For Thor - 98 - Year 3 and VitaminSea

Three years ago today my life changed forever, Thor, and yours abruptly ended. Your truck careened out of control on a stretch of road you had traversed over the years by foot, bike, skateboard, and scooter. Maybe it was the familiarity with that curve that emboldened you further to take it too fast, too push it a little harder. No matter why you kicked it into high gear or what you were thinking at the time the end result is that your life came to a sudden gut-wrenching halt in a pile of twisted steel and tree limbs on New Years Eve 2015.

I can hardly get my head around this fact…that it's been three years since I've heard your voice or seen your face. Three full years have passed since you walked in the front door to join us for dinner. Much has changed in this time, Thor. Your brothers grow into wise and kind young men. Chaz will celebrate his 20th birthday in a few weeks, an age you never saw. But it's strange because even though he's now the oldest, he's still the middle child. It seems birth order psychology is persistent, even when a sibling is no longer with us in the flesh. And maybe that's the key, you are not with us in a body, but we all feel your presence in our lives in different ways.

As for me, my journey is toward spiritual healing and awakening which I pursue with a singular focus. It is the only lens that truly helps to process your death and my broken heart. Sometimes I hike or plant flowers or stare into the sky and send my love from my heart to yours on the wisp of a cloud. And sometimes I just cry, my heart squeezes so tightly that it catches my breath and breaks the dam. Tears are sacred and even if they make other folks uncomfortable, I let 'em roll. Admittedly, I have my days where I just want to drink whisky or wine and that's okay, too. This grief is big enough for all of these and more. Every day is a new opportunity for me to find my footing, shoulder this burden and walk on.

There are times when I feel like your death is a defining moment in my life. I am becoming someone different, living so wholly in a new direction, as a result of walking this path that I don't recognize myself from me that was before. Overall, I'd say the transformation is positive. I'm more open, more willing to see things and forgive them in myself and others. I'm more resilient emotionally, now, having tapped a deep reservoir inside myself at the very core of my being.

But there are times when it's just too much for me still. Christmas is one of those times. The first year without you we tried scaling it back, I bought a smaller tree. We didn't put up all the decorations. We couldn't figure out what to do with all the ornaments that are yours…do we hang them on the tree? Could we bear to unwrap them…wrapped as they were by Nana the year before in the aftermath of your funeral? Still, we muddled along attempting to keep things as steady as possible. That was really hard and left me feeling scraped raw. In Xan's words, "It sucked."

At that point, I knew we needed to find a new way to be together at Christmas that wasn't so difficult. I came up with the idea that we would go somewhere as a family for the holiday and floated it to your dad and brothers. They liked the idea but were non-committal. I think they were just following my lead, sweet fellas that they are. As the year rolled along, it got too late to book a trip, but I couldn't stand the idea of being in this house. So the second year, we accepted Nana's invitation to go to her home and spend the night and be with everyone in the midst of the kids and chaos and revelry.

It was definitely better to be elsewhere, we all agreed. But even being at Nana's house was too close to the precious and painful memories of that last Christmas we spent with you. We needed a new holiday plan, Thor. We needed to reclaim Christmas for the four of us, establish new patterns that would allow joy to reemerge.

This year I booked us a house in Folly Beach, SC, right on the oceanfront for the entire Christmas week. I offered up a prayer that the ocean and nearby Charleston with her warm southern charm would do the heavy lifting of holding the space for us so we can just BE with each other. No one had to drum up extra merriment for the sake of the day. The ocean was resplendent, reflecting, dancing, waving, moving, singing and giving us all the gifts she can offer; a place to rest a broken heart, and splash gleefully in the chilly water, to shed countless tears and smile at the antics of seabirds and passing dolphins. We drew calming strength and hope of renewal from her unceasing ebb and flow and vastness. VitaminSea is exactly what we needed this year. We played games and walked together taking small joys in finding shells and taking pictures. We each took long solo sojourns breathing in the salt air and unraveling our secret tangled emotions and thoughts; offering them up to a tangerine colored sunset and an outgoing tide.

I wrote messages to you in the sand, sending them to you on the breast of Mother Ocean from my heart to yours. You showed up in beams of light playing with me and my camera. It lightened my heart to have this time to play with you, too. I tried not to overthink things throughout the week. Instead, I let my emotions to rise and fall with the waves bringing them to the surface and then exhaling them on the next wave. As the week progressed and our time drew to a close, some insights started to come into focus.

• The first is that I am still raw with grief and limping in many ways even if I have healed a lot. I also have a strong intellect and am able to think my way past strong emotions in order to get things done. This is good since I have a job and need to stay focused even if my heart is battered. 
• The second insight is that I need to remember to build time into my life to feel emotions, clear them and then breathe in fresh energy. I feel so much lighter, clearer and happier when I take time to Let That Shit Go… you know what I mean.
• The third insight is that your dad and brothers need me to stay open-hearted and to keep growing in LIGHT. There is an old saying, if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. So, my responsibility is to keep moving forward and healing and taking care of myself so I can be present and whole for them.
• The fourth insight is that I will always think of the day you died as the day a new me was born out of the ashes of that terrible tragedy. This day, three years ago, we each made a big change, Thor. This time around it's my turn to learn from the pain of grief. It was the starting point for an earnest exploration of Faith, Grace, Love, the very nature of God and my being in any of these. 

The biggest thing I am coming to realize is really complicated and difficult to swallow. Would I have moved this much spiritually if you hadn't died? As much as it pains me to say, I don't think so. That's a hard thing to admit, you know that some good could possibly come of something so horrendous as losing my precious first-born son. But there it is. I would not be in this place, like this, with this wisdom, grace, and willingness to soften my grip on what I think I know if not for my world being blown to bits on that dark stretch of road three years ago. I would trade all of this insight for the story to have gone differently, but we didn't get that choice (at least not consciously on this plane). You are Light, pure Light, Bubby. And my job here on Earth is to radiate LIGHT in sacred connectedness with others; like facets of a crystal, we radiate LIGHT together.

We shine like diamonds in the sun
Everyone of us
We shine like diamonds in the sum
Everyone of us
May all beings be happy and free

Oh, Thor. I miss you so.
On this remembrance day, I'm sending you a big Mama hug and a kiss on the bright rainbow that connects my heart to yours.
When I close my eyes, I can feel you hug me back…tears stream down my face and splash on my open hands. They tell the story of my love for you and my heart's longing to see you again, sweet boy.  Let 'em roll...

I love you, 

Mom

For Thor - 97 - Alchemy on the Anvil

This week the house looked like an Amazon distribution center exploded in the middle of the living room and then caught on fire. Thor's Hammer items are draped on the couch, all over the entry, in Xan's room and crowding Chaz in the camper. We've got piles of shirts and gift bags and chili sampling jars and on and on… And that's just in the house. Dad's barn is full of projects, too. He built an amazing Jenga set; the blocks are 22" long and weigh around 10 lbs each! There's an enormous leaderboard drying on sawhorses as we round the bend toward the 2nd Annual Thor's Hammer event.

It's so much work. It takes many weekends and nights and occupies so much of our mental bandwidth to put this event on in your memory. And sometimes the question is, "Why?"

Why do we feel the need to push so hard? What drives us to pull it all together?

What keeps us moving after long workdays, to fire up our computers and tools and work into the night?

Your dad came in from the barn one day with tears streaming down his face and he said something so moving, "All this effort is happening because of the worst day of our lives." And he's right. We wouldn't be doing any of this if you hadn't died that horrible night. Yet, here we are, finding our way through the rubble. Still picking our way along the path to reclamation. And doing the work for Thor's Hammer is part of that journey.

Grief is the flip-side of love. And for us, grief this big had to be transformed, reflected and shared AS LOVE outside of ourselves. But that doesn't mean it happens overnight. Each time we choose to work on Thor's Hammer, all of us are transmuting the agony of the loss of losing you into something different. Propelled by love and gratitude, we reach deep inside ourselves to give birth to a new thing, in your memory.

Transformation is hard. Ask anyone who's tried to make big changes in themselves. Alchemy occurs when we are brave enough to throw all the grief and pain and sorrow and suffering into the forge and let it cook. It's the fire of love that ultimately melts these our resistance down, burns away the impurities of misunderstanding and a new and better understanding is brought into being. We are changed, forever, by your life and death. And by the process of learning to live beyond our individual siloed pain and longing, but rather in a community, real healing begins to happen.

Thor's Hammer is about you, sweet boy, and your firefighter kindreds. And it's about us, too. But mostly, it's about love and how we come together as a community to lift each other up and celebrate what's good about life and living. We do this with the memory of your bright smile and sparkling eyes and the endearingly mischievous streak that ran right down the middle of your personality because it is the natural continued expression of our love.

My heart hurts but is also light. I get choked up and tears fall, but I also smile. The burden of grief is heavy, but it's easier to carry because all those who love you, too, are right here with me.

It's Hammer Time and after what feels like weeks of rain, the sun is shining! The sky was beautiful, soothing and inspiring me as I drove home from setting up the event site all day. 

I miss you so and love you more, sweet boy.

Mom

For Thor - 96 - What would you wish today, sweet boy?

It's your birthday today. You would be 22. And I wonder how would you look as you age into your twenties. What accomplishments and experiences would you be celebrating in your young life? Would you be a daddy? What would our day look like today if we didn't have that other day, you know, the day you died. I imagine I'd be vying for your time, trying to figure out when dad and I would get to celebrate the day with you. But like most 20-somethings, you would have a million other places to be and people to see… I would wait and hope and be so grateful for you to swing by Mama's for a hug and birthday dinner. Today it's a pork roast with all the trimmings. There are not enough words to express how much I wish you were here to share this meal with us; to laugh and play music among us again.

It is funny how we are so brash and unconcerned with time when we are young. My lens is different now. Life has seasoned me in her crucible and ground me to dust. Each passing year the clock ticks down, moments slip by, and so many infinite possibilities melt away unrealized, unlived. And then our heart beats again, and here we are in THIS now with all of its possible experiences. What will I choose to see, feel, do, to be…what now?

As it is your birthday today the moments are heavy; pregnant with memories and longing, grief and love. And this is okay. The burden of loss that I carry is woven into my being, wholly integrated. Everywhere I go, it is with me. And I have learned to walk with it well. Most of the time.

Tsunami waves still rise up and crash into me. When I neglect to tend the interiority of self and have gotten too distracted with the busy baubles of the world and forget to listen and live from my heart, that's when I am shaken until my teeth rattle to wake up! Wake up and see! Wake up and love! Wake up and smile from my heart.

The perennial lesson of grief is one of love and remembering to prepare a place in the heart for the One Love to be experienced - to be lived. This is where you reside in eternity, my bright, beautiful being of love and light.

The what-ifs and would-of-beens are painful, but also poignant and bittersweet. I want to hold the memory of your face and voice close. I want to breathe in the echo of the way your hair smelled when you were a boy when you'd been out in the sunshine. What I remember of your nineteen birthdays I hold close in my heart. I replay them with a mental caress, a conjuring and with a mind to be grateful that we had those nineteen at all. There was a long anxious period of time when right after you were born that we weren't sure you were going to stick around. But the Grace of God interceded, and you took that first breath and quickly turned from blue to pink. 

We are in the throws of planning the 2nd Thor's Hammer, and it's a beautiful labor of love for me. So much more than keeping your memory alive, it's a way to share the One Love with the whole community. We heal and grow and thrive in such a love and who doesn't need a little more of that in their life? I feel you near helping me get tasks done and making things easier. My job is to not get in your way too much. Today Starr is coming over to help roll tee-shirts and put up more signs. We plan on remembering you together through smiles and tears, alike.

I was thinking about your first birthday with the Winnie the Pooh cake and the fun party we had at Nana's house. And subsequent Hot Wheels, Monster Truck, GI Joe and cammo cakes… each one was a reflection of your current explorations in life. How innocent and clueless I was… I took so much for granted thinking we would just keep getting to have these special days together. I want to remember every detail now, yet so many memories have dissolved out of the reach of recall. It's a cruelty that we don't realize until we are older how precious each moment really is. How each NOW is the only thing that matters and how present we are with the people who are there with us determines how much we will remember later. Busy, multi-tasking, keeping half an eye on eight different things at once; I have whole years where the memories are patched together haphazardly.

But maybe the actual memory is less important than the emotion of each moment… I recall perfectly how I felt on all of your birthdays. As the gathered guests raised their voices to sing Happy Birthday and the warm, flickering candles dripped pastel colored wax on the cake, I watched your face. I delighted in the light and happiness in your eyes. I was overjoyed, proud, happy, in love, adoring, grateful and hopeful. I always wondered what you wished when you blew out the candles, and I said a little prayer that it would come true.

My heart asks your heart, reaching out across deep time to find you in that still quiet, peaceful place, "What would you wish today, sweet boy?"

I'll just sit here a while and listen.



Love, mama. Just love.


Okay, boyo, I can do that. Happy birthday in heaven, my darling.

I love you,
Mom.

For Thor - 95 - Three Little Birds

I woke up yesterday groggy and grainy-eyed. I slept okay but maybe not long enough. You know me, Thor, I'm part of the "gotta get my eight" crowd. 5:30 am saw me yawn and stretch and groan my way to the sofa where I took my spot to meditate. This morning ritual is so important to me as it allows the subconscious mind to arise and be gently cleared, one mantra repetition at a time. I liken it to cleaning glass and that each time I engage in meditation it's the same as wiping the crusty stuff off the mind's lens.

I never know what's going to come up. The subconscious mind is unpredictable, unscripted and unrehearsed. The myriad of impressions that are stored there show up in rambling jumbles without linear, timebound logic. My job is to sit in the weather and allow the thoughts to rise and then lovingly maintain focus on the prayerful intention of the repeated mantra. And it is a lot like sitting on a mountain-top totally exposed with nothing between me and the observation of the weather. Sometimes, my mind tries to latch onto one of these passing thought "clouds" and dwell on a remembered experience and I find myself mentally retelling stories and feeling regurgitated emotions. Steadiness here is important. I pull my focus back to the mantra and let the story go, recognizing it for what it is…just a thought. That thought is not ME, it's not MINE. It's just passing by. My attention is the only thing that can give it the energy to affect anything. And even then, what is really being affected? And this is the process toward peace. One thought at a time. One breath at a time. One prayer for grace at a time.

Grief, however, feels different. Its inherent relationship to Love puts it out of the realm of fear and passing fanciful thoughts. In the years I've been processing the intense emotions and rollercoaster responses to your death, Thor, I have come to learn a few things. One being that grief is not an expression of fear of loss - that is actually anxiety. Grief is an expression of Love that is crying out because of the misbelief that we are actually separated. Ultimate understanding of truth would free us from grief as we come to know that separation is not possible. Here in the dream that is this changing world (the heavenly world of the Creator cannot be anything other than changeless), we are destined to feel pain and suffering over the separation that our own minds have caused and continue to believe in.

Yesterday grief welled up in my heart and would not clear. It needed to be expressed, like a festering wound. A hectic work schedule and a frenzy of activity to make life plans had me swallowing my emotions. Not just around the pain of losing you, but for several other huge shifts in my existential understanding of this life; and a few actual big life changes that have me reeling. Shit is moving and changing fast, Bubby. I felt your energetic presence nearby as this wave of emotional intensity crashed in, on and over me. It was clear you were trying to help me "sit in the weather" and feel what needed to be felt so I could regain steadiness in these changing moments.

I haven't had a day like that in a while, where I found it hard to focus. I couldn't make decisions or think through problems with a clear head. I kept blinking tears back and swallowing hard…only to find myself in the ladies room crying my eyes out. It was hard to take a full breath and even harder to let it out. The sea of suffering had whipped up into a storm that seemed hell-bent on capsizing my little boat. I should have taken the day off, but no. I soldiered on; raw and free-falling back to the bottom of the well. The one in which I've spent so much time.

All change triggers the sensory perception that is around your death. This is because that experience eclipses everything else, without exception. There is no pain, stress, sorrow, suffering, anxiety, worry, concern or any of the counterpoints to those that are not permanently altered in my experience of them as a result of grieving your death. I am different. The lens is different.

Chaz moved out.

He packed a few belongings, the things he thought he'd need as he set sail into the world, and stepped away from the shore of his childhood home. He's nineteen years old, Thor. And is older than you having surpassed you in age, waking one morning to a dawn that is one more than you ever saw. Chaz is a remarkable young man, his intellect and natural curiosity seems to beckon the Universe to bring him an opportunity. This is a byproduct of saying Yes to life, even if we are scared. He likes to say yes but is choosy about when and where. Discrimination is a good thing.

I'm impressed with Chaz's determination and can see how the gift of his innate moral fortitude will serve him well. He is honest and insightful and kind. I'm so proud of the man he is growing to be. Just like I am proud of the man you became, Thor.

It's interesting how life, in its dogged insistence to be lived, constantly intertwines experiences of the past into the breath of the present while simultaneously challenging me to drop the past in order to experience the present…which will become a new past. There is a forward propulsion that has a trajectory, a heading, but the way ahead is all blue sky. I can't have a heading without a point of origin; this is the past. It's a moving marker, built moment by moment into successive nows and thens. Memory strings each moment like dew drops on a silver wire, reflecting the light and evaporating into the cosmic consciousness of experience.

I've been thinking deeply about as you brother looks to the horizon, gathers strength in his young wings and spring from the nest into the life that awaits him. You, Chaz, Xan, your dad…me. We are tied together. The silver threads of our lives are interwoven, but also separate. Yours was cut so woefully short. Chaz' life path is beginning to diverge, marked by his interests, desires, and will. It's exciting to see where he chooses to fly.

And Xander is not far behind.

He took off in his Jeep with a pocketful of paychecks to go see his girl in North Carolina. He'll be gone for two weeks. Independent and competent, strong and kind. He's building relationships with the world and figuring out what he likes and who he is.

The house is quiet. Just me and dad rattling around in here trying to figure out how to be just the two of us, again. My boys are grown and gone. This is the trigger that got me yesterday. My role as a mom has changed to a supporting role, not the pivotal position in their lives it's been all these years. But more like, it's my identification that is being challenged to shift to a new way of being…but it hurts. Once again, life pulls me farther away from my experience with you. Another chapter is closing, a new one is opening and you aren't here to be a part of it. At least not in the physical realm where I can hold your hand, share a laugh, talk through your ideas and help you realize your dreams. I get to do that with your brothers, but it's clear to me that I raised independent children. This is a great thing for the world, but it can be a little jarring to this mama's heart. I can see how some mom's try to bake-in a little dependency to stay important in their kid's lives. I could never do that, it's just not the way we roll. But it does mean staying on the shoreline and wave as each of you casts off on a new heading… You've taken the most dramatic and permanent course, which frames my response to these changes now.

I take some more shaky breaths and keep sitting in the weather. They haven't left the planet, they've just taken the first steps into their lives here. I can only pray that your brothers stay a little closer than you, Thor.

I think about you boys, my three little birds, and the words of Bob Marley come to mind:

Don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright
Singing' don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright

Rise up this mornin'
Smiled with the risin' sun
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true
Saying', (this is my message to you)

Singing' don't worry 'bout a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright
Singing' don't worry (don't worry) 'bout a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright

Yeah, Bob. That's just what I needed to hear. Thanks, man.

I love you, Bubby.
Mom

For Thor - 94 - Tilling Deeper Earth

Something happened as New Year's Eve tick-tocked past this year, marking two years that I've been grieving your death. Days, weeks, months of processing and learning to live with the fact that you are dead has transformed me. The first days of this journey were fraught with bewildered agony and utter devastation. The sun continued to rise and the seasons turned on their wheel, one melting into the next. The breath of life moved in and out of my lungs. My heart pumped, and my inner gaze, fixed on my heart, saw that the most significant work I could do in this life is to grow and learn and expand beyond what I thought possible. This is how I survive losing you, Thor.

I spent some time re-reading these letters I've sent to you. They are breadcrumbs that remind me of how far I've come and of compelling insights that came to me. I am grateful I took the time to write down the song of my heart in each moment and send it to you. But on the anniversary of your death, I read them over, and something shifted. The inner work I've been doing took a turn to a deeper place calling me to look more closely at life. Not death. Not grief. But life, and how it is being lived through me. I felt your presence change in nature to be less binary mother/son to one of a spirit guide and traveling companion. I heard a query in my heart asking me if I am ready to LIVE? It came to me in your voice.

For two years I did a lot of healing, seeking, listening, observing and praying. But was I LIVING? Had I hit the pause button at some point in my life, given up on living my dreams? All the intense inner work of processing the loss of my beloved firstborn brought me to a new place; one where I could set sail to live intentionally, with an open heart, vibrant with all the gifts gleaned these two years. So what was stopping me?

Your Aunt Radha turned me on to a beautiful exercise where you take time to write down all the things that are important and the quality of things you want in various areas of life; Relationships, Career, Vacations, Friends, Finance and so on. I listened to the man introduce the exercise and explain the reasoning and purpose of creating a life plan in this way. Then I started writing out my plan. As the practice went on, I became blocked and sad. The vision I had for my life was okay, it had all the aspects one would expect in a "good life plan." But it was non-specific and not actionable. My "goals" were more like lofty mission statements, not a blueprint for making something happen. I tried to think of things that were more grounded and specific, but nothing would come to me. What was keeping me from even dreaming the vision of the life I want? How come I couldn't see it, even in my mind's eye, let alone begin to manifest it with a plan?

I sat with this in meditation for a few days when another gift appeared. I was introduced to the concept of self-love being the key to first envisioning and then building the life I want to live. Okaaaayyyy…self-love. Now what? I know a few things about self-love, but really it's just the psychobabble stuff we all hear about self-esteem as teens and what not. I didn't feel that this was where I needed to look. Fortunately, a little book showed up about the same time. "Love Yourself Like Your Life Depended On It!", 60-ish pages of pure, first-hand experience on how learning to bring self-love to the equation can transform the inner dialogue. The internal dialogue is the one that governs my entire life experience and is the channel through which life manifests. What was my inner dialogue saying? What lies, truths, half-truths or alternate facts was I telling myself and why did I believe it?

Well, Bubby, this became a seriously deep dive into a whole-lotta-stuff. Recognition and remembrance of old hurts unintentionally inflicted by family, seriously bad bullying incidents at many of the schools I attended, questionable teen behavior that signaled deep pain and a desire for self-harm came floating to the surface of my mind. I discovered that I've been walking through life feeling like I was never adequate or good enough, feeling like I could never be loved. The crazy thing is that without grief beating me up for two years to soften me up I wouldn't have come to this place. I was able to dredge all this up, bringing it to the light of day where it could be examined and tested for truth. Where I could begin the journey toward self-love. I started with daily meditations attesting "I love myself." As this practice went on for a week or so, I felt there was some other work to do, too. I would need to embark on a journey of forgiveness. I had a whole lotta of forgiving to do, mostly forgiving myself for giving up on me. For causing hurt and harm to others as a result of hurting and harming myself. Holy shit…this was a deep ass hole. But you are here with me, Thor, walking alongside and cheering me on, helping me bravely face what was and what is and what will be.

We are so blessed to have a family that is willing, and even eager, to process and talk things out with each other. Nana and Grandpa helped shed some light on things. Perspective is important, perhaps more important than facts. The emotional lens we view things through is what creates our unique versions of the truth. If I can forgive whatever triggered the emotional response to the situation, I can reframe it with self-love and be free.

Life wants to be lived through me. It calls and beckons and dances before me in a dazzling array of possibilities. I have choices, too. I can choose to live life worried that I'm not enough, pushing and propelling myself forward out of fear that others will discover my obvious inadequacy. Or I can choose to live life knowing that I, like everyone around me, am enough and that we are all dancing our way through this world as sparks of the Divine - each one God's favorite.

Living face to face and heart to heart with grief, as an aspect of love has taught me much. But ultimately, I feel like it's time for grief to take a back seat as my great teacher so I can embrace and learn from the Master, Love. Grandpa gave me an excellent book that is the best book I've ever read on the subject, "Discovering Love" by Dayananda Saraswati. What grace to have all this help appear right when I need it!

My to-do list:
Till deeper earth. Plant seeds of love. Let life be lived through me, intentionally, joyfully.

Oh, my sweet boy! I love you, so! I miss you tons, and I know you know that I cry when I hear certain songs. My heart soars to greet you on the rays of a sunrise and on the wings of our crows that caw, good morning! Our story together is not over, it continues to unfold and flow and it will last for as long as there is Love to share.

Mom

For Thor - 93 - Bless Us All

It's Christmas Eve, Bubby. I'm sitting in the multicolored prismatic twinkle of the Christmas tree in the early morning hours. It's peaceful and still. Here in the quietude that is all too rare these days, we can have a chat.

We've been putting one foot in front of the other. Dad and I are getting by. Doing what we can. Finding scraps of joy, fragments of smiles, seconds of insight and perspective along the way. We can allow good friends and good music to lift us for a spell, like at the Dillwyn VFD Christmas Dance. That was such a heartwarming night. I was wholly not in the mood to do anything for Christmas, but being there with so many friends -- and your friends, who have become my friends over the past two years; my heart twists, expands, breaks and shines all at once when we look into the other's eyes and see the Thor-sized hole that shines back at us. We are drawn to each other like magnets, each one with a piece of a broken heart and a story to tell. We conjure you in those moments, speaking your name in stereo and paging you to drop by and embrace us. I can feel you there, in those moments when we bring you to life with our words and stories, memories and love.

Lately, I spend a lot of time at work. The job has escalated to a new frenetic pace which is a good thing - the company is doing well. What I didn't realize is how I depended on work to help keep the pain of this whole holiday season at bay. That is until we closed shop on Friday and I was faced with it all at once. Without the pressure of the work deadlines and accountability to the team, I was suddenly unmoored. My mind was unoccupied enough that the looming and ever-present agony of grief rushed into that void. Dread. Why do I have to do this? Every holiday season starting after Halloween ramps up in excitement and expectation, higher and higher until we get to Christmas Eve, Christmas, Day After and then….WHAM! We slam headlong into the brick wall of the dreaded day. The worst day of my life.

What. The. Fuck?

So this year we needed to shake it up a little. Neither Dad nor I could hang with our usual routine and all the energy it takes to make it happen. We put up a small tree, it's just four feet tall. But it's sweet and doesn't feel forced. There is an authenticity expressed in its diminutive branches. We are doing Christmas, but maybe just a little less. We've made it a little easier. We'll spend more time at Nana's enjoying the wonder and innocent, wide-eyed Christmas excitement of little Kai. It's good to have the little ones around to keep our hearts lighter. I want to read him stories and play with toys like I did with you and your brothers. Just the thought warms my heart…which usually means tears are merely a blink away.

I got to spend some time with Starr, yesterday. Which made my day. She and Diane gave me a glorious snow globe that lights up and twinkles around a beautiful cardinal. When I look at it, I imagine your presence is like that…sparkling and shining all around us. That the love we have for you sparkles in our eyes and shines forth. We had dinner and just spent the day together. You would have liked the stuffed shells. You probably would have been impatient with our sappy rom-com Christmas movies and would have wandered out to the barn with dad.

There are many memories to hold onto and cherish, the ones that keep your voice alive and let me see your face in the movie in my mind. Sometimes I rewrite the script, you know, to change the story. I take the raw material of memories and weave them into a new tale. What would you be doing right now? Would you and Starr be married? Would there be a baby? Would you be a supervisor at work? Would you build a house on our land? Would you have bagged that buck you were always chasing? Would you get a transfer to live near the beach? What would you be doing if a longer life had been granted to you? I like to dream up alternative storylines. They always include you outliving me in a long life full of joy and experiences and love and challenges and victories. I know the story I'm living too well…I don't need to think about it so much as your death is the daily backdrop to my every breath.

Christmas symbolizes many things for many people. For me, I've always felt it to be a recognition of the light returning to warm the earth, which is symbolic for us to recognize the Light of the God which illumines our hearts. This is further symbolized by remembering the birth of Jesus who is the light of the world for so many. I am trying to focus on the Light this season. Since I know that is where you are; you are a light being, free of these mortal coils, but still able to be here in the form of light energy. I see you in a sunrise and in a ray of light upon the water. I feel you in the warming sun that streams through my windshield when I drive. My heart recognizes your playful nature when rainbows and sundogs appear in the strangest places.

We watched my favorite Christmas movie of all time - twice now; The Muppets Christmas Carol. Every time I hear the song "Bless Us All," I cry. It's one of the best Christmas songs ever written. I hum it a lot lately.

Life is full of sweet surprises
Every day's a gift
The sun comes up and I can feel it lift my spirit
Fills me up with laughter
Fills me up with song
I look into the eyes of love and know that I belong

Bless us all, who gather here
The loving family I hold dear
No place on earth, compares with home
And every path will bring me back from where I roam
Bless us all, that as we live
We always comfort and forgive
We have so much, that we can share
With those in need we see around us everywhere

Let us always love each other
Lead us to the light
Let us hear the voice of reason, singing in the night
Let us run from anger and catch us when we fall
Teach us in our dreams and please, yes please
Bless us one and all

Bless us all with playful years,
With noisy games and joyful tears.
We reach for You and we stand tall,
And in our prayers and dreams
We ask You bless us all

We reach for You and we stand tall,
And in our prayers and dreams we ask You,
Bless us all


I miss you more than words can ever say, sweet boy. It's Christmas time, and the absence of your physical self is more keenly felt. My heart is shattered but gloriously alight with love. The rainbow that connects my heart to yours is vibrant and alive…so you'll hear me loud and clear when I say, Merry Christmas, Bubby! I am hugging you tight in my heart and imagine holding you in my arms.

I know you know, but I'll say it anyway;

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 92 - Emotional Alchemy - Part 1

I don’t even know where there last 8 weeks have gone. In a blur and a rush, I woke last Saturday, disbelieving, to the first day of gun season for deer hunting. A flash of activity caught my eye outside as three deer hounds bounded across the field with joyful exuberance. The sky was tinged pink with the first blush of daylight that sparked in like tiny rose-colored diamonds on the frosted lawn. I heard the not-too-far-off boom of shotgun firing, and my heart twisted. This is one of your favorite days of the year; first day of gun season. You lived to be out with the fellas and the dogs, the trucks, and radios and walkies and trackers, bundled in cammo with just enough blaze orange to be legal…

You should be here.

That thought makes me cry, every time. I try to avoid the "shoulds" since I know that only regret and pain lives at the end of those imaginings. But dammit, you SHOULD be HERE! We are closing in on two years -  two fucking YEARS since you died and I am still brought to my knees by a simple thing like hearing the boom of a gun on the first day of hunting season. Proof, again, that there is no getting over this. Your death and my adjusting to it is a permanent part of my life story now.  I can't tell you how much I really hate that.

I've had no time to process lately, and we both know how that goes… I get upset at the littlest thing that is utterly unrelated to what's really bothering me. Recently it's more than merely 'missing' you. I feel the searing burn of your absence on the daily happenings in our lives, and it pulls at me. We gather for a meal and hold hands to say the blessing…your hands aren't there in the circle, you head isn't bowed with ours. We say at every meal that we are grateful for this family and for the wonderment of being together, but we are missing one of our whole…we are a family with a deep and weeping wound that will never heal. It can't ever heal because we will forever love and miss you, Thor.

As ever, when the emotions are too big to contain in the house or within the simply busy-ness of random chores, I take to the great outdoors to wail at the vast expanse of the sky, my heartbreak and tears lifted on a breeze and carried into the Biggest Big…to the bosom of Mother Nature herself. I ran into many of your hunting pals along the road. They were kind, offering my words of encouragement and telling me how well you were liked among them.

It was a comfort to be out there where I know you would be, with the men you counted as your brothers. The day was bright and breezy and beautiful. I sat for a spell on a stump overlooking a clear-cut with a grand view of the mountains. We had a lovely chat, you and I, while I let the tears fall unheeded and let the wind dry them. Then a buck bounded past me he didn't seem to be in a hurry. He quickly and gracefully loped his way across the stump-strewn landscape toward the nearby cover and safety of the pines. As he cut past me, I thought of you and how I've depicted you as a regal buck in the tattoo on my arm. I thought that maybe you had sent me that deer to cheer me; to let me know that you are still here with me even when I feel like I've been so busy and have lost our connection.  Sometimes I can be pretty hard-headed, thanks for being persistent.

We traveled to Mimi and Pap's in Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving this past weekend. It was the first time I'd been there since you died and I dreaded going. I knew being there would pry open a whole box of memories and all the deep emotion and intensity that go with those memories awaited me there. All of that topped off with the fact that it is a holiday rooted in family togetherness and being grateful…well, let's just say I put on my game face and rallied. The trip up was fun, we laughed and sang songs. Xanny played DJ, and I drove so I could stay mentally occupied as I prepared to face the inevitable. When we pulled in, I took Lady for a walk and strolled across the lawn taking in the landscape where you spent so many of your boyhood days, fishing in the pond, driving the quad, or the mower, going swimming in the pool, sledding, hunting with Pap. 

I felt like I'd been hit with a fire hose as the images of your sweet face came rushing to my mind's eye. Your Mimi's house is full of the echo of your voice and all the growing up you did under that roof. I sobbed violently wrapped in Daddy's arms that first night as this fresh wave of memories starkly outlined the fact of your death and the enormous cavity left in our lives. I didn't sleep…the tears just kept falling.

Thanksgiving day is a busy day, and that's a blessing in itself. You would have laughed, Mimi undercooked the turkey, again. It's sorta becoming a family tradition. I say it's not done, and she insists that it is, so I relent, only to discover that no, it isn't.  Every damn year. How funny is that? I stayed focused on preparing a meal because missing you threatened to send me round the bend. Dad sweetly gave me hugs and poured me a whiskey or two. As the time to sit to dinner approached, I just kept breathing, waiting for that dreaded moment when the family gathered together over the meal...and there it would be…the collective recognition of your absence. That heartbreaking moment when no one knows what to say--has no words to express the enormity of what we feel. Pap got too choked up to say the blessing, so Dad attempted a prayer that gutted Aunt Shari and me. He said something along the lines of being grateful that we are all together which drew stark attention to the fact that we were not ALL together. We will never ALL be together, again.  Shari burst into tears in a way that I certainly could relate to. And I fell silent, diving deep inside myself to find the reserves that I've been working to build these past two years.

The meal was good, the conversation bumped and jittered across the surface of the intense emotion in that room. So much was on the minds of each of us with nowhere for it to go. The thoughts and feelings too intense for dinner talk…so we chatted about this and that and tried to find a way back to levity, to a place we could smile and not choke on the damn turkey. We did okay, but it was hard on everyone.

We made it through dinner and got things cleaned up. We watched Christmas Vacation, another family tradition, that spun me down into a dark place inside. I could hardly stand sitting there, but I did it for dad and your brothers and Mimi and Pap. I felt like I was being stung by bees, so I retreated inside, hiding behind a veneer of automatic responses. I was grateful to have Lady to take for a walk. I went outside and talked to the stars.

On Friday evening the family came over. Mimi and I put out snacks, and the people arrived-- just like we've done dozens of times before. Mike and Dee, Cameron with his girlfriend, Gerry and Lorraine. And Dwight. "My good buddy, Dwight," as you used to call him, no matter to you that he is your Pap's best friend. Oh, Thor! They played guitar and sang the old songs. I drank wine and found people to talk with so I wouldn't be consumed with the agony of missing you from that scene. It was good to see everyone, but it is torturous to me to see everyone there without you. No one mentioned your name. No one said anything about you. No one knew how to talk about you, how to invoke your memory and insert the memory of your life into the moment. I felt like I was a dragonfly suspended in amber, time traveling back to a time before you were born.  Dwight, alone, seemed to notice my suffering. Perhaps it's because he's missing his Pauline so much, and his devastation recognized mine. He wrapped his arm around me and said, "It just f-f-f-ucking hurts all the time. Doesn't it? Have some of this wine, it numbs the pain. All kinds of pain." Then we sampled his homemade wine and raised a glass to our broken hearts.  Maybe I should take up winemaking.

As much work as I've done over these months, I am still crushed by the massive loss and the burden of living without you, my firstborn, a joy of my life (one), twinkling-eyed baby boy. 

What now? What now? What now? I ask. The emotional alchemy of turning grief and suffering into something different continues. There are days where my experiment blows up in my face. But I start anew as the sun rises in the East to greet the fresh day with fresh eyes and optimism that Grace has bestowed upon me.

What now? What now? What now? I ask.

Love. Tears. Love. Smiles. Love. Tears.

Heartbeat.

Heartbeat.

Heartbeat.

Breathe.

One step at a time.

There is more to say about all of this…I'll save it for another day when we get a chance to sit and talk awhile, Thor.

I love you.

Mom

For Thor - 91 - Changing "Why me?" to "What now?"

Well, Bubby, we did it. And it was spectacular, my darling! Over a year of visioning, planning and building all came together last Saturday for Thor's Hammer Firefighter Games and Chili Cook-off. We rode high on a wave of love and shone the light of that love through our hearts for all to see. We brought Our Family Blessing to life and expanded the ranks of "family" to include everyone who came to share the day with us. It was perfect. It was humbling. It knocked my freaking socks off to see how much joy and love we generated in your memory, Thor. The resilience of the human heart to channel new pathways and transmute anguish and agony into something that bonds and shines is nothing short of astounding! We indeed are all blessed with grace to be able to offer our broken hearts up and ask…what can be done?...and then to do it.

So many people poured in to help; couldn't wait to help! People couldn’t wait to send donations of money and asked their local firehouses to send firehouse swag to give away. They jumped in and set up, cleaned, hauled, lifted, parked cars, tallied tickets, cooked chili, judged chili, ran the games, participated in the games, took photos, poured beers, served hotdogs, helped kids in the bounce houses, spun cotton candy and drizzled syrup over snow-cones, ran sound and played music; collectively each was host and guest simultaneously. In the words of St. Francis… It is in giving that we receive. We came together as a community inspired by love to celebrate our firefighters and were rewarded richly with hearts full of gladness and joy.

Most of that day I felt as if I was out of my body, much like during the night we had visitation at the funeral home when I hugged every single person that came through the line. I reserved nothing, held nothing back. The edges of "me" were expanded so far out that I could embrace everything and everyone. Your love, our love, shone through me like a million watt bulb. What was so beautiful to see, is that light shining back at me from the eyes of so many others, too. 

I jumped up and down like a kid when the firetrucks started rolling in! Oh, Thor! Firetruck Row a-freaking-mazing! All those machines that we depend upon to help people in need lined up and gleaming in the sun was a sight to behold. The tower dad built with the flags flying in that bright blue September sky was an inspired centerpiece where much of the action of the games took place. The teams of firefighters competed all afternoon in the games, and as they did so, they laughed together, talked together, worked together. Cody brought down a team from JMU, and I was so thrilled to see these young folks so excited to be there! The Buckingham Four - Arvonia, Dillwyn, Glenmore and Toga all showed up in style and ready to rumble. It was so much fun to have everyone there, chilling between events in Thor's Hammer tee shirts and turnout pants, leaning on the trucks. Dillwyn and Toga went head to head to win Thor's Hammer in the end. Dillwyn VFD finished that timed event first and emerged the winner of the trophy. But really, every team that took the field were winners that day.

We got there early to let the chili cook-off contestants get started and the morning air smelled delicious and mouth-watering! I sampled it all! And they didn't disappoint. I thought it was awesome that Starr and Kaylee won the grand prize. Your Starr, Bubby.  The winners got to go see Zac Brown Band in concert with us, so she'll be there along with her new man, Corey. He's a good man and is kind to Starr, but I worry about him feeling like he's always being compared to you. Watching the other people in your life move on with theirs comes with its own complement of heartache - and joy. I love them, too, and wish only the best. But damn, it's bittersweet to watch time roll on and not have you here.

As Thor's Hammer wound to a close, I got pretty darned tipsy (Xanny was tasked with taking care of drunk mom. Don't laugh! Okay, you can laugh a little.) It didn't take much as I was exhausted, expended, emotionally blown-out and elated all in the same breath. I hadn't accounted for the emotional intensity and the effect it would have on me. As the agony of your loss is in my heart always…I numbed the pain to keep moving. Eventually, the sun did set and it was time to go. I didn't want it to end. The energy and momentum of the day propelled me with a force that was so fast and intense, it would take days to ramp back down. You were so "present" all day that I didn't want to walk away. I wanted time to stop and leave me there in that expanded awareness and feeling your energy so close by. But my body certainly needed to rest and time is a relentless thing, so I left the field and waved goodbye to one of the most magnificent days I've ever seen. And while it may have been my idea and vision at the start, Thor's Hammer now belongs to all of us; everyone who loves you and to the community and firefighters you love.

That's the high of it. And it was oh, so high. And so vast and so breathtakingly beautiful and inspiring and full of awe was the whole experience. But still, at the heart of the matter, one terrible fact remains irrefutable and stubbornly, horribly true; you are dead. It blows my mind to think about how we wouldn't have done any of this if not for that. None of these connections, the togetherness, the fierce determination to change the question from "Why me?" to "What now?" would have come to pass. We would be elsewhere learning other lessons in how to love and live to our fullest potential. You would be here walking by our side in some different storyline. Would I be as fierce in my choice to live and to transform my heart's pain into a gift for the greater good? Would I have worked tirelessly for months on end if I didn't have the backdrop of tragedy to stage this against?

And so on Tuesday morning, three days after Thor's Hammer knocked my socks off, I found myself sobbing in the car on the way to work. I turned down the driveway to Nana's house and stumbled into the bedroom where I crawled into bed next to my mom and sobbed. All this beauty, love and amazingness was clashing starkly with the fact that you are still dead, my darling boy. I still cannot hold you. I cannot caress your hair, your cheek. I cannot console you over heartbreaks or advise you when your unsure of what to do next. I will never hear you say, "I love you, Mama." again. And so I cried and let myself be comforted by the sheltering arms of my mom.

The work of changing the question from "Why me?" to "What can be done?" is perpetual and unfolding in every moment in this life as a woman who has lost a beloved child. There is no break from it, there is nowhere to hide from it. I can only keep lifting my eyes to the horizon and asking for you to guide my steps into the next moment, hoping I can stay steady and keep growing in love. I pray for Grace to continue to rise like a wind under my wings to help me soar into the uncertainty of life with hope and joy in my heart. I pray that I am strong enough to keep saying, "yes" when the path is illumined before me, beckoning me to take another step. I pray that I continue to hear you in my heart encouraging me to stay melty and loving in a world that would force to me be sharp and pointed if I give in to fear.

Your dad and brothers and I will carry on, Thor. We remain here at the epicenter of the earthquake that rocked our family when you died. Together we are finding ways to both live on and to keep you alive along with us. Thor's Hammer is a gift to the world, born out of tragedy and love and imbued with hope for the greater good to be revealed.

Today, I'm resting in the chambers of the heart and listening for "what now?"

I love you to the moon and back, my boy. And I always will.
Mom

For Thor - 90 - Crash

Yesterday may have been the single hardest day I've had in a long time, Thor. It was my birthday. Just a week after we marked your birthday. And two weeks after Xanny's, to boot.

I've held it together at home and at work. I've powered through the waves of grief that seek to swamp me and ride the storm to calmer waters. But the more tranquil waters didn't come yesterday. It was finally just too much for this mama's heart to take and I crashed hard.

You see celebrating another year in my life feels so absolutely horrible when your life is done. I don't feel guilty for being alive, I am devastated that you are not. My broken heart bleeds sorrow over this simple fact; somehow the sun still rises and sets over my head each day, but its golden rays will never shine upon your beautiful face, again. How can I possibly celebrate my life moving on, marking the passing years, when you will never see another daybreak, never draw another breath, never sing another song, tell another joke, nor live out your dreams?

Celebrating my birthday seems awkward if not impossible, now.  Last year I was held up and buoyed by the constant company of family and friends. This year I faced the starkness of grief and sorrow head on. It was time.

I cried my eyes out all the way home from work. I barely made it out of the office before I fell headlong into the well of grief and sank slowly to the very bottom, where I haven't visited in many months. I let it take me somewhere I could scream and beat my breast and exhaust myself of the pent-up, throttled-back feelings that had crystallized in my being. Then I sat in stillness and let sorrow sing her song through the tears that fell in streams down my face.

I sipped a beer and let myself feel everything that I've neatly avoided so that I could carry on living day to day. I watched the clouds scud in bright bunches across a gorgeous blue sky from my perch on the swing which I rocked with my bare toes in the grass. And the tears fell unfettered, unheeded and unashamed. I unpacked my broken heart and let the late summer breeze into its chambers to ease the burning agony that threatened to choke me.

We never get over it, I read that today. I already know this, but it was reassuring to read it from a professional in Psychology Today. She blasted the "stages of grief" theories that somehow imply that if we simply do the work in each stage, we will be transported to the other side of this sometimes raging and dangerous sea. She told me things I already know, but hadn't given myself permission to believe; that there is no "getting over it," that these anniversaries are real traumatic markers, that I'm not crazy or weak or depressed. My broken-heartedness over your death is part of my life story, now. And while there may be many more moments where I look "normal" than there are moments where I seem like an emotional refugee, it's still there; the all-encompassing, soul-etching, heart crushing, eviscerating grief. And it can show up anytime it likes. What a mother fucker!

Facebook lit up with bright, lovely, cheerful wishes for me to celebrate, enjoy, have a blast, be amazing…I just couldn't. I took 'em all in and smiled wistfully at each message, thinking not of myself but of the love and friendship I have with each person who took time to drop by and send me a joyful wish. A heart full of grief can still appreciate love, even if it doesn't feel like celebrating. So that's what I did. I allowed love to sit with me in the bottom of the well and let Grace find its way in, too. All those messages of love wrapped me in a warm blanket and held me safe while I let the tears fall. It may not be what everyone had in mind when wishing me a happy birthday, but the day was perfect in its agony and expression of the utter anguish I feel over your death, Thor. It was perfect because this grief is derived from and caused by the undying love I have for you.

Dad did the right thing, he brought some sunflowers, wine, and whiskey. He held me when I cried after reading his card. No one said anything about my eyes, swollen and red and still weeping right through dinner. The blessing dad said made me cry all over again. I took time to hug your brothers and enjoyed a slice of cake. I gazed at your photograph and allowed my heart to break anew with each beat.

Sometimes you just gotta go there, you know, and feel the enormity of the loss. I stand on the precipice of that abyss and leap, knowing that the universe has already put in place everything I need to not just survive, but to soar.

This morning I feel better. Still weepy, but not crushed. I'm ready to greet the day and the list of things I have to do with a quiet, wistful gentleness in my heart. Which is right where you are, my darling son.

I love you so,
Mom

For Thor - 89 - Moonshine in the Moonshine

It's been eighty-eight weeks since you died and every single one of them has come with pain and sorrow. Each of them has led me further along the road of grief. The days peel away leaving me with lessons in love and compassion, vulnerability and strength. Some weeks are gentle allowing me to breathe into new ideas and expressions of sorrow with ease. Not this week. This one was rough, Bubby.

Friday we marked what would have been your 21st birthday. It's a day that you had been looking forward to for so long. And while turning 21 meant you could legally purchase a drink and go out with your friends without worrying about getting carded, it also meant you were truly an adult. There would be no more barriers or throttles holding you back. Turning 21 is a big deal. But you never made it. Instead, you left us at the age of 19, forever Peter-Panned (as Aunt Lakshmi coined) on the cusp of all that you had dreamed of being and doing.

We gathered together at Frida's, those of us who could, to raise a glass in your name. I saw some of your friends that I haven't seen since your funeral. We hugged. And laughed. And told Thor Stories. Good Lord, boy! You were a merry jokester full of mirth and good-natured confidence that belied your young age. Wickedly funny and beloved. We heard tell of the famous Thor Swagger and laughed at the retelling of how you would charm the ladies out of their phone numbers. It warmed my heart to hear how your buddies and you did so many adventuresome things. Luke Bryan, one of your favorites, put out a song that feels like an anthem for you guys. Whenever it comes on I sing out loud and think about you and the fun you got to have. 

 

You managed to cram in a lot of experiences in your short life; at least there's that.

Chaz was DD-ing me around after he dropped off dad and Xanny. I wanted to go see Janice down at Telly's house. We toasted you and the firelight shone on the tears in our eyes. They all love and miss you, too. Janice's words of comfort to me meant a lot. We had a good laugh about how you like to dance with her - Cotton-eyed Joe being one of your favorites. We left there and headed toward home, stopping at the wide spot on our road near the cut over where you guys always staged for the hunt. Bert, Travis, Kelly, and Andy were there in tribute of the love and sorrow we feel for our loss. We drank moonshine in the moonshine and listened to music. We laughed boldly and brashly in the face of the agony in our hearts. When we hugged goodbye in the wee hours of the morning, I could feel you there with us, conjured by our collective love and memory.

It's easier being on the other side of the milestone. This was a big one that choked me up all week. I'm proud of myself for making it through, for going to work every day. And while I may have been a little wobbly, the grief wasn’t debilitating as it's been in the past. Grief is pervasive and I believe it can kill a person, perhaps literally, but certainly emotionally. I've been doing the work, taking the highs and lows and keeping my heart open to what they would teach me. I have more resilience, more capacity, more connection with you and that allows me to bear this burden as I walk ahead. You are on my mind every single day nearly all day long. When I see the sunrise and say your name or a cloud limned in gold and think, "Hello, Bubby." A crow caws and I look to find him so my feathered friend can deliver a message from my heart to yours…

Happy Birthday in Heaven, sweet boy. I love and miss you more than words can say. We all do.

I love you so and always will,
Mom