Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

One of my favorite poems now. I believe that last line so fervently. It brings me great comfort. When Joey first died I could not hear him compared to things in nature. It rankled me because I felt it diminished him and my grief. As time has gone by, I see him in every beautiful thing, and God has greatly reassured us of His power to save as we have seen His grandeur in nature. That's how I read it now.

It was written in 1932 by an American housewife and florist named Mary Elizabeth Frye, 1905-2004. She wrote it for a friend who was lamenting that she could not return to Germany to mourn the death of her mother. Frye said it "came to her" as she wrote it.

May it bring you comfort and hope in the power of God and our hope for eternal life, as it does me.

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.

A New Chapter

Rachel and me on her wedding day. 

We love this beautiful young woman who Joey loved.

 We have shed many tears together after Joey's passing. 

She has traveled numerous times cross-country to be with us for painful holidays and anniversary days in the past seven years. 

She has loved each and all of us with tenderness. 

We fittingly call her our daughter-in-love. 

In September, she married a wonderful man.

He has tremendous character and strength.It's pretty hard not to have complete respect for the man who loved and courted this grieving young woman with so much compassion and sensitivity.

We are thankful for him, for her, for the joy of this day,

and for the future that's unfolding before her. 

Though a day like this can't help but be bittersweet, we also can't resist rejoicing with her.

She is the most beautiful soul and she deserves every happiness that life and love can bring. 

And new beginnings. 

So a new chapter begins with a most radiant bride walking down a grassy green aisle in sunny Southern California and we are thankful to witness it. 

And to know that this young woman's heart could be put back together again after a shattering loss. 

And that God's mercies never cease. 

Isaiah 43:19

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up, do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. 

Happy Birthday Beautiful Son

We came to Maui for Joey's birthday. 

He had the ability to make every day a celebration. He loved a party. 

We brought along two granddaughters, who are island girls at heart. 

They knew they were coming to honor their Uncle Joey's birthday. 

Joe had a slice of lava engraved to commemorate Joey's birthday and death day. It was something he had wanted to do for a long time, and he finally accomplished it on this trip, seven years later. It is amazing how much grief slows down the very best of intentions. 

The poem engraved on the lava stone comes from this poem, composed by Joey from magnetic letters, one random day when he was traveling around the country on his year long road trip. Rachel photographed it and then we re-found it after he passed. We were instantly struck by the foreshadowing, the wisdom and the comfort in this poem.  Life is full of  mystery, and we have felt that sideways grace even in our loss. These words have ministered to our pain many times in the past seven years. 

So we decided to place it near the wall outside our condo. His ashes were scattered in the waters beyond. This was his favorite view in Maui, and in the days after his death, many people laid flowers here in his honor. It is the right spot to memorialize him. 

The memorial stone surrounded by flowers.

This is a picture of Joey and his sister and brother-in-law taking in this beautiful view  below eight years ago. 

We like that we have a permanent place that honors his beautiful life. 

Tonight we dine at his favorite Maui restaurant.

Though it never gets easier, we are comforted in laying this stone.

Happy Birthday, Beautiful Son. 

We love you forever. 

Aloha Oe.

Till we meet again. 

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.

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. 

More

A dear family friend named Jeremy, one who grew up with my son, and played hours of music with him, sent me this one yesterday. Poetry about death and eternity brings great comfort to me. I have always loved George Herbert, though I had never come across this one.  I hope you will enjoy this one as much as me. Though it was written in old English in 1633, it is easy to decipher. It talks about the purifying power of death.

My tennis shoes are standing on the ancient floor of St. Mark's Basilica in Venice, Italy, built in 1063.

 The Church-floore.

MArk you the floore? that square & speckled stone, Which looks so firm and strong, Is Patience: And th’ other black and grave, where with each one Is checker’d all along, Humilitie: The gentle rising, which on either hand Leads to the Quire above, Is Confidence: But the sweet cement, which in one sure band Ties the whole frame, is Love And Charitie. Hither sometimes Sinne steals, and stains The marbles neat and curious veins: But all is cleansed when the marble weeps. Sometimes Death, puffing at the Doore, Blows all the dust about the floore: But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps. Blest be the Architect, whose art Could build so strong in a weak heart.

Christmas Wish This Year

Our last Christmas with Joey, 2007

This is the fifth Christmas since my son went to Heaven. It doesn't seem possible. I still miss him every day, and long for him to be here with us as we celebrate our family traditions. His loss is still a knife in my heart. I make myself go through the process now, but there is a gaping void where he used to be.

After he grew up and left home, he was always the surprise package on Christmas eve. Joey would tell us he couldn't come home for some credible reason, and then he and his dad would secretly set up plane tickets. On Christmas eve, my dear husband would think up some excuse to leave the  house, make a quick jaunt to the airport to pick up Joey, and Voila! Surprise! there he would be on my doorstep. I miss the big arrival scenes, the joyous laughter, the big wrap-around hug, and the adventurous stories of how he got there after all.

Joey, apres-ski relaxing

And he always had a story. One year, on the plane home, he had a rather large woman with an unruly child sitting in the window seat next to him. He said the woman squeezed into her seat, put her headphones on, closed her eyes and unofficially turned the childcare over to him for the flight! The child sat on his tray table, ate his food, climbed over his shoulders, thumped the people in front of them, and trampled the laps of the other strangers around them --as the mother resolutely slept through it all.  I am sure there was plenty of non-verbal communication between him and the flight attendants, because they kept a sympathetic eye on him throughout the flight, bringing him whatever would help ease his pain. As he disembarked, they patted him on the back, consoled and congratulated him.  They were obviously impressed by the fortitude of this young man. When he got home, he took a deep breath, and poured out this story, including all the gory diaper details and facial expressions. We loved every drop of it.

When Joey was home, it was as if the lights went on. He was a charmer, that boy of mine, and an entertainer, a comedian and an agent of good will-- a happiness bringer. He was attuned, aware, alive, and a giver. He was something special and wonderful. And we all knew it.

Christmas 2008

We ruled the world then. Everything was good. We thought life was manageable and in our control. We thought it would be an endless stream of  successes, happy vacations and surprise parties. We had not met crushing loss then, nor deep unremitting sorrow; nor had we known the heavy darkness of night weighing down on us, making it difficult to breathe.

It was the world "before", and now we live in the world "after". Perhaps we were lucky to have such a shallow view of suffering, but I am pretty sure we were not better people for it. Are we better now? I hope so, and wish it to be so, but I will not guarantee it. We are still a work in progress.

2012 has been the most difficult year for us since 2008. Just when we thought we were getting steady in our boat, we have been hit by wave upon wave of loss and disappointment this year. And with it,  the attendant discouragement, frustration, stress, powerlessness, and struggle.  We have wrestled with stubborn circumstances far beyond our ability to control or influence. And we seem to be our same old weak, frail, human selves, and not the exemplary overcomers we wish to be. Alas.

In our quest to redeem suffering, to be wiser than before, to be beyond weakness, we find ourselves still very much in need of a Savior. But the good news is: He is there. Our "Beautiful Savior, King of Creation. Son of God and Son of man" is there. Arms open wide, gracious, reassuring, strong where we are weak.

Our hope at Joey's death, and our hope in this year of great travail, continues to be our Beautiful Savior. Though we cannot bring back our son, and we cannot bring back the "before", and we cannot control our circumstances, or others or even ourselves at times, He can and will do it all.

He is our Hope. Our Christmas wish to you is to find the same hope we have found in our Beautiful Savior.

                                

^{Romans 8:37} No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. ³⁸ For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,^[k] neither the present nor the future,nor any powers, ³⁹ neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Good Advice

I think this is the original poster hanging in a British museum. It's from the 1939 British government campaign to lift morale as Hitler marched across Europe. It was only rediscovered in 2000 and you've likely seen it reproduced everywhere-- in all shapes, sizes and sentiments. It was a war-time admonition to the British public to not get swept away by fear, but to press on with the normal responsibilities of life as much as possible. The more things change, the more necessary stability becomes. With a war waging, it was essential that people face it with courage and keep the country running. Everything depended on that response.

When my beautiful friend Melissa took her life in July, it knocked our world off its tracks.  All the carefully set game board pieces went up in the air, and landed on the ground in disarray. Putting it all together again is requiring more intense effort and insight than I could have imagined.

For one thing, I feel jumpy inside. The scene keeps replaying. The questions keep coming. I keep playing detective trying to make sense of the incomprehensible. I am skittish with it, nervous, but compelled to replay it. Do answers make me feel any better? Not at all. Does that stop me? Not in the least.

For another thing, I am tired. I am world weary. I shrink from it: "This can't have happened. No." Another deep sorrow. Another huge loss, which spreads in many directions.  Deep disappointments. So many human failures in this whole thing, including mine. Is there no limit to how low life can go?  Apparently not.

And finally, there's the change. There are so many repercussions to this final act by my friend. Nothing, nothing is the same. Nothing. Grasping for the familiar is an exercise in futility. The familiar is gone. Everything has changed. No one who knew her looks the same now. The shadow of her absence is on all our faces. Our church is disoriented. People look hollow. The air has gone out of our sails. The beauty has gone out of the changing season. The Fall traditions seem like too much trouble. Her family and friends are longing for her, wishing her here, and facing the reality of never seeing her again in this life. It's a stunner.

Probably not unlike seeing beautiful, stately London bombed out by a maniac, loved ones in a battle from which they may not return, imminent danger on every continent,  and at home, food and energy and commodity shortages that unravel every day life.

Keep calm and carry on. It's become my watch word, a compass point in the storm.  Change is chaotic. It is unsettling. It is unnerving. It leaves few options.  It requires me to leave an older secure way of doing things, and to reluctantly move on to the new that is not of my choice or making. It requires letting go of cherished things with a silent grief  in the daily process. It requires me to do things I don't know how to do.  There is a learning curve and failures daily. Trial and error. Trip and fall. Depression, discouragement, and dread.

But I have learned that it can be done. It must be done. There are children watching who need hope.

Keep calm and carry on. It's the only sensible thing to do right now.

Isaiah 30:21

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it."

Joey's 4th Anniversary

We all gathered at the farmhouse for dinner.
 It's been four years since Joey went to Heaven, but this annual ritual is as important and necessary as it's ever been.
My big, tall, handsome grandson,  Chase,  twirls the soccer ball as he awaits the arrival of family and friends.

We had a downpour while waiting, and everything looked wet and fresh and beautiful outdoors. 

The pond is full of turtles and fish, and often times the kids are in it too, but not this day.

Rachel, our daughter-in-love,  arrived and took a peek outdoors as it rained. 

Rachel has been with us faithfully on every anniversary and we love her as our own. 

Our dear friends and Maui pastors, Craig and Kathy, made the long journey to be with us. Such a precious gift to have them here. We were with these dear friends on the night we learned that Joey had died. 

Jaime and Aidan (with board shorts and a towel on his arm) are discussing the advisability of him jumping in the pond at this moment. 

Everyone is glad to be together. On the right is my blue cabinet that holds many of Joey's precious things. 

JoAnne and Rachel look on as Joe thanks our friend Christian for bringing catered dinner to our house. Christian was out in the deluge picking everything up for us. He also brought lots of beautiful flowers. Though I love to cook, this is not a day when I choose to be preoccupied in the kitchen. 

Drew and Sean chatting...unfortunately I caught Sean in motion. But please notice the Joey tattoo on his bicep. Birds are one of our symbols for Joey. We all have a tattoo in Joey's memory.

Delicious Italian catered dinner all set up on the kitchen counter, next to a pitcher of fruity sangria.

I set the table, Thanksgiving style, with river rocks and candles down the center. Joey was a nature boy, so it seemed fitting. 

We all sat down together to eat. Aidan is being a little silly with his spaghetti noodles.

Everyone but Kathy, the photographer, made it into this shot. 

 

With such a large group, it's hard to get us all in at once. This one misses Clare and Kathy.

After dinner, we watched the video from Joey's memorial service. It's never easy to get through, but we want to keep his memory alive, especially for our grandchildren who were so young when he went to Heaven. 

Lots of tears. Missing our beloved son, brother, uncle and friend. 

As our evening ended, we tried to hang on to this moment with a snapshot. Bad lighting in back, so we try again.

Here I am peeking from behind Jaime; Kathy took this shot, so she is missing. 

 

Sean steps out and takes this one so both Kathy and I can be in the same shot. So in three photos, we were able to get everyone. Notice Joey's sailing picture in the background on the wall to the left. So nice to have him with us in these shots. We didn't notice till we looked afterwards, so it made us smile.
The veil between heaven and earth is a thin one.
We love you, Joey, and can't wait to see you again.
~xox~

An added gift to my week was being able to meet my dear friend Chris. Her daughter Sarah went to Heaven a few months before Joey, and they were the same age. Chris and I both experienced the sudden death of our children. She is from Ohio, and a fellow blogger. Before this moment,  I had only ever known her through my computer. She and her husband were in Virginia for a cool motorcycle vacation, and I jumped at the chance to meet her.  She has been an integral part of my bereaved mother's fellowship, and a huge comfort to my heart these past three years. She has a steady faith in God and her beautiful poetry and pictures always speak to my heart. Her blog can be found here at  True North.  

The next few days were spent playing together. Joe and Craig took the canoe out to a Back Bay lake. Kathy hilariously captioned this one, "What could go wrong?"

We also took the pontoon boat out several times, just to be on the water and take in the natural beauty. Nature is a great salve on a broken heart.

But finally, our gathering came to an end. Here is another in our large file of pictures of Rachel being dropped off at the airport. Rachel's love and presence have been a huge comfort to us, over and over again. What an amazing girl our son loved.

 With Rachel gone, we set off for a few days on a road trip to NYC with Craig and Kathy.
Maui people love road trips. They don't get to do that there. In this sunset shot of Joe and Craig, we are on the Lewes-Cape May Ferry that runs between DE and NJ.

Two hours later at the Lobster House in Cape May, NJ

 Maine lobster is a particular East Coast thrill. Lobster is Craig's favorite food group. He's even got the bib to prove it.



 In the beautiful Victorian seaside town of Cape May, we stayed at the Congress House hotel. It's a gorgeous historic hotel, a reminder of a bygone era.

On our first day in NYC, we visited the new 9/11 memorial site. It is a poignant and moving place. This tree is the pear tree that was the lone survivor of the explosion and fire. And even though it was shrivelled to a root ball, it came back.  It is a resurrection tree. I bought a necklace cast from a petal on this tree. It has a peridot at its center--my son's birthstone.

 Here Kathy points to Todd Beamer's name on the memorial plates. The names are not raised lettering, but actually cut out of the bronze. They are a symbol of absence. 

Inside St. Paul's church, there was a memorial to the police officers who were first responders. These are patches from police departments all over the country. The entire church is now a memorial to the first responders and workers who dug out the site after the tragedy. They continue to have Sunday services in this room. 

Craig and Kathy stand outside the church doors. The church served as a base of operations for rescue and cleanup in the two years after 9/11. The congregation provided food and shelter to all the World Trade Center workers. What a blessing this congregation was to the people of NYC. 

We took a bike ride through Central Park. We are standing in front of the Angel of Bethesda fountain. The angel is so beautiful. The Bible story of the pool of Bethesda says the angel would come to those in the pool with healing in her wings. 

The Angel of Bethesda Fountain, NYC

 

Sitting together at the lake. We've been best friends with these dear people since we were all newlyweds, 37 years ago. We had our children together; our daughters are best friends; they helped lay our son to rest. 

Truly precious friends. 

More Central Park beauty--another set of twin towers.

When we got tired we took a nap in the park. This was our view looking up. We need to look up more.

 Central Park vagabonds.

 After the park, we made a run through the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This is one of my favorite pieces there. It depicts the angel of death stopping a young artist as he paints. It so reminds me of my artistic son, cut short in the midst of his most fruitful years.

We had an enormous gourmet breakfast at Norma's, the iconic luxury breakfast restaurant in Midtown Manhattan . That is my breakfast of eggs benedict with asparagus and fingerling potatoes. We were holding hands, about to give thanks as I snapped this shot. We all cleaned our plates. 

 After breakfast, we ran over to Times Square Church founded by Dave Wilkerson, famous for his work with the street gangs of NYC. He lead many of them to Christ. This multi-cultural church is grandly housed in a lovely old Broadway theatre.  The choir totally rocks it and it's a treat to watch and listen.  I cried listening to this worship music.

We ended our fabulous trip with a Central Park carriage ride. The park has another kind of beauty after dark, and we loved having one more roll through the verdant spaces. 

The amazing Times Square. There's nothing like it in the world.

Finally time to go, we are packed up and leaving our hotel. We were sad to drop Craig and Kathy at the airport, and bring our poignant visit to an end. We are so very thankful for friends and family.  They walk our dark valley with us and bring great comfort to our hearts.

We are blessed.