Dear John, It's Been Five Years . . .

Every year I go through the same thing.  I argue with myself for weeks about this day. Say something, don't say something.  Do something to commemorate it, hide in the house.  Share it, keep it to myself.  See if anyone remembers - don't be a jerk.  So five years of it, and I always end up here.  On the keyboard, dishing out my words.  I guess I need it.  When I logged into Blogger I was shocked to see that I had only blogged once since Year 4.  Sometimes I just post on my Facebook page - Portality Thoughts . . . I do a shorter version, but wow.  The blogging has really slowed down.  

I think you get to a place where you just keep it inside.  After all, it's been literal years and it's not forefront on anyone else's mind (sans family).  And then I think, but this is my story.  My life living without him, and I remember how grateful I am that I documented it - because to be honest, grief can be a real memory stealer.  So, when I want to, I can go back and read through my days, months, and years and see what I was thinking and feeling.  And that seems like a good thing.  Occasionally it even helps someone else, and that is a great thing.

The time of year when that loved one passed can be a whole season of heartache.  For me it's Fall in general.  And then the days leading up to the "day" are a weighted blanket of despair.  Followed by the holidays.  It dawned on me this morning that we all look at the death day - November 4th, but November 3rd was our last day with our beautiful boy.  In my TimeHop memories this morning was a video I took of it snowing on November 3, 2017.  I pulled over to the side of the road and captured it because the flakes were huge and slowly falling - and it seemed unwelcome during harvest, but so lovely.  Little did I know that just hours later our worst nightmare would be realized. The loss of a child.

I had taken the dog to the vet, and John and Brian were in the field.  I got home right around 3:30 pm and John came in shortly after I did.  The memories of that night seem like yesterday and 1,000 years ago.  If you are in the same position, I just want to remind you that grief doesn't have a timeline.  And the more you loved, the longer it stays.  So I've made room for it in my life - because it will be here with me until I see him again.

This year has been graciously uneventful.  I finished the cancer treatments last spring and I just go every three months for a check-up.  Is there anxiety in that?  Of course. Two different aggressive cancers that have a high rate of recurrence - means you usually are waiting for the ball to drop, but I try hard not to go there.  It will be what it will be.

I did try to stop the depression medication at one point last summer.  I had a lot more energy it seemed, but I started sobbing again - and at the smallest things.  I found I couldn't have deep conversations without the emotions taking over, so I started back up.  I know they can mess with my head as well - and I can't seem to retain a lot, but I still prefer the less emotional me.  

Over the last year we lost Brian's parents   What a blow for him on top of losing John. This harvest season was rough without his Dad.  He still thinks every phone call at 8 am or supper time will be his father's.  He talks about him constantly.  He lost his best friend and his mom . . .that's a lot of loss in a year.  

I'm so proud of him though.  He has used his grief in such a tangible way.  He reaches out to others that he knows or barely knows to be a shoulder, an ear.  He is so much better at face-to-face than I am.  He has guys who call him when they can't bear their grief for another minute, and he listens and confirms their sorrow.  He is the best guy I know and I am so lucky to have him.  I try to reach out, but I think mama bears are different.  Lots of nuances to a mother's grief.  That first year can be so tricky.  We don't want advice, we are living on prayers, and we are figuring out that our new job is to protect our child's memory and that gets harder when dealing with overdose, suicide, or other circumstances.  I broke my rule and jotted down a few things I was thankful to know and sent it to a grieving mom - I hope it was received as it was sent - in much love and incredible sincerity.  

I find myself needing more and more time alone.  I know isolation isn't good, but maybe for me, it's necessary.  It's been hard to reach out, hard to make decisions and plans, and hard to even get through my stack of mail and to-do list.  That's not like me, but I keep trying to remember that the me I was is no longer.  I try to give myself grace and continue to be thankful for the tribe around me that understands my quirks and still show up.  Oftentimes it must seem very one-sided and I'm sorry for that.

On a positive note, I have discovered that I can read books again.  I still need audible to sleep at night, but my brain seems to have healed or calmed and I am on book three in just over a month.  Oddly enough, it seems that a whole lot of fiction deals with grief. ( I'm pretty sure I can tell which authors have experienced it personally and who is fictionalizing it.)  But it's a real accomplishment after five years of not being able to focus on the written word.  

Grief changes you in so many ways.  I am finding in year five that the longing to see John has become so intense.  I keep saying I can't believe it's been five years.  It literally, to me, feels like a few months ago - so if you think people get "stuck" in their grief, it's just not like that.  When it is a life-altering loss, an out-of-order loss, or a piece of your heart loss, there simply is no timeline.  Yes, your friend or relative is still grieving and they probably will be for the duration of the time you know them.  Make space for that.  Never tell them to move on, or get over it.  It's simply not the way it works and you are being very naive in thinking that they can.

Another thing I did in year five was to sign up for GriefCoach. (https://grief.coach/)  Does that seem weird after five years?  I don't think so, because I still need support, maybe even more.  I think it would have been good to have it in year one, and it may be a good thing to gift a person who has recently lost someone dear. (They offer gift subscriptions and it includes two support people that you can add). I get a couple of personalized texts a week, and I get to see John's name with helpful advice, compassion, and understanding from people who have experienced it.

You would think that after what I've been through I would be better at offering condolences or answering those questions about how to help a grieving friend.  But I'm not.  We all grieve so differently.  All I will say is that your presence in their life and your willingness to talk about their person will mean everything to them.  Remembrance.  Presence.  

For those of you who are out there trying to find a way to live your new normal, I understand.  I'm still here.  I thank God for carrying me through each day - and I hope you have the promise of eternal life and the knowledge of God's great love for you in your heart.