Sunday, September 04, 2011

I Hate September.

September, again.   The month that took my son away from me.  The month that takes the grief that I keep hidden 11 months of the year and flings it out from hiding, tossing it around until I break down and acknowledge the fact that I am not really "handling" it as well as those would like.  You know the ones that have never lost a child.   They expect you to "get over it", "move on", "he is in a better place", all the things they tell you so that they themselves can be comfortable and happy and not have to deal with others grief.

So in September, I grieve.  Openly.  Loudly.  Without apologies.  

Deal with it.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Another link to my son is lost.

I have used Austin's carabiner (spring hook) for my keys everyday for the last 5 years, 10 months, 1 week and 3 days. I touched what he touched every day. I thought I would have it the rest of my life. It broke yesterday. Something so simple is devastating to lose.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Rumi, 13th century Persian poet and theologian

Rumi, 13th century Persian poet and theologian

"This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be cleaning you out for
some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame,
the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond."

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Missing you so much

Your 30th birthday is coming up and I am so sad. You lost most of your 20s. The time when you would have grown up and married and maybe started a family.

February 26 would have been your 30th birthday. An official adult!

You promised me many grandchildren. In fact, you said you wanted a dozen children! You would have been a kind and patient father. I can imagine hearing you chuckle as you play with your babies. Your huge hands cradling a babies head. Laying on the floor with children climbing all over you. You were meant to be a father.

Monday, January 03, 2011


Austin died in 2005.
2005 and 2006 went by in a grief-filled fog with moments of denial. I thought that it would end with a phone call from him saying he was coming back. He would say that he was tired of being gone.
2007 I searched for him in the seashells. I walked miles of beach believing that the secret to connecting to him was finding a shell and holding it in my hand.
2008 I was on a mission to escape NJ, the state that my son lost his life.
Solace would be found in palm trees and spanish moss and maybe, in 2009.
2010 showed me that things  never change.  My losses feel like stones piled on top of me. It hurts to breathe.
Now it is 2011. It is up to me to be busy, productive and somehow help others.
My purest love is for my sons.
Austin will always be part of my heart, always with me, my heart will always ache for him, I will always cry for him.
Ryan, my oldest, means everything to me. I am so grateful to be able to call Ryan and hear his voice. Sometimes, when I talk to him, tears stream down my face with joy. He doesn't know.