Tag Archives: ghosts

Rock Bottom

rock bottom

Sometimes after you think you’ve hit rock bottom, you realize that you were wrong. There is so much further you can fall. That’s happened to me. I thought I had passed the worst. I actually wrote, “The draw of Death has released it’s iron grip on me. A little. I still think about it, but I know I made it through the worst.” How naive I was. How blind. Shortly after writing that, I learned the bottom can still drop out of rock bottom. You fall deeper into an abyss you didn’t see coming. You should have seen it , but you’ve become such an adept liar that you lie to yourself as much as everyone else. That’s me. The most adept liar I’ve ever met (and I’ve met some doozies!!)

I thought I was gaining ground, truly. I had found that adrenaline was a great escape from the Grief. I thought it was a healthy escape. It kept me active, engaged with my friends, enabled me to laugh, helped me feel the blood flowing through my veins again. Turns out the adrenaline was actually the dizzying affect of such a downward spiral that it turned me upside down, backwards, and inside out. I was in constant search of that rush. It was alluring and captivating. Incipient of the destruction to come. It began innocently enough, with a day filled with friends, laughter, and mayhem. A day unplanned. A day where the laughter flowed so freely and I felt like the Old Me again. It was the Old Me, but not the recently inhabited Old Me. red dress

This was 16 year old Amy come back from the recesses, from the darkest parts of my past, grabbing me in her arms and doing what she did best. Avoid feeling. 16 year old Amy is a nightmare wrapped in glitter and spKISSandex. She shines brightly, laughs boisterously, loves freely, engages easily, draws everyone in to her web. She’s hedonistic. She is the quintessential party girl. She’s a master manipulator, a liar, a deceiver. She has a selfish heart, and it’s only purpose is to avoid pain. She pays no attention to the misery left in her wake. I embraced her completely, not even realizing she was back. black dressThe psyche is a very clever entity. It creates all these self-defense mechanisms from trauma. 16 year old Amy is just that. She was created from years of trauma, mixed with a natural tendency towards mischief and needing to rebel against authority. She was born of internalized anger and rage. She was my Protectress. She is my restless spirit incarnate. She both saved me and nearly destroyed me when first she emerged. She did no different this time. 16 year old Amy has no business being anyone’s wife. She has no business being anyone’s mother.

When I found myself at the deepest, darkest bottom I have ever encountered, I had no choice but to look around at what I had done. With the depths of despair came the words from my Husband, “You need to leave.”  I hurt those that I was tasked with protecting. I hurt those that I love most in this world. I disappointed those who looked up to me. It was pretty sobering. Literally – as in it’s been 19 days since I’ve had a drink.

I reached out and begged for help – from the Universe, from Nolan, and from (finally) a grief counselor. Truthful truth is I had been crying out desperately for help for a long time. It’s not an easy thing to own up to your failures, but that’s what I’m trying to do. Being brutally honest with a counselor is so difficult. I don’t want to look in that mirror, but I have to. For as open as I’ve been about my Grief and this Journey, I hide 1000x more beneath the surface. The PTSD has been out of control for a long time. I’ve been self-medicating until a blackout blissfully removes all feeling from my heart. I’ve been told that my behaviors are a “Passive Suicide.” I can’t disagree with that.

I have failed utterly as a wife, as a mother, as a friend. I can’t take anything back. I know more than most that there are no magic time machines. No matter how desperately we want to go back, time moves in only one direction. It’s time I moved in that direction too. Forcing myself to face the feelings is something I battle every day. I want to avoid. I want to hide. I want to deny. I want 16 year old Amy to whisk me away to where the music is so loud you can’t hear yourself think. I want her to take away the pain. I can’t let her. I have to heal that part of myself as well. I’m learning that new trauma often brings up old forgotten traumas. Things you thought you had dealt with years ago resurface in a different light. <insert sarcasm font> It’s awesomely fun.

I’m taking baby steps forward. Tentative steps on broken glass. I know it will hurt, but I’m trying to tread gently. I took Nolan’s picture off the background of my phone and put Nason’s in its place. I’m hoping this will help keep my focus on him rather than my loss. I’ve given my notice at school and accepted a new full-time job. I have so many mixed feelings about this. I will miss the kids and the teachers so much, but school is fraught with triggers for me. I hear Nolan’s voice echo down the hall. I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, and it cuts me off at the knees every time. I need to spend my days in a place with no memories. I need to fill the hours. Home isn’t my safe place anymore.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to salvage the wreck I’ve made of my family. The only thing I can do is to take care of myself better so that I can take care of them. Please don’t tell me I’m strong, because right now I’m not. I’m broken. I’m bruised. I’m vulnerable. Maybe I will get strong. Maybe I won’t and this “passive suicide” thing will rear it’s ugly head once more. I don’t know what the future holds. I only know that right now, in this moment, I’m trying to be a better human being.

Smoke and Mirrors

smoke

When your child dies, you don’t lose them all at once. You lose them by increments, microscopic particles, little by little, bit by bit, second by second, hour by hour, day by day, month by month, year by year. The immediate absence of their physical body is shocking; traumatic. I imagine this is the same whether your child suffers an illness or is ripped from your arms in sudden tragedy. Even if you know it’s coming, nothing can prepare you for that moment when their breath stops, their heart quiets, and a silence fills your Soul never to have sound again.

This is what I’ve been going through and why I’ve been on hiatus from this blog. It’s been too much to carry – to heavy for words. I survived Mother’s Day. I survived a birthday. We survived Father’s Day. We managed to make it through Nolan’s one-year anniversary. The days continue to be wrapped in darkness. The panic attacks are back in full swing. The nights are filled with terrors only to awaken to find that is has become my life.

I’m losing Nolan in pieces. Sometimes it feels like he’s just not home, and I have to remind myself that he’s not coming home. I look for him everywhere, in everything. In every tree, in every leaf, in every whisper of the wind. I try to see him in every cloud and bird. I search each rock and flower and blade of grass to find something – something – that calls out to me from him. I was laying at the lake last week, just watching the clouds and talking to him in my mind. I could swear the clouds spelled “LIVE,” and I started to cry. The eagle chose that moment to soar over the lake, and I almost believed it was real. Part of me knows that he is still trying to reach me, but the bigger part is so wrapped in pain that it makes those signs easy to rationalize away.

Pieces of him drift away. Slowly, quietly. The emptiness is becoming familiar, routine. I still cry every day. Every. Single. Day. Endlessly. I see all the posts about Grief online and they don’t help. Grief is the price of love and all that nonsense. I call bullsh*t on that. Love has no price, especially the unconditional love for a child. Grief is what rises up and engulfs the energy that you used to spend on that child. All those thoughts about them, the physical energy in taking care of them, the emotional devotion directed towards them, your hopes and dreams for them – it all just hangs there like a specter hovering in your heart. It becomes Grief incarnate. It takes over every aspect of your life.

I am beginning to see the understatement that “New Normal” really means. It’s that Grief encompassing every part of you – mind, body, and Soul. It pushes out all color from your life. You actually become used to it. The constant battle of railing against the pain and trying to find the sun – and your Son – begins to feel familiar. Your shoulders slump under the weight of agony, your back curves, everything hurts, but you begin to desensitize yourself to the sensations. The fight is gone. Surrender is the only option.

All this goes on behind the smile and the “I’m ok,” in response to your “How are you?” All this happens behind the laughter of a joke you told or a memory you shared. Smoke and mirrors. People become more comfortable with that perception. They want you to be ok. They want you to be happy. They want you to laugh, and so you do. Only those who look beyond that surface, only those brave Souls who travel the same path really notice the laughter never reaches your eyes. They notice you always deflect questions about yourself. They know it’s self-defense. Self-preservation. Even with all my devotion to being brutally honest about this Journey, I have somehow become a Master of Smoke & Mirrors.

An Unexpected Visit

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A couple of weeks ago, on April 1 actually (no joke), a few of Nolan’s friends came over to work on a school project. I love that they still come around and feel welcome here. They don’t come as often these days, and I try to be okay with that. It’s healthy for them to move forward, and coming here is still painful. Sometimes when they are here, I have to go to bed because the pain of waiting to hear Nolan’s voice among theirs is just too much. Even on those days, it’s still a comfort to have them. It’s a piece of what my life should be like. I know they carry Nolan with them every single day and will for the rest of their lives. But I will admit, I miss them and the chaos they bring!

I had been struggling so very much, as you may recall from my last post. The Dream sent me into a tailspin that I was still stuck in when I got the text “Can we work on a project at your house?” from Nolan’s friends. I was thrilled to have them come. Later in the afternoon, I found myself standing in the kitchen making dinner, one of Nolan’s favorites, and listening to them work on the project downstairs. It was a movie they had to film, filled with antics and laughter. I looked out the window and saw them in bathing suits in the snow. I heard them splash in the pool and scream because we haven’t heated the pool in months. I laughed out loud and it felt wonderful. About that time, I tuned in to my thoughts, as I’ve trained myself to do quite often. If I don’t stay vigilant and allow my mind to wander, I end up in the midst of That Night with a panic attack on the horizon. So, I tuned into my thoughts and realized I was singing Sgt Pepper in my head repeatedly. Not the whole song, only the part that goes “It’s wonderful to be here. It’s certainly a thrill. You’re such a lovely audience, We’d like to take you home with us. We’d love to take you home.”

If there’s one major defining musical connection for Nolan, it’s his love of the Beatles. He found them around 8 years old and is the biggest Beatles fan I’ve seen. His prize possession is one of their original albums which once belonged to his Great Aunt. We found it going through boxes at his Great Grandmother’s house one day and his reaction was like every single holiday and birthday wrapped up with a bow and snacks. (He also LOVES snacks!) I’d never seen a kid react like that before. It was the Holy Grail of his young life. Nolan never outgrew his love for the Beatles. He had about 10 shirts with them on the front. Each time he outgrew one, it had to be immediately replaced. Projects for music class were always about the Beatles. A Hard Day’s Night was watched hundreds of times. He has books about them and at one point was convinced that it was all a big Conspiracy Theory and John Lennon was still alive somewhere. Arguments ensued over this for weeks. When he was 11, I took Nolan to see a Beatles tribute band and he was enthralled. I’m so glad I was able to share this with him. 249876_10150207282089640_597041_nAnyway, whenever I hear The Beatles, I know Nolan is nearby.

So there I was, standing in the kitchen making one of Nolan’s favorite meals, listening to his friends downstairs, and singing Beatles in my head. My next thought was “I’d really like a cup of tea.” Annnnnd my Keurig turned on. I was about 5 feet away at the time. In that instant, as it all came together in my head, I had the most peaceful feeling come over me. I knew, I knew that Nolan was right there. I felt him wholly and truly for the first time Since. In that moment, I was living the life I should have been living. It was a rare, precious gift, that moment. My worlds converged in that perfect space and time. Nolan wasn’t here, but he was here. I said “Oh hey Buddy,” just like I used to when he walked into a room. I felt him next to me. I almost expected to have to tell him to stay out of the kitchen because he always stole little tidbits of dinner when I was cooking. Then I said, “Oh Nolan, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you so very very much. I love you Buddy.” Tears fall as I relive this here with you, but in the moment, I was still surrounded by that incredible peace and love. I didn’t cry. I smiled. My heart lifted. Then the immediacy was gone and I knew he had pulled back. It didn’t feel like he was gone, though. It felt like he had gone downstairs with his friends. I didn’t mention it to them, but I wonder if they felt him that day too.

I’ve been getting stronger since Nolan’s visit. The feeling that he’s just in the next room prevails. I’ve seen signs of him everywhere. I’ve found coins after talking about him, walked into the band room at school and saw this: 11053353_10153258750474640_3241641477902725350_n

All the percussionists sign a pillow in the base drum at the end of their 8th grade year, and that’s Nolan’s signature sticking out. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

His visit has given me a strength I didn’t know I possessed. It gave me the strength to do this:  1229141019   0416151849(1)

This was a pretty significant endeavor, if you’ll remember. I started months ago with Project Extract Head from Ass and put away what had become a shrine to Nolan’s passing. It was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do Since, right up there with picking out a casket and pulling up the blood-stained carpet. I feel such a tremendous relief that it’s no longer looming over me. Know what else I did? This: 0417150828

That’s my office as I write this blog. It used to be a mountain of papers I couldn’t face. You couldn’t even seen my monitor past everything I’ve been avoiding. I feel like I have made tremendous gains the past couple of weeks. I still have to watch my thoughts carefully. I still cry every single day. I still can’t look at a picture of Nolan for too long. I still stay away from the thoughts that he died. I’m still fighting off panic attacks quite often, but I’m also getting stronger. I’m starting to feel the moments between my breath every so often. I’m starting to see shades of gray rather than black.

A friend of mine who has been in this awful club longer than I, whose child was a friend of my daughter’s in school and was tragically taken from this world at 16, is probably the most inspiring person I’ve met. She posted on her Facebook one day,

“What a beautiful morning. I am actually sitting on the deck in the warm sunshine, coffee in hand, thinking about life. Days like today, I remind myself how beautiful the earth really is and that we and the earth have all been created by the universe. My daughter is part of that universe now. I can not take all this for granted because of that. I will continue to sit here and listen to all the sounds of spring and be thankful we have all been given the chance to be here.”

Her strength amazes me. I’m not there yet, not even close, but I aspire to see the world again; to really see the world and find the beauty around me.

This Journey is the biggest, most monumental test of Faith I could imagine. I find my Faith holding on, sometimes by a thread, but still there. I believe with my whole Being that I am more than my body and so is my son. He has to exist in some form, somewhere. And if that’s true, then where else would he be than right beside me when I need him? He continues to be my Soulmate.

Nolan’s Hands

hands

Recently, I went to pick up Nolan after he spent the night at a friend’s house. I remember pulling into the driveway of this house I had never been to before and being so desperately excited to see him. I could not wait for him to come out of the front door. I missed him with a ridiculous intensity that made no sense. He’d only been gone one night, for Heaven’s sake! When he finally came outside, I nearly shrieked. Ok, maybe I did a little bit. He walked casually to the car with that lovable smirk on his face. He was wearing his favorite plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled partway, and a pair of jeans. I remember looking at him and thinking what a stunningly handsome man he was growing into. He got to the passenger side of the car and slid in next to me. He looked at me and grinned. I said to him, “Nolan, I missed you! I had the most horrible nightmare that you died!” I held his hand up to my cheek and kissed it. I remember the feel of his warm hand against my face. When I looked at his hand in mine, I got confused for a minute. He didn’t say anything to me, just smiled a soft little smile, like he knew that I was going to fall but he couldn’t help me. He couldn’t save me from it, but he was loving me through it.  All of a sudden it came back to me. THIS was the dream. My life was the nightmare. I woke up in a sea of tears that I still can’t seem to stop.

I’ve always loved Nolan’s hands. From the moment he was born, I’ve had this bizarre fascination with them. The way he would hold onto just my one finger when he was an infant, the way he studied them himself as a baby, the way he learned to use them as a toddler all left me in awe. When he started building things and drawing, I would sit for hours with him and watch his hands. I always thought they were the most beautiful hands I had ever seen. As he got older and they started to become the hands of a man, I would still look at them and think about them holding his own child someday. I would think about those hands touching the face of his wife someday. No matter how old he got, Nolan would always let me hold his hands.

When I first was able to hold Nolan’s hand in the local hospital That Night, I knew he was gone, but in my deep shock, I thought there was a chance he’d wake up. I kept telling myself that when he was life-flighted to the next hospital, we would get there and find him awake in bed. There was no other vision I let take hold. When we got there and I held his hand again, I knew. I was still insistent that the doctors made a huge mistake and he would be fine. I remember thinking the neurologist couldn’t be taken seriously. I mean, he had a Minion shirt on! How could I believe this man when he said my son was not going to recover, that he had already passed away, while he was wearing a shirt with a MINION on it?? It had to be a horrible joke. His heart was still beating. How could he have already died?

It wasn’t until Nolan was settled into his room in the ICU and I crawled into bed with him that it hit me. When I had to physically lift his head to put my arm under it, and I had to physically manipulate his fingers to lace into mine, the reality broke through the cloud that he was, in fact, already deceased. As people came in to say goodbye, I talked to them as if Nolan wasn’t already….well….deceased. I didn’t want the kids to think of that while they said their good-byes. His heart was beating steadily, his body was warm. I know he was in the room, but he was not in his body or in that bed with me.

I spent the next two days staring at his hands. I saw the signs of death slowly taking over his body. A grayish substance began leaking from his nose and mouth. I would lovingly wash it away and apply chapstick to his lips. His coloring began to change. The scent of his body began to have a subtle tinge to it that I will always smell in my mind. His hands began to get smaller, thinner. I couldn’t lie to myself when I was witness to these changes all while his head lay on my shoulder and our hands linked together. Our bodies were pressed so closely, our legs entwined as if he had just fallen asleep with me as he had countless times before.

I remember seeing Nolan in his casket and thinking his hands were wrong. They were thin! His fingers were always so strong and his hands slightly wide. They had lost that and his skin clung to his bones in such an alarming way. They were freezing! I held his hands so long, the warmth from mine leached into his and they became warm again. For as long as I live, I will feel those icy cold fingers in mine.

I don’t think I have the words adequate to describe the feeling of waking from what you thought was a nightmare to find the actual nightmare is your life. I’ve been exceptionally fragile since The Dream. I’ve had to go into the bathroom at work to cry a number of times. I have a hard time being around the kids right now.  Controlling my thoughts is exceedingly difficult. Leaving work one afternoon, I had to stop as an ambulance went by. Hearing the sound in the distance getting closer immediately threw me back to That Night and waiting outside, screaming for help, and finally hearing the sounds of the ambulance in the distance. I wasn’t in my car anymore. I was trapped in That Night all over again. I’m not sure how long I sat there after the ambulance went by reliving that horrible night. Eventually, another car came up behind me and beeped. I’ve said it before, PTSD is no joke. You really are back in time while your body simply holds space for you to return.

I went to a fundraiser for the football team knowing that I really wasn’t strong enough to handle it. It was important to DH, so I went with him. It was alright at first. I struggled but was able to make eye contact with people and even have a few short conversations. They played a video recap of the season that I had seen before and was forewarned would be played again. I knew it would be heartbreaking and that I shouldn’t stay to watch it, but knowing I would catch just a couple glimpses of Nolan on the screen made it impossible for me to walk away. Thankfully, as soon as it began, my Warrior Women surrounded me. I cried through it, ruining my makeup that I had carefully applied to mask my suffering. I sat there falling down the rabbit hole while 3 sets of hands literally held me up. It was a powerful moment. After the video ended, I ran from the room. I had a few minutes of breakdown and then I scolded myself to get it together. I think I fooled those Warriors. I went back to the function room and frantically searched my bag for my anxiety pills. I hardly take them but always carry them just in case. Well, except for that night, I carry them. I didn’t have them with me so instead of leaving, I decided to self-medicate. I know enough addicts to be well aware of what a bad choice this is, but in the moment, I needed the pain to end. I’m becoming very skilled at fooling people. To all outward appearances, I was laughing and dancing and acting silly and seemed to be having a good time. I wasn’t. I was dying inside but wasn’t strong enough to get myself the help I really needed. I continue to work on this.

I was successful in self-medicating to the point of complete blackout. I’m not proud of it, but I’m honest about it. I’m human and I am trying to figure out how to stay alive in a world without Nolan. Luckily enough for me, I have no recollection of the latter part of the evening. I know many teenagers are reading this, and I’ve hedged about sharing this part of my struggle, but I’ve sworn to myself to be brutally honest. Kids, this is a bad idea. It ends up being harder in the long run. You can’t escape the pain this way. In fact, it makes it a thousand times worse.

The floodgates are open and I can’t seem to close them. I’m still extremely fragile. I’m walking on very thin ice that could swallow me whole at any moment. I’m having a lot of flashbacks during the day. I don’t get much sleep at night. I gave up caffeine a week ago and have no idea why. Seriously. No idea. It might appear that The Dream set off a downward spiral and hurt more than it helped. While the downward spiral part is true, I believe The Dream is helping. It is making me face some areas that I need to really work harder to control. I pray a lot. I am watching myself more closely. I am committed to making choices that will help me become stronger each and every day. I don’t understand about the caffeine, but for some reason, I feel guided to do so. I’m following my intuition. I’m trying so much harder to trust the process. I’m trying to trust that Nolan really is loving me through this.

Last night after obedience classes with Ellie, I met the daughter of the breeder who gifted us with Ellie. We talked for a bit about Nolan and how Ellie has been such a blessing to our family. I’m thinking of having her licensed as a therapy dog since she seems to be able to tell when both Lucy (our epileptic rabbit. I know. Only in my family!) is going to have a seizure, and when I am brewing a panic attack. When I left, walking across the dark, muddy parking lot, I found a coin. I know it was from Nolan, acknowledging that he had heard all I said and was loving me through everything. I trust that is true.

While The Dream did send me on a spiral, holding Nolan’s hand again, even for a such a brief moment, is worth any Hell I have to walk through afterwards. He challenged me in life, and he continues to challenge me in death. Being Nolan’s mom is an adventure that never ends.

Confirmations

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Today started out as usual. The alarm goes off and I hit snooze. It went of again, and I hit snooze. The third time’s the charm. The alarm goes off and I let it play to try and wake Li’l N up. We’re laying there, listening to music. I even put on his station to try to keep his attention from drifting back to sleep. Neither of us are morning people. It was always Nolan who got his little brother up in the morning, not always in the nicest way either. Most days in our previous life started with screams of “M-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-M!” and “NOLAN STOP IT!” I’d go upstairs and find Li’l N’s blankets in heap on the floor or find his helpful big brother had dumped cold water on him in an honest effort to get them both to school on time. When school started this year, Li’l N was worried about how he would get up without Nolan “helping.” Honestly, I was too. Every morning now is a struggle.

This morning we are laying in bed, me poking at Li’l N, him squawking at me to leave him alone, and both of us listening to the radio. Some silly game comes on about “Name that Noise,” where the DJ’s play a noise and you call in to guess what it is. That got Li’l N’s attention, so I handed him the phone. He dialed and got a busy signal. He dialed again and got a busy signal. He dialed about 15 times and got a busy signal each time. I just casually said “Nolan, can you help your brother get through?” One guess what happened next. Li’l N dialed again and his face lit up. It rang and the DJ answered. They had already gotten a winner in the contest, but by that point it didn’t matter. I cried and Li’l N laughed. It proved to both of us, once again, that Nolan is right here. He is listening. He will always try to help where he can. Next time we need to be more specific in asking, “Can you help Li’l N get through and win??” Li’l N’s guess was correct, after all. This morning, we won so much more than a contest.

My life Since is a constant test of faith. I miss my boy terribly. I will always miss him. Having him with me in Spirit isn’t enough, but it’s all I have. His simple response to my offhand request this morning did a whole lot to strengthen my faith. Today I’m trying to stand strong. Today I’m talking to him like he’s right here next to me because maybe, just maybe, he is.

A New Love

One step forward, two steps back. That’s how it goes, and that’s where I’m at. The 6-month mark is fast approaching, and I can feel the flood waters gathering. I will eventually surrender for I have no other choice, but not yet. Today I am still fighting to stay out of the riptide. I have to watch my thoughts very carefully, so I’m choosing, in just this moment, to share the story of our new love.

My DH is many things. He is intelligent, crafty, clever, kind, open-minded, loyal, and (luckily for me) incredibly forgiving. He is a deep-thinker, ambitious, driven, confident. He is resilient, strong-willed, and he is devastatingly handsome. He is many things. And he is also not many things. Silly? Not him. A singer? Um, NO. If you’ve ever heard the caterwauling from my house at 2am, you know this fact to be true. A romantic? Not so much. An animal lover? Not at all. Not that he’s the “kick the cat” kind of man, but he just doesn’t have an affinity for animals. It took me 15 YEARS to convince him to let us get a rabbit. Not that he really agreed to the rabbit. We (the kiddos and I) totally threw him under the bus. All of us went to his ex-wife’s mother’s house (follow that traIMG_0755 (2)il?) where she bred rabbits. As she so sweetly brought out a cage full of baby bunnies for the boys to “play with,” DH’s face grew pale and he knew what was coming. There was no way he could deny his young sons a tiny little bunny in front of all his children, ex-wife, and her whole family. So we got the bunny, and he didn’t kill me. Scosort 022 (2)re 1 for Mom & Kids. About a year and a half later, we smuggled another little furball into the house. Literally smuggled. Went to the ex-wife’s mother’s house again. This time we had planned better, and DH never saw the little cage in the car, nor the little furball in the cage. We hid the little one all the way from MA to ME with DH never the wiser. Our mistake was to all disappear when we got home. There was a 6-week old pure white little bundle of love to play with! Who could blame us? When DH came searching for the family, he caught us red-handed. Well, white-fur-handed really. He didn’t speak to me for 3 whole days. Poor guy was hardly impressed with my treason. Luckily, he’s a pretty forgiving sort. I guess he has to be, being married to me and all.

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About 9 months ago now, I came up with the notion that our family needed a dog. I’m not sure where this came from because I am truly not a dog person. I like cats. I’m also highly allergic to cats, as is Nolan, so we couldn’t get a cat. Or we would have to get a hairless cat, which I think would give me nightmares, so I decided on a dog. Nolan had been lobbying for a dog for years. He even made a Power Point presentation about why our family should have a dog, how we would care for the dog, and how we would pay for the dog. He did loads of research and put together a very compelling argument. No dice. DH said “No way Jose’!” So, we let sleeping dogs lie for a while. (yes, I did just say that.)

I up and decided it was time for a dog and said so out of the blue one night at dinner. The boys were on board right away. DH said, “If you get a dog, I’m leaving.” Really, he said that! I could tell he actually meant it too, so we pulled back a little bit. I mean, that’s a heavy decision to make. A husband or a dog? Hmmmmm… After 2 solid weeks of weighing the pros and cons of both choices, sweet Li’l N came up to me and said “Mom, please don’t get mad at me, but I think I’d rather have a Dad than a dog.” Well. How the heck do you argue with that? You don’t. I dropped the whole thing, much to Nolan’s chagrin.

Just a short time later, we lost Nolan. Not too long afterwards, the dog-idea crept back into my head. It felt like it was being whispered in my ear. I brought it up and DH steadfastly refused. I thought it would be good for Li’l N. You can’t replace a brother with a dog, but I felt that he needed a little buddy to care for and snuggle with, to play with like he did Nolan.

We went to see Maureen Hancock one night. (http://www.maureenhancock.com/) She is an amazing Medium who had reached out to me while Nolan was still in the hospital. She was doing a show nearby and invited us to attend. It was an amazing night, and Nolan literally stole the show. He came through so clearly and asked his Dad where the dog was! He let DH know that he wanted us to get that dog. A few weeks later, Maureen invited us to her home for a private reading. Again, Nolan came through so powerfully. One of the things he kept going back to was a dog. He wanted us to get a big dog, light colored. DH told him “No way, Jose!” Poor Nolan kept on trying!

A couple months after seeing Maureen, we saw another incredible Medium, Tiffany Rice. (http://www.tiffanyrice.com/) We hadn’t mentioned anything to her about Nolan or what had happened. Of course he showed up loud and clear – and he wanted to know WHERE IS THE DOG? At that point, DH put his head in his hands and just shook. Everyone could see, in that very moment, he gave up the fight. Nolan was insisting we have a dog. He finally got his Dad to listen. My son is as persistent on the Higher Side as he was here with us.

As soon as we came home, I started looking for puppies. I came across Goldendoodles of Maine (http://www.goldendoodlesofmaine.com/) and saw they had a litter ready to go in just a few short weeks. Well, that was it! Nolan had put his Dad on track, and the puppies were the exact breed I wanted and ready soon! The catch (because there’s always a catch)? $1,600. For a PUPPY. DH couldn’t get that in his head. Quite honestly, neither could I. I know I’ve said it before, but it is ridiculously expensive to lose a child. I had nothing left in savings. I barely made the groceries each week. There was no money for a dog. DH agreed that we could finally get one, but I couldn’t spend any money I already had in the bank for a dog. Well, what the heck? What do I do? I went to the Puppet Master. I threw my hands up towards Heaven and said “Well, Nolan, we can have the dog, but I can’t pay that much! We’ll take it, but you need to figure it out for me.” A few hours later, I received a message from the breeder saying that she had been thinking about us all day. She wanted us to have a puppy and not to worry about the cost. Behind the scenes, Angels here on Earth were at work, but I know who was really running the show. Bless his heart, Nolan gets his way wherever he dwells.

Meet our new bab1490705_854334201272720_5006390211856350465_oy. This is Ellie. Eleanor Rigby, to be all formal about it. Nolan chose her name Before. If we had a male dog, he would be Zildjian (the brand of cymbals on his drum kit), and a girl would be Eleanor Rigby. We already have Lucy (in the sky with diamonds…). Nolan loves the Beatles.

Ellie has been a wonderful addition to our family. It’s true that there is something therapeutic about a dog’s love. She makes us laugh. S10379857_10205155833276327_832196404273142958_ohe makes me keep moving even when it’s 20-below outside. She smothers us with love. I absolutely adore her.    I love that Nolan brought her to us. She is a constant reminder that he is still making his wishes known to us. He is still watching what we are doing. He is still a huge part of our family.

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But you know what? I’d give her back in half a second if I could have Nolan here again.

Courting Death

silentI woke up at 1:15am with the words of a poem I wrote back in 1990 on my mind. I haven’t thought of that series of poetry in so many years. Grief is strange. It brings up such seemingly random thoughts. Immediately, my mind started writing. I really do need to get myself out of bed when that happens and just let the words pour forth. Maybe then I’d get back to sleep. Anyway, it seemed such a random thing to bubble to the surface. I’ll share those words with you now. Please keep in mind that I was a mere 16 years old.

Isolated and alone
In a crowd of friends
My smile is forced
I don’t want to pretend.
There’s nowhere to turn
No one seems to care
Just turn around
And you’ll see me there.
All by myself
Always alone
As my heart of warmth
Turns slowly to stone.

I’ve read through that series of poems for the first time in many years. The theme is so much the same of what I am feeling now; the isolation and loneliness. As I reflect back, this is something I’ve battled my whole life. I grew up in a very abusive and dysfunctional home. I learned quickly to keep my silence, to not ask for help, to hide my feelings. I tried to commit suicide for the first time when I was 10. Luckily enough, I wasn’t too smart about it. The rod I tried to hang myself from fell down. I never told anyone. I planned about a thousand other ways to do it, but I never had the guts to go through with it.

When I was in 6th grade, a wonderful teacher (and by wonderful I mean a horribly crotchety woman who should never have been allowed around children) told me that I was “not deserving to be a Group 1 student.” This was back in the days when kids were grouped only by skill level. To me, that confirmed everything that I had been told every day of my entire life. “You’re stupid.” “You’re ugly.” “You’re worthless.” “I hate you.” “You ruined my life.” “I wish you were never born.” Yada yada yada. What did I do that caused her to deem me Undeserving? I refused to stand up in front of the class and give an oral report for a science project. I did the project. I did the research and the work and wrote the paper. I simply would not, could not, stand in front of a room full of people and talk. I had spent 11 years silencing my voice. I was told every time I spoke that I was stupid, ignorant, an idiot, etc. How could I possibly stand up in front of the class and show everyone just how dumb I am? I took the F, and I stopped caring about school.

By the time I became a teenager, I had given up on suicidal thoughts. I wasn’t even brave enough to do that. I didn’t, however, give up on courting Death. I courted Death like a hungry beast starving. I teased it. I begged it. I tempted it. I asked for it. At 14 I met another wonderful teacher (and by wonderful I mean a horribly crotchety man who should never have been allowed around children) who kicked me out of class for being unable to answer a question on history. This was the very day I returned to school after almost a 2-month absence with Mono, being in and out of the hospital repeatedly. Nice guy. He kicked me out of the classroom and sent me to the library to do a report on whatever the foolish question was. I wrote his report. Triple spaced, one very long run-on sentence, ending with “A$$hole.” I gave up entirely on school that very day. Again, he confirmed what I had been told millions of times.

I chased Death with a passion after that. There really wasn’t anyone there to help me. Nobody to notice. Nobody to reach out. I honestly welcomed Death should He finally answer my call. I did whatever I wanted to. To outsiders, I looked like just another stereotypical teen going down the wrong path. To my friends, I was the life of the party. I was the girl that would do anything without apology or regret. In truth, I was a broken child. In truth, I just wanted to die.

I’m not sure why all of this came up at 1:15 in the morning. Something about the synchronicity of the feelings I have today maybe. I’m no stranger to isolation and loneliness. They are like long lost companions come home again. Or more like long lost relatives I don’t really want to visit coming again. I know what they look like. I know how they feel. I don’t really want their company. I find my mind falling back into patterns of days gone by.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about suicide Since. I’ve thought it through carefully. I still couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do that to my children. That’s not say I wouldn’t welcome Death with open arms should He finally decide to claim me. I would. I would go willingly, happily, completely without hesitation. I probably shouldn’t say that out loud, but this is me. Unfiltered. This is real. I did warn you this was an ugly journey.

I’m both a broken child and a broken woman. It’s my belief that these pervasive themes that encompass you throughout your life are purposely part of your path. It’s something I have to learn to overcome. There was a time I thought I had. Now I know I learned to think, act, and feel differently, but I never actually overcame any of it. I’ve made my peace with the actions I suffered in the past. I’ve given forgiveness to those who hurt me – for me, not for them. I found a strength through those trials that many people never need. I have to somehow find that strength again. I used to say that I’d been through the worst Life could throw at me and came out tougher because of it. Be careful what you say. Life replied with “Oh yeah? How about THIS?”

So, I’m working on it. Every day. Every moment. I’m striving to find that inner strength to carry me through once again. I’m not going to silence my voice even with words nobody wants to hear. Somebody out there feels the same, and maybe my words will open their floodgates too. I know this blog is followed by some teenagers who may be able to relate to my childhood. I thought about this before writing. Should I share this intimately? I decided (obviously) that yes, I should. I’m not the first to court Death as a child. Neither would I be the last. If you are reading this and are having any of the same feelings I did, please reach out. To me, to a truly wonderful teacher (not a horribly crotchety person who should never be around children), to a trusted adult, to ANYONE. Scream it from the rooftops! Never silence your pain.

Hugs from Heaven

embrace101

A couple of times now, I have gained consciousness while I was sleeping. Think lucid dreaming, but a little different. I know I’m asleep, or I think I am at the time, yet I can see clearly. I see DH and Li’l N sleeping soundly beside with me. I can see the clock and the time. I can see the light from the pellet stove in the next room. I can see clearly even though my eyes are closed and I don’t have my glasses on. I haven’t been able to see without glasses for 30 years! It’s been an interesting experience, but I hadn’t given it much thought until last night.

Again, the lucid state was upon me. I looked lovingly at the two sharing my bed and then I happened to look into the dark. It was in my mind’s eye, and at the same time it wasn’t. I don’t know if I can describe accurately the experience. Mere words seem inadequate. In the distance, I saw Nolan’s profile forming out of shadows. I felt a flutter in my heart, and I remember “saying” to myself or Nolan or whoever was listening “OH my God, it’s Nolan! Come here! Please come here!” and there he was. Fully formed in front of me, smiling with that twinkle in his eyes that I haven’t seen in 111 days. My heart raced, the adrenaline rushed, and I put my hands on his arms. Nolan was wearing his black Aeropostle sweatshirt that was hanging in my closet. I don’t think I noticed what he was wearing other than that. The thought came to me that every time I think of him, I think of a certain outfit he loves to wear and was surprised to see him choose that sweatshirt. He had his “gutter bangs” which he had stopped wearing recently but was one of his favorite hairstyles. I was able to touch him. I felt his arms, warm and pliant beneath my hands. I said to him “I can’t believe you’re really here!” Then I hugged him. I cannot begin to describe how that felt. He didn’t say anything to me, but he was smiling. He held me as tightly as I did him. God, it felt so good! He was taller than me still and wrapped his arms over mine, holding me to his chest like I used to do when he was smaller than me. I remember not wanting to ever leave his embrace. The waves of emotion began to flood over me and I felt myself being drawn away from him. Inside I screamed with everything I had “Wait! NO!!!!” I couldn’t stop the pull. He stayed still, smiling at me, as I was thrown into wakefulness, back into my body.

I lay in bed now fully awake, still feeling his presence. Was it a dream? It certainly could have been. It felt like more. I don’t know if I was in or out of my body. I feel like I was able to reach a place where we could both meet. My mind kicked in and pulled me back, but I really feel like I was with him for those few precious moments. I want to go back with every ounce of my Soul, I want to go back. I want to be able to spend more time in that Place In-Between; neither Here nor There, but the most special place I have ever been. There was no Otherworld around us. It was just he and I in the dark, but it was the warmest, safest dark I have ever felt.

I pray this is only the beginning of learning how to spend time with him again. Last week was so hard. I was pulled under by the Grief for a solid 5 days. I began to think I needed to be hospitalized. Seriously, it was that bad. This week I’ve been stronger. Is that the key? Each time I come out from under the Grief, I am a fraction stronger for a little while. Is this progress, or am I getting more delusional as the days pass? Honestly, I don’t care if I am. I was with Nolan for a few moments. He was smiling. I felt his arms. We held each other close, and I felt his love. If that’s crazy, then I never want to be sane again.

Chasing Ghosts and Finding Signs

chasing ghosts

I heard the footsteps again last night. This wasn’t the first time, and I’m not the only one that’s heard them. They walk the same path Nolan would take when he was getting ready for bed at night. The steps woke me from a dream where I brought this indescribable, unconditional, pure love to children. I’m not sure what kind of healing I was doing, but as I cradled a young girl to my chest, she said she needed to lay on my necklace. (I have a necklace with a heart-stone that Nolan held all the while he was in the hospital that I wear every day.) When I asked her why, she replied in a whisper “Because it tells all the Secrets.”

That’s when I heard the footsteps. They usually come around 3:30 am. This time I got out of bed and tried to find him. “Are you there, Nolan?” I asked the empty room as the tears silently fell. “Where are you?” I didn’t see him. I wish I had. Is he wandering the house at night? Is he still going through the motions as he did here on Earth? I wish I knew.

I sleep in about 30 minute intervals. My mind is constantly calling out to Nolan. Every dream I have is about him. Usually I’m looking for him or something that I know represents him. Many times I’m trying to move in my dream but being held in place or trying to run and not going anywhere. It doesn’t take much to interpret these dreams. The night before last, I was restlessly searching for Nolan and finally was able to find part of him. I saw his feet. Is this progress? I don’t know. I couldn’t find the rest of him, or I just couldn’t see the rest of him. It’s hard to tell. You know how dreams are.

After searching the house for Nolan, I laid in bed for hours just watching the clock and crying quietly. At some point I fell back to sleep and dreamed that I was at school and a girl came up to me asking where Nolan was and how he was doing. I had to tell her “Oh Honey, Nolan passed away in July.” We both broke down, and I awoke awash in the emotions of that moment once again. There is no respite in sleep.

This morning I was reflecting on many of my dreams and not really listening to the radio playing. I was lost in my head, talking to Nolan, begging him to come back. Something strange happened. It’s not the first time this has happened either. It seemed like the volume turned up or my consciousness tuned in just as I heard:

“Sleep tight, I’m not afraid. The ones that we love are here with me.”

Was this a message from my Boy? A message from myself to myself? I don’t know, but it brought me both pain and comfort. These lyrics speak to me on so many levels. Take a moment to sit and listen with me.

The first time this happened, we were in the car. I was just sitting there, lost in my head, crying out to Nolan and it sounded to me like the radio volume increased just as the lyric rang out:

“You’ll be in my heart. Yes, you’ll be in my heart. From this day on, now and forever more.”

When I listened to the whole song, it rang such a Truth to me. I knew it was Nolan speaking to me through music. Why do I even question it? Music is (was?) such a huge part of him, is it any wonder he would reach out in this way? The signs are there. They comfort and they bring sorrow in equal measure.

I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could jump forward in time to the moment I see him again. All I have is Now. But Now really, really hurts.