Where to go from here?

I did it, I finished something.....well almost. Out of thirty assignments, I completed all but seven. Given my record for completing things over the last year and a half, I am considering that a success. 

Where to go from here? I'm kind of happy with my little blog, it holds me accountable to something and gives me a platform to express my feelings. I am not sure how it will evolve, but I know I'd like to keep it going. Will it become the place to sell my jewelry, as it was once originally intended? Will it chronicle the restoration of Ruby, my vintage trailer? One thing I can say for sure, I will continue to use it as a place of healing, and to share my thoughts on life without Sam. Perhaps in time I will figure out just where to go from here.

The world can see the shape of you in me ......

As your mommy, I learned that raising a child with a disability is not easy, you showed me what I was made of. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me how "special" I was, or that "God only gives us what we can handle," I could have bought you Legoland. I know this for certain, I am not special, and I believe that God puts us in situations not because we can handle them, but to see how we choose to handle them. Some of us just do better than others.

Were it not for you, I would have never been involved with Children's hospital, and it's Healing Garden. Because of you there is a thirty foot "Sam-O-Saurus" greeting families and staff as they enter, a purple trumpet vine weaves throughout his giant shape. We were brought there for all the wrong reasons, and so much good came out of it. 

You inspired us to raise thousands of dollars for various causes, so families like ours could have a little bit of happiness. Sam's Posse has become your legacy, with it we are "Granting Wishes, and Changing Lives."

You brought so many good people in to my life. People, who were it not for you I would have never met. You taught me to be your advocate, your voice. Before I had you, I used to think that I was a decent person. In truth, you taught me decency, kindness, compassion, and unconditional love.

I have said many times that I believe you were a messenger. The world can see the shape of YOU in me because I got your message.

Grief's Work

And when the work of grief is done,

The wound of loss will heal.

When my dad passed, surprisingly grief did not linger. I don't know why, I loved him deeply and know he loved me. Perhaps it was because I was so busy with Sam, or helping my mom, but before I knew it, the wound had healed. 

With Sam it's been profoundly different. I thought about what grief would be like for me before he passed. Deep grief, a mother's grief. Not my he's in heart failure I know what's coming pre-grief. I'm talking, earth shattering, life changing, my only child is gone grief. I thought I could somehow get my mind around it enough to brace myself. I couldn't. Seventeen months into this, and I have days where I am convinced that grief has taken me on as it's project, and there is no date of completion.

How would you love me in this?

If you were still here with me, I know that you would love me the same as always....wholly and completely. Much like you did after Grandpa died, you would keep me busy from daybreak to dark, and beyond. There would be no time or place for lingering sorrow. We would fill our days with oatmeal, books and puppets, swinging on swings and trips to Legoland. You would make me laugh by feeding pudding to your dinosaur and dancing in the kitchen. You would wrap your arms around my neck and give me a kiss on the cheek. That would be enough.

What does it mean, when you start to forget?

Someone asked me one day, what kind of books Sam liked. As I began to answer, I suddenly could not remember the title of one of his favorites. A book I had read dozens of times, over and over, and I forgot it's name. Once home, I immediately went to his book basket in our living room and rifled through until I found it; "You Can Do It Sam." Are you kidding me? A book with his name in the title, and I couldn't remember it. Who does this? What kind of mother, does this? I beat myself up over it for a very long time. It had hardly been more than a year, I shouldn't be forgetting this sort of thing. I couldn't be, shouldn't be, "moving on."

What does it mean when you start to forget? Are we really moving on, or is it just the heart's way of protecting us, softening the transitions of grief? I have often said that I will never get over the loss of my son, but I will one day learn how to cope. I try to be a little kinder with myself when I feel my grief shifting. After all, I forgot the name of a book, I didn't forget his name.

I want to remember....

Sleep did not come for me on the night Sam passed until very early in the morning. When it did, it was a deep, deep sleep. I remember that in that sleep, he came to me, wrapped his arms around my neck, said "I love you," and then asked me to make him oatmeal. It was the first time I ever heard the sound of his voice.

I want to always remember the way his hand felt in mine, and his sloppy kisses. The smell of his hair after a day of play, and then again as he emerged from the bath all shiny clean. I want to always remember the sound of his excitement when I would tell him we were going to Legoland, and his uncontrollable laughter that often erupted spontaneously over the smallest of things. I want to always remember how his eyes would light up when Daddy took him for a ride in the "big truck." And that mischievous grin, the one that meant he was about to do something that was either going to crack me up, or piss me off. I want to always remember every minute of his Make A Wish trip, because every minute made him happy. I want to always remember what it felt like to hold him on my lap as I read him a story. I even want to remember those long nights in the hospital, lying next to him in the dark and making stories up. Both to pass the time and take away the fear, usually mine. I want to always remember the happiness he brought to loved ones and strangers alike.

I could write volumes on the things I will always remember, as well as the things that 
I would like to remember. I try not to dwell on fading memories, I can not control what my mind filters. One thing I know for sure, is that my heart will never forget the joy he brought in to my life. The lessons he taught me about unconditional love and acceptance, are forever etched inside my heart.

My wish...

Today we were asked to write a wish or blessing for the other people taking this course. I wish this for anyone walking in the shoes of grief......

I wish you STRENGTH to not let dates on a calendar hold power over you. I wish you PEACE in your hearts. Most of all, may you always have HOPE. There is always HOPE. xox

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2d9OL2MwAAg&feature=youtu.be