Saying good-bye again....

The first two weeks of June are a busy time for the Hassett clan, full of birthdays, anniversaries, Father's Day, cake, walks down memory lane and the still, small sadness of good-byes.  I find myself going over the last days of Ian's life that I recorded in this blog....am I torturing myself or trying to remember the moments that kept us going rather than those that tore our hearts out?  All of us gathering whatever we could to sleep on in the living room, surrounding Ian and just finding comfort in being together.  Mozart playing in the background.  Ian, in his drug induced haze telling us that it was hard to touch George Clooney's face (still don't know where that came from).  Pushing away memories of him choking and unable to breath.  The stress of arguing with others who didn't understand his need/desire to die on his terms and my fierce determination to make sure I kept my promise that his wishes would be followed - my last act as Mama Bear. Hating the memory of having to push that damned button for his pain pump every hour so he could die peacefully knowing that each time I did, it brought him just a little closer to death.

Throughout my life, God has given me small gifts that held enormous power; moments that helped cement my belief in Him and hope for the future.  It happened after my divorce from my first husband; at a time when I wasn't sure if I would ever marry again but was willing to take that chance in order to leave an abusive marriage.  A vivid dream of a kind man, tall with dark hair but whose face was obscured who would later turn out to be my husband, Eric.  It happened again after Alex's heart condition was diagnosed and the night before his first surgery to increase his oxygen level.  God spoke to me with a promise that He had already prepared Alex for everything that was ahead of him....those words of comfort have carried me for years, decades now; I had no idea what lay ahead of us with Alex - God did A LOT of preparing with Alex! The last time it happened was just a few days before Ian died when he awoke from his haze of sedation to tell us that Michael was showing him the most magnificent things and that he had to get back to Michael.  I remember his astonished voice asking, "What?  Is this place for real?" before Amy & I sent him off in search of Michael. That was my last conversation with Ian.  Those few moments reminded me that God never gives up on us.  He never stops reaching out to us, even when we can't communicate to the people around us. Thank you God for giving us that gift, for letting us see your love for our son, for sending Michael to show Ian the wonders of heaven that awaited him, for giving me hope that I'll see my boy again.

7 years too late...

It's award season around here, one of our favorite times of the year.  We gave away $1,750 in awards last night to two deserving, talented artists.  It was Eric's turn to address the crowd which always includes a little bit of info on the Foundation and Ian.  Eric was doing great, then he reached the part about Ian "dying in 2012 at the age of 19 from cancer".  I heard the catch in voice, I don't know if anyone in the audience did, but I did.  He recovered quickly but later we talked about how the loss of Ian will hit us at the most unexpected times and last night was one of those.  It's funny how such a short little sentence can stop us in our tracks and our eyes well-up and that familiar pain in our heart is back.

Eric Hassett, Stefanie Hassett, Chloe Sheley, & Arianna Vauclin

The years are flying by but some milestones still have the power to cripple me.  I don't mentally mark the 13th of every month like I used to.  As we creep up on the anniversary of the day Ian died I used to say to myself, "6 months from now he was gone, 3 months from now.....".  I don't inwardly steel myself for the anniversary months ahead of time, this year, primarily because we were so busy with Alex's own battle with cancer but today is different. On this day, Ian was in the hospital for the last time 6 years ago.....the day the doctor told us our fight was over is just around the corner....then our last days with Ian at home.  When we talk about Ian graduating from Righetti in 2010 that sounds like such a long time ago and it's hard to believe he's been gone 6 years.  Probably because we surround ourselves with him every day; his pictures, his art, his clothes that still hang in the closet, his mission to encourage other artists....all these things bring us comfort and sweet remembrances of him.  But I know that in the not-to-distant future, he'll be gone longer than he was alive and for some reason that breaks my heart.

To be honest, this whole crying fest started with Trump.  When I saw him sign the 'Right To Try' Bill my first thought was, 'Finally.....it's just 7 years too late'.  Too late for my boy who needed the right to try any drug that we thought might help.  Too late to save his life.  So like most of America, I will blame Trump but with that I say, 'Thank you'.

Sometimes, God sends you a nugget.....

After 5 years I've gone through Ian's things.... several times.  His clothes still hang in the closet, his books and art supplies still sit on the shelves. 

I didn't think there were any more nuggets that I could uncover that would reveal something about my son I didn't already know; but sometimes, God sends you a nugget.

We had found a 'book' Ian made in high school called "The First 3,000 lives of Ian M Hassett"; rather ironic, wouldn't you say?  In it, on the inside cover was this page.....

I had no idea who Joshua Rivas was but knew the quote had affected Ian, propelling him forward to keep trying even if he failed.

Yesterday, I was watching a commencements speech by an actor and he quoted Samuel Beckett,

 "Ever tried.  Ever Failed.  No Matter. Try Again.  

  Fail Again.  Fail Better"

It got me thinking.....could this be where Ian got his quote from, just a truncation of Beckett's words?

So, as any self-respecting momma looking for more clues into who her son was, I went Facebook stalking for Joshua Rivas.  I probably shouldn't admit this but I've gotten rather good at this type of thing and found him.  He was living just a short distance away, attending college nearby.  With some trepidation, I messaged him and what-do-you-know?  He messaged me back.

We had a very nice conversation at 1am in the morning cuz isn't that when most college students have conversations?  He wasn't a close friend of Ian's but he remembered him; mostly he remembered "he produced a happy aura around everybody."  That was our Ian, that's how most people remember him; kind and friendly and producing happy auras.  

It turned out, this was a quote Josh put on his MySpace to help him deal with a lack of self-confidence at the time.  I shared with him how something so small, just a quote on his social media page, had had a ripple affect and not just on Ian.  We used this quote on a small plaque that we put on Ian's violin case before we donated it to his music teacher.  She would in turn, loan out Ian's violin to students who couldn't afford to buy or rent one.  That little violin has been in the hands of three students so far and each has seen this quote.  Who knows, maybe it will impact them like it did Ian; maybe it will encourage them to continue to 'fail again, fail better'?

Sometimes it's the small things we do or say that can have the biggest impact on the people around us.

Thanks for the nugget God - it's much appreciated.

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.”
―Samuel Beckett
Read more at http://izquotes.com/quote/14367

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.”
―Samuel Beckett
Read more at http://izquotes.com/quote/14367

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.”
―Samuel Beckett
Read more at http://izquotes.com/quote/14367

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.”
―Samuel Beckett
Read more at http://izquotes.com/quote/14367

Some things don't change......

It's been awhile, so long I'm surprised I remembered my log-in.
Our lives are busy, too busy sometimes but some things don't change.  This year has been a little different though; I didn't start looking through my Caring Bridge posts until two days ago.  Before I would feel compelled to read it starting in February or March and the countdown would begin.
It hit me at the beginning of the year that we will be marking 5 years of life without Ian - I don't know why that number is significant.  Maybe because it came so quickly?  Maybe because his clothes still hang in the closet?  Maybe because, on some days, it still feels like yesterday? Maybe because I know some day he'll be gone longer than he was alive?  For whatever reason, 5 is significant but also a little easier.
I knew an old married couple who lost their adult daughter in a horrific car accident.  Every year afterward they would go away, just the two of them around the day she died.  They continued this tradition, even though it meant they would miss celebrating the birthday of one of their grandchildren (they would celebrate either before or after they left).  It was hurtful to their daughter-in-law who couldn't understand why they would continue to mourn their daughter when they had a living, breathing grandchild they could celebrate.  I understand it now.....the grieving doesn't stop; it might change, but it doesn't stop.  You still miss them just as much, maybe more as time passes.  You miss the 'what ifs', the 'where would they be - who would they be' now.  You find yourself reliving those final days, moments, looks, words even if they're painful because they are part of all you have left.  There are no new memories to make so you find yourself reliving the ones you do have; the only thing worse that reliving those painful memories is not remembering at all - and that's not an option.
So for the next couple of weeks I'll be reliving those last looks, those last words, those last images and saying good-bye to Ian all over again.

Our memory tree

I know it looks like a Christmas tree but it's really a memory tree.  Every year I would buy a Christmas ornament for each child, trying to commemorate some milestone in their life that year.  Whether it was Alex's one and only season playing softball (we were really glad he didn't play a second year cuz we froze out there in the bleachers) or Amy's first year of driving or Ian's love of music, they all had a special ornament with the year printed on it.  The intent was that when they grew up and left our home to start their own, they would have a tree full of ornaments to remind them of Christmas' past.  Amy took all hers when she got married.  Alex is still living at home and of course, we will always have Ian's.  One out of three.......

It's hard to believe this is our fourth Christmas without Ian but when we begin to pull out our ornaments (Alex's favorite part of Christmas decorating because he wants to hear the stories connected with each ornament) we are reminded of every year of their lives.  Going down memory lane started out well this year, the memories were sweet and our history together grows longer each year.  Then I unwrapped Ian's memorial ornament.  It's a picture of Ian with the inscription, "God saw him getting tired, a cure was not to be.  So He wrapped his arms around him and whispered, 'Come with me'."  Those memories aren't so sweet, they are filled with pain and loss and they still overwhelm us.  We finish the tree with a special Ian 'angel' ornament that our friend Julie Ryver made for us the first Christmas after Ian died - it's corny, but he's our tree angel now.

Maybe one year, decorating the tree won't be a tearful event.  Maybe one year, the sweet memories will overshadow the painful ones.  We aren't there yet, but maybe one day.........

So, you see, it really is a memory tree.

I had a dream......

I dreamt of you this morning.  In between the snooze buttons I had 10 minutes of bliss, being with you again.  It was just a few days ago that I voiced how much I wanted to see you again, if just for a few hours.....and today I 'saw' you.  I can count on one hand the number of times I've dreamed of you in the last 3 years so I recognize that this morning was a gift.

I didn't recognize you at first, I could only see the back of your head and I didn't think it was you.  But you corrected me and let me know it was you.  We sat together on the couch and I laid my head on your chest while you talked.  You said, "I'm different now mom."  Then you started to show me what you had been doing since you left; you showed me a gym full of little 5 year old boys and girls.  They were beginning to file into the gym and the feeling in the room was apprehensive.  Then I saw a little boy who was full of energy and really happy - and it was you somehow.  Then, in your excitement, you started clapping.  Soon the rest of the kids were clapping along with you eagerly anticipating what was coming next.......then the alarm went off again.  And you were gone again.
But not before you had left me with a since of contentment and thankfulness, that at least for those few, precious moments I was with my boy again.

I have no idea what the dream meant, if anything, and it really doesn't matter.  It was a gift and I'll gladly accept it.

You're welcome to come visit me in my dreams again anytime Ian.

For my friend Debbie

I have been blessed with a number of wonderful, caring girlfriends in my life.  Some have stayed for a season and some have stayed longer - all of them valuable.  I recently had to say goodbye to one of my oldest (not in age, just longevity) and dearest friends when she died suddenly and unexpectedly.  The list of things I will miss about her is too long to list; she was my travel buddy, my bucket list companion, she 'got' me, she made everything an adventure, she made grieving easier and so many more things.  I actually looked forward to growing old because we had plans to share it together.  Now, instead of grieving with her I will grieve for her.

Part of me is angry because I feel like I've lost so much already and just when I was starting to feel hopeful about the future, God pulls the rug out from under me......again.  The front of this tapestry He's weaving had better be glorious cuz the back of it looks like a mess.  But this isn't about me, this is for Debbie and the wonderful way she lived her life, the people she affected and the ties she left behind to those who loved her.

I was asked to speak at her memorial and these are the words I needed to share about my friend, Debbie Mast..... 

It is heartwarming to see so many here to remember Debbie and support her family.  Thank you all for being a living, breathing testimony to the impact Debbie had on the people around her.  

When Erle asked me to consider talking today, I didn’t have to think about it, I didn’t have to debate it.  I think my exact words were – “I would love to tell people about my friend, Debbie.”

I remember the first time I met Debbie.  Her family had just moved to Bakersfield and she walked into our high school Sunday school class.  The chair next to me was empty so I padded it and enthusiastically motioned for her to join me (looking back, I’m surprised I didn’t scare her away), not realizing that it would be the beginning of a friendship that would last almost 40 years.

I was there when Debbie & Erle started dating, then got engaged in what I believe, may have been the longest engagement in our church’s history.  But Debbie knew what she needed and wanted in a husband and that was Erle.  And Debbie was willing to wait till the time was right.  There is one thing, Erle, that I want to make sure you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt – that you gave Debbie a wonderful life!  She loved being your wife, she just loved hanging out with you.  I saw it when you were dating, I saw it at your wedding and I saw it on our trip last year.  Just the way she looked at you, the way she would massage the back of your neck when you sat next to each other, the way she talked about you – except when you were annoying her, which was only a little and she got over it quickly.  She knew your life together was blessed and she felt so fortunate to share it with you.  I don’t think she would have changed a moment of it.

I remember once, after we had graduated from high school, Debbie & I decided to investigate this new exercise craze, Jazzercise, which included dressing appropriately.  That means the big hair, headband, leotards and the ever present leg warmers.  Let me tell you, Deb & I were stylin.  We went to a class in a large gym and Debbie & I liked to go to the back of the class.  I can’t remember why, but Deb & I got the giggles, and we couldn’t stop!  I don’t know what was so funny, I don’t even know if we knew then.  We would regain our composure, then look over at each other, and we’d start busting up laughing again.  It got to the point that while the rest of the class was doing floor exercises we exploded into full blown belly laughs.  The teacher eventually had to ask us to leave because we were disturbing the rest of the class. So Debbie & I picked up our stuff and took the walk of shame out of the gym.  Ladies, I hope at least once in your lifetime, you experience an uncontrollable case of the giggles with a girlfriend – because they are great!

When Erle & Debbie’s big day finally arrived, I was honored to be a part of her wedding party.  But I do remember, after it was all over, sitting in the parking lot in my truck (cuz in Bakersfield, everybody drove a truck) & I was really sad.  I knew you two were heading off to San Diego and I thought, “I’ll probably never see my friend again.”
 
But, thankfully, God had other plans.  I remember a few months after Eric was born, I was returning from a business trip and I had arranged to have a long layover in San Diego so I could see Debbie.  We went back to their place and I have such a clear picture of Debbie, sitting on the floor playing with Eric.  She was enraptured with you.  I had never seen her happier. She loved being a mom to all three of you – I think she was born to it.    I could see so many similarities between Debbie & her mom.  Her mom had been a nurturer and a caretaker and Debbie had learned those traits well.  But as much as she loved being a mom to all three of you and a mother-in-law to Jaime, I think she might have loved being a grandma just a little bit more.
 
Besides her faith, family was the most important thing to Debbie.  But it didn’t stop with Erle and the kids.  It included Erle’s sisters and their families, her brothers and their children, including “the nieces”.  Debbie talked often about her nieces and she told me about how much fun she had when they were all out here last fall.  I think Debbie felt it was her mission to keep the Wheat family connected.  So to her nieces, my hope is that you will continue Debbie’s legacy and get together as often as you can and think of your Aunt Debbie when you do.
 
In the years that followed, our lives got busy with raising our families but we kept in touch – Christmas letters, occasional phone calls…..then, Facebook happened and Debbie & I  discovered Instant Messaging.  One of the first times we got to ‘talk’ to each other using the computer, it was around Debbie’s mom’s birthday and she was sharing how much she missed her mom.  I think that was the beginning of a deeper friendship for us.
 
After several years of being connected via the computer, we decided that we needed to ‘see’ each

other.  So we made plans for my husband, Eric & I to come out to Colorado for a visit.  And, I have to be honest, I was a little nervous.  We hadn’t spent a significant amount of time together in years.  What if we had nothing to say to each other after the first five minutes? What if this turned into the longest, most awkward weekend ever for all of us?  But I shouldn’t have worried.  Debbie greeted us at the airport and I can’t say that she ran, cuz Debbie didn’t run unless it was absolutely necessary, but she walked really fast toward me and gave me the biggest hug!  We started talking and I don’t think we stopped the entire weekend – we had picked up right where we left off.

I found a quote that I sent Debbie a couple of years ago, “Good friends help you find the important things that you’ve lost; your smile, your hope and your courage.”  I sent this to her because Debbie & Erle had been extremely supportive and encouraging during our youngest son, Ian’s, battle with cancer in 2011.  Due to the type of work Erle does, they even managed to supply us with a small amount of hope, which was so desperately needed at the time.  After our son died in 2012, Debbie flew out to spend some time with me and another friend of ours from Bakersfield, Melissa.  Most people would have waited till the memorial service to visit but Debbie was smart.  She knew we wouldn’t have any time to really talk at our son’s service, so she came out the week before as I was trying to digest the loss of our son and to help me talk through it.  It was during that weekend that Debbie & I realized that we both wanted to go on the same river cruise in Europe.  Debbie had the brilliant idea that we should go together, so a trip was born.  We would celebrate Debbie & Erle’s 30^th anniversary and Eric & I would celebrate our 25^th.  So, last summer we spent two weeks in Europe together, 24/7 and walked away with our friendship still intact.  I think it went pretty well since one of the first texts I got from Debbie after we got home, was “Where are we going next?” In one of the last texts I got, we had started planning our trip to Ireland next year.  Erle, I don’t know if you knew this but Debbie & I had plans to live in the same retirement community because we wanted to be the wrinkled old women sitting by the pool, drinking our little umbrella drinks & enjoying ourselves.  We were just going to drag you and Eric along for the ride. 

One of the things I loved about Debbie was her ability to find joy in any circumstance; she could turn a negative into a positive.  She could be serious when the occasion called for it, but she’d much rather have a good laugh.  So, in that spirit, in the midst of this sadness and grief, I started to think about what I could be thankful for……

I am thankful that I knew Debbie

I’m thankful that she played such a large part in my life

I’m thankful that we created so many wonderful memories together

I’m thankful that she shared her pomegranate martini recipe with me

I’m thankful that she didn’t suffer

I’m thankful that she’s with her mom again, who she missed so much

I’m thankful that because of our shared faith in God and His son, Jesus Christ, I know that we will see each other again.  Today is not good-bye. Today is just, “I’ll see you later.”

So……Debbie, if I can interrupt any fun you might be having right now, because I know you’re celebrating the ultimate joy.  And if you can hear me…..which I hope you can….save a seat for me.  Preferably, close to you.  And when I get there, we can do what we did best and pick up where we left off.

Eric & I saw several red robins during our trip to Colorado.

Had to share this.....

Some days take your breath away with a surprise you don't expect, with a treasured moment that brings you to tears, with a remembrance of how much you've lost.....yesterday was one of those days.

Eric & I had been invited to an art sale for Nat Fast and we were honored to be able to go.  We have become a big fan of Nat's work since meeting his daughter, Marti (Ian's college art teacher).  We found many pieces we liked, one or two we loved and finally, one we loved and could afford.  We made our purchase and were milling around when I spotted a small table with a picture of Nat and a couple of photo albums.  As I lifted the cover of the  album it opened to a page showing this piece:

I couldn't believe I was seeing Ian's signature on a piece of his work again.  A piece we never knew existed  ~ obviously for a class assignment in Junior High. I called Eric over then we called Marti over to see if she knew this was here.  Not until we pointed out Ian's signature did she realize she had this stashed away in a photo album.  She graciously offered to let us take it home and keep it with the rest of Ian's art.  I tried very hard not to cry in this room full of people, but the tears fell anyway.  I'm not sure what I was crying about; a newly discovered piece of Ian's history? a reemerging loss for what could have been? thankfulness for an unexpected treasure?

Just weeks before this, I had come to the conclusion that there would be nothing new for me to discover about my son.  I had seen all his art work, I had heard all his music, I had read everything he had written down (I've even read his homework assignments).  Everything I knew about Ian had already been revealed.  Then this happened, this wonderful gift.  It's not the best piece he every did, but then he was only around 12 but it was the start.  He had already begun to explore the use of  shading and that's a pretty good ear he drew on Nat; I'll ignore Nat's incredible thin right arm and take the gift that was offered - a chance to find out one more thing about Ian that I didn't know.  Thank you God, for this small but oh, so important, gift.  Thank you for recognizing how much I needed this.  Thank you for keeping his memory alive for those who knew him. Thank you for giving me a son I could miss so deeply.

So, yesterday, we left with two treasures: a piece of art from Nat's past and a piece of Ian we didn't have before.  It was a good day.

The End

I think it's time to wrap this thing up.  I saw this on FB a few days ago and it got me thinking - why am I doing this?  I started this blog for a couple of reasons;

1. for those folks who had been following along with our family's Caring Bridge site as Ian fought his cancer. I didn't want his death to be the end of the story because whether we want it to or not, when we lose someone we love, life goes on.
2. I had been encouraged to publish Ian's Caring Bridge (it was also something Ian wanted me to try and accomplish) and the publisher who showed some interest encouraged me to continue writing to see where this journey would take me.
3. Most of the Christian books I read about grieving after Ian's death were discouraging and unhelpful.  It seemed that most of the authors wanted to put a 'good face' on death and make grieving somehow easy.  It made me feel like if I was a good Christian, I could say "God is sovereign" and move on and that was not my experience.
4. I felt like our society, as a whole, doesn't do death well.  We don't know what to say, we don't know what to do, we don't want to look at someone in the midst of sorrow; we want to sweep it under the rug and not look at the dirt it leaves behind.  

For me, I've found that the most difficult part of this journey has been the spiritual aspect of it.  Defining who God is for me personally and where He's been in this whole process has taken up most of my thoughts and energy.  But it's caused me to do a lot of reading and studying and soul searching; and that's never a bad thing.

Someone asked me recently if this whole process has brought me closer to God.  I had to honestly tell them, "no, not so much".  I spent most of my time clawing through theology that made this whole thing so much harder than it already was.  I listened to well-meaning Christians, people that I love and admire, tell me that Ian was going to hell because he had questions about who God really was; that Ian's earlier confession of faith as a young teenager wasn't enough.  That God, in His sovereignty, caused Ian's illness and death. I think there's a distinction between a God who allows us to be tempted and go through trials and a God who causes those trials.

So, after a little over two years of missing Ian, what are some conclusions I've come to?

• That God exists
• That His love for me hasn't faltered, even if I have
• That I believe in the God of John 3:16, 1 Timothy 4:10 & Matthew 18:14
• That when the dogma of any theology becomes more important than the message of God's love, then there's a problem
• That grief demands an answer but sometimes there isn't one
• That God had a plan for Ian's life, and ultimately, that plan was what was best for Ian (it sucked for us, but it was best for Ian)
• That God can turn trials into blessings
• That I will miss Ian every day for the rest of my life

Ian's death has sent me down a path I could never have imaged; who would have thought that I would be involved in art (me - the stick figure queen)?  Or start a Foundation?  This is something I never even thought I would do, but for Ian and his memory, I will gladly continue to follow this path until God shuts the door.  For those of you who have followed along with me while I fumble my way through this - thank you!  Your support and kindness have made this a little more bearable.

I've realized over the past several months, that I don't have a whole lot more to say about this process.  I have no words of wisdom, only the knowledge that this will be a lifelong journey; so it's time to shut up.

Just like I did before.....

Alex is sick....not a lot, just a little.  I was really proud of myself for not calling up the doc immediately.  We'll wait it out and see if his body can fight this off by itself.

As I'm getting Alex some water for his meds and Eric is getting him to bed, I think to myself, "I need to tell him to text me if he needs anything in the middle of the night" then it hit me - that's exactly what I said to Ian, every night.  One of the last 'middle of the night' texts I got from Ian was simply the word 'help'.

Now Alex is sleeping in Ian's bed (because it's bigger and better than the old one Alex had) and Alex is sleeping in Ian's old room (because it's a bigger room).  Once again, I find myself with a young man, fighting an infection, in the same room, in the same bed......waiting to see if he'll need me in the middle of the night.  And if he does, I'll come running; just like I did with Ian.

bye bye telescope

One of the things I've noticed about grieving, you have to keep saying 'good-bye' to things.  Now, it's the telescopes turn.  We had bought it when Ian was sick; Eric wanted to find something scientific that he thought Ian would enjoy that we could all do together.  We had this little rinky-dink telescope but all the 'dots' we saw looked fuzzy so one day a really nice, expensive telescope arrived at our door.  And you know what?  I didn't mind at all.  When your child is sick, when you think your child may die; you don't care about the money.  The important thing was to create memories and if that telescope would put a smile on his face, it was worth every penny.

We tried it out in the backyard a few times, it worked pretty well but Eric deemed the city 'too bright'. We must go in search of darkness and we found it.  The three of us bundled up (it was February 23rd, 2012) and loaded up the van in search of a dark place to look at the stars.  We found it on San Antonio Rd. between Highway 135 and Highway 1.  We parked along the road and Eric began to set-up the telescope.  He insisted we needed our 'night vision' to see the stars and planets properly so any form of light was forbidden.  Ian & I were okay with that until we started to hear rustling in the nearby shrubbery; loud rustling accompanied by animal-like noises.  I retreated to the van but Ian was braver than I; he wrapped up in this Indian blanket he liked, throwing it over his head and trekked over to his dad to look at the night sky.  It was a good night.  It was our last night with Ian and the telescope.

Now, some other dad is looking for a 'starter' telescope.  Maybe he'll create memories with his son or daughter like we did with Ian.  It's silly, but I want him to know the history behind this particular telescope.  I want him to know the precious memories it created.  I know it's just a 'thing' but some 'things' are linked to memories and that makes them hard to get rid of.  I also know that the memories won't go away even if the telescope does.

So, bye-bye telescope.  I hope you help some other family create wonderful memories.

Small Gifts

First, let me share something that was especially meaningful to me while we were on our trip to Europe.  We were staying in Rome with some sweet friends of ours that we have known since our babies were babies.  We wanted to try and visit as many of the places Ian had on his Rome itinerary as possible, and I think we succeeded pretty well.  One of the places he mentioned, twice, was an area of Rome called Trastevere.  It's a quaint neighborhood of Rome on the other side of the Tiber River.  One evening our friend, Angie (who is a master at driving around Rome) took us there.  We strolled around these narrow, cobble-stoned streets full of shops and bistros.  Then suddenly, we're in a piazza with a fountain in the middle, lined with restaurants and tucked away in the corner is one of the oldest churches in Rome, St Maria in Trastevere.  We went in, it was extraordinarily ornate with a LOT of gold. But that wasn't the amazing part......

The altar

St. Maria in Trastevere piazza

While we are looking around (I hate to admit that at this point in our trip I was not as enthralled by ornate, golden decorated churches as I was at the beginning of our trip - you've seen one Renaissance church, you've seen them all), I started to hear singing and it's was so beautiful.  I turn around and realize it's a group of young adults singing, what I assume, are Latin hymns A Capella.  I thought, 'how wonderful that these young adults think this is 
worthwhile and how fortunate we are to be here, at this exact moment."  Then my mind immedately goes to how much Ian would enjoy this.  Being in a place he wanted to visit,
in a place so full of history with beautiful music and it brought me to tears (I know that's not a hard place for me to go).  It was the most meaningful part of our time in Europe, at least for me.

The moon over St. Maria in Trastevere

As we leave the piazza, we see the moon over the church - it was a perfect night.....and a gift.




I have to include the picture below - as we're walking along the streets we see this group of men playing some kind of game, waving their arms, shouting at each other; being very Italian.  It was great!

 

Today, I visited the cemetery to put more flowers on Ian's grave.  A couple of weeks before we left for Europe I discovered that some small mementos  we had left there were missing.  My brother, Mike, always leaves a penny on the base of the headstone each time he visits and after Emmett died, I left his name tag there; it seemed appropriate since Emmett's ashes were there and Ian loved that darn cat so much.  But all those were gone; we assume as the workmen prepared for a graveside service next to Ian's.  I was heartbroken.

Emmett is back where he belongs,
next to the boy who loved him.

The next two times we were there,
Eric & I  searched all around the headstone for those things, but never found them.
 
Today, as I'm getting ready to leave I look down and there's Emmett's name tag (and yes, I started crying again!).

It was such a little thing (literally) but both of these 'gifts' meant so much.  I know they are reminders from God that He continues to watch over us, that He is with us in this grief.  That as I press on; reading, studying, trying to redefine my relationship with Him, he hasn't given up on me.  So I will keep listening to the Father who loves me and finding my way back to a place of peace.

Dear Ian

Dear Ian,

So, Dad & I are on our European river cruise and there are reminders of you along each part of our journey.  We brought along our picture of you, taking you with us.  Dad packed your pullover sweater and wears it on chilly nights as we cruise along the Danube.  I saw pictures by that artist you like so much, Gustav Klimt and we ended up buying an umbrella that used some of his works.  I attended a classical concert with piano & violin at Lobkowicz Palace and compared her playing to yours - I liked yours better :-).

Last night we met a really nice couple at dinner, they too have a son you had a rare form of lymphoma but he survived.  When they asked how many kids we had, Dad told them three - as it should be, because you were a very important part of our family.  We told them a little of our story and they told us theirs.  Between our two families and our friend Erle's company looking for cures for cancer, and Deb's mom who died from cancer, we were the oncology table last night.

Then last night I dreamt of you.  I think that's only the 3rd time since you died but this time you were the young man I remember - tall and handsome with a kind heart and a big hug for your mom.  You were still sick but not like you were at the end.  You gave me a big hug (you gave great hugs) and said, "Momma, I'm so sad."  I asked what you were sad about, I know you told me but when I woke up I couldn't remember what you had said.  I remembered the hug though - that was unforgettable and it felt so real.  I think you told me you were sad you had to leave, you're not alone in that Ian; there are many of us who are so sad you had to go.

In a few days we'll be in Vienna and we're attending a Mozart concert that night.  It somehow seems appropriate that will also be the day you were buried two years ago.  Somehow, I think you'd be pleased.

Later on, while we're in Rome we'll visit the places you had on your Roman itinerary.  We'll visit the places you never had a chance to see and we'll see them for you and be carrying you along with us on this journey.

Love you always sweetie,
Mom

All in all, it wasn't a bad day.

It seemed appropriate that the house was quiet Friday morning.  If you know me, then you know I don't like the quiet; I'm a noise person.  Even if I'm not watching it, the TV is one, or the radio - just for the noise.  But this morning was different.  It felt right to have the house quiet this morning, much like it was the morning two years ago when Ian left this earth.  Eric & I took the day off, as we will probably do for the foreseeable future (warning to our employers - the Hassetts will not be at work on June 13 or October 24 of any given year, until we decide otherwise).  We still had stuff to do; I went to the gym at 7am as scheduled.  I debated whether to do this, but thought Ian would want me to continue to do things that make me better, so I went.  Eric did some work on the Artist Exchange trailer, which is his own tribute to our son and the legacy he left us.

I had gotten a card from a high school friend of mine with a note that she was praying for red robins for us today......Kelly, your prayers were answered.  Eric saw one while I was at the gym and not wanting to miss out, I took my tea to the front porch and waited to see if the red robins would come on this day, when we so desperately needed them.  I was not disappointed!  I love our little cul-de-sac with all the birds and chirping they do.  This morning I was treated to three red robins doing their morning routine; defending their territory from other birds, singing......I was very thankful.
But as the time was getting closer to the exact time Ian left us (do other people remember those kind of things, or is it just us?), I decided getting ready to go to the cemetery could wait and went into the family room. I wanted to be where Ian was when he died.  I wasn't completely surprised when I saw Eric sitting on the couch; we were in synch.  We do that a lot, without even talking about it; we both feel the need to observe Ian's life & death in similar ways.  This year, it was sitting together in the silence as we remembered Ian's last minutes with us.

Then it was time to go to the cemetery.  Hahn from The Back Porch created another beautiful arrangement for Ian's headstone.  This time she added something special, little pink flowers called "Bleeding Hearts" - how appropriate.  Between us and my parents, so many beautiful flowers for my boy.  There will be no doubt to anyone passing by his headstone, that he is loved and not forgotten.

We've completed the third (and final, I promise) move of Ian's art.  I think if I move it again, Ian may come back just to tell me to stop!  The office just wasn't big enough to hold it all and since we don't use the living room much anymore, it seemed like the perfect space.  We now have our own little gallery when you enter our home.  It still doesn't hold all of Ian's work, but we've devised a way to rotate the art easily. Here's a chintzy video of it, taken with my iphone.  The music came from a recording we found a couple of months ago on Ian's keyboard.

All in all, it wasn't a bad day.

It's been awhile....

We're inching up on the 2nd anniversary of Ian's death.  Two years ago today, we began the process of putting Ian into a drug-induced coma so he could leave this world peacefully.  We never heard his voice again after that day but we knew we were carrying out his wishes and that helped make it bearable.  It's hard not to go back and think of what was happening on any particular day as we neared his death, especially since I documented it so darn well on his Caring Bridge site.  I'm not sure if being able to go back and read what was happening is a good thing or a bad thing.  I think, even without those reminders of exactly what was taking place back then, Eric & I would still find ourselves reliving his death; maybe that's normal, I don't know.  I just know it's what we do.

It's been awhile since I've written anything and there are two main reasons: one, there hasn't been much to say; grief is a long, tedious road with uneventful days and two, I've been apprehensive to voice some of the conclusions I've come to.  I imagine I'll get some flack for some of them, so I've kept them to myself.  But I guess I'm feeling stronger in my convictions and ready to put to words what I've determined in my heart to be true for me on my journey of faith.  So here goes.....

I had read after Ian died, that grief will shake your beliefs to their very core.  You will re-examine everything you thought you believed and that has proven to be true.  Losing Ian has made me question and examine everything I believed or thought I believed, but I see that as a good thing.  I need to be certain in what I believe and who I think God is and what His role in all this has been.

The one thing I know, without a doubt is that God loves me.  He is a God who loves his creation, who knows firsthand the agony of watching our son die and being separated from him, a God who knowing this, sacrificed His son anyway so that I could be a part of His family and spend eternity with Him.

What I have seen, is His constant reassurances that we are not forgotten; even in our grief, in our questions, in our demands for answers that do not come, He is with us.

What I have experienced is the difficulty that some theology has caused.  Theology, however well intentioned, is a man made thing.  It is our desperate grasp to try and understand or define God; and it can be hurtful.  In man's attempt to make sense of God or to try and put scripture into a logical formula we can understand, we sometimes screw it up and we actually make it harder for others to come to God.

For today, for this moment in time, this is what I believe to be true (this is up for reconsideration at any time in the foreseeable future because, as a woman, I claim the right to change my mind) - I think that we (mankind) need to make sense of the world around us.  We have an insatiable thirst for knowledge (in itself, not a bad thing).  As part of that, we strive to 'know' God but there are things about God and how He runs things that we don't/can't/aren't supposed to understand.  Men in particular need to make things logical (cuz lets be honest, every different kind of theology I know of, came from the mind of a man) and in that quest to 'know' God AND make things logical, they try to fit God into an order that makes sense to them and in the process they often mess it up.

What I know, is that when I threw off the theology that made it harder for me trust God, to lean on Him; I was able to loosen my death-grip (no pun intended) on distrust and suspicion and remember the God I had known years ago - one that loves me, one that wants only what's best for me - even if it's hard.

 Historically, man has made it harder to worship and adore God.  We like to put restraints on how we get to God when He has made it relatively simple.  How many times over the course of history has man taken the gospel and twisted it and tried to make it fit into their own sense of right and wrong?  Just because we don't fully comprehend how something like predisposition or "free will" or foreknowledge works, doesn't mean those things have to be complex; it just means we aren't suppose to understand them. We feel a  need to dig & explore & expand our mind in our quest to understand God; maybe what we need to do be doing is expanding our hearts.  Sometimes, it's better to just let some things go (insert Disney song, "Let It Go").  There are aspects of some forms of  theology that have made grieving for Ian so very much harder than it already is.  There are aspects of some theology that turned a God who loved me and hurt with me to a heartless dictator who only loves some of his creation.   In order for my faith to survive I had to reject that view of God.  There will be some who will say that I'm just an immature Christian or that I "just don't get it"; think that if you need to.  There will be others who mistakenly think they need to persuade me to 'see the light'; what I need to see is God and what He is showing me through this suffering and pain, is His love.  I think we diminish His love for His creation when we believe He only sacrificed His son for 'some' and not for all.  These conclusions are not based solely on my feelings.  They are based on the belief that God's word can not contradict itself and when there are verses that contradict others used to support certain aspects of different theologies, the theology needs to be reexamined and questioned, not the Bible itself.

If you disagree with me, that's fine. I don't need you to agree with me.  I was raised believing that Baptists, especially, need to leave room to 'agree to disagree' on matters that aren't a salvation issue.  I hope that will be the case here.

I've heard some helpful messages lately, one from  Rick Warren (The Answer is Easter) and one from our pastor, Benji Magness (O Love That Just Might Let Me Go).

If you are struggling, as I have been, to understand God's place in the midst of suffering and pain, I think these two message might be of some help.  When I hear Rick Warren speak, it resonates so strongly in my soul; he helps make it understandable because he is walking this same road.

This time of year is still so extremely hard but even in the midst of it, I see small signs of
reassurance.  In our front yard are two Easter Lilies given to use by friends after they dedicated them to Ian's memory in their church last year; are almost in full bloom.  Eight of the nine blooms are fully opened and I have a feeling the ninth will be opening on Friday, the day we lost Ian two years ago but also the day Ian entered his own resurrection day.  The timing couldn't be better.

Braggin' on my youngest boy.....

One of the new things our Foundation is doing this year is participating in the Santa Maria Arts Council Grants Showcase by giving out a $1,000 art grant.  Ian was the recipient of the Arts Council $1,500 first place award for Visual Arts in 2011.  It was the first (and sadly, the last) art competition he would ever participate in but he was thrilled to win!  The whole family went to the Grant Showcase that year.  There was some doubt Ian would be able to attend; he hadn't been feeling well since he had just started chemo but he was having a good couple of days and he really wanted to go.

I wish I had videoed the short speech he gave - he was so eloquent and knowledgeable about his art and expressed himself so well.  I couldn't believe that was Ian up there, wowing everyone; he was amazing that night.  But I digress......

In helping out with the Showcase this year we saw the application they use to weed through the artists for the first time.  On the second page was the question, "Where do you see yourself in 5 years and how do you plan to get there?"  There is also a requirement by the artists to provide three references from teachers.  I thought, wouldn't it be wonderful to see what Ian's response was?   I called up Kate Burridge, one of the co-chairs for the committee on the off-chance that they might have kept the applications from the winners.  I prepared myself that they had thrown it away, when Kate told me that she did have Ian's application, I couldn't talk.  I didn't realize how badly I wanted to see what my son saw for his future.  I think I croaked out, "Can I read it?"  Kate was very kind and told me that not only did she have Ian's application but she also had the three references from his teachers and she would send me a copy right away.

Here is Ian's answer: "In five years I plan on attending graduate school at either UCLA, SAIC or Yale specifically studying sculpture.  I believe these universities offer excellent programs and are located in cultural and artistic hubs where I can establish connections and build a reputation in the art world.  When applying for art school the most important asset I can have is a killer portfolio, so my main focus right now is to continue building a cohesive body of work.  I have always maintained excellent grades, and the counselors at Hancock said I should have no problems with acceptance as far as the academic requirements go.  I feel my goals are of a high standard, but also well within my reach; I am prepared and excited to begin this journey."

Now the braggin' part - here are some comments made by Ian's three references:
"in my view, Ian is not only highly motivated...he is truly talented and will make art his life-long pursuit."
"Ian always completed the assignment successfully and, often, in innovative ways."
"I have found Ian to be a truly excellent student.  He is currently ranked 23rd out of 536 students in his grade and has an overall GPA of 4.18. He has taken a total of 22 semesters of honors and AP classes and has the 4th highest SAT scores in the school."  (this was something we did not know)
"..he is a brilliant artist.  His work clearly shows an extremely high level of technical skill...he has acquired a very refined and mature style....his technical drawing skills are exemplary...he seems to have an intuitive understanding of composition and use of color.....He is easily the most promising sculpture student I have ever had.....what I am especially proud to see as he progresses through college is the modern, edgy trend to his sculptures....this is a new direction that he is moving in his work and I think that he will be an influential artist in the next few decades....I think that Ian could end up as a serious famous artist who impacts the course of the visual arts...I know that in 20 years I will look back over my time teaching and know that Ian, and students like him, have made it all worth while."
"Ian is diligent, sincere, considerate, thoughtful. he is inquisitive and searches for ways to express his vision..he frequently approaches ceramic and sculptural media in ways that are technically challenging....he is courageous about taking risks to grow as an artist.....he demonstrates maturity and promise...seeing examples of his drawing is a revelation to me; I am impressed by the depth and breadth of Ian's talents and potential for success in Visual Arts."

I think they liked his work but not only that, they appreciated the kind of person he was.  They saw his character and that matters more than his talent.  These words are a treasure to us and we are so thankful to have them.

A blog-worthy day

The minute I saw the red robin, I knew it was going to be a good day.  I had no idea how good it was going to get.......

If you've read my blog, you know the importance of a red robin to our family.  It is our reminder that God is with us and looking over us.  As I was leaving for work, at the end of my street, blocking my path, was a red robin.  I stopped my car and stared.  It felt like it had been so long since I had seen one; I missed him.  I was just so thankful for this reminder; of Ian, of God watching over us.  I felt silly as I started to cry over this robin.  I watched as it flew into a tree directly in front of me, then it flew back to within just a few feet from my window.  It stood in the middle of the street looking around, then looking at me.  I knew that nothing was going to spoil this day....it was going to be a good day.  Not even having to go to the Social Security office that afternoon to wrangle over Alex's disability payments was going to dampen this moment.

Then my day got better.  A sweet friend of Ian's sent me this very long text, which was unusal for her.  We first met after Ian had died and she has faithfully stayed in touch with me since then.  She told me when we met that she didn't really know Ian that well but that she was just so touched by his presence that she really missed him.  This was our conversation (reprinted with her permission):

Ian's friend (who shall remain nameless):  The more I know about Ian, the more I miss him.  I really pushed him to get Facebook after we met in ceramics class but we never got as close as I wanted to, it just felt like we kept missing each other.  For example, years ago, I went to the movies and Ian showed up and he kept staring at me but never said hi because he thought I had left for Berkeley and thought there was no way that could be me.  Then I saw him staring at me and I thought he was giving me the stink eye.  Later on, he saw the pictures on Facebook and we realized what happened.  But I never saw him in person again after that because I was convinced that he had gone off to UCLA.  I'm still kicking myself!  Ugh!!  There has to be some form of afterlife or something where I see him again because, dang it! we have so much in common!  I have a passion for art and science, for learning in general.  I remember sitting down with another friend of ours while she was working on Geology and I was trying to identify all the minerals.  She looked at me and whined, "Are you one of those people that's good at everything!?!  Ian was like that!  Uggggh!"  I also remember his passion for music, he had a love for classical music and I remember being so excited to have found someone that loved classical music too!  And then he started listing off different symphonies and concertos, and I was like, "Woah, woah, woah!  You gotta write these down.  There's no way I'm going to remember all of these."  The one that stuck out to me was Rachmaninoff, he loved him!"

Me:  Those are sweet, wonderful memories!  I do believe we will see Ian again.  That's the only thing that helps keep me sane, otherwise I can't imagine how I would manage missing him so much. I cling to the promises God makes to us in the Bible & in the knowledge that for most of his life Ian loved and believed in God.  In the last days of his life I believe God broke threw Ian's doubts and questions & showed him what was waiting for him.  The last conversation we had with Ian he was talking about a beautiful place that someone named Michael was showing him.  I like to think it was the archangel Michael.  I hope you treasure all those memories of Ian.  Use them to propel you forward, knowing that he would be right beside you, cheering you on.

Friend: You are blowing my mind right now, Stefanie!!!  I had a dream that took place in the future.  I was sitting at the table eating breakfast with my future daughter, she was about 4.  She looked up at me and said, "Mommy, who's Ian?"  My eyes got big and I said, "What!?  Where did you hear that name?"  She said, "He's standing right beside you."  I turned and looked and sure enough Ian was right there and he said, "I am the archangel Michael.  I took the form of someone you love to communicate with you."  I thought it was a crazy, random dream so I never gave it much weight.  Until you said that.  I hope you don't think I'm a loon.  I am spiritual but I don't claim any religion.  I am only telling you this because I don't believe that dream is a coincidence anymore.

Me:  Oh wow!  From some of what you've posted on Facebook recently, it seems like you're searching....maybe God is trying to tell you something?  I believe everything happens for a reason so I don't believe in coincidences.  Give it some thought & just be open to what He might be trying to communicate to you.  There is always a purpose in everything, even Ian's death.  With much love, Stefanie

As I pressed the Send button, I realized that for the first time since Ian died, I felt like maybe there was a reason why he died.  If it was only to let his friend know that there is a hope to be with the ones we love.  That life doesn't end with death.

I had to share this with you all because it was so important, it makes such a difference in missing Ian. 
We all need to see a purpose, a reason why bad things happen and today I had just a glimpse of that.  For the first time since February 2011, when Ian was diagnosed, I could say that today was a GREAT day!

PS - I didn't have to go to the Social Security office after all....a very nice lady at the Santa Maria office answered the phone and was able to help me over the phone.  See, it was a great day.

Thresholds

There's a threshold that you face each and every day; and you never know what may cause you to cross it.  Some days it doesn't take much. Some days it's a 'Like' on your Facebook page, or a song or a dream.  Yesterday it was a classmates of Ian's helping me at the bank.  I remembered him and he remembered Ian. I walked away without a tear but as I left, I was overwhelmed by the need to cradle this young mans face in my hands (I didn't of course, that would have been weird) but I wanted to.  As if, touching his face, would be like touching Ian's; something, anything to be close to him again.  I think of what Ian would be doing now - he'd be finishing his last year of college.  It would have either mellowed him or made him more obnoxious; we'll never know which.  When does this "missing him so much it hurts" phase get easier?

I know there will be folks, possibly reading this, who would tell me I just need to trust God. I trust in the knowledge that God has some huge master plan I can't see but that doesn't make me miss Ian less.

Another year and another Student Art Show at Allan Hancock College.  I went yesterday to see what these new artists had produced.  I was pleasantly surprised to see two pieces from a friend of Ian's but my biggest surprise was seeing artwork produced by students using the Cintiq drawing system we had donated to the college after Ian died.  I was floored by the quality and diversity of the work and there was a LOT of digital art work.  The pieces that spoke to me the most though, were the hand drawings.  I hope we don't get to the place as a society that doing the work by hand becomes second best; that we exalt the work done with the aid of a computer above the work drawn by hand.  There is skill involved in both but hand drawing will always touch my heart in a special way; probably because it was Ian's way of expressing himself.

This got me thinking of when Ian received his Cintiq and I found this video.  Ian doesn't say much, he's busy experimenting.  He was engrossed and I'm sure he would have rather we not be there to distract him but we just wanted to share this with him; we knew the end was coming.  What could he have done with this if he'd had the chance????

If you get a chance, stop by the Ann Foxworthy Gallery on the Hancock campus and see what other students have created, it'll be worth your time.....because art lives on.

A begonia, Ian & faith: an analogy

As you can guess,
it doesn't look like this anymore.

One of the flowers/plants we received for Ian's memorial service was a beautiful, blooming begonia from my Aunt Betty which immediately struck fear into my heart knowing my ability to kill plants at a glance.  So I babied it.  I moved it from place to place so it got enough sunlight.  I tried to made sure I didn't over or under water it.  I pruned all the deadheads weekly.  I spoke lovingly to it.  When it started looking especially sad, I immediately thought that transplanting it would do the trick - wrong.  It wasn't root-bound but rootless.  The roots were gone and all that was left was a ball at the base.  In my efforts to desperately try to save this plant, I'm Googling begonias, I'm reading everything I can to see how to care for this darn plant.  But alas, the day has come when this once beautiful plant is dying....there is a fungus among us.  I've pruned off some healthy stems hoping to root them in a fresh pot and I'm still hoping for the best but expecting it to die.

It's one more object connected to Ian that I have to say good-bye to, but at the same time I see a connection between this plant, Ian's death and my own faith journey.  As I'm watching this plant slowly die I can hear something reassuring me that it's okay for things to die.  All things die: relationships can die, loved ones (sometimes long before we're ready for them to), beloved pets, even this silly plant.  Even when what we love dies, sometimes, something else grows in it's place.  It may not be better but it could be and we won't know that for sure until we get to the end of our own life.  The only thing we do know for sure is it's changed us.  In taking small parts of this plant and replanting them I'm trying to retain some of it's original beauty and helping something, hopefully just as lovely, grow again.  We're doing the same thing with Ian's legacy - his passion for art and music.  We're combining the artwork he left behind, along with the money raised by the people who loved or admired him and are growing that into a Foundation that can share his passion for art.  Both are taking a different form but the essence of those things we loved, live on.

My faith, in some ways, is taking a similar path.   It's doesn't look the way it used to, it's morphing into something else and that's not necessarily a bad thing.  If I can take the healthy parts of that faith and re-pot it into something new there's hope that I can come out of this tunnel better than when I walked into it.  To do that, I need to invest the same energy I've expended into googling ways to care for a begonia into deciphering what I believe.  Not necessarily what people tell me I should believe but what my soul tells me, what I believe God is telling me.   I believe God will lead me through that process.  My belief IN God hasn't wavered, my belief in exactly WHO He is, is what's being transformed.

Sometimes I have conversations with Ian inside my head, like tonight.  I'm watching The Good Wife on TV and this season is really good, maybe the best season yet.  I think, "Ian would love this."  Then I hear, "I would mom, but it's so much better here."

A Christmas gift

Our second Christmas without Ian (2 down, maybe 20-30 to go?) and we made our trek to the Ballard cemetary to place fresh flowers at Ian's grave, like we have done so many times over the past 18 months but this time was different.  This time, there was a gift waiting for us.  Ian had a visitor, who we dubbed 'Oliver'.  When we drove up to Ian's grave (gosh, that sounds so wrong to say....Ian's grave) there was this beautiful, calico cat just sitting up on top of his headstone like he owned the place.  In all our time out here at Ballard, we'd never seen a cat.  We walked up to him, expecting him to run away but it was obvious, he meant to stay around and just wanted to be petted.  In fact, Eric had a hard time getting him to get off the headstone so he could clean it. He stayed around the whole time we were there and he was the friendliest cat. Amy named him Oliver and we seriously thought of taking him home; he was friendly and beautiful and was there at just the right moment.  He was also obviously clean and well fed and therefore probably belonged to someone who loved him.  But we toyed with the idea that he was a sign; maybe he was a sweeter version of Emmett (who's ashes we had secretly (until now) buried next to Ian, maybe he was a Christmas present????).

We asked him if he wanted to come home with us and he said yes (we are fluent in meow) so I went in search of the groundskeepers to see if they had a 'cemetery cat'.  Unfortunately, for us, he did have a home with the neighbors living next door.  The groundskeeper said he comes back and forth but usually stays in a certain area of the cemetery - today, for whatever reason, he ventured into our area.  So he wasn't a sign - he was a gift and for a brief moment, he was ours & Ians'
.

Udon noodles = laughter

The one thing that penetrates through this grief into my soul is worship.  We sang the song, "Overcome", a few weeks ago at church.  My first thought when we would sing this song used to be that God didn't overcome Ian's cancer, He could have, but He didn't.  This time I thought He finally had, in the end, overcame Ian's disbelief, his doubts.  In Ian's final moments of consciousness, when we had to stop him from trying to get off the bed and he couldn't believe the wonder of what he was seeing and had to go find Michael, who was showing him all these wondrous things, he SAW what waited for him.  God overcame all the questions that Ian had then, in that moment.  I suddenly missed him so terribly I couldn't stop the tears.  But I could feel him, I could hear him reassuring me that God had overcome.

One of the things that haunts me is one of the last things Ian wrote in his journal - that God couldn't plan His way out of a paper bag.  That arose because of the final prayer request Eric wrote after we found out Ian was terminal. Eric included the phrase 'perfect plan'. That morning in church, it was as if I could hear Ian reassuring me that Eric choice of wording had been correct.  That taking him when He did was the perfect plan and now, Ian saw it too.

It doesn't make me miss him less, but it helps.

The holidays have been hard this year.  I think last year we were still in shock - we missed him, terribly, but the shock acted as a kind of buffer.  I don't know if it's possible, but I think I miss him even more this year.  We did Thanksgiving out of town this year which made it different and perhaps easier.  We're trying to do more of Christmas than we have the last two years; our hearts aren't in it but we push ahead knowing that it's what we need to do.  It just takes incredibly long to decorate when you only do one box at a time (I've accumulated a lot of  Christmas boxes over the past 24 years).  Tonight was 'ornament' night.  Our tradition has been to purchase an ornament for each of the kids and our family every year to commemorate whatever was significant in our lives that year.  The plan had always been that the kids would take their ornaments with them when they moved out and on their own (I didn't want their trees to be empty those first few years).  Amy has all hers but we still have Alex's & Ian's.  Eric & I were doing ok putting them all on the tree until we got to an ornament we had both forgotten about ~ it's a memorial ornament with Ian's picture on it.  Around his picture it says "God saw him getting tired, a cure not meant to be so He wrapped His arms around him and whispered 'Come with Me'."  That was our undoing, I think it was the shock of seeing it - we knew about the others we would be seeing but this one we forgot about. 

I had just made the comment that decorating the tree isn't fun any more when Eric started laughing - he had just opened the next ornament ~ another of Ian's .....his bowl of Udon noodles. Ian loved Udon noodles.  We both instantly knew that we were given the gift of laughter to help us finish our tree full of memories.