The end of another school is days away. Mike has today with his students, a day of meaningless meetings tomorrow, and on Thursday a teacher work day where he will pack up his classroom and check out for 2 1/2 months of "time off". Anyone who has taught knows that teachers do not get the summer completely off. There is lesson planning for the next year, trainings, Honey-Do lists to complete :) and they have to report back to work a week before school actually starts.
Last summer was our first without Andrew. We thought we would be more miserable than we were. Surprisingly we were not laying around crying all the time. Those times did happen, but for the most part we learned to find a new summer normal. We planted our garden, played in our swimming pool, did some yard and home improvement, saw a few plays, took a trip to the camp Andrew worked at, and went camping by ourselves. We are sure Andrew was laughing at us trying to set up the tent. Three tries later we got it up!
This summer shows promise of being a good one. We have tickets to a couple of plays, plans to attend a concert with some friends, activities at church, I have a job lined up for six weeks with the prospect of a job during the school year. We are planning some more home/yard improvements.
In the middle of our summer plans is the ache that never goes away though. Even when fun things happen, we still miss our son and always will. Summer is fun. But not at much fun without our boy.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
The Dream
Since Andrew died I've had very few dreams about him. I had one a few nights ago and realized that it would be a good idea to keep a record of them somehow so I don't forget.
In this particular dream many children who had died were allowed to come back for about an hour or so. They were gathered in a large room that looked like the cafeteria of the college my husband and I attended when I was newly pregnant with Andrew.
Andrew was there wearing one of his ringer tee shirts and looking like he always did. I don't remember a lot of what we said but I do remember asking him what Heaven was like and if my dad was there. He said it was great and that my dad was there but he didn't spend much time with him. Most of the time together I was hugging Andrew and ruffling his hair like I used to do.
At one point I asked him why he got himself out of the straps when he was in the back of the pickup. He said he hadn't wanted to unstrap himself but he knew that he was supposed to. He didn't want to leave us but he knew that it was his time.
I woke up sometime later but still felt that I had indeed been visited by my boy.
We miss you and love you Andrew! Now go hang out with your grandpa Wes.
In this particular dream many children who had died were allowed to come back for about an hour or so. They were gathered in a large room that looked like the cafeteria of the college my husband and I attended when I was newly pregnant with Andrew.
Andrew was there wearing one of his ringer tee shirts and looking like he always did. I don't remember a lot of what we said but I do remember asking him what Heaven was like and if my dad was there. He said it was great and that my dad was there but he didn't spend much time with him. Most of the time together I was hugging Andrew and ruffling his hair like I used to do.
At one point I asked him why he got himself out of the straps when he was in the back of the pickup. He said he hadn't wanted to unstrap himself but he knew that he was supposed to. He didn't want to leave us but he knew that it was his time.
I woke up sometime later but still felt that I had indeed been visited by my boy.
We miss you and love you Andrew! Now go hang out with your grandpa Wes.
Friday, February 10, 2012
The hole
People have told me they have no idea what it feels like to lose a child. The best way to describe how it feels is like this.
Imagine that you have had a hole cut in the middle of your body. You are still moving, breathing, and functioning in a way that looks normal, you are just doing it with a huge hole in your chest.
Now imagine that you are the only one who sees and feels that hole. Others know you have the hole but they can't see or feel it. In their own ways they might try to help you fill the hole. Some of their ideas are good ones that do help you patch the hole. Nothing ever completely fills the hole though.
Imagine after time goes by that a few places in the hole are patched up, but the hole is still there. At any time a bump or a jar can bring the pain back and you feel like you are back to the beginning.
After all this time some people understand that the hole will always be there and it won't ever be completely filled. Those are the ones you feel comfortable with. They are the ones who support you when the hole feels like it's growing. They get you.
There are others who figure that by now if you have learned to function with the hole that it's time for you to be over it. It makes them uncomfortable for you to still be hurting. They have all sorts of ideas of what you can and need to do to get over it.
The hole is there. It will always be there. There are some days when you are aware of the hole but it doesn't dominate your whole life. Other days are different. Those days the hole is the only thing you can think about and you wonder if you will ever be "normal" again.
That's what it feels like.
Imagine that you have had a hole cut in the middle of your body. You are still moving, breathing, and functioning in a way that looks normal, you are just doing it with a huge hole in your chest.
Now imagine that you are the only one who sees and feels that hole. Others know you have the hole but they can't see or feel it. In their own ways they might try to help you fill the hole. Some of their ideas are good ones that do help you patch the hole. Nothing ever completely fills the hole though.
Imagine after time goes by that a few places in the hole are patched up, but the hole is still there. At any time a bump or a jar can bring the pain back and you feel like you are back to the beginning.
After all this time some people understand that the hole will always be there and it won't ever be completely filled. Those are the ones you feel comfortable with. They are the ones who support you when the hole feels like it's growing. They get you.
There are others who figure that by now if you have learned to function with the hole that it's time for you to be over it. It makes them uncomfortable for you to still be hurting. They have all sorts of ideas of what you can and need to do to get over it.
The hole is there. It will always be there. There are some days when you are aware of the hole but it doesn't dominate your whole life. Other days are different. Those days the hole is the only thing you can think about and you wonder if you will ever be "normal" again.
That's what it feels like.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Little things scream loud
One day, weeks after Andrew died and our lives were expected to be back to "normal" I noticed something startling. Everything that shouted "Andrew lives here!" was gone. His glasses weren't lying wherever he happened to toss them. His steel toed boots were not sitting by the woodstove. His wool socks weren't drying on the window sill. The chair by the window was empty of his bookbag, jacket, hat, and the leather gloves he was so proud of. I wasn't finding his phone and Ipod charging where he found an empty outlet. Doing laundry didn't mean telling him to get his clothes out so that I could start ours. No longer did I have to run the dishwasher at least once a day. A glance at the fridge showed me the last greeting card he ever bought me. It was a picture of a pug wearing a scarf. He had told me that he walked into the store, saw the card first thing, and knew he had to get it for me. As I was taking things off the fridge I found a list of items he needed for a science experiment. One day I noticed on the computer that it no longer had his economics, spanish, or math lessons on the list of recently used programs. His ring tone was silent on my phone. Grocery shopping didn't mean a cart full of industrial size packages of cheese, crackers, peanut butter, trail mix, and chocolate chips.
All those little things screamed out that he was gone. That he wasn't coming back.
All those little things screamed out that he was gone. That he wasn't coming back.
Halloween past and present
This is the first halloween in 18 years that I haven't had a child to share it with. In halloween's past the season would be full of costume making, cookie decorating, candy buying, house decorating, and scary (not gory) movie watching. Andrew's first halloween we dressed him as a dalmation dog. Over the years he was Winnie the Pooh, a ninja, a knight, a soldier the first halloween after 9/11, and finally at age 17 for his last halloween he was Holmes to his best friends Watson.
This year I barely remembered to get candy and put out the ceramic pumpkin that we've had since I was 10. Costumes? None for Mike and I. Some days getting dressed takes all day. However, in a fit of being silly I did put a pair of Groucho glasses on Andrew's small urn and his Shriner's hat on his scattering urn. Everyone who sees it has laughed and said it's so what Andrew would have done.
In the end we turned off the lights, watched his favorite scary movie, The Bad Seed, and relaxed under our new fleece blankets that my sister gave us for our birthdays this year.
Happy Halloween Andrew. We miss you!
This year I barely remembered to get candy and put out the ceramic pumpkin that we've had since I was 10. Costumes? None for Mike and I. Some days getting dressed takes all day. However, in a fit of being silly I did put a pair of Groucho glasses on Andrew's small urn and his Shriner's hat on his scattering urn. Everyone who sees it has laughed and said it's so what Andrew would have done.
In the end we turned off the lights, watched his favorite scary movie, The Bad Seed, and relaxed under our new fleece blankets that my sister gave us for our birthdays this year.
Happy Halloween Andrew. We miss you!
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