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Archive for the ‘Grief’ Category

Missing you

September 15th, 2016 No comments

I miss you so much, Nate.  Every minute is so hollow, echoing with your absence.  You were just a kid, barely a man with no time to make that huge transition from exuberant boy to responsible adult.  I did all I could to help guide you to good choices, when you would listen, which 26 year olds don’t excel at – hell 54 year olds have a hard time with it!  Now my mind gets caught on that not-so-merry go round thinking of you and trying so hard to understand.  Why did you have to be taken from us?  Will I ever know the answer to that omnipresent question?  I still can’t accept this loss.  It is those left behind to suffer on without you who are affected even more than you were, in your fight with that bastard cancer.  I can’t get my brain to the right level where I can say, “oh, I see now…”  I don’t think there is such a place, anyway.  I miss you so much, my little boy in a man’s body with a smile that could light miles of darkness.  My sweet, loving little boy.  Take good care of my heart, wherever you’ve taken it.  I love you always, mom xoxoxo

Categories: Cancer, Grief Tags:

The Grief Attacks

April 4th, 2016 No comments

It happens some times. A lot, really.

I’ll be going along okay, actually functioning on an acceptable level, and it will kick me in the gut. It’s vicious like that, grief; completely uncaring about what I’m doing or that maybe I might be okay right this minute and it would be kind not to remind me… Some times I can even get up in the morning and for a minute or so while my mind collects all the ravaged pieces of memories and reassembles them into “awake” mode, I think “ahh, a new day.” But then it kicks me again, in the gut and in the heart and then everywhere else at once and I remember it wasn’t a dream and it did really happen and my only child is really gone. Those bruises from grief’s attacks don’t show on my skin, but my insides are a sickening mess.

If it happens at work, I lose all understanding of what I was doing and sit like a zombie for… I don’t know how long. On the verge of a tearful meltdown, I stare. I look at things that in an ordinary world are phones, pens, paper, computer, printer, keyboard… but in my zombie world have no meaning, they may as well be aliens for all the comprehension I can muster. I have refused to put his photos away, and there are times when I can look at his glowing smile and do the same. And there are times when I don’t dare look at his handsome face, his bright blue eyes, his loving wife, his beautiful sons. Because I know the kicking will start again and maybe one of these times it won’t stop. That happens some times too. The fear of being completely consumed by grief. It makes me afraid to start crying for fear I won’t be able to stop – as if I had control. The way it sucks all my energy and awareness, all of whatever cognitive ability remains, on top of the kicking, the mauling, is completely exhausting. Utterly, completely.

I still cannot conceive of this world where my son is gone, eaten alive by that foul fucking cancer. All illusions of what is right and what is wrong melt into this useless pot of despair. “They” tell me that with time I will come to accept what has happened, but I can’t imagine that day. It has been four months and four days. There has been a Christmas and a New Year and just yesterday, his would-be-27th birthday. Many of those “firsts” that They said would be hard. So on the second ones, I will be okay? I won’t miss him so much that I can’t breathe? I won’t feel my heart breaking day after day, night after night? How hopeful I am that They are right, and how doubtful I am at the same time.

signs from Nate: 3

December 3rd, 2015 No comments

FedExIf the first two signs had warmed our hearts and made us smile, the third one made us laugh right out loud.  We had checked into our hotel in Plattsburgh and had taken our bags up to the room.  We were exhausted from such a long, overnight trip across the country.  I opened the blinds, and right there, big as life, was a FedEx Ground truck.  🙂

No, I don’t care that there is probably a daily pickup at that location, all I care about is that our hotel window looked right at the very spot where the truck sat, waiting for us to get in and make another connection with Nate.

Thank you, Nate for making us laugh and feel you close by.  Sign #3, received!

Categories: Cancer, Grief, Home Tags:

signs from Nate: 2

December 3rd, 2015 No comments

sunbeamsThe second sign I found was after we had gotten off the ferry, going to see Becca and the boys before Nate’s services.  We were headed south on the Northway (yes, I know that sounds silly) and there in front of us, pretty much exactly over the area where their house was, was a display of sunbeams and dramatic clouds that took my breath away.

I really felt Nate welcoming us home.  He would know how upset I would be, and he always hated to see me cry.  I have no doubt that he was determined to make me smile, to make sure we felt him near.  He did a great job.

Sign #2, received loud and clear.  Thank you, Nate.  I love you.

Categories: Cancer, Grief, Home Tags:

signs from Nate: 1

December 1st, 2015 No comments

I think it will be good to start recording the signs I see that I believe are from Nate’s spirit.  I pray (and I don’t do a lot of that) to be connected to him, to be able to feel his presence and when at all possible, for him to leave me signs that he’s here to help us get through losing him.

owlfeatherThe first sign was the day after he passed.  Larry had dragged me out of the house for a walk (thank you, sweetie) and we were rounding the corner on the last block when there in front of me was a small feather.  Light and clean and looking for all the world to be fresh but not blowing around at all, just sitting there in my path.   I picked it up and felt immediately it was from an owl, there was barring on the tip and a lot of down at the quill.  It was only a few inches long but it was truly beautiful.

Native Americans believe feathers in your path are messages from loved ones who have passed on.   Message #1, received.  It now lives in a crystal box with other treasures from my son.  Thank you, Nate.

 

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