thoughts

I was just reading through our monthly newsletter from Parents of Murdered Children. Here are two good thoughts:

"When we are bereaved we may never live at the top of the mountain again. That's just the way it is. A part of us will forever be sad. But if we let our sadness be more powerful than our happiness, death wins. If we embrace our grief, express the pain, accept it and blend it into our lives, then the joy and happiness of the lives of our children will once again fill us with joy and happiness. Don't let death win; let the life of your child win. Embrace the paradox of grief."Rob Anderson

(on how to help someone through grief) "It is seldom about saying the 'right thing'. It is not our words the grieving and brokenhearted hunger for; it is our acceptance of them as they are now rather than our insistence that they be as they were. It is our sincerity and kindness and patience as they make their way through the darkness on their timetable, not ours. It's

This is me and Paul, Paul at one month old.

Today I have no recent picture to post of my taller-than-me son and myself. Four years ago today he died.

When I was pregnant I got to hear his heartbeat through my belly and see grainy images of him on a sonogram.

When I died I had my arms around him as best as I could, with my head on his chest. I heard his last heartbeats, as I heard some of his first heartbeats.

Four years down the road, the pain is not as intense. I have "accepted" that I will not see him here again on planet Earth. But it does not mean I don't wish I could. I have an image of him....as I look out our front door, I can see him in my mind, as I saw him in reality so many times, walking home. Coming at me across the church parking lot across the street from our house. Black hoodie on. Hands mashed into jean pockets. Scuffling his big boots on the pavement. Head down, shoulders hunched against the cold wind.

I sometimes look out the front door and wish I could see him walking home.

I miss you, Paul. I wish you were here. I wish you could walk back home.

In October of 2005, Paul, Analice, and I went to Pumpkin Junction. Paul was off work because he'd been in a minor vehicle accident and had a hurt neck. I am now so glad he went to the pumpkin patch with us because six days later he was stabbed, and died the following day. These are the last pictures I have of him. These are the last memories his daughter will have of him, as far as pictures to look at and stories to hear.

This is Analice, having lost her first tooth today! A happy moment! But of course it is bittersweet because Paul isn't here to see it. Not here to have her wait for him to get home and say, "Daddy, I lost my tooth!"

The first picture is of Matt and Alexa and their new son. Matt is a friend of Paul's, our son who was killed 3 1/2 years ago. Matt and Alexa were in town and came by to introduce us to their son. They named their son, Paul David, after our son, Paul David. We are so touched! What a wonderful tribute! Thank you, Matt and Alexa!

The second picture is the 2009 butterfly sun catcher we received from the Midwest Transplant Network today. Every year we attend a memorial service sponsored by them. I now have four of these butterflies -- signifying four years without my strapping young son. And four years signifying the new life he gave to people who received his pancreas, liver, one kidney, and a cornea.

Today is my son's 23rd birthday. He is in heaven, so I can't bake a cake for him or wrap gifts. It is a tough day. He's been gone 3 years, 4 months.
Here is a picture of Paul with his daughter on her first birthday; the only one he got to spend with her.

Here is a picture of Paul when he was around one year old.

Here is a picture of Paul on his 5th birthday. His daughter just turned 5 last month.

Another picture of Paul on his 5th birthday.

I watched a movie today, P.S. I Love You. I cried through a great deal of it. It's a good movie, but if you've grieved, it is poignant and heartrending. I cried at expected moments, but there was one moment in the film that brought acute pain, and tears so thick I had to pause the movie. The woman found something under some furniture that was small, but brought back a beautiful memory of her deceased husband.

I was hit with pain, the kind of pain that happens when I run across something of Paul's that's unexpected, or finding that piece of trash outside (earlier post).

I was also struck by the REALITY of the movie, her grief and the way she dealt with it. But also, how everyone else dealt with her grief -- people want you to "heal" and "move on" and do things differently WAY before you are ready. So those feelings of anger surfaced when someone said to her, "Come on, it's been (how ever long)!!!"

In the economy of grief, the phrase really should be "It's been ONLY (how ever long)" and then give the griever a lot more time.