Because of Brian

Loss and difficulty in life comes often with what is commonly referred to as a “crisis of faith.” Put to the test often enough it becomes hard to believe that anyone is listening anymore inevitably leading one to question the faith they once held so dear. To be clear, this is not about faith per se. That in itself is a completely different topic and one each individual, if they are lucky, charts a path of their own on and finds peace along its way. No matter the “faith” you follow, the one you were taught as a child or the one you find along the road of life, if you are human, it gets tested from time to time. In the end, this is probably a good thing for its growth in the long run. Growth does not come from sitting still.

Child loss is a difficulty of a sort that removes your soul and shatters it. There is no life experience to compare to it. As you struggle to pick up the broken pieces and put them back together there are questions. Why? They were so young, what is the point? It’s a big one we ask as it is with all death we perceive as premature. So we question that and… everything. We play over the movie in our heads and ask for them back, knowing that’s completely impossible. We ask for answers, we ask for peace, we ask and we ask and then we wonder, do you hear me?

You -” you” could be whomever it is that you speak to, and again, this is not to argue religion or a corresponding faith. This is about what happened to me. That is all that I can tell you about.

In my loss of Brian, I struggled with faith. I still believed in God but I was searching for some understanding of why. What was the purpose? Why had our little family endured so much in so little time? I read and reached out to others who had walked the path before me. I struggled to find my son and opened myself up to the possibility that there was more. I had had my own unexplainable experiences begin to occur so I read more and listened to others trying to find common ground. To find other people who could say,” yes, this happened to me too. You are still sane.”

I began to learn for myself that we might actually have more support than we think we do on “the other side.” That our loved ones keep tabs, that there are Angels who can come if we ask them to and others as well. I kept getting this same message from many different sources and my brain pondered it constantly. I remember the day like it was yesterday as I was mulling it all over trying to decide in my frustrated way if this was really the case. I was generally irritated with the lot of them and to be truthful, my little feelings were hurt. I mean if you or they or whomever were hearing me, then where the hell were they? I wanted to know….do you hear me?

I was off of work that day, doing laundry. While transferring clothes from one machine to the other, I pretty plainly said,” Ok, if you are real and you hear me, show me an Angel.” I went on in my snarky way to say, something like, it better be impressive because I manage cosmetics and there is a fragrance named that. A box or an email or a sign at work, ain’t gonna cover it – and I don’t want a license plate either, that’s too easy. ( I really did said that….out loud).

About a week went by and a friend texted me at work to say that she was sorry that she missed me but left a gift upstairs at customer service. This was someone I rarely saw but she kept tabs on our family and had for years. I went to retrieve the package, brought it to my office and opened it. Not even thinking about it, I pulled from the wrapped bag a large gold angel statue. To be honest, I was work busy. I thought it was beautiful. I sent a thank you and went on with my day. It wasn’t until later that it hit me….”you got an angel.”

Admittedly, I took pause but still wasn’t feeling convinced in my heart. Looking back, I can see whomever manipulated all of that just going, “you’ve got to be kidding me?” I mean this angel is about 2 feet tall, gold and really beautiful. None the less, I wasn’t there yet and moved on. It was probably another week or so when I received a text message from Brian’s best friend. Now, this is a young man in his early 20’s, like Brian. We don’t correspond normally. He’s tall, sweet, raised in the south, loves to fish and hunt, wear camo and everything about this is counter to what you would expect in a message from him.

It was a simple photo. He’d gone to dinner. It was a Chinese restaurant and he chose to take a photo of the fortune from his fortune cookie and send it to me. The fortune read “Angels are among us, when you find them, cherish their presence everyday.” He simply accompanied it with “My fortune cookie today.” – This one shook the snarky right out of me. This was tough to ignore. I had to believe at this point that someone heard me.

Just for kicks however, I thought I’d give it another shot (maybe my snarky wasn’t completely gone after all). So, I did it again. This time, asking for a blue bird. Not all that easy honestly, right? So no kidding, two days later, a good friend of mine sends me a text message to tell me that he has a new job after years of flying for the Air Force. I say great, with who? Answer, “Jet Blue.” That is a blue bird my friends. A giant one. Coincidence? I think not. I think more likely, they were saying, ” You want a blue bird? I’ll show you a blue bird….take that.”

Not only do they hear you, they have a sense of humor.

Anniversary dates are difficult for the griever. Why they are remains sort of a mystery to me in a sense. It’s just a date on the calendar but we mark it and just like we celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, death dates are much the same. They seem to bring us back to the day, to somehow make us remember with more detail the course of events, the exact feelings and how you have made it through yet another without someone you can barely breathe without. As I write this post, the song by Diamond Rio, “One More Day” is playing in the background. Accidental? Maybe, probably, but it sums up perfectly what the overwhelming feeling is. The overwhelming wish for one more day and what you would do with it…..one more day. We would all wish for one more day.

As time moves forward you can ask anyone in this place and they will tell you that you don’t have to look at the calendar. The body feels it before its actual arrival. Suddenly, one day you say, “Oh, that’s what’s wrong with me. It’s coming up.” The very first anniversary is slightly different in that you spend the first year of loss marking “firsts.” There’s the first birthday they aren’t there, the first Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day…the list goes on and on. The first death anniversary is a milestone of sorts. Many people outside of the learned world of grief 101 mistakenly think that you will have somehow made it past the hard part once you cross that magic date. Truth is, it’s a milestone but more of a starting point than a finish line. Your work can now begin.

I was gifted on the morning of the first anniversary of Brian’s passing with a beautiful experience. Very early in the morning hours of February 18, 2015 I was lightly awakened by what I now know is a familiar nudge from a presence in my room. Trying to explain it is difficult because seeing spirit is not something easily put into words. It is not what you see in movies, is not always the same or can honestly be described adequately using simple language as we know it. I will do my best.

Again, I was familiar with the prodding to awaken as there had been some similar experiences before. It was not alarming as I eased from being first lightly awake and then fully to see two figures standing at my bedside. They were not clear in human form but I knew them. They were white and glowing and comforting. Immediately, my soul and my heart knew that it was Brian and my mom. Brian communicated first. I “heard” his voice though it was not out loud. He said to me, “What can we do?” I too said back without speaking out loud, “I’m just so happy that you are here.” I felt so unbelievably peaceful in that moment. There was no fear of the unknown or of what was happening. I knew only that I just wanted it to last. My mom seemed to take a backseat to Brian (she always does) and said she was going to see my son down the hall and was gone. I asked Brian if he could just lie with me. His answer was, “Well suurre.” Drawn out and a little silly just like that. I felt it physically when he did and somehow I drifted back off to sleep with that peace and the comfort of him there with me.

One would think that you would not be able to fall asleep. That rather there would be a million questions to ask – that I’d not take my eyes off of him. That’s my normal persona. To this day, I don’t understand why I was able to just go with it as it happened. My only answer is that my soul and psyche didn’t need any of that. It just needed the love and to be with him.

It wasn’t one more day but it was an anniversary gift I will forever cherish.

“One more day, one more time

One more sunset, maybe I’d be satisfied

But then again, I know what I would do

Leave me wishing still for one more day with you

One more day”

-Diamond Rio

There are those times when Brian decides to make contact in some ridiculously irrefutable way. If you knew him, you would know that he had a sense of humor. It was sideways of sorts and childlike at times even as he grew older. There was often a mischievous smirk on his face, likely because he was into something. I said in my introduction to this blog that I would bring the stories to you with the help of other people, this would be one such story.

My family is a large one. We have found ourselves spread out over the years but are a rather tight-knit group. We are a bit loud and raucous when we get together, Irish and proud and pretty protective of one another when the chips are down. When one is lost, it is felt harshly by all. The loss of Brian was devastating to each of us. He was only twenty, it was unexpected and tragic in every way.

One of Brian’s cousins, who is within a year of difference in age, was out on tour at the time and performing with an international Irish dance company. His mom, my sister-in-law, had to deliver the news to him as he was travelling between shows and on a tour bus. Awful to be so far from home and away from family. Trying to absorb the shock, facilitate travel back to be with family for services and back again to join the company was overwhelming. Travel eventually proved to be not feasible with a series of four flights here and four back. That, compounded with no guarantee of even making it on time, resulted in having to make the hard decision to remain with the tour.

In speaking to him later, he carried an enormous amount of, unnecessary but understandable, guilt for not being able to be with his family. He was far away and coping with the loss of a cousin his own age without the benefit family brings to such an event. As life often does, there was a second curveball. In March of 2014, within a month of Brian’s death, he was injured and forced to return home with a torn hamstring muscle and the ensuing rest and treatment.

In April 2014, about two months after Brian left, the tour company was to perform in Jacksonville, Florida. Though still not fully recovered from the injury, he decided to fly out to join them. As for me, I was back at work on this particular day, busy and away from my phone. At some point, on a stop by my office, I saw my cell phone lying on my desk lit with missed calls and messages from both my brother and sister-in-law. It was obvious that they were anxious to speak to me, that something had happened. I returned a text message and we opted to speak when I left work for the day.

My nephew, caught his flight to Jacksonville that April day and proceeded to the taxi ring as there was no Uber or Lyft service in 2014. Upon standing at the midpoint of a line stretched with 40 or so people, he saw and was approached by a cab driver he describes as a “5 foot nothing Jamaican woman.” She proceeded to point at him and say, “I’m taking you.” He was a bit disheveled by it, as there were others in line before him, and voiced his concern about “breaking the rules” to which she simply responded in full on charming Jamaican accent, “Come on baby, come on.”

He described the ride as normal for a time. The conversation consisting of simple small talk for the first 35-40 minutes. It was then she became quiet and began to peer a bit nervously at him from the rear view mirror. At the point when their eyes met, she asked,

“Can I ask you weird question?” Answer, “Suuuure.” Not quite knowing what this was leading to. She then said to him,

“You recently lost a cousin?”

“Yes”

“It was a car accident?”

‘Yes”

“I didn’t know why but when I saw you I had to pick you up.” pause….

” He wants you to know that he is ok.”

Crying…..

She went on to explain that she had had this experience once before with a passenger. She was lead to tell a male passenger that his cancer would be healed. He was of course shocked at her knowledge. He had gotten into the taxi after just learning of his diagnosis and was going home to tell his family.

This situation was much the same. She had NO idea he had lost a cousin, that the cousin was male, whom either of them were nor any details of his life beyond the fact that he was meeting the dance company. He later told me that he kept waiting for Ashton Kutcher to show up and say “you’ve been punked” but that would just be cruel. In reality there was nothing cruel about this.

She got out with him at the end of the ride, asked if she could hug him, and said good bye. There are still tears when we talk about it. The tears are thankful ones. True appreciation for finding a way to say, it’s ok that you weren’t at the service physically. That he knew where his heart was and that the love was still there. There is thankfulness for removing a burden of guilt being carried and for getting the message to his family that he was indeed ok.

There is also real appreciation and, if you know Brian, some serious validation that he would find delivery in a “5 foot nothing” Jamaican cab driver in Jacksonville, Florida.

With the loss of a child, naturally comes an incredible burden of grief. I’ve come to describe it as a backpack of bricks you are tasked to carry around forever. In the beginning, it is impossible to pick up. Try as you may, you won’t be able to move under its weight. As time passes, you will gather more strength and somehow begin to carry it around with you. Little by little you will maneuver through the days – though some will be more difficult than others. The backpack will always be yours however, there are no returns.

There are all sorts of grief in life and none of us will escape it forever. Grief encompasses all sorts of experiences with varying degrees of pain and discomfort. For now, we are talking about the grief that comes with the loss of a loved one, though the learning can overlap. We will all lose someone we love. Unfortunately, it is an inevitable fact of life. With that can come some valuable lessons in compassion for one another if you let the light in. That begins with understanding grief and what it is at its core.

Love.

Grief is nothing more than love itself. The bigger the love, the bigger the grief. Understanding that simple fact is key. If the love does not end, the grief does not end. Grief is not finite. Grief is personal. How one deals with it greatly depends upon who was lost, the love itself, and what tools the griever has in their toolbox.

Understanding that can be vital in supporting another human being or in helping yourself when faced with the inevitable road of loss, grief and depression. We all have different toolboxes full of strengths, defense mechanisms, support systems, etc. They are a cookbook of things we are born with, or learned from experiences in our lives, the good and the bad. How one “handles” a situation is most often determined by what tools are in the toolbox – grief is no exception.

It’s been my experience that society is very uncomfortable with grief, with tears, and with talking about those who have passed on, especially children. As if to mention them would be reminding us that they are gone. What I have learned is that the more space we make to allow open dialogue, to express real emotion and freedom to say how we feel, even years down the road, without fear of judgement is incredibly important to our healing.

That brings us to the subject of how to help. It’s really very simple. Know that the griever is not only sad, but probably battling some, or a lot, of depression as well, and needs a safe place to vent. I am not a medical professional and there are extreme cases, but in most situations what is really needed is the following:

-Ask, “How are you? Really?” or say, “Tell me about him/her.”

-Be quiet and listen

-Do not express shock or judgement at ANYTHING said. Do not belittle any feeling. Take a breath and wait.

-Say, “I’m sorry”, “That must be so painful”, “What can I do?”

-Do not give platitudes of any kind, start a sentence with, “at least…” or say, “still?”

-Try really hard not to compare your situation… (really don’t)

-Talk about their loved one…tell them of your favorite story. It’s music to their ears.

The griever doesn’t expect you to fix anything. Know that it took so much courage to come to you and express the feelings. Avoid shutting them down inadvertently by using one of the “don’ts”. Again, I am sure there are instances out there where more help is needed and medical care may be called for. That can be found out, and most likely will come to light with open dialogue and space to tell you so. It won’t happen if there is no trust and the griever feels too alone to talk or felt scoffed or belittled in some way. Know that their toolbox may be completely different than your own or your friend’s. How you coped, or would cope may be completely different as well. You don’t have to understand – you couldn’t really. You do not have to feel pressured to compare roads or try to drive the road for them. Simply stand with them on the road.

Grief is not a destination to be reached and conquered – I believe especially so in child loss. It is more of a test of endurance, a changing of ourselves. If we can however learn from it and help one another by offering an ear and and a perhaps a hug – not just a well meant platitude, we can take the steps forward with a little grace and perhaps more peace for the next traveler.

In starting this blog, there were lots of thoughts streaming through my head as to where to start. A lot has happened since Brian left. The questions that have swirled around about exactly what to divulge and how to do it have kept me awake many a night. I went with the belief that once I finally got it going, somehow I’d know where to go.

I talk a lot in my head to myself and to Brian and was asking over the weekend where to start after ripping off the proverbial band aid. The answer came very clearly right from Brian himself. I recognize him easily now because he is so point blank in his delivery. (I am rarely point blank) and he “speaks” over my own thoughts as if two distinct thought trains are happening at once. It’s remarkable actually. “The beginning” was the simple answer and with it a download of information and memories rushing back.

My intention in telling and writing is not a story of the anguish of child loss or of every emotion endured though some background is needed for context. So the beginning starts with an explanation of how I began to learn there was more and how things changed for me. That is where the hope lies.

“Where are you?” That was the beginning. That was my personal initial struggle as a mother. In everything we do as a parent, we strive to place our children in safety. You know when they are little and you bring them to school and leave them safely until 3:00 where you pick them up again? Middle school, you drive them where they need to go, you check on them from time to time. As they grow older, they call or text to let you know they are ok. They are safe, you KNOW this. That didn’t happen again starting February 18, 2014. That was not ok, my entire being couldn’t accept it. Death implied that I had to let go and accept that he was somewhere where I had not left him, where I had not safely placed him, seen before, or had any real concept of. Yes? NO. I uttered these words constantly to myself, silently and out loud, where are you, pleading for someone or some entity to give me an answer.

Everything I had been taught to that point told me he was in heaven, he was with God, he was in a “better place”….he was ok. People told me that, my brain tried to tell me that. That to a mother, to this mother, at that moment is and was, well frankly, crap. Unless I dropped him off and checked it out myself, saw God and said, take care of him I’ll be back later to pick him up or call me after dinner, wasn’t good enough for me. So I started looking, everywhere. It made no sense to me that someone with that much energy could be gone in a snap. We had JUST spoken the night before. We had plans. He was my son, I needed to talk to him. I needed to know. I knew he was still somewhere, our tie was was too strong but where? Where was he???

I’m not afraid anymore to say that I did everything to find him. I spoke to clergy. I prayed, I bargained, I asked, pleaded and yelled at God, I talked to my mom who had passed on a couple of years before. I screamed alone in my car until I thought I damaged vocal chords. Three weeks in, I spoke to a medium. I’ve actually spoken to a few over the years for different reasons some better than others but this one experience poignant in many ways. She told me that my life would change, that I would become a ravenous reader on the subject, and that one day I would have experiences if I was willing to. She didn’t know I had three books on my bedside table already. She told me that I was a writer (we’ll see about that) and that I could do what I wanted with the road before me. The sadness in the reading was so thick she cried with me. I don’t think she expected any of what she got.

I cannot say that the flood gates opened at that point but it wasn’t long after that things began to change. It was a process of peeks into something that I didn’t understand and still don’t completely. Its been a series of fantastic, unbelievable, life changing and hope giving events that are honestly difficult to share. I do not know why these things have happened for me or why they do not for other people. It’s not always easy and comes with it it’s challenges. I guess the old adage comes into play, be careful what you ask for. (Ok, it’s wish for but you get the gist).

So now you know how it started, a simple question asked over and over, “where are you?” To be honest, I still don’t have the answer to that question per se. What I do know now is that he and your loved ones are not in some far away place where you cannot “get” to them. They are closer than you ever imagined them to be, probably extremely frustrated that you can’t pick up what they are putting out.

Love is a force, love is energy that cannot be extinguished. Love that was alive and thriving on earth does not die. It continues on in another form. You get to keep the love….

This newly started most virgin like of blogs comes to you with intentions beyond those of my own. The title of this first entry actually given to me after only putting up the blog’s home photo, one which has been inspirational to me and my recent journey.  After doing so and becoming frustrated with the mechanics,  I returned to this site after numerous signs and prompts to a simple message from the team here at Word Press, “Hello World.”  Accidental, coincidental, call it what you will,  but fitting none the less for this start, for the idea, the message, and the work.

That photo is of my son Brian, who resides now in spirit but still near us and has brought a lifetime of learning in the nearly 7 years since leaving this realm.  The brutality of that loss while learning to live with daily, is not without it’s blessings, it’s changes and quite possibly it’s answers to what comes next for all of us.

Where this is all to go, where he wants me to take you, is quite frankly all over the place, as the topics are as many as the lessons and beginning to put it all in some format is daunting.  I can only trust in the forces and power which bring me back here, which is equally overwhelming, but somehow pushes me forward.  So I will, to the best of my ability, do just that, tell you the stories, retell the lessons and…. trust. I will let what I have seen, heard, experienced and been told spill forth on these pages with the help of a few others in belief that it will somehow touch your hearts and your lives. I hope that it will help heal, amuse, teach, make you think, give you hope,  and if nothing else, make you love a little harder.