What I know......

What began as a hunt for carbon paper (I know some folks won't have any idea what that is but I remember it fondly) in Ian's room yielded much better results - papers Ian had written. I found this in one of Ian's comp books, it's so Ian:
    "I like playing Baroque chamber music really loud while driving.
     I like seeing what people looked like as children.
     I like touchscreen phones that vibrate when you touch them.
     I like names that have a 'V' in them.
     I like going to sleep while listening to the rain hit the roof.
     I like Spanish accents
     I like the sound of an orchestra getting in tune
     I like driving when there's lots of stuff in the car so it slides around when I make a turn.
     I like spinning around underneath a ceiling fan and looking up.
     I like social experiments.
     I like it when everyone shares their dishes at a restaurant.
     I like laying on the carpet right after it's been vacuumed.
     I like it when people eat out of their friend's refrigerators without asking
     I like very small squeaking noises."

I also found a story Ian had written about our cross-country trip describing something I had no memory of.  Then there were the poems that he wrote....remembrances of his wit and glimpses into what was important to him.  All of them allowing me to know Ian a little bit better.

I started thinking about what I 'know' because things I thought I knew have changed.  Things that used to bring me comfort leave me feeling empty, things that were familiar are now foreign.  There a lot of things I don't know - why Ian had to die so young, why he'll never get to do the things he dreamed of doing (like going away to college), why our children have had to suffer so much from medical problems, why nothing we tried worked to save Ian, why God did this. 

So what do I know:
I know that God is sovereign.
I know that He is in control of all things, including Ian's death.
I know this hurts.
I know this will take a long time to heal.
I know that God has made promises I can cling to. 
I know that He says He loves me. 
I know that this will change me, hopefully for the better.
I know I can choose whether I allow this to make me bitter or better. 
I know my life will be different from now on.
I know I will miss Ian for the rest of my life.
I know I will see Ian again.

Ponderings from an untrained mind

This 'trust' thing is hard.  It's easy to trust someone who is leading you down a smooth, level path framed with bright flowers and the proverbial birds are signing.  It's much harder to trust someone who is leading you over a rocky path with twists and turns, where logs continually trip you up; there are no flowers, only small glimpses of color peaking through the gravel and the birds are no where to be seen - all you hear is deafening silence. You wonder what lesson is there to be learned in all this sadness, all this loss? 

Then you start to ask yourself, "If I had learned this lesson (whatever it is) earlier, would my son still be alive?"  All of the trials we've been through before, was I too stubborn to understand what God was trying to teach me?  If I had paid more attention then, would it have saved my son? ~ did my sinfulness somehow cause God to resort to one more trial?  This one so horrendous, so devastating that I had no choice but to pay careful attention to what He was trying to teach me?  If I had been a better Christian, would Ian still be alive?

I spend most of my time trying to make sense out of something senseless.  You want answers but there aren't any.  My mind is at war constantly - how do I fit all the pieces that I have believed and known about God up until now to fit into a picture that is recognizable?  It was always very easy for me to picture God as my loving, heavenly Father because I have such a wonderful example in my own dad.  My dad listened to the rantings of a hormonal 13 year old, he was always ready with a hug and an encouraging word, he was fair but kind and he has never stopped loving me - that's my impression of a father and I envisioned God to be the same kind of father.  But my dad would never purposely do something to hurt me, to cause me so much pain - he would never tear my own son away from me; God did.  Now how do I reconcile the God who would take my son with the God who loved me enough to sacrifice His own son for me?  My mind becomes cloudy trying to formulate the answer.  In the midst of my pondering, God surrounds me with subtle messages - from songs on the radio, from books, from scripture ......all pointing to reminders that He loves me, to cry out to Him in my sorrow, to cling to His promises.  Maybe there are no answers, there is only the journey.

Receipt memories

One of the things that doesn't get done when your son is battling cancer is your checkbook or your taxes.  I am now working to rectify that and entering all of our checks/debit receipts for 2011 into our Quicken account.  The unexpected effect of that is seeing receipts from the last 16 months of Ian's life and re-living every one of them.  I'm already up to September 2011 and I came across a receipt from Blick Art Supply ~ we stopped there after our first meeting with Dr. Pinter-Brown at UCLA.  I remember the whole trip in my head and I find myself saving the receipt instead of throwing it away.  Each receipt is a memory - a breakfast before chemo, a dinner out; things we all do everyday and things I'll never do with Ian again.  Who would have thought that balancing your checkbook could be so painful.


So what memories were brought to mind while balancing October 2011???  Ian's white, super-plush throw rug.  He wanted a white rug for his room.  We had torn up the carpet and replaced it with wood flooring  a few months before and he thought a white rug would look really cool in his room.  Never mind that it would get dirty; we got him one.  It must have been 2 inches high and so terribly soft - you should have seen the grin on his face when we brought it home.  Who cares that every time I tried to vacuum it, my vacuum would start overheating and you could smell burning rubber - he loved the rug and it was worth it (it cost almost as much to clean it as it cost to buy it!)

Then, there were the grey suede shoes.  I remember so clearly sitting with him on the couch and him asking if he could get some nice dress shoes.  What am I goin' say?  He looked online for days.  Most of the ones he found were outrageously expensive (the boy had expensive taste) and he would show me all of them - I loved that part.  'Hey mom, what do you think of these?' - how I wish I could hear him say that just one more time.  He finally found some really cool, grey suede, pointy shoes with white soles (what is it with this boy and white?).  So we ordered them last October and they were exactly what he wanted and they looked so modern and cool; they looked like Ian.  He wore them to Hancock one night and told me that he was walking by some girls in the quad when they suddenly stopped their talking while he walked by.  He had gotten a few feet away when he heard one of them whisper, "Did you see those shoes?".  Ian was soooo stoked!

I was actually looking forward to balancing November.  What I saw were lots of receipts for food and drugs; lots and lots of drugs.  December brought better memories - our last Christmas dinner as a family.  Ian and I had sat one night and planned out a family Christmas Day dinner, something new for our family.  We usually did most of our big family celebrations Christmas Eve and had a quiet day with just the five of us at home Christmas day.  I would make a special breakfast for us but the rest of day was spent relaxing.  Ian wanted to do something different that year - he wanted a  big family dinner on Christmas Day; grandparents, uncle Mike and great-aunts Betty & LaVerne too - everybody - so that's what we did.  We tried all new receipes, some turned out great, others not so much but it was wonderful.  I also found the receipt for Holloway's Christmas Tree Farm - the last time we would all be together to pick out a tree.  These were better, bittersweet memories.

Ian at graduation June 2010

This month, the 13th hit me harder for some reason.  I've had a difficult week, needing to take our oldest son, Alex, in to see Dr. DiCarlo for testing because of some high blood cell counts we've recently discovered.  Taking Alex in for a bone marrow biopsy on the 13th, was especially ironic.  Then today, blessings to help heal my soul.  Ian's former art teacher asked if we would consider having a show of  Ian's art at the Foxworthy Gallery next spring - another wonderful remembrance of Ian to look forward to.  Then tonight I got an email from a friend of Ian's; she had found some pictures of Ian and thought we might like them - she was mistaken - we LOVED them.  One of the pictures was of Ian at his high school graduation - this is our only picture of Ian that day.  After the graduates walked off the field, we were supposed to meet with Ian so we could take pictures together as a family but he took off.  He was in his 'I hate my parents' phase and he didn't want to be with us so he left for a friends party instead.  I was so embarrassed, angry and hurt that day - it brought home just how strained things had become between us.  I always regretted that we wouldn't have any pictures of that day with Ian but I can throw those regrets away now - thanks Gabby!

Then Gabby gave me an even more wonderful gift - relating a conversation she had with Ian shortly before he died:

"I also wanted to tell you something Ian said to me and Heather when we visited Ian at your home in June. You had just found the chapstick that he had been looking for and when you left the room he told me and Heather "One of the good things about all of this, is that I got to get really close with my mom." I had been wanting to tell you about that conversation but I really hadn't had the chance to yet."

 What a wonderful way to end the day - thank you Lord for using Gabby to bless my soul.

Do's & Don'ts

Right now, I think this part of losing Ian is the hardest.  The missing him is agonizing and the saddness can be overwhelming and at times paralyzing.  Fighting the cancer was a constant emotional 'wild ride' but at least then we had a goal, we had a mission, we had a purpose and we had Ian; I've lost all that.  My goal now is just to get through the day.  Some things make it easier and some things make me think 'really?' as I try to reach my goal. So I thought I would compile a list of, what I hope will be helpful, Do's and Don'ts for what helps someone grieving the loss of a child ~ my own personal observasions so take them with a grain of salt.

Someone loses a child and you don't know what to say - you want to be supportive and helpful and you want to avoid putting your foot in your mouth and possibly making it worse (but really, how much worse can you make it - they've already lost their child; they're already experiencing what will probably be the greatest pain in their lives).

DO share stories of Ian with me - I love to hear them.  Most of them are humorous and may be stories I haven't heard or have forgotten.  Mostly, they help me know that you have not forgotten him and that's the greatest gift you can give me.

DON'T tell me God needed another angel.  I could be mistaken, but I think it's just theologically wrong - angels are created beings just like we are and we don't transform into angels when we die; God already has angels, thinking that God 'needed' another angel doesn't help me.

DO understand that I'm going to cry and I can't help it.  Just be patient with me while I try and regain my composure.  It may have been something you said, but don't feel bad - everything makes me cry.  You don't need to say some magical words to try and comfort me, just a pat on the back is fine.

DON'T talk to me about the 'joy of the Lord'; joy is the last thing I'm feeling right now.  I'm doing good just functioning, joy is not in my DNA right now.  I know it will come later, when the pain has decreased but right now, hearing people tell me I need to experience joy is the same as telling me to climb Mt. Everest.  I am fighting just to find God's peace in all this and that peace is enough for now.


There is a war going on and peace is the prize.  I fight against my own fears and worries trying desperately to trust God in what has happened and where this journey will lead me.  I have silent conversations with God:
     "Why are you doing this?  Haven't we gone thru enough?  Haven't we endured enough?  You've taken my beloved son, isn't that enough?"
     "This is about trusting Me.  I loved you enough to sacrifice my own son for you..... just trust Me"

And when I start to worry and am anxious about my other kids, I think "but I'm not there with them, I have to keep them safe and healthy."  I start to see a pattern - me...me...me.  I'm reminded of my own pride because I hear God respond, "But I am here with them......trust me."

So I will continue to fight this internal battle but always with the help and support of my friends and family and those who love us.  And if you happened to see yourself in any of the "Don'ts" please remember that I know that every word spoken to me has been from a place of love and support and that is how I have taken them.  And Lord knows, I have inserted my foot into my mouth (usually up to my knee) in my inept attempts to 'say the right thing' when I had no idea what to say....we're all in this together and it's a learning curve for all of us.  Thanks for caring enough to make the journey with me.