Birthday Stones

Nobody gives you a guidebook in grief for how to handle holidays, anniversaries or birthdays.

One of the biggest fears, as parents of loss, is that our child will be forgotten. Celebratory milestones magnify that. While you want your child remembered, it's necessary to tiptoe to the occasion in case the pain is too much.

In the past nine years, we've recognized Austin on his birthday in many different ways. None of those years were ever really planned, I just let it be. For a natural born organizer, that's difficult to do but grief changes what is and used to be. Instead, I've let God and Austin guide us through the day.

Landmark birthdays have been the hardest for us...16, 18, 21. Most of the time, Austin is forever 14 but birthdays push us to realize how much time has passed and imagine who he might've been.

His 23^rd was yesterday so I knew it would be special. 23 was Austin's favorite number. His first baseball jersey adorned that number and it just stuck. Through the years, he's used 23 to send us sweet signs to let us know he was there.

But the symbolism also put pressure on how we could remember him. Everyone handles grief differently and truly you never know how a certain day will hit you – until it does. Because of this, I never make definite plans in case one of the three of us can't commit.

Sadly, other than Austin's 16^th birthday, we've never included other family in his day. Most years, I don't even hear from the majority of them. Maybe it's too hard for them too, or maybe they've just forgotten. While that hurts, my focus moves to my three guys – my husband and sons, one towering over me and one watching from above.

A few days ago, the inspiration came to paint rocks in Austin's memory. Rock painting and hunting has become a recent fad for kids to do at local parks. Our county even has a Facebook page where people can post pics of hints or tag the found rock before rehiding. Knowing how much my boy loved rocks, this seemed like a beautiful way to remember him.

I spent Friday afternoon surrounded by stones and art supplies. With each stroke and swish, my stress seemed to brush away. It's been too long since I've painted and I realized how much it was missed. Creating is therapeutic. I may have found a new hobby.

Saturday the guys agreed to help me hide. We decided to focus on the parks where Austin played ball. Driving down memory lane, we recalled funny moments at the field. Baseball and rocks were two of Austin's passions. His spirit filled the car and every mile of our day.

                   

 

Watching three adults pull into a park, run and play around, searching for the perfect spots to hide, even playing on the equipment probably doesn't look like grief to an outsider. We laughed and enjoyed the day without guilt. We talked about Austin without tears.

Nine years of loss is a place we never expected to be but it's given us permission to grieve out loud. Sometimes grief is uncontrollable sobs and sometimes it is the sweet sound of laughter.

Pulling into the driveway, eight parks and many miles later, I glanced at the clock on the dash and felt Austin's hug. 2:30 pm. A beautiful birthday, indeed.

Joy through Darkness

This post is probably one of hundreds that will be written this week inspired by the shocking death and apparent suicide of Robin Williams.  I don't have any higher wisdom than anyone else but couldn't shake the need to say something.

When I heard the news last night, I was on my way to bed so we didn't talk much as a family about it.  There was just stunned silence in the room.  Hearing it on the radio this morning, the kids and I discussed it again on the way to school.

Noah said, "This is pretty much all we're going to hear about for a day or two, I think"

Because it is such a shock, I told him.
When you picture Robin Williams, you smile.

Robin Williams = happiness

He made so many laugh through the course of his life and it just saddens me to think of the pain he was hiding inside.  Often, it is those who bring light to others that are holding the darkest secrets.  Laughter is avoidance and it distracts from how you're really feeling.

I know because I've mastered it myself.  In this life I've been hit with many blows and yet I still stand.  The biggest, deepest, darkest of all those, of course, is losing Austin.  And time and again people comment about how strong I am, how they don't know how I manage...  But few rarely took the time to see how I really felt. Few know the true pain I've experienced.  Because few are allowed behind the veil.

Is it irony that my latest post, about losing friends amidst the pain of child loss, published today on Still Standing Magazine?  It's one of the darker pieces I've written and admit it felt like I was exposing myself -more than I'm comfortable with.  But it was truth and needed to be said.  I know others are facing this unexpected hurt during a time of greatest grief.  Maybe my post will bring awareness to one friend to reach out, even if the other party doesn't seem welcoming.

And that's really what all of this is about.  We must, as a society, remove the stigma that comes from depression.  People don't just get over things.  This world is hard.  Life is hard.  And every single one of us battles something.

In the course of your day, you probably come face to face with someone screaming on the inside for just one person to reach out.  For just one hug.  One REAL "how are you?" that truly wants an answer of more than one word.

I'm lucky.  I can't explain how I've made it through the fog, how I found joy through the darkness, other than to say that God took me by the hand and pulled me out.  In the same breath though, I know others who are just as strong in their faith and God wasn't enough.  Medicine or therapy was required.  And that's ok too.


If you're hurting....ask for help.  Reach out.  There IS someone who cares.
If you're healing...look for someone hurting.  Reach out.  There IS someone in need.

Let's love each other more.  Be kinder than necessary.  Spread JOY.