What a temporary beautiful life they lead.

While Dorothy and I planted our spring flowers, we were talking about how short lived the beauty they give us is.  We knew that the dozens of plants we planted over the weekend would take root, blossom, grow, spread out a little, give off their beauty for people to enjoy, enhance the beauty and enjoyment of our home, and then wither and die in late fall – all in a matter of months.   But the beauty they provided during the time they are alive is well worth the effort of planting them, weeding, watering, and pruning.  All the time knowing that they are doomed during the cold weather, and the cycle of planting and withering is to be repeated next year, and the year after that and so on.  But this is what you expect.

But this year was different.  Usually Dorothy plants with the kids and her mom.  I generally like to watch from the deck, iced tea in hand.  And it is hard work.  There is no one to refill my iced tea so I have to keep getting up from my lounge chair and going inside to refill it myself while my family relaxes and enjoys bonding with each other and bonding with mother earth.  But this year we did it alone – Dorothy and I.  It was very nice, we talked about what flowers Andrew liked, what flowers Nicole enjoys; and how this summer will be different – so different than any other summer before.

It is just the three of us now.  Andrew should have come home a couple of weeks ago.  He should have graduated with all of his friends.  We should have been proud parents watching him walking down the aisle with that amazing smile that he had on when he graduated high school.  Pictures, dinners, hand shakes, and happiness.  He should be going to parties and headed off for some well earned vacation with his friends. But none of that is happening.  He should have called Dorothy for mother’s day, we should have be happily packing him up to come home to start the next chapter of his life.

But our plant is gone.  The plant that we nourished, cared for, loved, and encouraged has been ripped from our hearts and our lives.  When we plant annuals, we know they will die, we know they have a short life span – that is what we sign up for when we get them.  But when we plant our perennials, we expect them to live, and to blossom and grow year after year – just like our children. And when that does not happen it is devastating.

Last summer, Andrew and i purchased a fire pit and set it up on the deck.  As I mentioned in earlier posts Andrew and I had many fires there over this past summer.  We talked for hours at night about school, about life, about hockey, about almost everything.  It was the most amazing summer I had with my son in a long time.  College really turned him into a mensch, and a person who I could talk to so much easier.  He knew our time together was limited and he would soon be going back to Boulder, so he opened up much more this past summer.  He told me about his school teachers in the Psych department that he respected so much, how they were published and how he read their articles and stories and learned from them – and most of all admired them.  He found a goal and purpose in life and he was beaming with excitement to be able to graduate and become a therapist and help other people who had anxiety issues.  He was such a different person than who left leave our home three years ago and go to college.

The fire pit is still there, and will always be there.  It is known as Andrew’s fire pit. The two chairs Andrew and I sat on last summer are still there, facing each other, almost always empty.  I bought several planters and planted different colored Marigolds next to the pit, it is Andrew’s garden.  The Marigolds where Andrew’s favorite flower.  I never planted flowers before, but I needed to this year, and probably for many years to come.  I needed to do something for my son.

I sit there now, alone, looking at the flowers and the empty chair, recalling what we talked about.  It brings a smile to my face knowing how happy he was, and a tear to my eye knowing none of those dreams will ever be fulfilled. How he found his place in life finally, and how he was excited to have such a strong direction in life.  I sit and look at the flowers, and I know they will all be dead in a few months.  No matter how much I nourish them, no matter how much I care for them and no matter what I do, they will be gone in a few months.  It is such a vicious, heart wrenching cycle.

For those who I have just met…

For those we, the grieving parents, have just met….

Although it has been a while, I am meeting new people now.  I am seeing friends again, and meeting their friends.  I am meeting new clients, and vendors, and seeing new faces at the clients I have had for years.  I am seeing new people for the first time since my life changed.

Although it has been a while, we are meeting new people now.  We are seeing our friends again, and meeting their friends  We are meeting new clients, customers, patients, vendors, suppliers, and seeing new faces at their offices, and meeting new people at ours.  We are seeing new people for the first time since our lives have changed.

It is sometimes hard to meet new people.  They want to get to know you.  What do you do? Where do you live? Is that your wife?  and inevitably, no matter how much I try to avoid it, no matter how much I pray it does not come up…..Do you have children?  The one question that just by thinking about it makes me tear.  The one question that the answer is sure to not only ruin my day, but also those who ask it.  You ask it innocently enough, you have the best of intentions of learning more about me, but you have no idea.  The can of feelings, the jar of emotions, the Pandora’s box of hurt that you just opened.  Opened so innocently.

It is sometimes hard for us to meet new people.  They want to get to know us.  What do you do? Where do you live?  Is that your husband or wife?  and inevitably, no matter how much we try to avoid it, no matter how much we pray it does not come up….Do you have children?  The one question that just by thinking about it makes us tear.  The one question that the answer is sure to not only ruin our day, but also those who ask it.  You ask it innocently enough, you have the best of intentions of learning more about us, but you have no idea.  The can of feelings, the jar of emotions, the Pandora’s box of hurt that you just opened.  Opened so innocently.

But it is okay.  I need to deal with it, and I need to meet new people and function.  Please ask about my daughter, and my son.  Please ask about Nicole, as well as Andrew.  I may tear up, I may cry, I might even make you feel uncomfortable.  But this is who I am now.  I want you to be a part of my life, I want you to be a colleague, I want you to be a friend.  And if I cry it is not because you said something, or asked me something – it is because I miss my son so much.  Don’t be afraid to talk to me and mention him for fear that you will remind me of my loss and that will upset me.  You can never remind me of something that is constantly and continuously on my mind.   I also cry when I talk about my daughter, for I love her so much, she means so much to me; and I am so proud of her that I tear up over her as well.  That is who I am now.

But it is okay.  We need to deal with it, and we need to meet new people and function.  Please ask about our children, the one’s who are still with us, as well as the one’s we have lost.  Please ask about them, we love to and need to talk about them.  We may tear up, we may cry, we might even make you feel uncomfortable.  But this is who we are now.  We want you to be a part of our lives, we want you to be a colleague, we want you to be a friend.  And if we cry it is not because you said something, or asked us something – it is because we miss our lost children so much.  Don’t be afraid to talk to us and mention our sons and daughters for fear that you will remind us of our loss and that will upset us.  You can never remind us of something that is constantly and continuously on our minds.   We not only cry for our lost children, but we also cry when we talk about the children who are still in our arms, for we love them so much, they mean so much to us; and we are so proud of them, that we tear up over them as well.  That is who we are now.  

Please, be my friend.  Yes, I am a grieving parent, and at times I show it. Most times I am able to control my emotions and function well.  It has been only a short time and as time goes on, I am learning to interact with others better, and to meet new people and talk without long breaks to compose myself.  If I walk out of the room, it is not you, but it is I that just needs to get a breath of fresh air, I need to look up at the sky, I need to be alone with Andrew for a moment.  When I return and you feel like hugging and reassuring me, that is fine.  It happened to me just this morning, and it felt truly fulfilling and genuine.

Please, be our friend.  Yes, we are grieving parents, and at times we show it. Most times we am able to control our emotions and function well.  It has been only a short time for some of us, and others have had years to grieve, and as time goes on, we are learning to interact with others better, and to meet new people and talk without taking long breaks to get our composure back.  If we walk out of the room, it is not you, but we just need to get a breath of fresh air, we need to look up at the sky, we need to be alone with our children for a moment.  When we return and you feel like hugging and reassuring us that is fine, and it is really appreciated.  It happened to us all the time, and it feels truly fulfilling and genuine.  

It will probably be one of the harder things you can do in your life, but it will also be one of the most rewarding.

It will probably be one of the harder things you can do in your life, but it will also be one of the most rewarding.

Pam was recently talking about her life, and how it seems she is watching her life on TV – I can relate to this feeling so deeply.  I think we all do to some degree, but with grieving parents it is somewhat different.

We sit here watching TV, we watch our lives, we see ourselves working, cooking, maybe playing golf or hockey.  We look at the screen and see what’s going on.  If we don’t like what we are doing, we change the channel, move on, take a nap.  We watch how we interact with others, and how we grow and how our families change and evolve.  As Pam says, her life is the main story on her own TV right now, as it is for all of us.

But then something happens.  Something bad. The red crawl opens up – some emergency sounding tune plays.  We get that red scroll along the bottom of the screen we are watching.  An accident, tragedy at sea, an earthquake, hundreds dead, maybe thousands.  And it catches our eye and we focus on it.  We read the scroll, we concentrate on it and hope it would go faster so we can see more.  We change channels in hopes of finding out more information, our focus has gone from TV to the emergency, from our lives on TV to the lives of others on the scroll. We are immersed with the news, it is, our only focus…..And in an hour or two, or a day or two, the scroll is gone.  The news is over, we return to the main screen above, we return to our lives on TV.

And we wait for another scroll, we wait for something else to happen, we live our lives between the red scrolls, but knowing one is never too far away – unfortunately.

But then there are those of us who’s red scroll never goes away.  The scroll of our children’s lives, the scroll of our tears and sorrow.  The red scroll that is there that reminds us our children are gone.  That scroll never ever goes away.  Doug’s scroll is five years long  – and has not gone away – it is immensely long and Pam never stops thinking about him.  Andrew’s scroll is a mere eight months long, but always there.

Whenever we watch the TV of our lives, the red scroll is there.  Sometimes it is where it should be, just a small portion of the TV screen.  We are able to still have our lives above, and function and go out and enjoy our lives.  We can manage when the scroll is where it belongs, we never forget, but we can live.  Other times the scroll takes over the screen.  It becomes the main story, it becomes CNN or MSNBC or FOX – it is all consuming, it is the entire TV.  Anything and everything else in our lives is minimized while the red scroll becomes and encompasses the entire screen, while the memories or our children so overwhelm us that we have to deal with it over everything else.  We cry, we mourn, we even visit their resting places, but we recover.  Each and every time we do recover.

It does eventually return to the small red scroll at the bottom, but it never, no it never disappears. It is there for us to see and for us to remember what we have lost our entire lives.  Sometimes the scroll lets us remember the good times, sometimes it tells us our children are okay now, that their pain is no longer.  Sometimes it reminds us of family vacation, the good our children did in their lives, or let’s us watch them play sports again.  And to tell you the truth, I don’t want it to disappear. I never want to be without that scroll, without the constant memory of Andrew, and I am sure Pam is happy the scroll is there as well.

When we awake in the morning, the scroll is there.  When we retire for the night – we turn off the TV, we turn out the lights, we close our eyes, and the last thing we see before we sleep is the scroll of our children’s lives.

I never stop thinking about him
It is like the news crawl that runs at the bottom of the screen
While my life, the main story,
Plays on the TV above it.
Pam.