Homemade, Red, Hot Sauce
2 months ago
Friday, March 26, 2010
Always something missing................
My day today was filled with business: cousins visiting, a 2.5 hour vet visit to catch up on routine vaccinations and other odds and ends. Yet, no matter how busy I might be, there is always an emptiness in my heart. I am always lost without my Josh.
Friday, March 19, 2010
The Woodcutter's Wisdom
The Woodcutter's Wisdom
by Max Lucado
Once there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although poor, he was envied by all, for he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted his treasure. A horse like this had never been seen before—such was its splendor, its majesty, its strength.
People offered fabulous prices for the steed, but the old man always refused. “This horse is not a horse to me,” he would tell them. “It is a person. How could you sell a person? He is a friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?” The man was poor and the temptation was great. But he never sold the horse.
One morning he found that the horse was not in the stable. All the village came to see him. “You old fool,” they scoffed, “we told you that someone would steal your horse. We warned you that you would be robbed. You are so poor. How could you ever hope to protect such a valuable animal? It would have been better to have sold him. You could have gotten whatever price you wanted. No amount would have been too high. Now the horse is gone, and you’ve been cursed with misfortune.”
The old man responded, “Don’t speak too quickly. Say only that the horse is not in the stable. That is all we know; the rest is judgment. If I’ve been cursed or not, how can you know? How can you judge?”
The people contested, “Don’t make us out to be fools! We may not be philosophers, but great philosophy is not needed. The simple fact that your horse is gone is a curse.”
The old man spoke again. “All I know is that the stable is empty, and the horse is gone. The rest I don’t know. Whether it be a curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?”
The people of the village laughed. They thought that the man was crazy. They had always thought he was a fool; if he wasn’t, he would have sold the horse and lived off the money. But instead, he was a poor woodcutter, an old man still cutting firewood and dragging it out of the forest and selling it. He lived hand to mouth in the misery of poverty. Now he had proven that he was, indeed, a fool.
After fifteen days, the horse returned. He hadn’t been stolen; he had run away into the forest. Not only had he returned, he had brought a dozen wild horses with him. Once again the village people gathered around the woodcutter and spoke. “Old man, you were right and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was a blessing. Please forgive us.”
The man responded, “Once again, you go too far. Say only that the horse is back. State only that a dozen horses returned with him, but don’t judge. How do you know if this is a blessing or not? You see only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you judge? You read only one page of a book. Can you judge the whole book? You read only one word of a phrase. Can you understand the entire phrase?
“Life is so vast, yet you judge all of life with one page or one word. All you have is a fragment! Don’t say that this is a blessing. No one knows. I am content with what I know. I am not perturbed by what I don’t.”
“Maybe the old man is right,” they said to one another. So they said little. But down deep, they knew he was wrong. They knew it was a blessing. Twelve wild horses had returned with one horse. With a little bit of work, the animals could be broken and trained and sold for much money.
The old man had a son, an only son. The young man began to break the wild horses. After a few days, he fell from one of the horses and broke both legs. Once again the villagers gathered around the old man and cast their judgments.
“You were right,” they said. “You proved you were right. The dozen horses were not a blessing. They were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now in your old age you have no one to help you. Now you are poorer than ever.”
The old man spoke again. “You people are obsessed with judging. Don’t go so far. Say only that my son broke his legs. Who knows if it is a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a fragment. Life comes in fragments.”
It so happened that a few weeks later the country engaged in war against a neighboring country. All the young men of the village were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded, because he was injured. Once again the people gathered around the old man, crying and screaming because their sons had been taken. There was little chance that they would return. The enemy was strong, and the war would be a losing struggle. They would never see their sons again.
“You were right, old man,” they wept. “God knows you were right. This proves it. Your son’s accident was a blessing. His legs may be broken, but at least he is with you. Our sons are gone forever.”
The old man spoke again. “It is impossible to talk with you. You always draw conclusions. No one knows. Say only this: Your sons had to go to war, and mine did not. No one knows if it is a blessing or a curse. No one is wise enough to know. Only God knows.”
The old man was right. We only have a fragment. Life’s mishaps and horrors are only a page out of a grand book. We must be slow about drawing conclusions. We must reserve judgment on life’s storms until we know the whole story.
I don’t know where the woodcutter learned his patience. Perhaps from another woodcutter in Galilee. For it was the Carpenter who said it best:
“Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” (Mt. 6:34)
He should know. He is the Author of our story. And he has already written the final chapter.
From In the Eye of the Storm
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1997) Max Lucado
by Max Lucado
Once there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although poor, he was envied by all, for he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted his treasure. A horse like this had never been seen before—such was its splendor, its majesty, its strength.
People offered fabulous prices for the steed, but the old man always refused. “This horse is not a horse to me,” he would tell them. “It is a person. How could you sell a person? He is a friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?” The man was poor and the temptation was great. But he never sold the horse.
One morning he found that the horse was not in the stable. All the village came to see him. “You old fool,” they scoffed, “we told you that someone would steal your horse. We warned you that you would be robbed. You are so poor. How could you ever hope to protect such a valuable animal? It would have been better to have sold him. You could have gotten whatever price you wanted. No amount would have been too high. Now the horse is gone, and you’ve been cursed with misfortune.”
The old man responded, “Don’t speak too quickly. Say only that the horse is not in the stable. That is all we know; the rest is judgment. If I’ve been cursed or not, how can you know? How can you judge?”
The people contested, “Don’t make us out to be fools! We may not be philosophers, but great philosophy is not needed. The simple fact that your horse is gone is a curse.”
The old man spoke again. “All I know is that the stable is empty, and the horse is gone. The rest I don’t know. Whether it be a curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?”
The people of the village laughed. They thought that the man was crazy. They had always thought he was a fool; if he wasn’t, he would have sold the horse and lived off the money. But instead, he was a poor woodcutter, an old man still cutting firewood and dragging it out of the forest and selling it. He lived hand to mouth in the misery of poverty. Now he had proven that he was, indeed, a fool.
After fifteen days, the horse returned. He hadn’t been stolen; he had run away into the forest. Not only had he returned, he had brought a dozen wild horses with him. Once again the village people gathered around the woodcutter and spoke. “Old man, you were right and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was a blessing. Please forgive us.”
The man responded, “Once again, you go too far. Say only that the horse is back. State only that a dozen horses returned with him, but don’t judge. How do you know if this is a blessing or not? You see only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you judge? You read only one page of a book. Can you judge the whole book? You read only one word of a phrase. Can you understand the entire phrase?
“Life is so vast, yet you judge all of life with one page or one word. All you have is a fragment! Don’t say that this is a blessing. No one knows. I am content with what I know. I am not perturbed by what I don’t.”
“Maybe the old man is right,” they said to one another. So they said little. But down deep, they knew he was wrong. They knew it was a blessing. Twelve wild horses had returned with one horse. With a little bit of work, the animals could be broken and trained and sold for much money.
The old man had a son, an only son. The young man began to break the wild horses. After a few days, he fell from one of the horses and broke both legs. Once again the villagers gathered around the old man and cast their judgments.
“You were right,” they said. “You proved you were right. The dozen horses were not a blessing. They were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now in your old age you have no one to help you. Now you are poorer than ever.”
The old man spoke again. “You people are obsessed with judging. Don’t go so far. Say only that my son broke his legs. Who knows if it is a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a fragment. Life comes in fragments.”
It so happened that a few weeks later the country engaged in war against a neighboring country. All the young men of the village were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded, because he was injured. Once again the people gathered around the old man, crying and screaming because their sons had been taken. There was little chance that they would return. The enemy was strong, and the war would be a losing struggle. They would never see their sons again.
“You were right, old man,” they wept. “God knows you were right. This proves it. Your son’s accident was a blessing. His legs may be broken, but at least he is with you. Our sons are gone forever.”
The old man spoke again. “It is impossible to talk with you. You always draw conclusions. No one knows. Say only this: Your sons had to go to war, and mine did not. No one knows if it is a blessing or a curse. No one is wise enough to know. Only God knows.”
The old man was right. We only have a fragment. Life’s mishaps and horrors are only a page out of a grand book. We must be slow about drawing conclusions. We must reserve judgment on life’s storms until we know the whole story.
I don’t know where the woodcutter learned his patience. Perhaps from another woodcutter in Galilee. For it was the Carpenter who said it best:
“Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” (Mt. 6:34)
He should know. He is the Author of our story. And he has already written the final chapter.
From In the Eye of the Storm
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1997) Max Lucado
The Voicemail
I have a voicemail message from Josh on my phone. I have been listening to it for a year and a half now. I love to hear that familiar voice on the other end of the phone and just pretend for a moment that Josh is still here. In the message he says, "I love you" and sounds light hearted and free. I love to hear him say it that way. I always say back, "I love you too, Josh" knowing he is not really on the other end of the line. At the end of the message a Verizon operator says, "If you would like to return this call, press 88". Everytime I hear that I want to press 88 so that I can talk to my baby again. As long as I keep listening to that message and saving it, it stays in my voicemail. I can't listen to it every day because it makes me cry. Sometimes I have a sudden panic attack and think, "Oh my gosh, when was the last time I listened to that message? Has it been longer than 40 days? Did I lose it? I panic until I once again here Josh's sweet voice saying he loves me and then I cry.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Anniversary
Eighteen months today since he left this world.
Love you so much, Josh. Your momma misses you so very, very much!
Love you so much, Josh. Your momma misses you so very, very much!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
The Choice
The Choice
by Max Lucado
He placed one scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on the ground.
All of the Garden’s inhabitants paused to witness the event. Hawks hovered. Giraffes stretched. Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals and watched.
“You will love me, nature,” God said. “I made you that way. You will obey me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will be like me. This one will be able to choose.”
All were silent as the Creator reached into himself and removed something yet unseen. A seed. “It’s called ‘choice.’ The seed of choice.”
Creation stood in silence and gazed upon the lifeless form.
An angel spoke, “But what if he … ”
“What if he chooses not to love?” the Creator finished. “Come, I will show you.”
Unbound by today, God and the angel walked into the realm of tomorrow.
“There, see the fruit of the seed of choice, both the sweet and the bitter.”
The angel gasped at what he saw. Spontaneous love. Voluntary devotion. Chosen tenderness. Never had he seen anything like these. He felt the love of the Adams. He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters. He saw the food and the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled at the warmth.
“Heaven has never seen such beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your greatest creation.”
“Ah, but you’ve only seen the sweet. Now witness the bitter.”
A stench enveloped the pair. The angel turned in horror and proclaimed, “What is it?”
The Creator spoke only one word: “Selfishness.”
The angel stood speechless as they passed through centuries of repugnance. Never had he seen such filth. Rotten hearts. Ruptured promises. Forgotten loyalties. Children of the creation wandering blindly in lonely labyrinths.
“This is the result of choice?” the angel asked.
“Yes.”
“They will forget you?”
“Yes.”
“They will reject you?”
“Yes.”
“They will never come back?”
“Some will. Most won’t.”
“What will it take to make them listen?”
The Creator walked on in time, further and further into the future, until he stood by a tree. A tree that would be fashioned into a cradle. Even then he could smell the hay that would surround him.
With another step into the future, he paused before another tree. It stood alone, a stubborn ruler of a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and the wood was strong. Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed. Soon it would be mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon he would be hung on it.
He felt the wood rub against a back he did not yet wear.
“Will you go down there?” the angel asked.
“I will.”
“Is there no other way?”
“There is not.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to not plant the seed? Wouldn’t it be easier to not give the choice?”
“It would,” the Creator spoke slowly. “But to remove the choice is to remove the love.”
He looked around the hill and foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on three crosses. Arms spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the wind.
Men clad in soldiers’ garb sat on the ground near the trio. They played games in the dirt and laughed.
Men clad in religion stood off to one side. They smiled. Arrogant, cocky. They had protected God, they thought, by killing this false one.
Women clad in sorrow huddled at the foot of the hill. Speechless. Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward. One put her arm around another and tried to lead her away. She wouldn’t leave. “I will stay,” she said softly. “I will stay.”
All heaven stood to fight. All nature rose to rescue. All eternity poised to protect. But the Creator gave no command.
“It must be done … ,” he said, and withdrew.
But as he stepped back in time, he heard the cry that he would someday scream: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34) He wrenched at tomorrow’s agony.
The angel spoke again. “It would be less painful … ”
The Creator interrupted softly. “But it wouldn’t be love.”
They stepped into the Garden again. The Maker looked earnestly at the clay creation. A monsoon of love swelled up within him. He had died for the creation before he had made him. God’s form bent over the sculptured face and breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one. The chest rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger moved. And an eye opened.
But more incredible than the moving of the flesh was the stirring of the spirit. Those who could see the unseen gasped.
Perhaps it was the wind who said it first. Perhaps what the star saw that moment is what has made it blink ever since. Maybe it was left to an angel to whisper it:
“It looks like … it appears so much like … it is him!”
The angel wasn’t speaking of the face, the features, or the body. He was looking inside—at the soul.
“It’s eternal!” gasped another.
Within the man, God had placed a divine seed. A seed of his self. The God of might had created earth’s mightiest. The Creator had created, not a creature, but another creator. And the One who had chosen to love had created one who could love in return.
Now it’s our choice.
From In the Eye of the Storm
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1997) Max Lucado
by Max Lucado
He placed one scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on the ground.
All of the Garden’s inhabitants paused to witness the event. Hawks hovered. Giraffes stretched. Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals and watched.
“You will love me, nature,” God said. “I made you that way. You will obey me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will be like me. This one will be able to choose.”
All were silent as the Creator reached into himself and removed something yet unseen. A seed. “It’s called ‘choice.’ The seed of choice.”
Creation stood in silence and gazed upon the lifeless form.
An angel spoke, “But what if he … ”
“What if he chooses not to love?” the Creator finished. “Come, I will show you.”
Unbound by today, God and the angel walked into the realm of tomorrow.
“There, see the fruit of the seed of choice, both the sweet and the bitter.”
The angel gasped at what he saw. Spontaneous love. Voluntary devotion. Chosen tenderness. Never had he seen anything like these. He felt the love of the Adams. He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters. He saw the food and the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled at the warmth.
“Heaven has never seen such beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your greatest creation.”
“Ah, but you’ve only seen the sweet. Now witness the bitter.”
A stench enveloped the pair. The angel turned in horror and proclaimed, “What is it?”
The Creator spoke only one word: “Selfishness.”
The angel stood speechless as they passed through centuries of repugnance. Never had he seen such filth. Rotten hearts. Ruptured promises. Forgotten loyalties. Children of the creation wandering blindly in lonely labyrinths.
“This is the result of choice?” the angel asked.
“Yes.”
“They will forget you?”
“Yes.”
“They will reject you?”
“Yes.”
“They will never come back?”
“Some will. Most won’t.”
“What will it take to make them listen?”
The Creator walked on in time, further and further into the future, until he stood by a tree. A tree that would be fashioned into a cradle. Even then he could smell the hay that would surround him.
With another step into the future, he paused before another tree. It stood alone, a stubborn ruler of a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and the wood was strong. Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed. Soon it would be mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon he would be hung on it.
He felt the wood rub against a back he did not yet wear.
“Will you go down there?” the angel asked.
“I will.”
“Is there no other way?”
“There is not.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to not plant the seed? Wouldn’t it be easier to not give the choice?”
“It would,” the Creator spoke slowly. “But to remove the choice is to remove the love.”
He looked around the hill and foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on three crosses. Arms spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the wind.
Men clad in soldiers’ garb sat on the ground near the trio. They played games in the dirt and laughed.
Men clad in religion stood off to one side. They smiled. Arrogant, cocky. They had protected God, they thought, by killing this false one.
Women clad in sorrow huddled at the foot of the hill. Speechless. Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward. One put her arm around another and tried to lead her away. She wouldn’t leave. “I will stay,” she said softly. “I will stay.”
All heaven stood to fight. All nature rose to rescue. All eternity poised to protect. But the Creator gave no command.
“It must be done … ,” he said, and withdrew.
But as he stepped back in time, he heard the cry that he would someday scream: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34) He wrenched at tomorrow’s agony.
The angel spoke again. “It would be less painful … ”
The Creator interrupted softly. “But it wouldn’t be love.”
They stepped into the Garden again. The Maker looked earnestly at the clay creation. A monsoon of love swelled up within him. He had died for the creation before he had made him. God’s form bent over the sculptured face and breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one. The chest rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger moved. And an eye opened.
But more incredible than the moving of the flesh was the stirring of the spirit. Those who could see the unseen gasped.
Perhaps it was the wind who said it first. Perhaps what the star saw that moment is what has made it blink ever since. Maybe it was left to an angel to whisper it:
“It looks like … it appears so much like … it is him!”
The angel wasn’t speaking of the face, the features, or the body. He was looking inside—at the soul.
“It’s eternal!” gasped another.
Within the man, God had placed a divine seed. A seed of his self. The God of might had created earth’s mightiest. The Creator had created, not a creature, but another creator. And the One who had chosen to love had created one who could love in return.
Now it’s our choice.
From In the Eye of the Storm
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1997) Max Lucado
Counting my blessings
I was able to begin counting my blessings again today. It doesn't take the pain away, but makes it bearable. Blessed am I in so many ways including the fact that I had 18 years on this earth to spend with my Joshua. I will also have an eternity to spend with him when I reach heaven. Until then, I will just continue the journey.
Friday, March 12, 2010
A Little Relief
Not really sure why the grief these last few weeks has been so intense but it has been like a heavy blanket weighing down upon me to the point where I coudl hardly function. I struggled with thoughts of whether I was going to stay in this state forever or if I would once again be able to inch my way back to some sort of "new normal". Thankfully, I have begun to see some improvement in the last two days. I'm still struggling but things are a little better. I am hopeful once again. Sometimes just the knowledge that I must bear this grief for the rest of my life is overwhelming. We talked about this in our grief support group this past week. Our counselor reminded us that grief had no time tables and that it doesn't just "get better" at the one year anniversary, or the two year anniversary. Sometimes people still suffer intense grief even after a lifetime of living with the loss. I think part of my depression the past few weeks has been that I just became so tired of the battle that I just couldn't imagine how I could continue on this way indefinitely. Grieving is such hard work and leaves one feeling fatigued. Then when life keeps throwing things at you to deal with, it just becomes almost unbearable at times.
Somewhere in the midst of the pain, the grief, the suffering there is always the Hope that I cling to. The realization that in spite of everything here on this earth that someday I will be with Josh in a place where there is no more suffering or pain. That Hope is what I cling to.
Somewhere in the midst of the pain, the grief, the suffering there is always the Hope that I cling to. The realization that in spite of everything here on this earth that someday I will be with Josh in a place where there is no more suffering or pain. That Hope is what I cling to.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Patchwork of Emotions
The more precious and beautiful the day, the more poignant the grief. It's like a patchwork of beautiful moments that are broken by lines of grief. Yesterday was so hard! How I loved having my Alissa, Kristin and Mikey here to celebrate Alissa's birthday but the pain was so sharp I could hardly keep the smile on my face. In fact, when Alissa left, I broke down and cried in front of her. I didn't want to but could not help myself.
Not only was there the tremendous pain of knowing that Josh was not here to celebrate Alissa's 21st birthday, it was the pain of knowing this was the first birthday that Alissa is celebrating without her cousin, Angela. They always celebrated this day together. I know that missing the two people who were the most important people her age in her life made the day bitter sweet for my dear girl. I know it did for me. Angela's mom bravely came to the birthday meal. I know it was hard on her to be here with us and to know that Alissa wanted her here because by having her with us, we had part of Angela that we could see and touch here with us. As mothers, a part of our spirit goes on to be with our child and a part of them remains in us. Broken we will be until that moment we are reunited for eternity.
Not only was there the tremendous pain of knowing that Josh was not here to celebrate Alissa's 21st birthday, it was the pain of knowing this was the first birthday that Alissa is celebrating without her cousin, Angela. They always celebrated this day together. I know that missing the two people who were the most important people her age in her life made the day bitter sweet for my dear girl. I know it did for me. Angela's mom bravely came to the birthday meal. I know it was hard on her to be here with us and to know that Alissa wanted her here because by having her with us, we had part of Angela that we could see and touch here with us. As mothers, a part of our spirit goes on to be with our child and a part of them remains in us. Broken we will be until that moment we are reunited for eternity.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Alissa's 21'st birthday without Josh & Angela
Today we celebrated Alissa's 21st birthday, although her actual birthday is tomorrow. Alissa and Angela always celebrated in some way together on their birthdays and of course, Alissa and Josh were inseperable. So, this milestone birthday was especially hard on all of us because I know we were all thinking about Josh and Angela who are no longer with us. The tears have flown freely today for me as I rejoice in the beauty of my precious daughter and all she means to me and at the same time mourn for my son, Josh, who is no longer with us.
I hurt for myself but I hurt for Alissa. She and Josh, only 16 months apart in age, were best friends. Now Alissa calls me and says how she hates to be alone. She always had Josh and now he is gone. And Angela and Alissa were so much alike they could have been twins in so many ways. They were the best of friends. It just doesn't seem fair that my baby girl had to lose the two people that were the most important in her life.
I have to believe that Josh and Angela are celebrating in heaven in honor of Alissa's birthday.
Matthew West/Save a Place for Me Lyrics:
Don't be mad if I cry
It just hurts so bad sometimes
'Cause everyday it's sinking in
And I have to say goodbye all over again
You know I bet it feels good to have the weight of this world off your shoulders now
I'm dreaming of the day when I'm finally there with you
Save a place for me
Save a place for me
I'll be there soon
I'll be there soon
Save a place for me
Save some grace for me
I'll be there soon
I'll be there soon
I have asked the question why
But I guess the answer's for another time
So instead I'll pray with every tear
And be thankful for the time I had you here
And I wanna live my life just like you did
Make the most of my time just like you did
And I wanna make my home up in the sky
Just like you did
Oh, but until I get there
Until I get there
I hurt for myself but I hurt for Alissa. She and Josh, only 16 months apart in age, were best friends. Now Alissa calls me and says how she hates to be alone. She always had Josh and now he is gone. And Angela and Alissa were so much alike they could have been twins in so many ways. They were the best of friends. It just doesn't seem fair that my baby girl had to lose the two people that were the most important in her life.
I have to believe that Josh and Angela are celebrating in heaven in honor of Alissa's birthday.
Matthew West/Save a Place for Me Lyrics:
Don't be mad if I cry
It just hurts so bad sometimes
'Cause everyday it's sinking in
And I have to say goodbye all over again
You know I bet it feels good to have the weight of this world off your shoulders now
I'm dreaming of the day when I'm finally there with you
Save a place for me
Save a place for me
I'll be there soon
I'll be there soon
Save a place for me
Save some grace for me
I'll be there soon
I'll be there soon
I have asked the question why
But I guess the answer's for another time
So instead I'll pray with every tear
And be thankful for the time I had you here
And I wanna live my life just like you did
Make the most of my time just like you did
And I wanna make my home up in the sky
Just like you did
Oh, but until I get there
Until I get there
Never Forget
Do they realize that when they post pictures on Face Book that I can't help but see them? Do they care? Do they even remember that the one they called "friend" is gone? Do they forget?
The addiction they have to the bottle either fueled the personal anger and lack of self control or gave aid to their nonchalant attitude about my precious son's life the night they killed him. Yes, I blame them all. Everyone in that house at the time is held accountable by God for their actions with no excuses. The fact that some of them have pictures posted on public forums showing the dazed look of drunken stupor as the normal look on their face angers me to no end. Part of me pities them for not being able to pull themselves out of this addiction and the other part of me rages that they stil let alchohol control their lives.
And the pictures of them playing in their little "rock band" fill me with so much hurt and anger that hot, painful tears just stream from my eyes and my heart feels as if it will stop completely. There they stand with smirks and smiles on their faces having what looks like a good time. Everyone of them are enjoying the "lights" and attention that is being shed on them as is evident by all the photos. "Amazing", I think to myself. They can stand there 17 months after Josh's death.............after two of those band members killed my son......one of them by actually going in the other room, loading the gun with three bullets, bringing the weapon back intentionally to the room where Josh was and killing him either by his own hand (as I believe happened) or by his taunting and misleading Josh whom I am sure thought the weapon was empty when Jake new better. So, there they stand enjoying their night out, playing music, laughing, smiling, at least one with that glassy look to his eyes as if my son never existed.
Perhaps they are tortured when the music stops and they are no longer in the lime light of their adoring crowd? Perhaps the memories of what happened that night haunt them. I don't know. But, to a grieving mother those pictures on FB are a mockery and a slap in the face.
The addiction they have to the bottle either fueled the personal anger and lack of self control or gave aid to their nonchalant attitude about my precious son's life the night they killed him. Yes, I blame them all. Everyone in that house at the time is held accountable by God for their actions with no excuses. The fact that some of them have pictures posted on public forums showing the dazed look of drunken stupor as the normal look on their face angers me to no end. Part of me pities them for not being able to pull themselves out of this addiction and the other part of me rages that they stil let alchohol control their lives.
And the pictures of them playing in their little "rock band" fill me with so much hurt and anger that hot, painful tears just stream from my eyes and my heart feels as if it will stop completely. There they stand with smirks and smiles on their faces having what looks like a good time. Everyone of them are enjoying the "lights" and attention that is being shed on them as is evident by all the photos. "Amazing", I think to myself. They can stand there 17 months after Josh's death.............after two of those band members killed my son......one of them by actually going in the other room, loading the gun with three bullets, bringing the weapon back intentionally to the room where Josh was and killing him either by his own hand (as I believe happened) or by his taunting and misleading Josh whom I am sure thought the weapon was empty when Jake new better. So, there they stand enjoying their night out, playing music, laughing, smiling, at least one with that glassy look to his eyes as if my son never existed.
Perhaps they are tortured when the music stops and they are no longer in the lime light of their adoring crowd? Perhaps the memories of what happened that night haunt them. I don't know. But, to a grieving mother those pictures on FB are a mockery and a slap in the face.
Nightmares
More mornings than not this week I have awakened early to a nightmare. The dreams either involve Josh or Angela and there is always some sort of a struggle to keep them from harm but when I wake, I am reminded they are already gone.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Unbearable
The pain has been unbearable these past few weeks and I really can't figure out why. I had a break through there for a while and thought I was doing so much better but here I am wondering again how I am ever going to make it. I will. This I know. One step at a time....one breath at a time. Perhaps, these feelings are so intense because I am finally beginning to "wake up" enough to realize just how much of life is passing me by. I want to be able to reach out and take a hold of life once again.........the desire is there............to live life to the fullest. However, I am not able to get there. I just can't get past the grief. I feel like I am on a treadmill, working so hard just to keep up but getting no where. It scares me to think I might be in this place forever..................this place of just hanging on.
Tomorrow we are celebrating Alissa's 21st birthday. I want to be able to be happy but all I can do is think about the fact that Josh is not going to be here. He should be here. I should have both of my children with me. Instead, I will try to celebrate the life of my precious daughter while I mourn the death of my precious son. I never dreamed life could be this hard. Nothing that I have ever gone through could have prepared me for this.
Tomorrow we are celebrating Alissa's 21st birthday. I want to be able to be happy but all I can do is think about the fact that Josh is not going to be here. He should be here. I should have both of my children with me. Instead, I will try to celebrate the life of my precious daughter while I mourn the death of my precious son. I never dreamed life could be this hard. Nothing that I have ever gone through could have prepared me for this.
Friday, March 5, 2010
A Small Light
For almost a year and a half I have not been able to read anything for pleasure. I read the Bible for comfort, I skim articles on the internet about farming but to pick up a book and read it for pleasure, I have not been able to do. I use to love to read but the words just jumble in my mind and make no sense. I can't pay attention and lose interest. I have not even had the desire to read. Today, I went to the store and I found myself in the book aisle. I picked up several books and read the back. They looked interesting to me. I wanted to read them. I don't know if I will be able to sit down and read them yet, but it was a glimmer of hope to me that someday I may actually find joy in reading again. Perhaps one of the things I enjoyed in the past will become part of my new normal.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
My reality and dealing with depression
Last night I met with my grief support group. I was desperate to go feeling like I had reached the end of my rope and not knowing how to even keep going emotionally. It is strange that I would be at this point now. I have felt particularly low in the past 17 months with certain times being worse than others. However, I have never been this low. As I told my friends in my group, "I had reached the point where I know that this is my reality: Josh is never coming back and if this is as good as it gets on this grief journey, then it's not good enough!"
There are days when I feel that missing my son and the grief that I am enduring is simply sucking the very life out of me! I have reached a point where I have begun to wonder if I am dealing with grief or if the grief has turned into depression. I have questioned what the difference is between the two?
Our counselor was very thoughtful and helpful and it does seem that the depression that I am feeling is not what might be termed a "clinical" depression but rather a deep sadness from losing my Josh. While we don't know how long this stage of grief might last, it is comforting to realize that it too is just part of the journey and that somehow, I will make it through.
There are days when I feel that missing my son and the grief that I am enduring is simply sucking the very life out of me! I have reached a point where I have begun to wonder if I am dealing with grief or if the grief has turned into depression. I have questioned what the difference is between the two?
Our counselor was very thoughtful and helpful and it does seem that the depression that I am feeling is not what might be termed a "clinical" depression but rather a deep sadness from losing my Josh. While we don't know how long this stage of grief might last, it is comforting to realize that it too is just part of the journey and that somehow, I will make it through.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Grief or Depression
Is it possible to know where grief ends and depression begins? There is such a fine line.
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