Mom Psalm

It's May.
It's the 7th time we have visited this anniversary.
It still comes like a shadow.
It. Still. Hurts. in case anyone wonders.
I could howl at the moon.
In the beginning I wondered how long it would hurt. Now I know.

I have accepted that the aching void of your absence will never go away in this life.
I didn't know that separation anxiety went on and on.
I didn't know I could go on living carrying all these broken pieces inside of me.
I can.
I have carved out new space inside of me and carry you there.
I am perpetually pregnant.

Everything has changed. We are not the same.
The children are growing up.
The sisters are carving new paths.
Old loves have found new loves.
We have a different look.
Change is the status quo.

Strangely, I started to laugh again this year.
I hadn't noticed it was missing till it started again.
It's a good sign.
Like the leaves of spring.
Surrender is happening.
It was more than I ever wanted. But there it is.

I love you.
I got to birth and nurse you.
I see those baby years, my beautiful boy.  I dream them occasionally.
I watched you go from seed to strength. Your vibrant life.
I saw the man. The beautiful smile, like parentheses. The opinions. The thoughts.
I love that wild hair, so radiant. Better now, I've heard you say.

It can be done.
As I carry you Someone carries me.
Man of Sorrows walks the broken road with me.
Another thing I never knew.
Added to the pile of all the things I never knew.
There is life in death.

My heart has been pierced.
My soul has grown.
My journey is a resting place.
A place where I feel dove's wings slowly moving over me.
A place of peace.
Another thing I never knew.

When Death Comes

When Death Comes

by Mary Oliver

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn;

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox;

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,

tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,

or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world. 

40th Anniversary Party

In Munich last summer, we got the idea of hosting an Oktoberfest party for our big 40th anniversary. So out came the blue and white checked banners and fall decorations. 

We built a stage out of one of our tractor trailers. 

These are our great caterers who served delicious brats and beer, pretzels and strudel. 

Here is the work crew taking a German beer break after setting  up everything. 

The tables were set with steins full of flowers and apples and pumpkins and fall leaves. 

I think we are looking a bit like a German beer garden. 

The flowers came from the cutting garden and around our property. 

The bar was stocked with imported German-made beer and wine. 

Beer steins with fresh flowers were scattered around. 

The buffet line with a big pile of hot pretzels and cheese sauce. 

The sign was made by Crystal and is in traditional Bavarian style. It says "Happy 40th Anniversary". 

The beverage and dessert table is ready for treats. 

German Chocolate cake, Black Forest cupcakes and apple strudel and ice cream will be here soon. Yum! 

Crystal was my right hand, with her generous help and creative ideas.  

Sharon flew in for the occasion and she helped too. Her dirndl apron tricks the eye. 

Hubby and I are enjoying this wonderful day that we waited forty years for...now we are waiting for the guests to arrive and the fun to begin. 

Rainy Heart

It's Joey's 6th birthday in Heaven. It pains me to write the words. It's also a rainy gray day at the beach, which somehow seems entirely appropriate. 

As do the broken bits of shell in the sand and the stranded jelly fish. 

But in spite of the gray, the sun breaks through, and strangely, that too, is a reflection of my heart today. 

Somehow I have found light in the midst of my sorrow. 

Not at first. It took years to find it. It was often a cold, lonely, aching journey. 

But it was there -- undeniable incomprehensible hope in the midst of something terrible. 

Little bits and pieces of hope all around me. Almost negligible, but together they amount to enough for each day. 

I have had signs. Here and there. Reminders. God holds my hand. 

I know I will see my son again. I can feel him. 

And it keeps the darkest darkness away from my heart. 

And makes me want to leave a mark of hope on those around me. 

Not despair, emptiness, discouragement. 

But hope that there is help in the storms of life.

That God's care is bigger than my loss. 

That there is a future where all my tears will be gone. 

If I can just hold on through the storm. 

There is enough of what I need. 

His eye is on the sparrow...maybe it's on me too. 

I love you beautiful son.
I miss you so.
Thank you for taking me on a journey deeper and harder than I ever wanted.
 Thank you, Lord, for leading me to higher ground.


Matthew 10:29
When birds are sold, two small birds cost only a penny. But not even one of those little birds can die without your Father knowing it.

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." 

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.