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."