Every day is a struggle....but not with my grief. I accept grieving; I know that every day something will make me cry. I know that I will miss Ian every moment of the day. What I struggle the most with, is worry; or rather, trying not to worry. Just because I believe that God has a plan doesn't mean that I'm happy with the plan or nor afraid of His plan. I've seen both sides of God's plan - the elation when things work out the way you had hoped and the pain when it doesn't. I truly believe that God was doing what was best for Ian when He took him away from us, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt and I'm afraid of feeling that pain again with my other kids. I used to say that God knew I couldn't survive the loss of one of my children but I guess I was wrong; I was hoping if I kept saying it, God wouldn't make me find out. So, by my logic, that means that God could do it again, if it was part of His plan.
But, I've also seen God protect my children, namely Alex, from extreme circumstances that should have killed him. This week a routine blood test showed that Alex's red blood cell counts were elevated. Come to find out, they've been elevated for the last four years but his new doctor is questioning them. When the doctors office called to say they were referring Alex to a hematologist, Dr. DiCarlo, my stomach sank. I love Dr. DiCarlo but I never wanted to see him again. So far, the docs are leaning towards Alex's sleep apnea causing the elevated levels but there's always that nagging possibility that it's something more devious, more complicated, more life threatening that is the cause and I can't let it go. I keep having this dialogue in my head with God; me worrying about Alex and God sending me reassurances. They work for a while, but then I slide back into worry and doubt; then God sends more reassurances....I fight my doubt and worry and even pride, daily - hourly.
I have the reputation of being 'The Mom", tenacious, the Mama Bear protecting her cubs and I fought for Alex. I trusted my instincts and they were usually right. With Ian, I was all wrong. I fought just as hard, I was just as tenacious but this time my instincts were all wrong and Ian died. I realized how prideful I had become...my instincts, my tenaciousness could save Ian but nothing I did could save him.
It's easy to be thankful when your prayers are answered the way you wanted, hoped for. What's hard is being thankful in the middle of a nightmare, when your greatest fears have come true.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Hallmarks
I'm discovering that the path of grief is full of hallmarks; those moments that stop you in your tracks and suck the air out of your lungs. Moments like watching Ian's body being wheeled out to the van (since they don't use a hearse anymore, it's a nondescript white van), finding out that his body had been cremated, seeing his death certificate for the first time, reading his obituary in the newspaper, cancelling his cell phone and the other day it was the check for his life insurance arriving in the mail. Those are moments that tear your soul.
There are also those moments that turn into treasures like finding a project that Ian had made in school called "The first 3000 lives of Ian M Hassett" filled with his comments about his life, kind words for his friends and what he looked forward to in the future.....it was very Ian.
Every night before I go to bed, I visit Ian's room. I smell his chemo hat because, for right now, it still smells like him. Then I start rummaging through his things; I look in his bookshelves to see what other hidden treasures I might find. Maybe a paper he had written, or his thoughts on a book he read, or a poem or a sketchbook I hadn't seen before. Last night I realized I go there looking for bits of Ian that I didn't know. I look for ways for Ian to continue to reveal himself to me, I look for a connection to my son. Then I realized, I will soon run out of ways to get to know my son better because there will be nothing left to discover. There will be no more thoughts for him to ponder, no more ideas to sketch; he's done everything he was meant to do here on Earth and I will simply be left with what was and the hope that I will see him again. For the first time in my life, I understand the phrase, 'yearning for heaven'. I yearn for a life that is free of pain and suffering and only contains joy and rejoicing.
I don't know if I'll always be sad. Sometimes I feel like I've been sad for such a long time; I've been crying for almost two years, every since his diagnosis. Will I remember how I was before? Cuz I'm sure I was happy a lot more than I was sad. People tell me it gets better, that your happy memories start to replace your grief - I'm think I'm a long way from that yet.
I don't know if every parent is consumed with the idea that their child not be forgotten. I would imagine there are more parents like me who feel that way, which is why we hear about parents who have found a way to keep their child's name alive via a memorial fund benefiting some cause. Don't we all want to be remembered after we leave this earth, don't we want our time here to have made a difference somehow, to someone? Our way of keeping Ian's memory alive is his Art Scholarship. The donations have come in and all the 'Thank you' notes have been written....what do I do now? Maybe it's time to keep my promise to Ian and contact that publishing company about publishing Ian's Caring Bridge...he wanted that to happen. And it's one more way for me to stay connected to Ian.
There are also those moments that turn into treasures like finding a project that Ian had made in school called "The first 3000 lives of Ian M Hassett" filled with his comments about his life, kind words for his friends and what he looked forward to in the future.....it was very Ian.
Every night before I go to bed, I visit Ian's room. I smell his chemo hat because, for right now, it still smells like him. Then I start rummaging through his things; I look in his bookshelves to see what other hidden treasures I might find. Maybe a paper he had written, or his thoughts on a book he read, or a poem or a sketchbook I hadn't seen before. Last night I realized I go there looking for bits of Ian that I didn't know. I look for ways for Ian to continue to reveal himself to me, I look for a connection to my son. Then I realized, I will soon run out of ways to get to know my son better because there will be nothing left to discover. There will be no more thoughts for him to ponder, no more ideas to sketch; he's done everything he was meant to do here on Earth and I will simply be left with what was and the hope that I will see him again. For the first time in my life, I understand the phrase, 'yearning for heaven'. I yearn for a life that is free of pain and suffering and only contains joy and rejoicing.
I don't know if I'll always be sad. Sometimes I feel like I've been sad for such a long time; I've been crying for almost two years, every since his diagnosis. Will I remember how I was before? Cuz I'm sure I was happy a lot more than I was sad. People tell me it gets better, that your happy memories start to replace your grief - I'm think I'm a long way from that yet.
I don't know if every parent is consumed with the idea that their child not be forgotten. I would imagine there are more parents like me who feel that way, which is why we hear about parents who have found a way to keep their child's name alive via a memorial fund benefiting some cause. Don't we all want to be remembered after we leave this earth, don't we want our time here to have made a difference somehow, to someone? Our way of keeping Ian's memory alive is his Art Scholarship. The donations have come in and all the 'Thank you' notes have been written....what do I do now? Maybe it's time to keep my promise to Ian and contact that publishing company about publishing Ian's Caring Bridge...he wanted that to happen. And it's one more way for me to stay connected to Ian.
Friday, July 13, 2012
whisper My name
My thoughts are all over the place. There's a lot going on this week - today marked one month since Ian died, which brought back lots of memories and a resurgence of the sadness of losing him. I wish we could take a snapshot of some of the memories that we hold;
that those images wouldn't be be diminished by time or age. Then, there
are other memories I wish I could forget. But, in honor of Ian today, we visited a place for dinner that we had never been before and someplace he had wanted to try - we had Basque food!
Last night we took his sculptures to the gallery for the show that starts this weekend. I almost made it through that without crying, but not quite. I could see that his large piece (not pictured here), which was finished just the day before he died, was very different than the rest of the pieces in the show. It's more organic than the other pieces, so it was kind of 'iffy' whether it would be included in the show. Part of my brain understands this, and we know Ian would be the first to pull the piece if it detracted from the overall look of the show, but the mom part of me was cracking. By the time the owner was asking for titles to the pieces and then asking what I wanted to say about Ian, I lost it. What do I say? That he was brilliant? That he showed such great promise? That we will never know what he could have accomplished if he had lived? Luckily, Autumn was there and she agreed to write something up about Ian.
I read something the other day that helped get me through the day. "Whenever you feel distant from Me, whisper My name in loving trust. This simple prayer can restore your awareness of My Presence.....When you trustingly whisper My Name, My aching ears are soothed....The power of My Name to bless both you and Me is beyond your understanding." It's been hard to feel God's presence lately; I believe He's near, I believe He's watching over us. I'm trying to see through the holes that have been ripped in the tapestry of Ian's life, to see God shining through but this sadness makes it hard to see. So in those moments when things are hazy, I whisper 'Jesus', and I know He understands my heartache.
Last night we took his sculptures to the gallery for the show that starts this weekend. I almost made it through that without crying, but not quite. I could see that his large piece (not pictured here), which was finished just the day before he died, was very different than the rest of the pieces in the show. It's more organic than the other pieces, so it was kind of 'iffy' whether it would be included in the show. Part of my brain understands this, and we know Ian would be the first to pull the piece if it detracted from the overall look of the show, but the mom part of me was cracking. By the time the owner was asking for titles to the pieces and then asking what I wanted to say about Ian, I lost it. What do I say? That he was brilliant? That he showed such great promise? That we will never know what he could have accomplished if he had lived? Luckily, Autumn was there and she agreed to write something up about Ian.I read something the other day that helped get me through the day. "Whenever you feel distant from Me, whisper My name in loving trust. This simple prayer can restore your awareness of My Presence.....When you trustingly whisper My Name, My aching ears are soothed....The power of My Name to bless both you and Me is beyond your understanding." It's been hard to feel God's presence lately; I believe He's near, I believe He's watching over us. I'm trying to see through the holes that have been ripped in the tapestry of Ian's life, to see God shining through but this sadness makes it hard to see. So in those moments when things are hazy, I whisper 'Jesus', and I know He understands my heartache.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Our red robin
We're back from San Francisco...it was a good idea to go but it was weird at the same time. There were only four of us - that just felt wrong. Our first night at dinner brought that home...no waiting for a table for 5 cuz we were a party of 4. Easier to get a table but not worth missing Ian.
We talked a lot about things that Ian would have liked.....this museum or that restaurant and a lot of it came from Alex & Amy, which was heartwarming.
Eric & I saw a red robin our first night in SF near the Moscone Center. To understand why this is significant, you need to understand the importance of red robins to us. We'd never seen a red robin until our cross-country trip with the kids back in 2002 after Alex had finished his chemo. We had just picked up our 30 foot RV outside Boston and were camping in a KOA nearby before starting back across the country towards home. This was the spot that Ian learned to speak squirrel. There were lots of squirrels in our campsite and Ian (who was 9 at the time) was following them around when he jumped on a stump and started making chirping, squeaky noises. We asked him what he was doing and he informed us he was "talking squirrel".....one of Ian's more famous 'Ianisms'. From that point on, we saw a red robin at various parts of the country. There was even a red robin in our yard when we got home.....we'd never seen one at our house before that. From then on, that became our red robin, our sign from God that He was looking over us.
For the next 12 years, off and on, we would see a red robin; often when things were looking gloomy or we needed to remember that God was personal and watching over us. That red robin became our families own personal rainbow. I saw a red robin the day after Ian died hopping around in our back yard. Then we saw one again in the park near the Moscone Center in San Francisco.....Ian was never far from our thoughts in San Francisco.
After a full day on Thursday & Friday, I woke up Saturday morning and realized I hadn't cried once the day before.....I can't remember the last time that happened.
I've been reading a book called 'Jesus Calling' that gives you a daily mini-devotional. The author talks about spending more time listening to God, not just us talking to Him, but us listening to Him. This kind of fits in with some thoughts I've been having about prayer lately. Intellectually, I understand the need for prayer but I've begun to ponder the purpose of asking for things in prayer. It doesn't matter what I ask for; God will do what God is going to do and if what I'm asking for isn't a part of His plan, then what is the purpose of asking for something? There were hundreds of people all over the world praying for healing for Ian but it didn't change the outcome....he still died. So what is the true purpose of prayer? It can't just be me asking for things. I think thankfulness must be a part of my communication with God and I need to learn to be more of a listener than a talker, so I've been trying to listen more which is incredibly hard for me. I have never liked silence, I've always enjoyed noise; I turn the TV on just for background noise! So, in my elementary attempts to listen more I seem to hear God answering my questions of why? Why take Ian? Why give him the gifts of intelligence, humor, wit, and artistry only to take cut those gifts short and end his life at 19? Some answers I may never get, but I seem to hear God telling me that it was necessary to take Ian in order to save him. That the road Ian was on would only have led him to an irretrievable hardened heart and perhaps destruction and heartache for himself and those who loved him. I don't know.....I'm not good at this listening stuff yet....we'll have to see.
Eric & I went out to the cemetery again today. I thought Ian's flowers would be dead by now and I wanted to get rid of the dead ones and put fresh flowers on his grave. I want others to know that there are people who love and care for Ian. Eric wondered if I would go to the cemetery every weekend.....I couldn't give him an answer because I don't know myself. I realized that I see my visiting his grave as an extension of taking care of him. I can't physically care for him anymore, but I can care for his grave and show anybody who may visit that cemetery that Ian continues to be thought of and loved. I cared for him for 19 years and Eric understands it's hard to stop doing that cold-turkey.
While I was there today, I got the sense that Ian was at peace. That he knew that his life had to end when it did for his own good; that he is okay and understands why things happened the way they did. Maybe one day I'll be able to join him in understanding why.
We talked a lot about things that Ian would have liked.....this museum or that restaurant and a lot of it came from Alex & Amy, which was heartwarming.
Eric & I saw a red robin our first night in SF near the Moscone Center. To understand why this is significant, you need to understand the importance of red robins to us. We'd never seen a red robin until our cross-country trip with the kids back in 2002 after Alex had finished his chemo. We had just picked up our 30 foot RV outside Boston and were camping in a KOA nearby before starting back across the country towards home. This was the spot that Ian learned to speak squirrel. There were lots of squirrels in our campsite and Ian (who was 9 at the time) was following them around when he jumped on a stump and started making chirping, squeaky noises. We asked him what he was doing and he informed us he was "talking squirrel".....one of Ian's more famous 'Ianisms'. From that point on, we saw a red robin at various parts of the country. There was even a red robin in our yard when we got home.....we'd never seen one at our house before that. From then on, that became our red robin, our sign from God that He was looking over us.
For the next 12 years, off and on, we would see a red robin; often when things were looking gloomy or we needed to remember that God was personal and watching over us. That red robin became our families own personal rainbow. I saw a red robin the day after Ian died hopping around in our back yard. Then we saw one again in the park near the Moscone Center in San Francisco.....Ian was never far from our thoughts in San Francisco.
After a full day on Thursday & Friday, I woke up Saturday morning and realized I hadn't cried once the day before.....I can't remember the last time that happened.
I've been reading a book called 'Jesus Calling' that gives you a daily mini-devotional. The author talks about spending more time listening to God, not just us talking to Him, but us listening to Him. This kind of fits in with some thoughts I've been having about prayer lately. Intellectually, I understand the need for prayer but I've begun to ponder the purpose of asking for things in prayer. It doesn't matter what I ask for; God will do what God is going to do and if what I'm asking for isn't a part of His plan, then what is the purpose of asking for something? There were hundreds of people all over the world praying for healing for Ian but it didn't change the outcome....he still died. So what is the true purpose of prayer? It can't just be me asking for things. I think thankfulness must be a part of my communication with God and I need to learn to be more of a listener than a talker, so I've been trying to listen more which is incredibly hard for me. I have never liked silence, I've always enjoyed noise; I turn the TV on just for background noise! So, in my elementary attempts to listen more I seem to hear God answering my questions of why? Why take Ian? Why give him the gifts of intelligence, humor, wit, and artistry only to take cut those gifts short and end his life at 19? Some answers I may never get, but I seem to hear God telling me that it was necessary to take Ian in order to save him. That the road Ian was on would only have led him to an irretrievable hardened heart and perhaps destruction and heartache for himself and those who loved him. I don't know.....I'm not good at this listening stuff yet....we'll have to see.
Eric & I went out to the cemetery again today. I thought Ian's flowers would be dead by now and I wanted to get rid of the dead ones and put fresh flowers on his grave. I want others to know that there are people who love and care for Ian. Eric wondered if I would go to the cemetery every weekend.....I couldn't give him an answer because I don't know myself. I realized that I see my visiting his grave as an extension of taking care of him. I can't physically care for him anymore, but I can care for his grave and show anybody who may visit that cemetery that Ian continues to be thought of and loved. I cared for him for 19 years and Eric understands it's hard to stop doing that cold-turkey.
While I was there today, I got the sense that Ian was at peace. That he knew that his life had to end when it did for his own good; that he is okay and understands why things happened the way they did. Maybe one day I'll be able to join him in understanding why.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
The simplest things....
You would think that a trip to Costco would not cause heartache or a visit to the bank wouldn't reduce me to tears. You'd be wrong, The simplest, silliest things make me cry these days. I was doing fine in Costco until I saw the Pub Mix that I would pick up for Ian....he was the only one who liked it, so I don't buy it anymore. I ran into two people I know there (which is a common occurrence in this town - some trips are like a small group meeting at Grace Baptist) but got through hugs and condolences okay, It was the banking that got me. I needed to deposit some more donations into Ian's Wish for his scholarship fund but I also needed to close out Ian's checking account. I had no idea how hard that was going to be. It was just one more act of what feels like, erasing Ian from our lives. I know intellectually that's not what I'm doing but that doesn't change how it feels. Just clearing out Ian's medicines from the pantry broke my heart - I kept thinking, "I'm sorry these didn't work Ian. I'm sorry nothing we did worked."
Ian's art teacher, Autumn, came over to pick up three more of Ian's artwork for the show in
Santa Barbara and I gave her all of Ian's unused supplies.....it was a lot! We pretty much bought him whatever supplies he wanted or needed, especially the last year of this life. He knew he could ask for the moon and we would get it for him, if we could but we didn't mind. If he wanted to milk his having to deal with cancer, we were happy to be milked.
Eric & I thought that one of the best ways to honor Ian would be to continue to try new things. Ian was always interested in experiencing something new. Tomorrow we take off for San Francisco with Alex & Amy for a little family get-away. I'm sure we'll visit places that Ian would have wanted to go, like Golden Gate Park and will be thinking of him and missing him.
Everything, every day reminds me of Ian.
Ian's art teacher, Autumn, came over to pick up three more of Ian's artwork for the show in
Santa Barbara and I gave her all of Ian's unused supplies.....it was a lot! We pretty much bought him whatever supplies he wanted or needed, especially the last year of this life. He knew he could ask for the moon and we would get it for him, if we could but we didn't mind. If he wanted to milk his having to deal with cancer, we were happy to be milked.
Eric & I thought that one of the best ways to honor Ian would be to continue to try new things. Ian was always interested in experiencing something new. Tomorrow we take off for San Francisco with Alex & Amy for a little family get-away. I'm sure we'll visit places that Ian would have wanted to go, like Golden Gate Park and will be thinking of him and missing him.
Everything, every day reminds me of Ian.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Now what?
Eric & I went to the cemetery after church today...wanted to make sure they had covered Ian up and that his flowers were still there. They still had the benches around his plot, so we sat for a while and enjoyed the quiet. Then we walked around to get some ideas for his headstone.
We talked in Sunday School about questioning God when we don't understand what He's doing...been there, done that. Something that Jerel said hit home, if we keep going through the same trials over and over again, is there something we're aren't 'getting' that God is trying to teach us? This is the third time we've gone through something life-threatening with our kids; Alex's heart transplant then his cancer and know Ian's death from cancer. I had to start asking myself, is there something I'm not getting? Have I somehow been the cause of all this? Was there some lesson I should have learned through Alex's cancer that I didn't and it resulted in Ian's cancer? We had two miracles with Alex, were we out of miracles? I remember when the doctor told us that we were at the end of the road for any possible treatments for Ian....I walked down the hall of the hospital toward the window asking God, "You're really going to take him, aren't you? You're really going to take him." After all the treatments, hope and prayers the last 16 months, Ian was going to die.
Eric tried to reassure me that this is not some punishment for something I/we have/haven't done. Many people were touched by Alex's story and many more have been touched by Ian's.....somehow what our family has been through will touch people and somehow, God will be glorified. It's so hard to be comforted by that when the price we pay is the loss of Ian. I miss him every minute of every day....I know that will lesson with time, but I don't know if I want it to. Somehow, that seems disloyal to Ian.
We've spent the last 16 months busy. Busy with chemo treatments, radiation, scanning the internet for any sign of hope for a cure. Then busy caring for Ian, watching over him, helping him, keeping him comfortable, helping him die. Then finally, busy planning his burial and memorial service. We're not busy anymore....what now?
We talked in Sunday School about questioning God when we don't understand what He's doing...been there, done that. Something that Jerel said hit home, if we keep going through the same trials over and over again, is there something we're aren't 'getting' that God is trying to teach us? This is the third time we've gone through something life-threatening with our kids; Alex's heart transplant then his cancer and know Ian's death from cancer. I had to start asking myself, is there something I'm not getting? Have I somehow been the cause of all this? Was there some lesson I should have learned through Alex's cancer that I didn't and it resulted in Ian's cancer? We had two miracles with Alex, were we out of miracles? I remember when the doctor told us that we were at the end of the road for any possible treatments for Ian....I walked down the hall of the hospital toward the window asking God, "You're really going to take him, aren't you? You're really going to take him." After all the treatments, hope and prayers the last 16 months, Ian was going to die.
Eric tried to reassure me that this is not some punishment for something I/we have/haven't done. Many people were touched by Alex's story and many more have been touched by Ian's.....somehow what our family has been through will touch people and somehow, God will be glorified. It's so hard to be comforted by that when the price we pay is the loss of Ian. I miss him every minute of every day....I know that will lesson with time, but I don't know if I want it to. Somehow, that seems disloyal to Ian.
We've spent the last 16 months busy. Busy with chemo treatments, radiation, scanning the internet for any sign of hope for a cure. Then busy caring for Ian, watching over him, helping him, keeping him comfortable, helping him die. Then finally, busy planning his burial and memorial service. We're not busy anymore....what now?
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