Resting Place

You know we have a stone bench at the cemetery instead of a headstone. When we made that decision it was out of protest because I felt outraged that my child would ever need a headstone, but also because I wanted to create a space where people could stop and sit for a while and think about Jack.

We don't go there very often.

I was trying to remember the last time. Not Christmas, not Jack's 16th birthday, not even the 3rd crapiversary of losing him. (Sometimes I feel like saying we misplaced him, rather than we lost him, because I know he is so very near, just out of sight, but that's a topic for another blog.)

I've heard from folks who do go to Jack's bench for us, and we are grateful for that.

Yesterday I was meeting a friend at a Starbucks almost directly across from the cemetery. If that seems weird, I'll remind you that there's a lot of weird in our lives: at least 6 car trips a day over the spot where Jack's body was found, Bible study once a week in our old neighborhood, and many, many other oddities about staying here in the town where our greatest joys and sorrows are intermingled. Today, for instance, traffic was stopped on the road while a work crew cut down trees that were encroaching on power lines. My car was stopped right next to the cross that marks where Jack's body was found. 

I was sitting there, listening to music and telling Jack I love him, when I got a text from a friend. She was directly behind me, stopped also, and the situation was not lost on her. Not lost on me was that if those trees had been cut 4 years ago, we would  not have lost power and things might have ended differently for Jack. In today's moment of loss, love, communion, and the mystery of God's ways, was a text from someone who cared enough to acknowledge that ordinary/extraordinary moment.

Okay, that was quite a digression. Let's get back to Starbucks.

So yesterday I waited at Starbucks for a sweet friend who didn't show up because she got the date confused. Long holiday weekends will do that to you. With extra time on my hands, I thought, "Well, I guess I could go the cemetery and sit on Jack's bench since it's right over there." So I did. Nothing dramatic happened, but it was a simple, quiet moment in my day. Later, my friend and I decided to reschedule for this afternoon, but when I got to Starbucks, I heard from her that she was not able to make it. She really had tried to stop me, but an earlier text hadn't gone through. I laughed to be in sitting in the same Starbucks two days in a row. "Well, okay," I thought,  "maybe I should give the cemetery another shot."

I drove the few feet down the busy road and parked, telling myself to keep my heart open for whatever the experience would be.  There was another car on the gravel path near Jack's bench, with two people tending a grave nearby.  I thought maybe I was there to reach out to them with a smile or encouragement. I mean, I hadn't been there in more than a year, yet there I was, two days in row and there were people not 5 feet away from where I was going. Please tell me I'm not the only one who enters random situations looking for how I can be of help. I sure hope it's more a case of trying to stay open to the nudge of the Holy Spirit than of thinking I'm God's gift to the world. Ack.

So, I smiled and said hi and, noticing the dates, asked the older lady if the grave was for her son. She nodded. I pointed to Jack's bench and said, "Mine's over there," but there was no recognition from her. Her son's gravestone was inscribed in Spanish, so I guessed she didn't understand what I was trying to say.

I went over and sat on Jack's bench. It didn't feel any different from the day before, but I did note that I couldn't get on my computer, or busy myself with other distractions like laundry and dog pee, which was good.

Soon, smoke was wafting over to me. Ugh. The man who came with the old woman was smoking a cigarette. The sun beat down, and the granite bench was hot.  I didn't have some lovely, spiritual experience, and I probably lasted all of five minutes. But I came away with the understanding that this place could be a place for me to sit and pray, not just a place for others.

"You leave so soon?" smoking man asked as I walked toward him, giving me the impression that their visits were more frequent and of longer duration than mine. I stopped to talk, and found out his brother was the one buried there. He had died of a heart attack at 35, leaving behind four children. The man asked about Jack, and I told him. I told him my mother was buried next to Jack's bench.

"You okay?" he asked, in heavily accented English. I nodded. "But you okay?" he asked again. "Yes, yes, I'm okay," I answered with a smile.

Because of the context of this conversation, I knew this wasn't the quick, "How are you?" "I'm fine," of so many conversations. This was a man who had lost a brother, who drove his mother to the cemetery often. Whose nieces and nephews, age 10-16, were fatherless. He knew that okay can mean different things.

It can't erase the pain of the past or a future we never wanted, but my OKAY can say:

• I'm okay being here today, even though I don't come often. 
• I am okay learning the rhythm of a different family life. 
• The anger and despair have abated.
• I experience joy and laughter every single day.
• I can see beyond my own family's problems and pain now, and it feels good to care for others.
• I am reminded again and again that LOVE DOESN'T DIE. Nope. 

Yeah, life is far from perfect, but I'm okay today. I don't know if I went to the cemetery for Jack, for me, for that mom, or for her son, but I'm guessing I'll go back sooner rather than later and be open to whatever the experience is like.

I also realized I want to plant a big 'ole tree there. If mama's going to hang out on the bench every once and a while, there might as well be a place to hang a birdhouse and get some much-needed shade.

Specter

Can we talk?

So here’s the thing. I think Jack looks like Justin Bieber. Maybe he doesn't to you, but to me there is a breath-catching, eye-widening response every time I see The Biebs, which is fairly often.

The slender build, the way he walks (lopes) and his coloring and features are spot on. My breath catches when I see Justin on TV, jutting out his chin, because when he’s moving, the similarities are even more pronounced.

What are the chances the boy we lost would resemble someone famous, so that when we turn on a tv or, to be honest, open a trashy magazine, he could be right there staring at us?

After my mom died, I began to think of her when I saw Princess Diana on TV. The short blonde hair, the strength coupled with sensitivity, and the motherly compassion just made me want to hug her and be hugged by her.

It’s a bit of a blessing, to be able to have a way to imagine what Jack would have looked like as he aged. But it’s also a curse, because as a mama, I just want to say, “Justin, stop with the weird pants that make it look like you have inserted your spindly legs into an upside down sweatshirt. Not one person on earth needs a crotch that hangs that low. And the Malfoy hair? No, just no. Stick with the beautiful brown, please.

What about a nice checked button down? Could we try the preppy thing for a little while? And speaking of a little while, I know you have been struggling for months. People think you’re a punk. And you are at that tough place where if you try to prove you AREN’T A PUNK, it just comes out like, 'Methinks thou dost protest too much.'

I believe your mom, that you are a good person. I do. When we met you in LA, you showed us nothing but class and kindness. You didn’t have to reach out to us in our pain, but you did, and I will always be grateful. Thank you. Growing up in the spotlight can’t be easy. And all that money isn’t doing you any favors either, surrounding you with hangers-on and “Yes” people all the time. I was relieved my kids weren’t prodigies at anything because, well, that would mean a lot more driving around for me, but also because there is just too much pressure when you shine and potentially flame out so young.
Could you just step back for a while, check out, or check-in somewhere or do whatever it would take to get back on solid ground? You have potentially sixty years or so ahead of you. This rough patch could become just a blip on the way to your finding your true self and living a life full of love and meaning."

But then I think selfishly, if Justin loses the bravado, the weird clothes, the bluster, and the hair dye, he might look even more like the one I’m missing. And that might hurt just a little too much.

p.s. After I wrote this I read an article on the same topic from the folks at What's Your Grief? Have you experienced anything like this?

p.p.s. Thank you for your kind words yesterday on Jack's 16th b-day. Please visit the Huffington Post to read my interview w/Melanie Bishop for the occasion.

 

A Beautiful September Day

On this gorgeous Tuesday, it is impossible to forget about that beautiful Tuesday morning 11 years ago, and I don't want to. I don't want to forget the lives lost, and how each life represents a family, a story. I want to remember what it felt like to hug my babies close that day, brought to my knees by the weight of pain for the families left behind. I want to remember how off-kilter the world seemed with the bright sun shining in my windows as I watched the black smoke billow into the air on tv. I want to remember the full parking lots at church that Sunday when folks showed up to love on each other and ask God what the hell was going on.

It's just too easy to forget. And a lot more Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Thursdays came and passed and life moved on and on and on.

I think about this with Jack's death too.

I know it's not possible or even advisable to live in a constant state of remembrance. Life and soccer and jobs and hunger and homework and money and the internet and poo get in the way.

But perhaps it's not impossible to live in a state of heightened awareness or compassion that comes from a tragedy. Somehow to stay just off-kilter enough that we don't forget that something significant has happened...and what, if anything we've learned from it.

Sending love and prayers to all hurting people today.

p.s. Cemetery is officially off our backs. Jack's bench was installed 1 day shy of the one year mark. Yes, it's ok to sit on his face.

Repeat After Me: "I am a strong, capable woman..."*

I was cleaning the unfinished area of our basement last night for a project I’ll share with you in a day or two. As I looked around at all the plastic storage tubs, I knew it was time to get rid of the years of teaching materials that I had been saving. I taught high school for 6 years, and it has been almost 11 years since I quit to stay home with my kids.

I felt weird going through it and putting 99% of it in the recycling bin. Every single lesson plan was typed and in a plastic sleeve, then placed in a binder with support materials. I smiled at the memory of specific lessons, specific students, and that challenging yet rewarding stage in my life. It was difficult to let go of all that hard work and save just the memories, but I had to be realistic.

Even if I went back to teaching tomorrow, chances are I’d be teaching different grade levels, different works of literature, with a completely new curriculum. What good were my 100’s of transparencies of model papers and great works of art when they now can be found via the Internet and probably beamed directly into students’ brains? A lot has changed in a decade.

One thing that hasn’t changed is that I’m forgetful. Not forgetful as in losing things, but forgetful of what I have been through and been able to accomplish. I think back to myself in my early 20’s embarking on a teaching career. I must have been scared sh*tless. But there, in black in white, was the proof that I had not just survived, but thrived.

The students were amazing and the lessons were usually pretty good. Sure, I would change some things (what MOM would support giving 15 year old boys 4 novels, including "Wuthering Heights," to read during Summer Break? Aargh. Talk about killing the love of reading), but I’m proud of a lot of it. The teaching materials reminded me that I was an energetic and creative teacher.

The weird thing is that the minute I had my first baby almost 11 years ago (my water broke at 2 a.m. and I never made it to work at 6:30 a.m.) I lost confidence in my ability to teach. Even when I went back to visit a few times, I felt like a fraud-- as if I’d never taught before. I had so quickly forgotten what I could do.

But there is great benefit to remembering. When I started a new part-time job a year ago as the manager of a small bookstore, I was nervous again. This job, while far less stressful than teaching, was completely new to me. I had to remind myself: “I can do new things. I can learn.”

Drawing upon the past helped me take the plunge and try something new, even though I was frightened. I think it was also a great example to my kids. We are always having them try new things: basketball, gymnastics, etcetera, but we need to be brave, too. Now if only I could muster the courage to pursue my dream of becoming a estate agent…

What is it that you need to remember about yourself? Is it that you have been strong? Perhaps you need to remember when you broke away from a destructive relationship or ended a toxic friendship. You still have that strength inside you today.

Maybe you are facing unemployment or underemployment and are too scared to branch out of the comfort zone of a familiar field. Chances are you can remember another time in your life when you had to stretch way beyond what you thought your limits were.

Maybe your husband is working all the time and you don’t think you can handle another 14 hour day alone with your children. Can you think back to an earlier day or stage in life that you thought would never end (say, 7th grade?) but that thankfully, did? If you made it through that, you can make it through this.

Maybe you are lonely and tired of doing this thing called life alone. Remember people you have impacted. The world is a better place because you are in it.

I’m not sure what it is that you are facing today, but I bet there is a challenge before you.

Remember: You can do hard things. You have done hard things. And you will again.



*This is Molly's and my mantra when we need a little boost.