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:

"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.