special spot for Nolan. Oh, I am sure he has a special spot for each of the grandkids. But there was a special bond between him and my son. They would talk about coin collecting, play the piano together, talk about scouts, music, birds. It was beautiful.
When Nolan died, one of the hardest things I had to do was call my parents. How do you deliver such awful news over the phone? I opted to call my dad on his cell phone rather than my mom. I thought it would be "easier" for some reason. One of the many things from that horrific day that will forever be burned in my memory is telling my dad and hearing him scream "no!" then crying to my mom that Nolan was dead. Then she was screaming too. The agony in their voices was so immense.
My dad has always been a sort of poet. Every year he writes a Christmas poem in the family Christmas letter. He'll jot down other little rhymes here and there. After Nolan's death, he wrote a beautiful poem to honor Nolan. I'd like to share it with you. Not only will you read the love of grandfather for grandson, but you will also get a sense of who Nolan was.
Poem for Nolan
by Winston Johnson
When I see an eagle
In beautiful flight
A natural wonder
A natures delight,
I'll think of our Nolan
Who loved things so right.
And watching them soar,
With all of their might.
When I see a boy,
With a sly impish grin
And a trick deck of cards,
Or a tack or a pin,
I'll think of Nolan,
Who joked with his kin
And really, at times,
Was ornery as sin.
When I see a young man,
With a smile on his face.
Helping his mother,
With love and with grace.
I'll think of our Nolan,
With never one trace
Of bad in his heart -
Nor any disgrace.
When I hear a piano,
Swaying away.
To "Away in a Manger"
Asleep on the hay.
I'll think of our Nolan,
And our Christmas day -
The joy he would bring,
As he'd grin and he'd play.
When I'm on the prairie,
Out there alone -
No cars passing by,
No TV, No phone.
I'll think most of our Nolan.
In hills of Flint stone,
I'll bet he can hear me.
Out there in God's zone.
When I see a boy scout,
Show red, white, and blue
And make his folks proud
Of whatever he'll do,
I'll think of our Nolan
And how he just grew
To be a young man
So straight and so true.
Whenever I'm stuckin
The muck and the mire
And later I'm struggling
Right down to the wire.
I'll think of Nolan laughing
And I shall move higher
To a place warm as toast
Like a warm, cozy fire.
Photo Credit: My own
Poem Credit: with Permission, by my dad, Winston Johnson
+Grief +Grievingmother +Grieving-mother +Poetry

St Patrick's Day without You

sad days.... always sad days

here's a post from my other blog
http://www.bubblews.com/news/9898691-missing-him-a-little-extra-today

Jealousy is Ugly

yet another story being shared of a child who we are praying for who is getting better. 

it's not that I don't want that child to get better.

I do.

I just don't understand why we couldn't get a miracle.  I don't understand why we didn't even have a chance.  My son died in his sleep with no warning.  How the hell is that fair?

I Love You Mom

 here is a link to my other blog:

http://www.bubblews.com/news/9837907-my-son039s-last-words-to-me

Dates Don't Mean Much

Here's a post from one of my other blogs.
http://www.bubblews.com/news/9745841-dates-don039t-mean-much

More Links to Bubbles about you

http://www.bubblews.com/news/9765117-grieving-in-the-days-of-online-social-networks
http://www.bubblews.com/news/9760006-strength
http://www.bubblews.com/news/9759907-i039m-not-visiting-the-cemetery-today
http://www.bubblews.com/news/9757984-potato-soup-and-fear
http://www.bubblews.com/news/9757469-two-years-ago
http://www.bubblews.com/news/9751746-a-birthday-party

fear sucks almost as much as losing you

in bed, scared.  2 years ago you went to bed and didn't wake up.  we had no warning.  no real warning. 

you were 13

now liam is 13.  and he is always worried that something is wrong with him.  what if someday something actually is wrong and I miss it because he has always worried for no reason?  what if?  that scares me.  i'm scared of losing him.  i'm scared of losing all of my children.

I hate that you are gone Nolan.  it's not fair.  it's not right. 

I miss you.  I love you.

two years.

Christmas Eve

Two years ago, I had five living children in a house too small for their growing bodies.  There was rowdy wrestling, loud boys laughing, happiness. 

Christmas Eve was a lovely evening at mass then home to get ready for bed for what would be our final Christmas as a complete family.  We had no idea. 

How could we have known?