A Man of Prose and Poems

The clouds have been looming overhead for the last few days gray, dark and stormy. Today the sun has come shining through, and memories of this day and this time of year five years ago are always swirling around in my mind. People who have had significate trauma through the loss of a person and, for me, the loss of a child remember details that at the time seem insignificant to most. I remember the weather and the lack of photos I took leading up to this day and the following days of waiting and watching. I was still learning photography, and taking pictures every day was part of the process of learning, so for me to look back on this time and seeing very few photos seemed strange for me.

I've heard that during the days, weeks, and months leading up to his accident, Evan had reached out to several folks that he had lost touch with or just had things that had been left unspoken. I often wonder if somehow the universe was making way for him to fill the holes he thought were there. I usually live in this space of contentment and regret when I look back on these days leading up to this time. Contentment as his parent that Evan was doing the thing he had worked so hard for and that he was working as a salesforce administrator, coming into his last semester at Sac State and finding his sense of purpose. When I think in those terms, my regret and sadness seem multiplied. He was finally finding the rhythm. So the regret for me is why???

I know I'm five years in, and shouldn't I feel less regret. Unfortunately, the answer to that for me is no. With every promotion, every child born, every announcement, and the significant moments of others, I wonder and ask why? I wondered why in the earlier days of my loss, but now it's become a painful part of the healing and angst of loss. I run into people even now who remember Evan and are quick to share the impact he made with them. Maybe it's their way of finding peace, or they are just being kind, but we're talking five years later, and they still remember and want to share that with me. Their words fill the empty place in my heart that misses Evan and yet it brings a great sadness and returns me to Why?

In all of this, the building of my Faith has been strengthened, and honestly it’s a mystery. In the mystery and depth of Christ, that question goes unanswered. It is not because of anything I can do but because I can't know all the answers. I don't have all the answers, and it keeps me dependent on a God who does. It keeps me open to the possibility that even in the most painful and misunderstood parts of me, He is there to walk with me...carrying me...hold me and to show me that I'm not alone. He brings me peace in the turmoil and if there is anything I can tell you about the last five years is that I know that Jesus has carried me. He brings those people who remember and have good things to say and encourages me to see the impact that Evan had, and with that comes peace, if just for a moment. It makes me smile through my tears as I can tell you I miss Evan, and I know that Alex and John do too.

So as I move into this time of reflection of this significant loss for me, I do so consistently with a clear understanding of the significance of faith and with the questions of my loss placed entirely on the shoulders of Jesus. He carries the load with the strength that I'm unable to maintain.

Grief, Coffee, and the missing of Community

The last month I’ve been busy writing stories for work. It is by far one of the things I enjoy most about the work that I do. Yesterday while working on content for my stories I came across some old photos from many years ago. Old photos have a way of bringing to the forefront those things that have been hovering just below the surface, and today, those feelings came rushing back. It’s hard to express with any understanding of how the pandemic has brought with it the pain of loss and grief but multiplied to the 10th power. I was sharing with a friend recently that one of the difficult things about grief is that nothing is ever the same. Now, of course, that can be said about many things really, and that’s not to diminish how others feel. But I can say that one of the things that I needed was routine after Evan died. I needed to have something that got me up every morning as sometimes sleep was fitful, and my heartbroken.

One of my routines is getting up and going to Peet’s every morning for coffee and to see the carousel. Sometimes I can catch a sunrise or chase the moon as it sets. But Peet’s is the place I could go and oftentimes think about Evan. When I went in for my coffee in the afternoons, he’d sometimes sneak up behind me and say, Hey Mom!. It’s a place I could always find Evan or Alex back in the day, and it is, without a doubt, a memory keeper. It has always been a place that lets me know I am home. For me, it is essential not only for coffee but for my emotional and mental health. In the first few weeks of SIP, I remember going in and being teary as I thought about how they stayed open and how for me, it was a lifeline. Peet’s never closed. When sleep was fleeting, and I was up at 5 am, I’d go and wait for them to open. The first few months of this shutdown were hard for so many reasons, but the fact that something stayed the same was comforting. I know it sounds silly as we are in the middle of a global crisis, but as many are learning, much about this SIP has to do with grief and loss. The pandemic made grief that much more intense, and it continues to feel that way.

Peet’s holds memories of past employees who have moved on to other jobs or cities. It’s a place where I’ve made friends, and it’s a place where community happened every day. It’s something I REALLY miss. I miss the community. I wonder about some of the older folks I met who came to Peet’s for connection. I miss seeing them, and in the missing, my heart longs for Evan and for days that are long gone and fading. Just to write that is heartwrenching. Grief is not always gentle. It can come at you like a freight train or like a gentle breeze, but I can tell you that it’s not made this SIP easy or manageable. Thanks, Peet’s, for providing for this grieving, heartbroken momma.

You are essential to me!