Five Years

Five years that you've been gone.
Five years of recycled stories and photos.
Five years lamenting the music, laughter and vibrancy missing from our lives.
Five years of shifting the weight of heart-aching loss like a bag of boulders,
from one side to another and back again, trying to find a way to get comfortable.
Five years trying to come to terms with the emptiness in the place that was once filled with you.
Five years of missing you every single day.
Five years of wishing this wasn't our story...searching for a different ending than the one we got.

Our faces are different now without you.
We are each so changed...weaker...stooped...aware of our frailty.
No energy for the superfical, shallow, or stressful.
We each have struggled to find a new way to live on.
We seem both hungry for and wary of happiness
Knowing it can be snatched away in the blink of an eye.
Loss hurts more than we ever knew.
Life is more fragile than we ever imagined.
Life is a house of sorrow and now we know it.

Faith is the anchor of the weary soul and we cling to it.
Our skeptical hearts have journeyed into doubt and nihilism.
Our pat answers have been ripped up like useless scraps in our hands.
Yet we've been opened to a world beyond, an unseen world of beauty and hope.
You have stirred in us a dream for a life to come.
You have pushed us into the deep waters of mystery, where we swim most of the time now--
not well, but these are our refreshing waters.
We go gentle into them. They are unfamiliar, but they are the hope that leads us forward.
Faith is the anchor.

Where are you now?
When you flew away on angels' wings, where did you go?
Where is that place where we feel you still alive?
You are not what the greeting cards say.
You are not the wind in the trees.
You are not the cardinals or the dragonflies or the butterflies that we love.
No. You are more than that.

You speak to us.
We hear your voice.
You meet us in our dreams.
Sometimes the brick wall that separates us becomes a gossamer veil and we are in the same place.
We hear you whispering words of hope and perseverance, comfort and the joy to come.

God is there in that place where time and space fade.
That is our secret miracle, our prayer closet.
That is how we live now.
All will be well. All will be well.
That is what we hear.
Stay close.
That is what we hear.

The light that shines in the darkness leads us.
Grace carries us.
Life is a raw, glorious mess, but
Grace
is
sculpted
in death.


You told us so.
Five years ago.

Joseph Neal Johnson

8/17/1979-5/22/2008

Joseph= "He shall add"

We love you, beautiful son. 

Thank you for adding your love, light and strength to our lives. 

We will hold on to the hope of heaven-reunion day. 

John 14:1-3 

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am." 

Four Mother's Days

This is what I was doing on Mother's Day morning five years ago. We were staying at a hotel in Waikiki, having a lively breakfast on a deck overlooking the beachfront. All was right with the world. I had all three of my grown children with me and all of my grandchildren, too. Married for 35 years, and blessed with cherished friends, we were all here to celebrate college graduations. We were all healthy and prospering. Life was truly as good as life can be. 

Later that day, Joey and I went for a walk along Waikiki's main street, and he entertained me the whole way.  That boy could make me laugh like nobody's business. I couldn't have been happier.
 Mama Bliss. 

A few short weeks later, my life had turned upside down. My son's ashes had been spread in the sea before me,  and I was myself an ocean of grief. 

I placed his memorial brochure beside the flowers. I wanted those passing by that precious spot to know the magnificent young man the whole world had lost.

~~~~~::~~~~~

Since that day, I have lived through four Mother's Days. The day is still very tender, and I still need to prepare for it emotionally. I know it will never be the same without a hug and a card from my beloved son.

But I have come to realize that this is the nature of life. What is true this year, may not be true next year. Life is ever-changing, it moves swiftly and relentlessly forward, ready or not. I have also come to see that I do not have it the worst. I have two daughters by my side, both beautiful mothers,  and we share the meaning of this day. I have two wonderful sons-in-law, who make me feel special. I have five adorable grandchildren, that keep me rooted in the present and the future, rather than in the past. I am not alone in my grief, as I have other bereaved mom friends, with whom I share the pain and poignancy of this day.  

As I lay out my blessings, I am fully aware of my cherished friend who cannot conceive a child, for whom this day is full of sorrow. I know another mother who has lost the one and only child she will ever have, and with that child, the potential for grandchildren. I know a mother who today is caring for a terminally ill child, and who does not give a second thought to her own breakfast in bed, when she is so busy squeezing all the memories she can from what remains. I know another mother who is experiencing this day for the very first time after the loss of her beloved son, and I know she can barely breathe today. And I know other sad stories of motherhood, that cannot be told here. To all of those beautiful women, I acknowledge your courage and send my love today. You are not forgotten. My heart and prayers are with you. 

And me? I am thankful for the privilege of motherhood, even when I lose, and pretty much under any circumstances at all. 

Spring Fever

Happy Birthday to my SIL. He gave himself this motor home for his birthday.

They have big plans to tour the country in style when he is out of the military. It's a fancy house on wheels, with a hearth, hardwood floors and a comfy master bedroom. Roll on, Sean and JoAnne!

At home, we are enjoying hanging our with our many visitors. Cody is in his favorite spot, next to his Master and Commander.

The Easter Bunny dropped this good egg on our porch...Rachel love. 

My 82 year old mom also flew in for a 2 week visit. Doesn't she look great? She's a natural beauty and I hope I got some of those genes.


There is nothing like good times at the table with those we love. Here, our friend Marek, a Czech missionary and teacher,  tells a story about his visit to exotic Dubai.



He came all the way from Prague to make us crepes for breakfast.
Delectable.  What a guy. Oh, and he was also doing a bit of paper work for the US government to maintain his residency status. 

Mom and I visited DC on a failed quest to see cherry blossoms. On an unrelated side trip to the White House, Mom decided it was appropriate that the residents of this house were kept behind bars. #political humor #no offense #just laugh

Grandma and Uncle Sam. My mom is a patriot and loves her country deeply.

We found some cherry blossoms under this arch at the botanical garden in Richmond. Beauty springing up everywhere. 

Spring and baseball go together. My grandson is playing second base, for his first season ever. Put down the joystick and get your game on, grandson o' mine. 

First time at bat here. One for the memory books...



Mom and Dad, Nana and Great Grandma relishing this big moment. Aidan, not so much. His team lost.

The farm is beautiful, changing every single day. The willow is green and flowing.

The daffodils are popping up.

The tulips, too, one by one, with the sunniest spots popping first.

My favorite junky planter is bursting forth.

My cabbages and lettuces and onions are growing with abandon.

Little tulips are emerging from the grass next to the pond.

And the pond itself is coming to life with hundreds of baby fishes and dozens of turtles. Apparently someone has been laying eggs all winter long.


There are three turtles snuggled on the bank right above the reflection in the water of the center tree. 

And we have baby frogs here and there.

A true boy's paradise for Aidan and his buddies. They have hours of play every weekend,  in and around the pond and woods.

All of this wonder, while Papa makes pancakes for breakfast. Don't you love a Spring morning?
Spring is finally here. Life is good.

So thankful to our God for these fresh, sweet, alive days, bursting with new beginnings.

Zecheriah 10:1  Ask rain from the Lord in the season of the spring rain, from the Lord who makes the storm clouds, and he will give them showers of rain, to everyone the vegetation in the field. 

My Favorite Word

res·ur·rec·tion

  [rez-uh-rek-shuhn] 

noun

1.

the act of rising from the dead.

2.

( initial capital letter  ) the rising of Christ after His death and burial.

3.

( initial capital letter  ) the rising of the dead on Judgment Day.

4.

the state of those risen from the dead.

5.

a rising again, as from decay, disuse, etc.; revival.

"For since death came through a human being, 

the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; 

for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ."

For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man.

I Cor 15:21

Thankful for the death and resurrection of Jesus. Thankful that He changed my future for me. Thankful for the hope that has carried me through the death of my son. 

Thankful that I will hug my beautiful son again.

Easter HOPE. 

Lessons on Memorial Services

The fifth anniversary of our son's death is in a few months, and I feel its approach with a sense of impending doom. I am bracing myself months in advance, which I guess means the doom is already here. It's almost as if I am standing before a firing squad that is loading its weapons to take aim and the shot is coming. That is strangely violent imagery, to be sure. But for anyone who's lived through the death of a child, they would likely agree that it's a pretty accurate picture of the dread involved with anniversaries.

Even though I have been through four previous anniversaries, I am sometimes still filled with incredulity.  Could it really be five years? Did all this really happen?  Strangely enough, I, at times, have had to look at  pictures from those days just to convince myself.  A few days ago, in one such moment, I revisited the pictures of my son's memorial service. I haven't been able to look at those particular pictures since they were taken. The reason for that? Some of the people had smiles on their faces and it crushed me that they could smile in the midst of my devastation. Mind you, I also had a smile on my face in many of the pictures. But mine was fake as silicone, plastered on under the imaginary caption of, "Isn't she strong and together!". Actually I was coming apart at the seams; no, at the molecules. I was like a cartoon character that gets hit by a bat, then cracks from top to bottom and in the next frame crumbles into a pile of rubble.

The smiles got to me. The first time I saw the pictures, they told me that people didn't really understand; that our loss wasn't that big a deal. And so with fear and revulsion I put them away and decided not to look at them ever again. The other day, almost five years later, I gathered my fortitude, and I opened those pictures. I saw something I didn't expect, something I hadn't seen before. Sad eyes, drawn expressions, serious unexpected sorrow in the faces of our friends.  Yes, there were some smiles, but mostly just polite social smiles. This time I saw that there was shock on people's faces, and sorrow and urgency and compassion. I sobbed... and I felt relief, and deep comfort. I could see something that I wasn't able to see the first time I looked at those pictures, when I was out of my mind crazy with loss. It made me want to thank everyone who came to stand by our sides...all over again. And if you are one of those reading this... from my heart... Thank. You. Again.

The world of grief is a strange country where the social rules change. Smiles are not the most valuable currency. Hugs are.  The best gift you can give?  To tell the bereaved parent that their child was beautiful or funny or special, and made a difference in your life--then name a specific way or memory. The second best gift? Simply showing up. It matters for a long time, and your absence hurts. The most precious words that can be spoken?  "I will miss him/her and never forget them. They are a part of my life forever." When all else fails, this works, too:  "I am so sorry for your loss." or "I am hurting for you and cannot put it into words."

I still need to hear those words five years later. I will never tire of them. It is an awful pressure feeling that time moves on and therefore so must I. A grieving parent can never move on from the loss of their child...it violates the core of parenthood and feels like abandonment. So instead you carry them with you wherever you go, like a backpack full of gold. It is a heavy load, but so precious.

This old 30's movie theater in Hollywood is the home of my son's church,  Ecclesia Church,  and the place where we held one of his memorial services.  It was originally called the Hollywood Pacific Theater and was the home of the Academy Awards for many years. 

These letters are original, inlaid into the terrazo floor and they stand for Hollywood Pacific. 

Using black tape, this is what our friends made of those letters.

The sad faces of our friends. 

I am not sure who even took these pictures. They just ended up in our possession.

Three brothers with whom my son grew up.

Dear friends for many years. 

I held Joe's and Rachel's hands. Human touch is so important at a memorial. 

The serious crowd, full of my son's friends and many unfamiliar faces, still  means so much to us. 

Hugs... 

...never underestimate their power.

Sometimes words just can't do justice to a moment.

The eyes say it all. 

Group hugs give strength.

Mayor Rudy Giuliani made a wise statement after 9/11, and I have come to understand its meaning in a personal way.  Upon being questioned after attending every single memorial service for those who had died, he said, "You can miss a wedding, but you cannot miss a funeral". It is so much more important to be there at the saddest moments in someone's life, than in the happy ones. 

Oh, the lessons I've learned. 

Romans 12:15
Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.