The Portal: Portal-ity Thoughts

I wrote this post a few months ago thinking I would submit it.  I didn't.  Today I found it, read it, started tweaking it, and now I'm not so sure I should post it at all.  Hopefully, it will speak to someone who has lost a child or was disappointed by life. John died overnight.  One moment we were a mostly happy family, and the next morning he was dead.  He was 24 years old, tall, dark and handsome.  He was funny and outgoing, and he genuinely cared about people, He was also an addict.  I hate that term, but I’ll use it here, so you understand.  I would normally refer to it as substance use disorder, or that he died from fentanyl poisoning, but the fact remained that John was very addicted to opioids.  Which turned into a heroin addiction and then to fentanyl poisoning.  The drug of the season.  The mass murderer of our children.   He was in the Army, 3,250 miles away from home, and was ...

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. ...

The darkness clouds my mind, my heart, the very atmosphere I breathe, even on a beautiful sunny day.  The hole you've left, the black one, the void, it's always there.  I think that's the thing you can't comprehend.  Hearts are fragile, and when it comes to your children, and a breaking or rending, a tearing, such as this . . .well, how can that hole be filled with anything other than you?  For the part that is missing is you . I keep trying to learn about Substance Use Disorder {SUD} and how it affects the brain, the emotions, the life of its victim - and as I struggle to live without you, it becomes more and more clear how delicate the balances are.  When I took the free Harvard opioid class, I learned some things - but one really stuck with me.  The limbic system.   It's the part of the brain that controls emotions, pleasure, relaxation, and contentment.  Well, when those opioids hit that spot and the feeling washes over you - it...

Before John died, I had a 3 a.m. conversation with the Lord one night.  I knew about the drugs.  I knew what that meant.  I had been pleading for his life, for his healing, for his willingness to get help, for his trauma - that he would accept counseling, try meds for depression, anything...something.  As his mom, my heart was broken, I didn't know what to do, and God quietly asked: "Do you trust me?"   Do you trust me either way?   Do you trust me if the answer isn't what you were hoping for?  If the outcome isn't the answer, isn't the solution you were hoping for?  Will you trust that I know the whole picture?  That I am the creator of the universe and that John is my child first? I cried for hours before I answered.  I begged and pleaded and I knew that I had to surrender.  I finally said "yes, I trust you no matter what.  I trust you with John's life and I trust you with mine."  On mornings like this o...

John - JRTC at FT Polk Words and more words.  I can't tell you how many posts I've written lately and haven't published, or I deleted them altogether.   I submitted a couple to grief sites, just because I'm drowning in them. Usually writing helps me process, but life has been unusually dark lately and nothing that's coming off the keyboard feels quite right.   Don't worry, I didn't send in the super sarcastic ones, with titles such as:  Leper, Snarky Grief, and I Wish I Couldn't Imagine, they are still in the draft file. They are TMI and word vomit.  I read one to my husband the other day -  he cautioned me not to share it.  😳There are too many words and at the same time not enough words.  Not enough of the right words.  No words to take the pain of losing John away. I found this picture of him in his iCloud.  Unfortunately, when the police released his phone, it wouldn't work anymore.  I had gone through it previously, ...

Nope, just a stock photo, not John's room. On the day we lost our son, mere hours after, the pastor pulled us aside for a few moments and shared with us that this type of loss can destroy a marriage. I think he may have even given us the divorce statistics.  I don't remember.  I think he prayed with us.  I don't remember.  I do remember thinking, great, devasting loss and a now a huge chance of a failed marriage besides.  I will admit to wondering about the timing, but I thank him for explaining it to us right away - because as the days went on, we definitely saw how grief can wipe clean everything in its path and leave the survivors hanging by a thread.  And while most of that day and the days after are a fog, his words stuck.  It was a kindness. After 16 months, Brian and I still handle the loss very differently. We need to respect each other's journey and have a lot of grace for each other. We aren't typically the couple that argues or...

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 ...