GRIEF MATTERS

WHEN PROMISES ARE KEPT

It's been nearly three years since we placed your headstone in the ground.  And I figured the man who made it had simply decided not to pursue the company who was suppose to add the porcelain picture to the back of the stone.  I went by the other day to visit, and there you were!  I am glad.  He'd promised he'd get it up, but after two years, one begins to think the promise was simply words.  I'm glad that some people still keep promises.  Mom

I DON'T KNOW WHY

It's been a while since I came by this space.  I don't know why exactly.  I think because I'm trying to push away the thoughts that bring the pain that kneads my heart like my hands do bisquit dough.

I think of you so much, never a moment goes by without you slipping in.  Sometimes you bring me laughter.  Sometimes out and out joy.  Sometimes just a grin.  Other times I want to wring your neck for being where you were and not with us at our house on Mother's Day morning 2005.  Not that anything we did might have changed the date of your appointed time.  But I think like that sometimes.

Thanksgiving is upon us.  I don't know if we will see the girls or not.  At least not for Turkey Day or there abouts.  She is married now.  The girls are doing well.  Her hubby is a really swell guy; you would like him, son.  The girls really love him.  He doesn't hug at all like you, but then, who ever did or will?  I've taken him into my heart, because I know that not only God would want me to, but so would you.  If you were here, I could envision the two of you playing softball on the same team.  But of course, you would be better in all areas.  That's just the way of things.  :)

The Red Sox won the World Series again.  Your dad was biting his nails through every game.  He's so silly.  He's been looking at Red Sox caps.  He needs a new one.  I cannot bring myself to purchase one when that was your job.

Brooklyn told me she was going to give me a Christmas list.  I thought that was funny.  I suppose that means I must pick something from it (or several somethings).  You know me.  I never know when to quit.  You were right, son.  The girls are happiest just hanging out and playing games.  They don't need a big bru-ha-ha to make them happy.  Simple things.  Time spent talking.  Brooklyn and I lie in the hammock you bought Abby for her 3rd birthday--the last you got to celebrate with her.  We stare at the leaves and watch the birds and talk about you and God.  Abby likes to pick flowers.  Remember all the flowers you two used to pick together?  She does.  It's amazing how much she remembers.

Brooklyn sprayed your cologne in her hair and on her pillow the other day.  She smelled like you.  It comforts her to smell you.  Remember how I use to sneeze and get all plugged up around your cologne?  That doesn't happen anymore.  Odd, huh?  It's a God-thing.

Your grandmother flew up from Florida two weeks ago.  We had a nice visit.  Yeah, I know.  The girls loved being with her.  HayJae loved her, too.  So did Kinsey.  You never got to see Kinsey.  You'd adore them both.  Your grandmother taught us how to play dominoes.  Brooklyn caught on in a skinny minute.  Abby liked it, but preferred to play Cootie.

Your dad is doing pretty good since his heart surgery.  His stamina ain't what it use to be.  Sometimes I know he's glad he survived because he's really concerned about me.  Other times I can tell he longs to go home and see you again.  That's not our call, though.  Don't know what I'd do without him if he did leave earlier than me.  I suppose I would keep on pluggin' and hanging in there.

I'm writing every day now.  You'd have loved some of the stuff I put together.  It's so weird.  I go back and read my posts and wonder, how did I come up with that?  It just doesn't even seem like I could think that way, sometimes.  Maybe you are whispering in my ears, ya think?

Well, son, I've cried about all I can without really knowing why I cry when I know you are in such a great place today.  I guess I cry for me.  I miss you so much.  Mom

A NAMELESS EMOTION

Sometimes it's just a thought.

I may read something someone writes and think of my son.  My eyes fill with tears yet my heart feels no pain.

It's like a vacumn.  An emotion of nothingness.  A void.   A shell without it's inhabitant.   A sound made from nothing but empty space inside its walls.

It's the same emotion I have when I look at tile work.  My son's vocation--tile setter.  It's weird, everywhere I go I see tilework.  My son tiled a lot of homes, but other customers were restaurants like McDonald's, Whataburger, and El Chicos.  And when I see the tile, I think of my son.  Can't help it.  Tile and Chad were synonymous.  In fact, his business name was "CHAD-the Tile Guy".

I get that nameless emptiness when I see flowers on the side of the road.  Chad often stopped and picked flowers with his girls.

"It" creeps up on me when I see stray dogs, a homeless person, a golf club, a fishing rod, a trampoline, a scooter and a Boston Red Sox baseball cap.  There really are more than a million things in this world that remind me of my son.  And when reminders come to mind and stain my thoughts with tears, the nameless emotion comes with them.

I'm thinking it's called protection.  God's comforting protection.  A kind of shield against all arrows of pain.  It's like a roll-bar on a four-wheeler protecting me from life's rollovers.  The most vulnerable parts of my heart--they're untouchable in God's protective hand.

Yes, I like that.  No longer nameless~~this emotion.  I'll call it Protection.   Its voice is that of an ocean wave whispering inside an empty shell filled with memories of yesterdays and hope of tomorrow.  selahV  [copyrighted, SelahV Today, 2007]