Wow, it has been a really long time since I've posted anything. It's not that I haven't thought about it, I have. Then I have the thought, "What do I have to say?". And from there, in my head, is sounds something like this: "Don't flatter yourself, your thoughts are not so profound...Maybe I say I still miss Brandon like it was yesterday? Nah, it's been almost two years people will think I'm crazy, I should present the strong side of myself. Well then, don't tell how you broke down and got on anti-depressants last spring. No that would admit you aren't so strong Miss All Knowing Wellness Professional. Ok then, what do I say? I don't know, be inspiring, show strength, share wisdom! Nah... Fine then, don't write anything. Fine." Then the small voice from the back of my conscience says, "Excuse me, how would it feel to be authentic, be real, write from your heart. That's why you started this. Who cares what people think. This is your journey, your story. Step up sistah and put it on paper!". So here it is, sans all the voices in my head.
More than a decade ago when I was sifting my life and making the hard decision to get divorced, a woman shared the poem The Invitation,. It resonated with me so strongly that I kept a copy in my purse for years. In recent years however, I had completely forgotten about it. Then last week I was laying in bed with Sam both of us gazing at the artificial stars illuminated on the ceiling by his night light (yes, a Pillow Pet, $19.95+ S&H that he got for his birthday, but that's another story) and a phrase from the poem began to put itself together in my head. I laid there and the words, the intonation, the meaning and flow of that phrase bounced around in my head. It was like when you walk into a room and forgot what you were going to do when you got there. The words were familiar and I could feel the comfort in the re-creation of them from a forgotten memory, but couldn't quite put them together in the right order. Thank goodness for Google, as soon as Sam was asleep I typed in the phrase and up came The Invitation in it's entirely. The piece that rolled around in my head was.
I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
And with that I realized that since Brandon passed away it has been comforting to surround myself with people who are able to do just that.... Sit with my loss without moving to hide it, fade it or fix it. Its seems strange, but at this point in my journey I need the moments I can bring up Brandon's name, in a social setting, without someone flinching, paralyzed by what to say or not to say and afraid of what I will do next. Yes, I might cry, or cuss or smile or just simply need a moment, but that's point - I need that moment! The moment when the love and light of my friends surpasses the darkness of losing my son. It makes me feel like I'm making progess in integrating this into who I am now. I continue to occasionally avoid and be cautious of social situations where I might be asked, "How many kids do you have." or "How old are your kids". This is where dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge come in. I have developed an arsenal of ways to avoid these questions. It makes for an interesting dance - One person innocently chatting up small talk while I dawn my gas mask and dodge, duck and dive for the floor. While another person, flack jacket ready in case I implode with memories of Brandon, cautiously makes small talk before they can move, hide, fade or fix the pain they feel on my behalf. Don't get me wrong, I don't go around blabbering my story. My instinctive demeanor is to be much more emotionally guarded. But it's hard when some random thing happens that makes me think of Brandon and I want to say, "I remember when Brandon.... ". But I know that because he is dead it becomes a buzz kill in any situation so I keep it to myself. If it was about Daniel or Jason no one would flinch.
Last year as I approached the one year anniversary I had lunch with a friend who has also lost a son. She warned me that year two was worse. Worse simply because our culture figures you're "over it" by now. Sadly, from that perspective that has been true. I could count on one hand the times anyone has asked how I am in relation to the loss of my son. Friends I haven't seen or spoken to since before he died don't touch it, they stay on the fringe of the conversation dancing like they have to go to the bathroom, hoping it doesn't come up. For some, if I bring it up, they are quick to move it, fade it, or fix it. Don't get me wrong, I get it, am guilty of the same thing and I'm not judging it. Perhaps in reading this you realize you too have a favorite tactic. Personally, I like them all. Fade is a simple tactic that allows me to glide right over an uncomfortable moment and on to something more pleasant. With my kids I like 'fix', the Mom in me wants to fix everything for them.
In less than a month I will step across the two year threshold and continue to mark the time without Brandon. My heart can't tell time and it still aches for Brandon and misess him just as if it were yesterday. Sam talks about Brandon and heaven (like it's Detroit or some place we could go) and it twists my heart every time. Last week he colored pictures to send to Brandon...ouch! In every photo of the three boys together I only see who is not there, and won't ever be. I miss him. I miss a lot every day.
My small hope in sharing this experience is that it will allow us both to grow and move beyond the need to instantaneously move away from these painful moments. That by sitting, even if just for a moment, with someone elses pain we allow our own hearts an opportunity to soften and expand. There is no need to fix, fade, hide or move, just be present and hold the weight for a moment (I promise your won't explode). In exchange we allow the person sharing to move towards healing a broken piece of themselves. It's a win-win.
So I challenge you not to dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge next time you are invited to share someone's heartache. Rather consider it a privilege that person believed in your hearts ability to expand enough to hold their story.
Last year as I approached the one year anniversary I had lunch with a friend who has also lost a son. She warned me that year two was worse. Worse simply because our culture figures you're "over it" by now. Sadly, from that perspective that has been true. I could count on one hand the times anyone has asked how I am in relation to the loss of my son. Friends I haven't seen or spoken to since before he died don't touch it, they stay on the fringe of the conversation dancing like they have to go to the bathroom, hoping it doesn't come up. For some, if I bring it up, they are quick to move it, fade it, or fix it. Don't get me wrong, I get it, am guilty of the same thing and I'm not judging it. Perhaps in reading this you realize you too have a favorite tactic. Personally, I like them all. Fade is a simple tactic that allows me to glide right over an uncomfortable moment and on to something more pleasant. With my kids I like 'fix', the Mom in me wants to fix everything for them.
In less than a month I will step across the two year threshold and continue to mark the time without Brandon. My heart can't tell time and it still aches for Brandon and misess him just as if it were yesterday. Sam talks about Brandon and heaven (like it's Detroit or some place we could go) and it twists my heart every time. Last week he colored pictures to send to Brandon...ouch! In every photo of the three boys together I only see who is not there, and won't ever be. I miss him. I miss a lot every day.
My small hope in sharing this experience is that it will allow us both to grow and move beyond the need to instantaneously move away from these painful moments. That by sitting, even if just for a moment, with someone elses pain we allow our own hearts an opportunity to soften and expand. There is no need to fix, fade, hide or move, just be present and hold the weight for a moment (I promise your won't explode). In exchange we allow the person sharing to move towards healing a broken piece of themselves. It's a win-win.
So I challenge you not to dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge next time you are invited to share someone's heartache. Rather consider it a privilege that person believed in your hearts ability to expand enough to hold their story.
