Thursday, March 31, 2016

Winter into spring.

My Season of Grief – Winter moves into Spring…flowers are on the trees.

Winter was my mood; my grief.
Frozen in time, dormant, but not dead.
Early darkness slipping into night.
A blanket of snow that smothers the life and light.
I found comfort in not having to turn to the sun, showing my face to its warmth.

The spring came upon me unexpectedly.
Warm winds blowing.
Flowers beginning to bloom as life marches forward.
I am not ready, but Spring will not wait.

I am not ready. I am not ready to step into the light of day.
The warm sun on my face.
The change of seasons that closes the dark winter around me.
The winter that brought me comfort.

Is it possible to move from my frozen place?
Am I ready to have my life move forward?
I am not healed. I will never be healed.
But, my heart honors my grief by stepping back into the light.
Moving forward into the sun; growing again.

I am not ready. Yet I feel my heart thawing in the warmth of Spring.

The sky is still overcast. But there are flowers on the trees.

Thursday, March 10, 2016

A lifetime.

A lifetime ago; he was still growing inside me, 8 months gestation, with a few weeks to go. I could feel him kick, twist and turn, as he ran out of space. It gave me joy.

A lifetime ago; he was still a little 8-month old baby. I could watch him smile, change and laugh, as  he grew. It gave me joy.

A lifetime ago; he was alive and as happy as I've seen him in a long time. I could hear him sing, watch him with his friends and see him play music, as he became his own person. It gave me joy.

Eight months; feels like a lifetime ago. But it's not long at all. It's funny how a pregnancy seems to go on forever, and infancy flies by, except for the nights when you wish they would sleep through. Now eight months after his death, it feels like yesterday, and it also feels like it was a lifetime ago. Grief has it's own clock.

I cry.
I ache.
I wish.
I hope.
I think.
I grieve.
I dream.
I wonder.
I struggle.

I live.
I move forward.
Time waits for no one.

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

7 months.

Seven months "Without You". Who would ever know the irony of this photograph Joshua made a few years ago.

18,576,000 seconds
309,600 minutes
5160 hours

Without you.

Even though I am profoundly sad, this picture makes me laugh and smile as his remarkable personality shines through.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Sunday, January 10, 2016

Six Months.

Today marks six months since he left us. I can hardly believe it, and it is still very difficult to wrap my head around his death. I miss him more than I could have ever imagined, and the pain is still very raw. More raw that I thought it would still be. I remember those bleak first few days that are now a blur, and almost feel I was more numb then, and feel more pain now. It is hard to imagine that he is really gone for the rest of my life. The rest of my life! I am so grateful to all of my friends and family who have been an amazing support for these past few months; without each of you, I do not know how I could have managed through this nightmare.

On Christmas Day, I was sleeping after work, and all of the sudden, I was woken from a deep sleep, absolutely certain a hummingbird was in my bedroom. I heard it's wings, I sat up in bed and felt and heard it fly right in front of my face. I immediately got up, turned on the lights and started looking for a little lost bird in my bedroom. Mark heard the sounds coming from the bedroom, and came in to check on me. I told him there was a hummingbird stuck in the bedroom, and I was frantic to find it, crying and really upset. He calmed me down, we looked for the bird, and he gently explained to me there was no way a hummingbird was in our bedroom in December. He said, "Joshua probably came to you in a dream, and you woke up in the middle of it. He was just saying Merry Christmas". I went back to sleep with the most peaceful feeling I've had in a while.

I still long to see him, feel him and hear him. I dream about him quite often still; sometimes the dreams are good and sometimes they are very upsetting. I guess it's all part of processing and finding that new normal I keep telling myself is developing.

Still, I want him to show himself to me. I wish for it almost every moment of every day.

Thursday, December 31, 2015

A New Year.

As I look back on 2015, I have to admit most of the good things are washed away with the memory of what we have lost. Stumbling through the days following Joshua's death; the calls to the sheriff, the calls to the medical examiner, authorizing his body to be transferred to a funeral home, seeing him for the last time, collecting his belongings from Taos, picking up his ashes, picking up his death certificates and reading his autopsy report. Those are the things that I so keenly remember. As the end draws to a close, my hope is that I am able to recapture some of the joy I have always had for life; don't get me wrong, I do still feel joy in many, many things. But, it is different now, and I think, 174 days later, I am finding my new normal. The year 2016 brings many wonderful things to look forward to, so I will begin to refocus my energy on the good, and hope that it continues to bring me healing. For now, I will share a poem I wrote.

Now That He is Gone

I can cry because he is gone,
Or I can smile because of the life he lived.

I can close my eyes and hope he will come back,
Or I can open my eyes to see the beauty he left behind.

My heart can feel empty because I can’t see him,
Or I can be full of the times I feel him around me.

I can turn away from my future,
Or I can live on and honor his memory.

I can wish for yesterdays,
Or I can look forward to tomorrow.

I can remember only that he is not here,
Or I can cherish each day I had with him.

I can close my mind to new things, and turn my back on what’s next,
Or I can live on, smile about him and keep my eyes wide open as I walk into my future.

I choose to remember. I choose to walk forward. And, I have to teach my heart that my walking forward is not leaving him behind.

Peace and Love for 2016