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

 

Christmastime is here.

Never in my life did I think I would utter these words; I'm finding very little joy in Christmas. I've had a nasty viral infection which isn't helping, but my emotions have caught me off guard. Our home looks beautiful; it is filled with love, light, music and tradition. However, my heart just aches with grief, loss and emptiness. Just going through the motions. Music sounds different. Food tastes bland. Colors are a little dim. I am sure this is a normal part of grief.

I know life will never be the same, and I know so many others have and are experiencing far worse loss than me; a dear friend just marking the 5th year since losing her daughter in a terrible tragedy, a young couple with toddler twins who suddenly lost their other child to an unexpected and rapid illness, there are countless children struggling with cancer, a family still searching for their daughter missing for 10 years in Aruba, presumed dead but no closure for them, 20 innocent children killed in the safety of their school three years ago will never celebrate anything again, and recently so much violence in the news. It's all so unspeakable.

But I miss MY son. I want MY son here. I ache for ONE more memory to make with him. To have him near me, where it matters. Right now, I have so many wonderful things and amazing people in my life, but it's so difficult to feel anything but sorrow. I hope to regain some of my love for the season again.

It's the most wonderful time of the year. Star of wonder, star of light. Where is my bright light? It has been extinguished for all time.

Maybe next year...maybe not.

160 Days.

How has so much time passed; yet it feels like yesterday you were here?  And many times, it feels like a lifetime has passed since you left me. I find my mind wandering to your last moments, and wondering what were you thinking at that exact moment? Did you pause? Hesitate? Or was it another of your intensely impulsive actions that was over more quickly than it began? I can't help but wonder what might have been if that weapon had not been there; loaded and readily accessible. I can't help but wonder if that moment might have just passed, and you would have moved on from it like you had other times.

I can't help but place some blame on the person who made that weapon available to you, even though she knew about your moods and behavior. Due to legal circumstances, she was not allowed to own or possess firearms or ammunition. Yet, she had both. And somehow, after multiple investigations, she is not going to be held to any type of responsibility, and you were just "another kid" who killed himself. No one really seems to care that your life is over, and she still has her life. She had 83 days of you. I had 8262. She had no idea who you really were. And now…..

She gets to live.

She gets to breathe.

She gets to grow old.

She gets to keep going.

She gets to make music.

She gets to have memories.

You do not.

You are quiet.

You are still forever.

You are now dust in a box. 

I try to keep my contempt towards her under control, but some days it is very, very difficult.

Pain.

Grief.

Anger.

Sadness.

Emptiness.

Disappointment.

Those are mine to explore. 

But one thing that no one can take from me are the memories I have of you.

The precious videos, pictures and mementos.

As you walk away from me forever.

Those things belong to me.

Always.

Signs.

Having a really rough day. Oddly, worse than yesterday. But there have been some wonderful signs given to me today.

Earlier, Mark ran into a couple at the gas station who were panhandling. They had two dogs and told him they were off-the-grid people from AZ, heading to Taos. He filled their tank and told them about Joshua, how much peace and love he found in Taos during the final months of his life. He told them the gas was a gift from me and Joshua. Things in life certainly do align at times; don’t they?

Today has been so hard as I begin to prepare for the holidays. Crying most of the day, but as I finished doing a load of laundry, I looked down and saw something really remarkable on the floor. He left me this treble clef, and knowing his love and passion for music, it is so amazing. It's a thread from a pillowcase.  I'm overcome once again. Thank you Joshua. Your timing was perfect.

Happy 23rd Birthday.

Twenty-three years ago today, at 5:43 pm EST, I gave birth to my first son, Joshua Gilbert McKinney. I sort of remember the day, but honestly most of it is a blur to me now. I sort of remember the early parts of the labor that was induced. I sort of remember the bliss of the epidural. I sort of remember the itching reaction to the drugs. I sort of remember the drowsiness of Benadryl given for the itching. I sort of remember starting to push…. but what I do remember with utter clarity is the first time I saw my son! He was 8.05 lbs. of fuzzy blonde perfection. I had him on a Tuesday, and we brought our little boy home on Thanksgiving Day. We went right to my parents’ house for dinner, and I felt so content and happy to have my new little baby home for the holiday. Having a second Thanksgiving baby made the holiday even more my favorite than it was before. I remember his outfit very well; he had a light blue and mint green one-piece fleece jumper with a little lion, monkey and giraffe on the front. His blue eyes stood out against the blue of the fabric; his blonde hair sticking up all over! How I remember that part very well. Sitting and holding him, I don’t really think I ate much of my meal. I was too full of love for that little boy. Over the years, through the many wonderful ups and terrible downs, Joshua and I always held a very special bond. He called me for everything. He called me to tell me about his problems and triumphs, his joys and his sorrows. He called to play me music. He called to ask for money. He called to share recipes. He called to see what I was cooking. A few times we even “cooked” together over the phone. No matter where he was, or where he traveled, we were always not more than a day or two from a conversation. This week, as we move into the Thanksgiving holiday, and upcoming holiday season, I stop to reflect on the day of Joshua’s birth. I miss him so much, now 137 days since his death. Some days, it is still so surreal and hard to believe. On those days, I look at the pictures I took of him before they took him away from me forever; the last time I saw his face, touched his hand, and kissed him goodbye; the day they cremated my son. Now he rests in a box, deep in the back of my closet, so I can try to forget that it all really happened. This dream I never can seem to wake from. And, I can just remember my son. My little boy. My fuzzy blonde perfection, now forever 22 years old. One Hundred Thirty Seven days ago, a part of my soul died with you. A part that will never heal. I will miss you always Joshua.

Happy Birthday; my heart will always sing for you.

90 days.

He had my hands in shape and form, but they were large and strong. I loved his hands. I held them for as long as they allowed that last day. I transformed the picture into the sketch, because I seemed to make the reality of the photo more subtle. He bit his fingernails; something I don't do, but it was an identifying character. He was left handed, but strummed the guitar with his right hand. The right fingers were marred with gentle callouses and wear from the love of the guitar strings. He had a finger infection last summer, so there was a faint, pink scar on his left index finger from the cuticle to the top of his hand. There was a small, healing scrape on hand that day, and ironically it was heart shaped! You can see the shape of you look closely. I had my fingerprint charm made from the impression of that left index finger. I still have the hand prints he made for Mothers Day when he was just four years old. I loved his hands and would give anything to touch them again.

Details.

The errors on the report were all basically sloppy documentation, and all was clarified to my satisfaction. To my relief, and to my disappointment (how confusing is that?), Joshua's autopsy and toxicology screen were relatively normal. His injury was the immediate and instantaneous cause of death, which was a huge relief. And, he was clean....for the most part. He had not used any drugs in a very long time, except for some mild marijuana use. Contrary to what some family members have assumed for a long time, Joshua never used IV drugs; or at least there was no indication whatsoever to this effect. If he had ever used IV drugs, it was "very brief, and very remote". While this was a relief to me, I have to admit, in my darkest part of my brain, I had hoped he was completely intoxicated or otherwise impaired, which means he didn't know what he was doing at the moment of his death.

While he was not under the influence of any substances; he was acutely affected by one very deadly drug; Risperdal. Risperdal is an antipsychotic drug, and it was prescribed for Joshua by the local mental healthcare clinic on June 25. On June 26, he called and asked me to help him pay for his prescription, and I of course did. I was a little concerned about the choice of medication, because this particular drug has a history of causing severe psychosis and suicidal ideations, specifically in young men. I do not understand why they chose this drug, considering the fact that this drug is supposed to be very carefully monitored by a healthcare provider during it's early use. A guy living "On the Mesa" is not a guy who is going to get careful follow up and monitoring during the initial phase of the drug. For those of you who do not live in New Mexico, the Mesa is basically an off-the-grid alternative lifestyle; close to camping, squatting, or living off the land. The people who inhabit the Mesa are peaceful, free-living, free-loving kind of people; but they are probably not the first ones in line for their annual check up and flu vaccine.

So, Joshua started Risperdal on June 26. On July 3, he sent me a text that he was really struggling with some of the significant side effects of the medication. He said he was having really vivid and bad dreams; some waking him from a deep sleep, with the feeling that someone was hovering over him, trying to harm him. Waking up paranoid, some mild hallucinations, and some other adverse affects that are common. He said he wanted to stop taking the drug, but I urged him to call the mental health to get some guidance, and I told him, no matter what, DO NOT stop taking this drug abruptly. Does anyone know of a 22-year old who listens to their mom? Of course not. So, it is assumed that Joshua stopped taking the drug abruptly after taking it for 8 days. This is not my opinion; it is based on the amount of medication he had left in the pill bottle when they processed the crime scene.

On days 5-10, after abruptly stopping the drug Risperdal, many people, again especially young men, have severe paranoia, severe psychotic episodes, hallucinations, and other really bad side effects. Joshua had spoken to his sister the morning of his death, and he had spoken to his friend Rose. He was making plans for the weekend; making mango salsa, planning for a bonfire with friends, and planning for Mark and I to visit the next week. The morning of Joshua's death was Day 6 off Risperdal. The medical examiner talked to me extensively, and it is his medical and professional opinion that Joshua suffered some type of severe psychosis that morning, after his phone calls. No one is sure what the trigger was, but between the medication, and external factors (an argument with the woman he was dating), it was obviously enough.