The Portal: Portal-ity Thoughts

I've spent the last year trying to explain how it feels to lose a child.  How it feels to have a child who is addicted to opioids.  I've fought for John.  Explained what happened to John.  Went to the court hearings.  I've gone to the Town Hall Meetings on the Opioid Crisis.  I've endured the "helpful" remarks, the awkward conversations, the odd looks, the whispers.  I've defended those who have become dependent on opioids and I've defended John - what happened, the process, the horrible outcome.  But for what?  Honestly, does it even matter?   John matters , but does all this writing matter?  Does it make a difference? Because it's not easy.  Not easy to let people into this terrible time - this terrible loss.  Certainly not for novelty or curiosity. Maybe the awkward lady was right when she blurted out "Life Goes On!"  I guess for the world it does go on. And for the rest of us, it stopped that day and we are still trying to

I am a lover of paper.  Of words.  Of journals.  I have so many journals . . .all colors and sizes, and it's been my modus operandi to write for a few days and then stop.  I think as much as I like to document my thoughts and feelings, what would always happen is, I would end up just blathering on about my feelings, venting, or writing about trivial things when I thought the words should be rich and deep. Well, let me encourage you to write, write anything and everything because one day those words will be important.  So important.   I found a journal that I bought in early 2017, with a gift card to Barnes and Noble.  It seemed a bit extravagant, it has a buttery soft leather cover, it's covered in words,  and has thick quality paper. It reminds me of something old and worldly. I didn't want to ruin it by writing once or twice and leaving it in the pile, so I decided to fill it with things I learned, quotes I liked, prayers and responses.   I've said b

John has been gone a year.  367 days without seeing our son.  It's been a hard Fall.  Full of memories, and of loss.  I'm crabby and irritable.  All I want to to do is stay home.  It was a rough weekend, and I'm sure it won't be the last.  Every month, as a bereaved parent, is another awful milestone, that leads to the dreaded one year mark.  Hi, welcome to the twelfth month.  Please relive the horror of that day over and over and over again in your mind.  We'll wait over here. I woke up at 6:30. On the dot.  6:30 was the time John's alarm was set to go off.  When he didn't shut it off, and the puppy was barking, we knew something was wrong.  <Enter life stopping devastation.> So let's recap this year.  For all you glass half full types . . . what good came out of it?  Um, nothing. Nothing good resulted from my son's death.  Sorry to disappoint.  Oh, and guess what, LIFE DIDN'T GO ON.  There was no silver lining in this dreadful clou

Aren't they beautiful? When you lose a child, it's virtually impossible to explain how it feels, how lost and broken you are, how upside down your life and your future have become. It is utterly despairing. The only way you can get close to anyone "understanding" is talking to someone who has experienced it.   And so, over time, you form a new group of friends, they are your Grief Friends.  Today I'm going to introduce you to a few of mine.  This blog post started as a piece on the extra complications of grief, and it is turning out to be so much more.  It's my favorite, and I'm so sorry I have to write it. Losing a child is absolutely heartbreaking and indescribable, no matter the cause.  One loss is not more devasting than the next - it's all horrible.   I do, however, think some of the circumstances behind a loss can add an additional layer or layers of incomprehensible devastation that complicates that loss.   I'd like

So, I think I told you that I've been having a hard time keeping myself together.  Well, last Sunday, I felt like I was having a super solid day. I was well rested, the kids were home, it was an okay day. We went to church, I got through the worship songs without breaking down!  Music. That goes straight to the heart, doesn't it?  But I was doing it! I was on my way to a dry Sunday.  Until I saw him. A young boy with his mom.  He came over to her with that look of excitement on his face.  You know the one:  "Mama!" When they are young enough to be excited to see you, to give you a big hug, to still sit on your lap.  You can rub their back and maybe sneak in a kiss on the back of that neck.  Get in a smell.  A nuzzle.  Feel his hair.  I think most of you can relate.  I smiled.  I just watched them interact.  It was so sweet.  And then my mind betrayed my solid day.  It interjected: "What wouldn't you give to go back, if even for a minute?"  How d

What does month eleven look like?  How has grief changed, evolved?  To be honest, month eleven feels a whole lot like month one.  I have noticed that my game face is much harder to put on. That I can only handle being out in public for a few hours most days. I felt like I was at work a lot last month, and as it turned out on payday, I was literally there 6 hours. All month.  It felt like it was hard to get there, hard to concentrate, hard to complete the simplest tasks that I've been doing for 18 years.   I find that my tears just fall from my face, abruptly and in unstoppable repetition.  They don't take a few moments to work up to a waterfall, they just start.  Stopping them has become increasingly more difficult.  I find that it's harder to write, still hard to read, and I feel very disconnected and incomplete.  I think a lot about the people in my life, but find it difficult to reach out to any of them.  Occasionally I will send a text and see if someone would li

If I'm going to have a bad day, it's typically Monday. So, I find myself here, writing. I hope it relieves some of the sadness. I have a confession. I almost got out of church yesterday without crying.  Almost. Then we sang the song "King of My Heart" by Bethel Music. It was this chorus, sung beautifully by the worship team, that got me: "You're never gonna let You're never gonna let me down And You're never gonna let You're never gonna let me down You're never gonna let You're never gonna let me down You're never gonna let You're never gonna let me down" It continues, on and on, you get the idea. In a normal life, this would be an okay song. Sang with a thankful heart and all the feels. But as a bereaved mom, I couldn't help thinking, but wait, I was let down. I was let down in the most heartbreaking way possible.  My son died. So am I wrong to feel let down?  To be completely disappointed?  To question e