The 19th
It's not a Wednesday but it's a 19th. Andy died on May 19th. So it's been three months since he was liberated, set free. It seems like much MUCH much much longer. I listen to my saved voice messages and look at his photos and can hardly believe it was all this year. THe summer has been so long and warm and sunny... It started in March... with the snow ending, so our winter was easy, and then rolled right into a beautiful spring. The lilacs bloomed early. Andy LOVED lilacs...... when he and Heidi arrived from NC on the evening of Wednesday May 12th the lilacs were blooming all around my house. The neighborhood was perfumed.
The next day, we had to take him to the ER in the morning with explosive head pain. He was never really the same again, confused and sleepy... but he loved the lilacs. I am grateful that he didn't experience awareness of fear or sorrow after that day. It was too sad, too cruel, too hard. There was discomfort on the physical level, but not on the emotional, after that blow-out on THursday morning.
I guess I am still going over all these details, the way one does, when you're trying to make sense of the senseless. How one strong healthy young man could be stricken with cancer and reduced to nothing, so fast. And always, I reflect on how strong and brave he was. Sure, he wanted to get high, especially in the last couple of months, to avoid consciously dealing with the hell of it all. But he wanted to keep the hell out, to keep the love going, to not let cancer take away the quality of the days he had left on earth. Well done, dude. I am so incredibly in awe of your integrity.
I keep wondering how, although I fall apart intermittently, I can be as OK as I am. I am mostly very sad but pretty functional. I think it's mainly because we had so much advance warning. First I had the sense that Andy might not live a whole life, ever since he was born. Then, the cancer diagnosis in Jan 2009. Since then, it has been one long incredibly loving goodbye. Even though it ends so fast and too soon, at the point of death, after all that chemo and radiation and agony, you just want relief, and peace for your loved one.
So for the first few weeks, ALL I could feel was relief. I cried right after he died, a little, and then not much at all for about two months. Getting into this group has given me a way to feel and know more of my grief, but it has also made me feel a little different. I know that there are SO many different pathways, no wrong ways. I just do feel abnormal though. I KNOW It's all normal, that's not what I mean. A-typical!?! I am not a crier. I let out a little snuffle or sniffle or howl but just don't cry. I have gone for years without crying. I FEEL. Trust me, I feel. All of it.
Dearest Andy Boy Broccoli, Mum is ok. I will never ever forget you. I don't know what's around the corner, but I'll be your ears, your eyes, your heart, your hands. I'll find out and let you know what's next. Tomorrow is Caitlin's birthday, and we'll drink a toast to you. Wish you were here with us, sooooo much. Miss you, bunny.
xoxoxo
The next day, we had to take him to the ER in the morning with explosive head pain. He was never really the same again, confused and sleepy... but he loved the lilacs. I am grateful that he didn't experience awareness of fear or sorrow after that day. It was too sad, too cruel, too hard. There was discomfort on the physical level, but not on the emotional, after that blow-out on THursday morning.
I guess I am still going over all these details, the way one does, when you're trying to make sense of the senseless. How one strong healthy young man could be stricken with cancer and reduced to nothing, so fast. And always, I reflect on how strong and brave he was. Sure, he wanted to get high, especially in the last couple of months, to avoid consciously dealing with the hell of it all. But he wanted to keep the hell out, to keep the love going, to not let cancer take away the quality of the days he had left on earth. Well done, dude. I am so incredibly in awe of your integrity.
I keep wondering how, although I fall apart intermittently, I can be as OK as I am. I am mostly very sad but pretty functional. I think it's mainly because we had so much advance warning. First I had the sense that Andy might not live a whole life, ever since he was born. Then, the cancer diagnosis in Jan 2009. Since then, it has been one long incredibly loving goodbye. Even though it ends so fast and too soon, at the point of death, after all that chemo and radiation and agony, you just want relief, and peace for your loved one.
So for the first few weeks, ALL I could feel was relief. I cried right after he died, a little, and then not much at all for about two months. Getting into this group has given me a way to feel and know more of my grief, but it has also made me feel a little different. I know that there are SO many different pathways, no wrong ways. I just do feel abnormal though. I KNOW It's all normal, that's not what I mean. A-typical!?! I am not a crier. I let out a little snuffle or sniffle or howl but just don't cry. I have gone for years without crying. I FEEL. Trust me, I feel. All of it.
Dearest Andy Boy Broccoli, Mum is ok. I will never ever forget you. I don't know what's around the corner, but I'll be your ears, your eyes, your heart, your hands. I'll find out and let you know what's next. Tomorrow is Caitlin's birthday, and we'll drink a toast to you. Wish you were here with us, sooooo much. Miss you, bunny.
xoxoxo
Replies
I\'m not a crier either. But I too feel, just like all the moms here, very sad and long for my child. I am so sorry for all of your pain but wishing you better days ahead knowing that Andy is pain free. WIshing you serenity, peace and love. Truly your friend, Barb
It\'s ok you two don\'t have to cry.. I do enought for all of us !
We all journey this path a little differently, but thank goodness as the paths intersect our FMO friends are there to wave and hug and support us.
MaryLou
I will see lilacs and I will think of Andy. His love, his brave fight, and his ultimate victory. I will see lilacs and I will smile because a precious friend shared a part of her precious son with me once upon a time. I will see lilacs and I will love just a bit deeper and stronger. I will see lilacs and I will know in my spirit it is well, and I will breathe deeply and let LOVE in. Thank you Andy for the gift of future lilacs along my journey.
I learn so much by reading everyone\'s narratives... each of us with our own private devastations, relief, wondering, questioning, wailing... whatever it may be. Yet what binds our heartstrings together is this incredible bond of loving mothers who are trying to learn how to be in relationship with their children now. What you have described sounds so much like what my friend shared the other day with me about her daughter. Thinking of you today with love and always I cannot wait to read what your heart scripted with your words. In gratitude for your sharing of your innermost stirrings. Hugs dear Sarah. Joanie
Dear Sarah, I am glad you are functioning fairly well. Of course you are missing your Andy. Noone has to cry or even suffer for all of us to know that. I hope we all get to a point where we still of course miss our kids terribly, but maybe not be in so much pain. You said you had a sense that Andy may not live a whole life? May I ask more about that? (only if you are comfortable sharing) I too always had a sense of foreboding with Eddie. I couldn\'t even picture or imagine him at lets say 50. I\'m not 100% sure why I felt this way. I am happy your beautiful boy no longer has pain. And I am glad for the lilacs. Love, Linda
Before Corrie was killed it was rare for me to cry and, even now, I don\'t cry as much as others. Plenty of breakdowns but they are generally brief and I recover quickly.
I think what you say is right-on ~ you were preparing yourself and the grieving process started months before \"Andy Boy Broccoli\" (I love that!) was released from his suffering. However, from what I\'ve read from other Moms in similar situations, even though you are intellectually prepared for the inevitable, the actual loss still slams you in the face. Losing Corrie out of the blue, in an instant, with one out of control car compressed all of the \"prep\" grieving into one slam-dunk package. I honestly don\'t think one is worse than the other ~ they are all horrific, just different.
I love lilacs as well and rejoice that Andy was blessed with their sweet fragrance during those last couple of weeks.
Take care, dear one.
Love and hugs ~ Debbie
I don\'t cry an awful lot either. I just well up and try to shake it off. Last weekend I gave in and sobbed, really sobbed. It had been a long time, and I had a lot to get out. It usually makes me feel better when I do give in, but not this time. I don\'t journal much either, but after doing so yesterday, I immediately started feeling that incredible weight I have been under, starting to lift. Just knowing we have someone reading every word and understanding what we are feeling is a privilege to me. I am going to try and do it more often. Hugs, Barbara
I cry rarely. Sometimes, I sigh outloud in pain. But when I do cry, I cry my heart out. But I mostly do it alone. No one knows, if I can hide it.
Lilacs are one of my favorite flowers, I will think of your sweet Andy whenever I see them now to. Sending you love, Danette
I am a crier...but I try not to be public with it...it is unbearable for me to withhold those tears that once cried out, make me feel better. I am sad for you that your Andy is gone from your sight...and that you had to watch him endure unmentionable pain....he is at peace, as you have said but somehow, as mothers, that is of little comfort to us who long for our children to be here with us. I pray for you to have the peace that passes all understanding and that those lilacs will always perfume your life and give you pleasant memories of your life with your precious Andy. Love and hugs, dale...brandon\'s mom
I am a crier too! I think I made a new river during those first months. Like others, I will forever think of your son whenever I see or smell lilacs. I think the details will forever haunt us. Even after 21 months, I still feel such a sense of disbelief that on a Friday morning, I saw my perfectly healthy son talking on the phone and that night he would be dead. Love and hugs to you, Belinda
I didn\'t used to cry much...when Alex passed...I cried. The tears seemed to come from some place in my body that I never knew existed. I cried long and hard...and did for quite awhile...off and on for years. Now, I cry some times...and they come from that deep place, that I now believe is my soul. Whether you cry or not...I know you grieve...each of us are mothers who have lost children and we know...no matter how we express it...we hurt. Thank you for sharing Andy with us and I will think of him everytime I see lilacs...so precious. Love to you friend...Karen
I do cry alot. Reading journals I cry. I can fill a moat . I think of it as an act of cleansing. Part of my grieving process. I think when you are preparing for the ending you get to an advance grieving stage smoother then someone who has a sudden loss. No one is ready no matter what...... tight hugs Penny
It is sometimes amazing to wonder how one can be ok enough in such an awful circumstance to put one foot in front of another. Your tributes to your son, his life and the love surrounding him are powerful. Thank you for sharing this it reaches very deep places.
I send you the ending of my (sometimes, when I can get there) yoga class: PEACE........PEACE.......PEACE. May there be peace in our hearts, peace in our homes, peace in the world.
Oh how I too love Lilacs and will now think of your precious Andy. Feel blessed friend to feel OK but it\' also OK to \"feel\". I\'ve often wondered how I would have felt if I had warning and time to prepare for my sons death. I don\'t think we feel anything different no matter the circumstance. How does one prepare to have a light go out in their world. It can\'t be done. We just try to find that \"memory of our heart\"....gratitude and feel joy that we were able to experience a life with someone so precious however short the time. It\'s a gift we all unwrap differently. Your journals always bring me a sense of calm....so for that thank you. Sending you love as you continue to travel this journey with all of us. Robin
Your journal touches my soul.....I still cry for MayLyn, matters not to me when or where either...our children that have severe illness and are taken from us so young isn\'t fair, none of it is fair...I try to think of the crying as a cleansing of my heart, but just for the moment....afterwards I know now that I can go on for a few more days or nights until it comes again...I never try to stop it because I know all to well the price for not allowing myself to feel the pain...it is a burdon that we all live with daily, hourly and for some by the minute...I watched as MayLyn gave in to many of the things you spoke of in your journal and i never got upset...heckk I even sat with her on a few occasions and got high with her, she would laugh at me and tell me that she was a bad influence on me, but it is those few times that i remember the best, we laughed, we cried and we knew that our hearts would forever be bound together by that awsome feeling called \"unconditional love.\" My prayers are with you today and everyday. Your son lives on in your heart and your mind and I believe he would be very proud of you today. I know I am. Thank you for the memory. Walking beside you always...
Jacqueline PLH MayLyn\'s Momma