It's funny the things that remind me of Ian, like a Senakot commercial (if you've known anyone getting chemo you know how important those little pills can become). Before Ian died we needed to access his laptop and we didn't know the password so we asked him what it was......"constipation"; that's was so Ian. A lot of the time it's a show he liked or one we would watch together like 30 Rock or Arrested Development or The Good Wife - I could yell 'Good Wife' when it came on and he would come scurrying into the room and we would watch it together. The first time I went to Costco after he died, it was seeing the Pub Mix on the shelf. Tonight it was the jar of peanut butter in the cupboard - he liked to eat sliced apples with peanut butter as a late night snack. I will never look at a lemon without thinking of Ian; he had 'invented' his own simple, special lemonade that we would make up for him - the juice of one lemon, 2 packets of Splenda, water and ice. He loved to drink that and now it's just referred to as "Ian's lemonade".
You left us with so much Ian.......you just left us too soon.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Hanging by a rope
I had some unsettling dreams a few days ago. I don't usually remember my dreams
and these were no exception but I woke up in the morning crying; I only
remember having this overwhelming feeling that my heart was breaking.
In my dreams I can fall apart and crumble to the ground or scream.....things I don't do in real life but feel like doing when
missing Ian physically hurts. But this morning was different; I still didn't remember my dream, but I knew Ian was in it - and this morning I woke up smiling. Smiling is good; it's better than crying,
Is it normal to talk to somebody that isn't there? I talk to myself often (which can be a little scary for the folks around me, I know) but lately I find myself talking to Ian. The weird thing is, I can hear him respond. I know exactly what he would say and how he would say it. I can't remember what his voice sounds like anymore, but I can hear his sarcasm and wit.
And how long does a person's scent stay on their clothes? Not some perfume that they might have worn, or the smell of the soap that they used but the smell of them - that scent that was uniquely theirs. The one, that the minute you smell it, your mind relaxes and your body goes a little limp and you think, "that's him, that's my boy." For now, I keep Ian's chemo hat, the one that still smells like him, tucked away in his dresser drawer, trying to protect it from the elements, trying to hold on to that scent just a little longer. I inherited my grandmothers buffet a few years ago, the one that always stood next to her favorite chair and when I opened one of the doors to put my treasures in the cabinets that once held hers, I was overwhelmed by the scent of my grandma....it was her! Decades after she died, a part of her lingered in that old buffet and I smiled at the memory. Maybe I'm hoping for the same thing with that chemo hat, that decades from now his unique scent will somehow survive and I'll open that drawer and be flooded by memories of him.
I read a verse last night that reminded me of God's goodness to us as a family:
"....has God forgotten to be merciful? Has he in anger withheld his compassion? Then I thought, 'to this I will appeal; the years when the Most High stretched out his right hand. I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago. I will consider all your works and meditate on all your mighty deeds.' Your ways, God, are holy. What god is as great as our God? You are the God who performs miracles......." Psalm 77.
It helped remind me of all the ways God has intervened in the lives of my children. He saved Alex from a deadly heart condition and gave him a new heart, He saved Alex from a cancer that most thought he would not survive and even though we didn't get the 'miracle' we hoped and prayed for in Ian's life, He did work a wonder in Ian's heart before he died. I can't forgot those things in the wake of our loss and sorrow.
I can't talk to Ian anymore, I can't see him or hug him but I can continue to preserve his memory and spirit. Eric & I do that by fulfilling his requests to make use of the things he loved, in this case, his violin and the Cintiq drawing system he was given before he died. Things are moving forward as we deal with these. He had wanted us to donate his violin and the Cintiq system we bought for him in the weeks before he died (the Cintiq was the reason for 'Ian's Wish' and the fundraising BBQ). We've found a young boy, Joe, through Ian's violin teacher, Lynne Garrett, who needs a decent violin so he can continue to practice and play. Ian's Great-Aunt Betty had been Ian's patron in his desire to learn to play the violin and had actually paid for his lessons and bought the violin for him, so it was only right that we consulted her before donating it to someone else. Her only request was some sort of plaque to remember Ian. We weren't able to have a plaque placed directly on the violin, as that would have affected the tone, but we did have a plaque placed on his case. We decided to include a quote that we found in some of Ian's papers that he said had a great impact on him. So, Ian's plaque reads:
Is it normal to talk to somebody that isn't there? I talk to myself often (which can be a little scary for the folks around me, I know) but lately I find myself talking to Ian. The weird thing is, I can hear him respond. I know exactly what he would say and how he would say it. I can't remember what his voice sounds like anymore, but I can hear his sarcasm and wit.
And how long does a person's scent stay on their clothes? Not some perfume that they might have worn, or the smell of the soap that they used but the smell of them - that scent that was uniquely theirs. The one, that the minute you smell it, your mind relaxes and your body goes a little limp and you think, "that's him, that's my boy." For now, I keep Ian's chemo hat, the one that still smells like him, tucked away in his dresser drawer, trying to protect it from the elements, trying to hold on to that scent just a little longer. I inherited my grandmothers buffet a few years ago, the one that always stood next to her favorite chair and when I opened one of the doors to put my treasures in the cabinets that once held hers, I was overwhelmed by the scent of my grandma....it was her! Decades after she died, a part of her lingered in that old buffet and I smiled at the memory. Maybe I'm hoping for the same thing with that chemo hat, that decades from now his unique scent will somehow survive and I'll open that drawer and be flooded by memories of him.
I read a verse last night that reminded me of God's goodness to us as a family:
"....has God forgotten to be merciful? Has he in anger withheld his compassion? Then I thought, 'to this I will appeal; the years when the Most High stretched out his right hand. I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago. I will consider all your works and meditate on all your mighty deeds.' Your ways, God, are holy. What god is as great as our God? You are the God who performs miracles......." Psalm 77.
It helped remind me of all the ways God has intervened in the lives of my children. He saved Alex from a deadly heart condition and gave him a new heart, He saved Alex from a cancer that most thought he would not survive and even though we didn't get the 'miracle' we hoped and prayed for in Ian's life, He did work a wonder in Ian's heart before he died. I can't forgot those things in the wake of our loss and sorrow.
I can't talk to Ian anymore, I can't see him or hug him but I can continue to preserve his memory and spirit. Eric & I do that by fulfilling his requests to make use of the things he loved, in this case, his violin and the Cintiq drawing system he was given before he died. Things are moving forward as we deal with these. He had wanted us to donate his violin and the Cintiq system we bought for him in the weeks before he died (the Cintiq was the reason for 'Ian's Wish' and the fundraising BBQ). We've found a young boy, Joe, through Ian's violin teacher, Lynne Garrett, who needs a decent violin so he can continue to practice and play. Ian's Great-Aunt Betty had been Ian's patron in his desire to learn to play the violin and had actually paid for his lessons and bought the violin for him, so it was only right that we consulted her before donating it to someone else. Her only request was some sort of plaque to remember Ian. We weren't able to have a plaque placed directly on the violin, as that would have affected the tone, but we did have a plaque placed on his case. We decided to include a quote that we found in some of Ian's papers that he said had a great impact on him. So, Ian's plaque reads:
"Never try, never fail"
Ian M. Hassett
1992 - 2012
Lynne came to pick up the violin this week. It was sad to see it go, one more thing of Ian's leaving our house, but it felt right; I knew we were doing what Ian would have wanted. Joe, we hope you enjoy this violin for many years to come. And when you're done with it and move on to something nicer, I hope you pass it on, as Ian has done.
We're also in the beginning of donating his Cintiq to Allan Hancock College to use in the classroom. Ian wanted an artist to use the Cintiq to further their artistic work and now many students will be able to benefit. An additional nice touch is that the plan is to use it at a recently installed desk for disabled students - how perfect is that? The art teacher at Hancock suggested that they would like some kind of plaque be installed near the Cintiq in Ian's memory.....we were very touched by their desire to honor our son. One day, we'd like to visit the classroom and see exactly what is possible with the Cintiq system; Ian had only just begun to play with it when he became too ill to use it, so we'd like to see what may have been possible had he lived long enough to create art with it. Ian's sphere of influence continues to grow and ripple out touching more people than we could have ever imagined. That makes saying 'good-bye' to him just a little easier.
How do parents without hope say good-bye to their children? Without the hope of seeing Ian again I couldn't cope; without the hope that God's promises are true, I would never get out bed. I wouldn't be able to act like life is normal again; I would be consumed with missing him. My fears for his safety and well-being would be unrelenting. But God's promises are true and those that believe in Him can not be taken from His hand, so I trust in that promise because my son's eternal future (and my sanity) depends upon it. Sometimes, I feel like my faith is in the middle of a deluge with the storm raging around me and I'm hanging onto a rope, suspended from the sky, and that rope is hope. I hold onto that rope like my life depends on it, only in this case, my faith depends on it. During worship in church this morning, I closed my eyes while we were singing, and I could see Ian hovering behind me, joining us in worship.....part of a larger worship that we can't see.
How do parents without hope say good-bye to their children? Without the hope of seeing Ian again I couldn't cope; without the hope that God's promises are true, I would never get out bed. I wouldn't be able to act like life is normal again; I would be consumed with missing him. My fears for his safety and well-being would be unrelenting. But God's promises are true and those that believe in Him can not be taken from His hand, so I trust in that promise because my son's eternal future (and my sanity) depends upon it. Sometimes, I feel like my faith is in the middle of a deluge with the storm raging around me and I'm hanging onto a rope, suspended from the sky, and that rope is hope. I hold onto that rope like my life depends on it, only in this case, my faith depends on it. During worship in church this morning, I closed my eyes while we were singing, and I could see Ian hovering behind me, joining us in worship.....part of a larger worship that we can't see.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Really God?
My life is a cotton-pickin' soap opera! I'm starting to feel like Job; what's a female version of the name Job? Joby - just call me Joby. The day I had been dreading arrived....Amy left this morning so the house is empty of kiddies. I was counting on work keeping me busy since I would be working full-time for the next two weeks because our Administrator is on vacation and that was working out pretty well until Eric called from San Jose to let me know he was in the ER having tests done because of some back pain that had radiated around to his chest and he was having pain breathing. Ok, deep breath.....wait for test results. Then Amy called to say her off-campus (owned by the school) apartment had been trashed by the previous student and was unliveable so they had no place to live tonight. Begin banging head against the wall....talk thru her options then call the school and raise some good old-fashioned ruckus like only a mother can do when looking out for her child. Begin using all my texting abilities to keep in contact with Eric in the ER and Amy, my homeless daughter in Costa Mesa. Did I mention Alex had to visit Urgent Care on Friday in Taft because he was starting to get sick??????
Last night I started to read Job because I wanted to see what his reaction had been to trials and testing (of which I think I have almost reached 'expert' status) but I think I'll stop. I don't think I want to reach the 'boils' section of the story, I'm afraid of what will happen.
This did give me a chance to reflect on how selfish I have been. I've been thinking so much about how all the kids being gone and Eric being away would affect me - poor Stefanie - empty nest and empty home. But then I realized how hard this must be for Eric; still in the beginning of grieving our son, away from home (he doesn't like to travel and he likes his own bed), not able to be here to say good-bye to Amy and separated from each other. We have relied on each other so heavily since Ian's diagnosis and especially toward the end of his life and after his death that to be separated now is painful. It's surprising how much a simple hug can heal. There's just something comforting holding someone you love; your breathing slows, your head clears and you can breath again.....I think God designed them to help us heal from heartaches and loss. I miss our hugs.
But through all this God continues to be in control. I wander what He's doing, but my priority is to not fail Him in my faithfulness - He has never failed me. I will not let the devil take away my hope. All of Eric's test results have come back negative; it's not his heart (wounded as it may be), his lungs are clear, he doesn't have an aneurysm or a blood clot - it looks like a strained/pulled muscle that is pinching a nerve. Amy's room is being cleaned and scrubbed, the oven fixed and she has a roof over her head tonight thanks to her roommates Aunt AND she handled herself so well - I am so proud of my girl!!
For now, I will plan on pruning my ferns into oblivion, then I will my veg in my chair, watch some Hallmark movies, pet Emmett (who likes me now) and probably eat ice cream - and continue to miss Ian. The Pity Party is over for today.
Last night I started to read Job because I wanted to see what his reaction had been to trials and testing (of which I think I have almost reached 'expert' status) but I think I'll stop. I don't think I want to reach the 'boils' section of the story, I'm afraid of what will happen.
This did give me a chance to reflect on how selfish I have been. I've been thinking so much about how all the kids being gone and Eric being away would affect me - poor Stefanie - empty nest and empty home. But then I realized how hard this must be for Eric; still in the beginning of grieving our son, away from home (he doesn't like to travel and he likes his own bed), not able to be here to say good-bye to Amy and separated from each other. We have relied on each other so heavily since Ian's diagnosis and especially toward the end of his life and after his death that to be separated now is painful. It's surprising how much a simple hug can heal. There's just something comforting holding someone you love; your breathing slows, your head clears and you can breath again.....I think God designed them to help us heal from heartaches and loss. I miss our hugs.
But through all this God continues to be in control. I wander what He's doing, but my priority is to not fail Him in my faithfulness - He has never failed me. I will not let the devil take away my hope. All of Eric's test results have come back negative; it's not his heart (wounded as it may be), his lungs are clear, he doesn't have an aneurysm or a blood clot - it looks like a strained/pulled muscle that is pinching a nerve. Amy's room is being cleaned and scrubbed, the oven fixed and she has a roof over her head tonight thanks to her roommates Aunt AND she handled herself so well - I am so proud of my girl!!
For now, I will plan on pruning my ferns into oblivion, then I will my veg in my chair, watch some Hallmark movies, pet Emmett (who likes me now) and probably eat ice cream - and continue to miss Ian. The Pity Party is over for today.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
I knew I'd hate this......
For several years I've been dreading the 'empty nest'.....I knew it was coming but I was NOT looking forward to it. I have a wonderful husband, who I love very much and there are some aspects of the 'empty nest' that are quite appealing. There are also those parts of it that I know will be difficult and will take a lot of adjustment. For so long I've been somebody's mom (I'll still be their mom, but you know what I mean) and a lot of my identity has been wrapped up in being that mom. First I was the mom of a transplant kid, then I was the mom of three little ones under the age of 4 who didn't get to sleep through the night for six years (my kids were the ones who didn't sleep all night till they were two years old), then I was the mom of a cancer survivor, now I'm the mom who lost her child from cancer. I still have all that history but there are no little ones to take care of, to hug good-night, to go to battle for. Being that 'mama bear' was such a huge part of my life - I'm not quite sure what to do now.
Now, Alex is away at college and flourishing, Ian was suddenly ripped from our lives and gone much sooner than we every expected, and Amy leaves tomorrow to return to college after spending her last summer home. I've done what I set out to do - raise my children to honor God and be productive, independent, loving adults. Maybe I was too good at my job - I worked myself right out of a position. With Eric out of town on business I'm having to jump into this 'empty nest' stuff with both feet - right up to my waist.
Now, Alex is away at college and flourishing, Ian was suddenly ripped from our lives and gone much sooner than we every expected, and Amy leaves tomorrow to return to college after spending her last summer home. I've done what I set out to do - raise my children to honor God and be productive, independent, loving adults. Maybe I was too good at my job - I worked myself right out of a position. With Eric out of town on business I'm having to jump into this 'empty nest' stuff with both feet - right up to my waist.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Overcoming....
I should be doing our taxes since our extension is almost up, but I'd rather share with you some thoughts from today.
How extraordinary that when we start the day with God, when we spend time in worship through song, when we listen to His word preached, when we fellowship with other Christians and spend time together in prayer, God meets us where we are and reveals more of Himself to us. I'm being a bit sarcastic because this should all be a 'no brainer'....no time spent with God is wasted.
I always start the day reading 'Jesus Calling' because on more than one occasion it has served as a personal message from Him to me; today was no exception. "Come to me child when you are weak and weary. Rest snugly in my everlasting arms." Today in church we sang "Overcome" which talks about God ability to overcome everything and that all authority and power are His. It would have been easy to think, "no He didn't, He didn't overcome Ian's cancer." But I realized He DID overcome Ian's doubts in what was possibly the only way He could have, by showing Ian heaven and what lay ahead of him. I've mentioned in Caring Bridge Ian's last conversation before he died. Coming out of a drug-induced stupor, with a voice filled with awe asking, "Is this place for real?" I will forever remember the delight in his voice and the sheer amazement of whatever it was he was seeing. Then ending with, "I need to find Michael" I asked him who Michael was and he replied, "I don't know but I have to find him." Then I told him to go find Michael; those were my last words to my son. I believe Michael was sent by God to show Ian the wonders of the heaven he had heard about and believed in as a young boy; to prove to my stubborn son that it was all true and waiting for him. I think God knew the only way to overcome Ian's doubts was to show him the truth. So God did overcome.
Then tonight during the evening service, I looked across the church and saw Ashley. Our association with Ashley is multi-layered. Ashley had been one of my Starbucks girls while Ian was battling cancer, her mom works with Eric, she had the exact same cancer as Ian but she survived and she helped take care of Ian his last day in the hospital (obviously she wasn't serving him Starbucks, she had started working at Marian as a Nurses Aide) so we obviously had various interactions with Ashley over the last 16 months. I saw her and she gave me hope because she is a living, breathing symbol that someone CAN beat mediastinal NHL. I didn't think, "why her and not Ian" which I guess would have been normal but God just filled me with thanksgiving that it is possible for someone to beat this horrible disease. I thank God her mom didn't have to tell her good-bye.
I can't take the credit for any of this....this is God allowing me to think and understand things I normally wouldn't and rejoice in the parts of my life's tapestry that I can see. I just have to trust Him for the parts that are still fuzzy and unclear.
How extraordinary that when we start the day with God, when we spend time in worship through song, when we listen to His word preached, when we fellowship with other Christians and spend time together in prayer, God meets us where we are and reveals more of Himself to us. I'm being a bit sarcastic because this should all be a 'no brainer'....no time spent with God is wasted.
I always start the day reading 'Jesus Calling' because on more than one occasion it has served as a personal message from Him to me; today was no exception. "Come to me child when you are weak and weary. Rest snugly in my everlasting arms." Today in church we sang "Overcome" which talks about God ability to overcome everything and that all authority and power are His. It would have been easy to think, "no He didn't, He didn't overcome Ian's cancer." But I realized He DID overcome Ian's doubts in what was possibly the only way He could have, by showing Ian heaven and what lay ahead of him. I've mentioned in Caring Bridge Ian's last conversation before he died. Coming out of a drug-induced stupor, with a voice filled with awe asking, "Is this place for real?" I will forever remember the delight in his voice and the sheer amazement of whatever it was he was seeing. Then ending with, "I need to find Michael" I asked him who Michael was and he replied, "I don't know but I have to find him." Then I told him to go find Michael; those were my last words to my son. I believe Michael was sent by God to show Ian the wonders of the heaven he had heard about and believed in as a young boy; to prove to my stubborn son that it was all true and waiting for him. I think God knew the only way to overcome Ian's doubts was to show him the truth. So God did overcome.
Then tonight during the evening service, I looked across the church and saw Ashley. Our association with Ashley is multi-layered. Ashley had been one of my Starbucks girls while Ian was battling cancer, her mom works with Eric, she had the exact same cancer as Ian but she survived and she helped take care of Ian his last day in the hospital (obviously she wasn't serving him Starbucks, she had started working at Marian as a Nurses Aide) so we obviously had various interactions with Ashley over the last 16 months. I saw her and she gave me hope because she is a living, breathing symbol that someone CAN beat mediastinal NHL. I didn't think, "why her and not Ian" which I guess would have been normal but God just filled me with thanksgiving that it is possible for someone to beat this horrible disease. I thank God her mom didn't have to tell her good-bye.
I can't take the credit for any of this....this is God allowing me to think and understand things I normally wouldn't and rejoice in the parts of my life's tapestry that I can see. I just have to trust Him for the parts that are still fuzzy and unclear.
Friday, August 10, 2012
It started...
It started two nights ago, I saw the Blick bag on Ian's bed and the first thing I thought of, was how much we enjoyed shopping there that day. I remembered Ian seeing the store while we were stuck on Santa Monica Blvd (we moved 3 blocks in 30 minutes) and we all said, "heck with this - we might as well park, eat and shop", so we did. Ian was in artist heaven....so many supplies and so few projects to work on. Then we found that little hole-in-the-wall Asian restaurant (Vietnamese, I think?) and in typical Ian style, he had to try it out. I remembered all these things first, before I remembered we were in Santa Monica in the first place for his first appointment with Dr. Pinter-Brown. I remembered the happy memories first, I think that's a step in the right direction.
We had some good things happen the last couple of days - I almost felt normal. I got a call from a publishing company about possibly publishing my Caring Bridge posts. I was so excited, I was practically bouncing off the walls - and I haven't bounced for years! Then suddenly I thought, 'I wish Ian was here to see this' and that was all it took; I lost it. I went from ecstatic to blubbering in 5 second flat. I just keep saying, "I wish Ian was here, I wish Ian was here". And somewhere, in my heart, I could hear him shouting in my ear, "I'm here mom, I'm here". How silly am I? But it helped. To think he might be seeing this, knowing that I'm trying to do my best to honor his request to get it published.....I'm trying sweetie. Mostly, I'm leaving it up to God; He's gonna do, what He's gonna do.
Ian's room is all painted, now we begin to hang his art. But the room is still his, his shirts are hanging in the closet, the shelves are filled with his books and his clothes are still in the dresser; one step at a time.
Still missing you Ian.
We had some good things happen the last couple of days - I almost felt normal. I got a call from a publishing company about possibly publishing my Caring Bridge posts. I was so excited, I was practically bouncing off the walls - and I haven't bounced for years! Then suddenly I thought, 'I wish Ian was here to see this' and that was all it took; I lost it. I went from ecstatic to blubbering in 5 second flat. I just keep saying, "I wish Ian was here, I wish Ian was here". And somewhere, in my heart, I could hear him shouting in my ear, "I'm here mom, I'm here". How silly am I? But it helped. To think he might be seeing this, knowing that I'm trying to do my best to honor his request to get it published.....I'm trying sweetie. Mostly, I'm leaving it up to God; He's gonna do, what He's gonna do.
Ian's room is all painted, now we begin to hang his art. But the room is still his, his shirts are hanging in the closet, the shelves are filled with his books and his clothes are still in the dresser; one step at a time.
Still missing you Ian.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Dear Ian
Dear Ian,
I miss you sweetie, every minute of every day but I keep putting one foot in front of the other and thinking of you while I walk.
We're (I should say Amy and Dad) are almost done painting your room (let's face it sweet boy, your were an extremely talented artist but couldn't paint a room worth beans - probably because it just wasn't that important to you - and I get that). We're getting your room ready to hang your art; our own personal art gallery in our home filled with memories of you and your talent. I'm going to try and clean up that white, thick rug you loved - it's not all white anymore and it's so plush I have no idea how to clean it, but I'll do my best and try to keep the aesthetic you loved. I found your hanging wood piece you did, so we'll have items hanging from the ceiling as well. I may even buy some stands to display your small ceramic pieces. I remember I did this after Alex's cancer too - redecorating stuff. I told dad it was cheaper than paying a therapist.
It was really hard for me the night before Amy started painting your room. I laid on your bed for a long time looking around your room - Emmett even joined me; how surprising is that? So many times, having to do things like taking you off our insurance, notifying Social Security or getting rid of your meds felt like we were trying to erase you from existence, but this time it feels more like transforming what was yours into something that can be enjoyed for a long time to come. It feels more like preserving your memory rather than erasing you.
We're also having a quilt made with your t-shirts, socks (gotta include those socks!) and some of your friends are making squares for it as well. Karen, from dad's work, has volunteered to make it for us and we can't wait to see it finished. I know you weren't much of a quilt guy, but I think you would appreciate the artistry that combines the clothes that you loved and fabric. You always appreciated different forms of art.
I know you hated all the sadness you would leave behind, but there's no way to fight that sweetie.....there's no way not to be sad because you're gone. I try not to think about the last week of your life but when my mind goes there, I remind myself how much pain you were in and how long you had fought it and how ready you were to have it end. I try to think about all the wonderful moments we had the last 16 months of your life - yeah, it would have been better if you hadn't had cancer but the cancer was what brought us closer. The cancer was the reason we got to spend so much time together; it was the reason why we had all those late night talks, why I got to read your text books to you, why I got to tell you 'I love you' every night, why there were so many hugs exchanged, why I would sit next to your bed holding your hand. Cancer was a horrible thing but it brought us closer and I have to be thankful for that; for allowing us to see how much we loved each other before we lost you. I can only be thankful for that.
I love you Ian.
Love Always,
Mom
I miss you sweetie, every minute of every day but I keep putting one foot in front of the other and thinking of you while I walk.
We're (I should say Amy and Dad) are almost done painting your room (let's face it sweet boy, your were an extremely talented artist but couldn't paint a room worth beans - probably because it just wasn't that important to you - and I get that). We're getting your room ready to hang your art; our own personal art gallery in our home filled with memories of you and your talent. I'm going to try and clean up that white, thick rug you loved - it's not all white anymore and it's so plush I have no idea how to clean it, but I'll do my best and try to keep the aesthetic you loved. I found your hanging wood piece you did, so we'll have items hanging from the ceiling as well. I may even buy some stands to display your small ceramic pieces. I remember I did this after Alex's cancer too - redecorating stuff. I told dad it was cheaper than paying a therapist.
It was really hard for me the night before Amy started painting your room. I laid on your bed for a long time looking around your room - Emmett even joined me; how surprising is that? So many times, having to do things like taking you off our insurance, notifying Social Security or getting rid of your meds felt like we were trying to erase you from existence, but this time it feels more like transforming what was yours into something that can be enjoyed for a long time to come. It feels more like preserving your memory rather than erasing you.
We're also having a quilt made with your t-shirts, socks (gotta include those socks!) and some of your friends are making squares for it as well. Karen, from dad's work, has volunteered to make it for us and we can't wait to see it finished. I know you weren't much of a quilt guy, but I think you would appreciate the artistry that combines the clothes that you loved and fabric. You always appreciated different forms of art.
I know you hated all the sadness you would leave behind, but there's no way to fight that sweetie.....there's no way not to be sad because you're gone. I try not to think about the last week of your life but when my mind goes there, I remind myself how much pain you were in and how long you had fought it and how ready you were to have it end. I try to think about all the wonderful moments we had the last 16 months of your life - yeah, it would have been better if you hadn't had cancer but the cancer was what brought us closer. The cancer was the reason we got to spend so much time together; it was the reason why we had all those late night talks, why I got to read your text books to you, why I got to tell you 'I love you' every night, why there were so many hugs exchanged, why I would sit next to your bed holding your hand. Cancer was a horrible thing but it brought us closer and I have to be thankful for that; for allowing us to see how much we loved each other before we lost you. I can only be thankful for that.
I love you Ian.
Love Always,
Mom
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Blueprints
Sunday was helpful. It helped a lot. Our church is blessed with a great pastor/preacher and Sunday he talked about suffering, which is right up my alley. There was one thing he said that really hit home for me. He talked about the fact that we may never know the 'why' of the things that happen in our lives or those that we love, but one day God will show us the blueprint of our lives. He will spread it all out before us and show us the 'why' we suffered this hurt or were afflicted with that disease and we will see His wisdom in it all. We will understand all of it and give Him the glory. I kept thinking of Ian, wanting to believe so badly in things he couldn't see and finally being able to understand the 'why'; why he had to get cancer, why he had to suffer, why nothing we did worked, why he had to die so young.
Then our pastor gave us four things to remember when we suffer (because won't we all suffer in some form or another in this life?):
- Tasks - take it one day at a time, one task at a time.
- Tell - tell people, share with them, don't pull away from people.
- Take - take notes, journal; remember how you deal with the suffering then pay it forward and help others who are going through the same thing.
- Trust - keep trusting God.
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