25th Birthday - January 16, 2017

Happy 25th Birthday Josh! It has been a long time since I've written on your blog - the last post was April 2016.

Today was Martin Luther King Jr. Day which meant that I had the day off - very fortuitous as the motivation to sit, concentrate and work was non-existent.

I went to the store near your park hoping to buy a 25th Birthday balloon but no such luck. But as the woman was blowing up the balloons I did choose, and saw me grab a bouquet of red roses, I wondered if she wondered who the balloons/flowers were for, and why the two incongruent balloon messages. She didn't ask and I didn't volunteer.

It was cold and blustery at the park, so after securing your balloons and scattering rose petals, it took a while to get a picture in which the balloons were legible - my fingers were numb when I got back in the car. Once thawed, I sat and wrote my weekly (most times) letter to you....a small section shared below:

I am grateful for your life, Josh, and in a weird way - never thought I would say this - for your death. JOLT - like being hit by lightening bolt....SHOCK - like those pads on chest that shock the heart to beating again. Your death put me on a journey...on a path....to awareness and awakening. Why does it take tragedy or crisis to wake up? Why take tremendous suffering to become a seeker?  

I feel there is something I should be doing with this life but don't know what. And running out of time at 55 years old. What am I supposed to be doing?  Show me.  

After the park, I went to see a movie that he would've wanted to see....Rogue One, the new Star Wars movie which was surprisingly good. Gillian is working in China now (time difference is 13 hours ahead) so when we FaceTimed yesterday, it was already January 16th and she was feeling sad. I mentioned the idea of seeing the movie which she did as well. So if Josh was hanging around us, he saw it twice - at the Tysons Mall in Virginia and in Guangzhou, China.

Throughout the day, I received texts from friends/family as well as from Josh's friends.  It has been almost 8 years and he is still remembered by his friends who are all now mature adults, moving forward in their lives and taking Josh with them. This thought brings much comfort.

Posting this picture on Facebook brought more comments - it still surprises me how connected we can be through social media. Which reminds me of the awful day and how most people found out - it was via Facebook and text messages on phones. By the time school let out mid-afternoon, all of his friends knew - many of them came to our home as soon as they could.

But as connected as we are, and even more so now with Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, imessage, FaceTime, wechat and who know what else is out there or will be invented, why are kids still taking their lives?  Josh had many friend's numbers in his phone - why didn't he or couldn't he reach out?

I will end this post with one quote from a dear friend we knew while living in Australia.  She never knew Josh as we were back in the US when he was born, but she is a mom so knows.

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.

RIP Josh
Love Mom xxxooo

April 18, 2016: 7 Years and 1 Month Later

The last post I wrote was six months ago (October 18, 2015) and before that, three months (July 18, 2015). To not write anything over the holidays, his birthday (Jan. 16) or his death anniversary (March 18) would've been unthinkable two years ago.  Similarly, I'd never thought that weekly visits to the park (his gravesite) would cease but they have.

It has been a full seven years since Josh left us and while he remains frozen in time as a 17-year old teenage boy, I continue on the conveyer belt of life which has a way of filling the gaping hole of loss, and softening the sharp, ragged edges which once cut incessantly.

And while his absence is always with me, it is more like a shadow rather than an "in-your-face" punch.

So in my experience, the adage is true: "Time heals."

I am careful to say "in my experience" because I can only speak for myself. Everyone's experience is uniquely theirs, not subject to critique or judgement.

But sadness hovers, especially when twice today, I've been asked if my contact information could be given to newly grieving moms. "Yes, of course," I say, "along with the URL of this blog."

And my heart breaks for them.

August 18, 2014 - 5 Years and 5 Month Later: Quote from "The Namesake"

I've recently finished Jhumpa Lahiri's poignant novel: The Namesake, and want to quote from the end (not to worry; there are no spoilers).

In so many ways, his family's life feels like a string of accidents, unforeseen, unintended, one incident begetting another……And yet these events have formed Golgol, shaped him, determined who he is.  They were things for which it was impossible to prepare but which one spent a lifetime looking back at, trying to accept, interpret, comprehend.  Things that should never have happened, that seemed out of place and wrong, these were what prevailed, what endured, in the end.

EXACTLY….this describes my life with Josh's death…actions and consequences…one thing led to another and before we knew it, he was gone.

An unexpected, tragic death - especially of a child - has no comparison in terms of the ginormous, heavy imprint on a mother's life, psyche and being.  Especially when it never should have happened.

And yes, I feel the compassionate, omniscient narrator is correct in articulating that my whole life was, is and will be about accepting, interpreting and comprehending what happened.  I will also add "process" and "integrate" to the list.  A lifelong endeavor that has no blueprint, no instruction manual, no "How to Deal With the Death of Your Child For Dummies" - the lonely journey begins the millisecond the brain comprehends the unthinkable.

I envision this journey like floating on a river.  "Pre-Josh", this river was fairly calm with some turbulence due to what was going on with him at the time (see post for details) but certainly nothing unmanageable or out-of-control.   But when I realized that our beloved Josh was gone for good, it felt like out of nowhere, an immense, terrifying waterfall was in front and down was the only way I could go.

The fall could kill.  Surviving is a feat.

Then comes the realization that one has forever left the calm river with manageable turbulence for a completely different route, this grief journey - full of angry, churning white water, huge boulders, terrific undercurrents that alternately suck you under and let you go and tributaries which spit you out in whirlpools called Unbelief, Guilt, Regret, Sorrow, Shame and Anger - pools that spin you around in one place for seemingly forever before propelling your battered body to another dizzying vortex.

It is a disorienting, frightening journey that occurs in the depths of one's soul and is very difficult to understand, much less describe to others.  This is what makes the journey a lonely one.

But now, five years later, my journey is on calmer waters and I've occasionally found myself in the pools of Acceptance and Peace.  Visits here do not last but at least I've found them.  For a long time, I questioned their existence or if I would ever experience them.

So to get back to the quote, the narrator says that in the end, the event that was the mistake or accident or thing that should never have happened becomes that which prevails and endures.

Prevails and endures for the departed and those left behind.

RIP Josh….

June 18, 2014 - Five Years and 3 Months Later

Since Josh's death, I've become an avid journaler.  An important part of my self-care is to have a place (my journal) to absorb my feelings - from the mundane to the intense.  These emotions are like colors which range the gamut from subtle, muted and ever-present grey, which to me is the color of grief, to bold, neon, in-your-face and overwhelming.

Sometimes, it helps to have an open-ended question to start a journal entry such as this recent one: Where am I on this grief journey?   I wanted to share the answer on this post.

Well, I am here, meaning still alive.  Tim and I are still together which is worth noting as my suicide survivor books say that a higher than average percent of marriages do not survive the death of a child.   Pictures of Josh still fill our home.  I have no desire to move as memories of various events in our home (except for that awful day) are not painful.  The dogwood sapling planted in his memory in our front yard is growing - strong and healthy.

I think about Josh every day.  It is strange how the deceased occupies the mind more than the living.  I would like to think his soul, or essence or energy survived death and is on the "other side," not bound by space and time.  I hope he is at peace - no longer suffering, although my life-after-death themed books tell that unresolved issues follow our loved ones- i.e. suicide will not make them disappear.

If his actions have resulted in a karmic debt, perhaps we are helping to repay through the good work done in his name (The Josh Anderson Foundation).

This grief journey is greatly influenced by my reading and in more recent months, by Josh as I believe he led me to this book last December:  My Son and the Afterlife: Conversations From the Otherside by Elisa Medhus, MD.  And books beget books as evidenced by what I've read since the beginning of the year (see reading blog for my thoughts on these books):

• Many Lives, Many Masters: The True Story of a Prominent Psychiatrist, His Young Patient and the Past-Life Therapy That Changed Both Their Lives by Brian Weiss, MD
• Life After Life by Kate Atkinson
• Bridges to Heaven: True Stories of Loved Ones on the Other Side by Sue Frederick
• On Life After Death by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
• Life After Death: The Burden of Proof by Deepak Chopra
• The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success by Deepak Chopra
• Reinventing the Body, Resurrecting the Soul by Deepak Chopra
• Life After Life: The 25th Anniversary of the Classic Bestseller by Raymond Moody, MD
• Kripalu Yoga: A Guide to Practice On and Off the Mat by Richard Faulds
• The Untethered Soul: The Journey Beyond Yourself by Michael Singer
• Warrior Pose: How Yoga (Literally) Saved My Life by Brad Willis aka Bhava Ram
• Power of the Soul: Inside Wisdom for an Outside World by John Holland

Upon reflection, my daughter Lauren, has also shaped this journey.  Since Josh's death, she has been diagnosed with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) which manifests itself as anxiety and depression.  Thankfully, she is very open about her struggles and actively pursues healing and recovery.  She has found excellent therapists and convinced of its benefits to mind and body, has become a yoga practitioner and teacher.   She has encouraged me to attend classes at a nearby yoga studio and has wanted me to join her at Tara Brach's weekly meditation classes in Bethesda, MD.

At first, I was skeptical and reluctant but am now a full-blown believer.  I suppose it started when I accompanied her to the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health in April where we attended the Yoga In Schools Symposium.  To be in the midst of so many like-minded people dedicated to this ancient healing practice and wanting to bring it into schools to benefit our youth was inspiring.   There is a palatable aura and energy within that place that seeped into my being and has remained ever since.

Because of these influences, my grief journey has turned a significant corner.

• I take 2 -3 yoga classes a week. On the other days, I practice yoga/meditation on my own.  
• I've taken a meditation class that met once a week for 8 weeks
• I've signed up for a 200 hour yoga teacher training to begin in the fall
• I am much more aware of my breathing during the day.  Taking deeper inhales and exhales, I can't believe how much this small change has helped manage stress during a busy work day. 
• When I wake up in the middle of the night worrying about something, I now know these thoughts are just electrical impulses, nothing more.  With practice, I can release and watch them evaporate like a puff of smoke dissipating in the air and then go back to sleep. 

In retrospect, I see clearly how clueless I was "pre-Josh"….in my own world, detached from the pure consciousness (soul) within.   (And this is despite many years of involvement in a fundamental Christian church which is a whole other story for another time or another blog).  Then after his death, I was consumed with grief, sorrow, pain and guilt, covering my mind, heart and soul like a blanket of fog - thick, dense, grey, impenetrable.

But over the past several months, the fog has slowly lifted.  Because of my reading and daily yoga/meditation practice, I feel awakened and enlightened, knowing I've just started on a lifelong journey of spiritual discovery and experience.

So now I ponder this question:  If Josh had not died, would I be on this path?

Probably not and this is sad to me.   Why did it have to take such a profoundly tragic event to wake me up?  To get my attention?  To make me into a seeker of timeless spiritual truths?  To open my mind to the fact there is much more than this physical world?  

4 Years and 2 Months - Chronos vs. Kairos Time

My 5th Mother's Day, sans Josh, has passed.  I didn't expect to feel sad the day before but sure enough, on the way to teach my morning cycle class, I started thinking about Josh and next thing I knew, big fat tears were rolling down my cheeks.  I only had a few stoplights to get myself together and in the right frame of mind to lead an energetic workout.

Grief is like that sometimes: a spigot that suddenly turns on and with much effort, can be turned off.

I have been thinking a lot about the concept of time after reading a profound passage in Styron's haunting novel, Sophie's Choice where the protagonist Stingo quotes George Steiner, an essayist who wrote about the Holocaust and more specifically, about the disconnect between the horrors faced in German concentration camps and normal life experienced by millions of others, within the same timeframe - see link for actual essay.

Precisely at the same hour in which Mehring and Langner were being done to death, the overwhelming plurality of human beings, two miles away on the Polish farms, five thousand miles away in New York, were sleeping or eating or going to a film or making love or worrying about the dentist.  This is where my imagination balks. The two orders of simultaneous experience are so different, so irreconcilable to any common norm of human values, their coexistence is so hideous a paradox, Treblinka is both because some men have built it and almost all other men let it be - that I puzzle over time.  Are there, as science fiction and Gnostic speculation imply, different species of time in the same world, 'good time' and enveloping folds of inhuman time in which men fall into the slow hands of the living damnation?

In the margins I wrote: Different species of time in the same world?  Yes!  Grief time vs. normal time. 

I felt this disassociation the split second my eyes saw death and my heart, soul and psyche comprehended our new reality.  I began living in two genres of time.  In my world, the sun stopped, echoing my zombie-like feelings and exemplified the un-natural state of life.  Externally, the sun and moon exchanged places, as per usual.  This is what is hard - the "as per usual" piece.   It was incomprehensible that everything continued as normal: neighbors still walked their dogs, kids got on the school bus, people went to work, shopping, to the gym.  How can you act as if nothing has happened? I wanted to shout.

In doing some research, I found this helpful article: How Long is This Grieving Going to Last? by Elizabeth Harper Neeld on Legacy.com.  In it she talks about two kinds of time:

Chronos time- chronological time.  "Measured by a calendar.  Chronos time is counted in days, weeks, months, years.  Chronos time describes a continuum of past, present, and future."

Kairos time - "the time within which personal life moves forward.  Kairos is an ordered but unmeasured kind of time outside of space-time."

She says that the integration of our grief takes place in kairos time, not chronos time so that "the mere passing of days and weeks and months and years does not within itself bring integration of our loss."  Furthermore Neeld postulates that this kairos time is longer than what non-grievers will think.

So true!  This thinking is exposed with unhelpful comments such as "It's been a year - you should be feeling better by now" or "give it a few months and you will feel better."

Another google search brought up this blog post, The One Greek Word You Ought to Know by J.R.Briggs.   These quotes bring more clarity to these Greek descriptions of time:

Chronos is quantitative minutes. Kairos is qualitative moments. 

Kairos is pregnant time, the time of possibility – moments in our day, our week, our month, our year or our lifetime that define us. It is a crossroads. It has the ripe opportunity to make you bitter or better. It is a teachable moment. It is the right or opportune moment. They are rarely neutral and always leave an impact on us.

and:

Kairos moments are a string of moments that possess possibility – clarity brought on often by pain, uncertainty or crisis. They force us to be absolutely present: to ourselves, to God and to the experience of reality that we’re facing.

and the bottom line:

As human beings, all of our growth happens in kairos moments.

Personal reflections from my journal:

Chronos time:  Four years and two months.

Kairos time:  this is what my journal and this blog have chronicled.  Or better said, this blog, my reading blog, my journal are all critical to my kairos time - tools to help me integrate my loss.  Chronos time just marks points of kairos time, like mileposts on a road - a very long road - a lifetime road, what I have called My Grief Journey. 

Intuitively, I know this journey is not bound by physical time (chronos) but is internal, personal, subjective.  There will be epiphanies, setbacks, ruts, obstacles, wrong turns, U-turns, hairpin turns, bumps, potholes, hills, valleys and maybe mountain tops.

I will end this post with Neeld's thought-provoking questions and uplifting conclusion:

"What insights have I had? What have I realized? What meaning am I making of this terrible loss?"

The good news is that healthy grieving does result, at the time right for each of us, an experience of integration. We take stock and say: I am changed by our loss, and I have changed my live as a result of my loss. And we are not shriveled permanently like a dry stick because of our loss. We can feel alive again…probably wiser, maybe quieter, certainly full of gratitude and a desire to contribute from what we have been through. 

And all in good time. All in good kairos time.

Guilt and Regret - April 28, 2013

This is an example of how reading good literature makes me face difficult thoughts and feelings that might otherwise be unexplored.

I have been slowly making my way through Sophie's Choice by William Styron.  Slowly because of the number of new words to look up, define and write in my personal lexicon and also, to savor the gorgeous prose, just like one would deliberately slow down to enjoy a delicious dessert.

Sophie, the hauntingly beautiful protagonist is consumed by guilt.  The writer-narrator Stingo is witness and describes it as:

Guilt. Hateful guilt. Guilt, corrosive as brine.  Like typhoid, one can harbor for a lifetime the toxin of guilt. 

In another part, Stingo personifies his lust in a way that puts the reader in the body of a virile twenty-two year old male virgin, completely obsessed with sex.

Combining these two ideas made me think of how I would personify my feelings, namely Guilt and Regret.   This is what I wrote in my journal:

Guilt and Regret - like two peas in a pod; siamese twins, joined at the hip.  When one shows up, the other comes by default.  I wonder if there will be any point in my grief journey when Guilt will part for good, taking up residence with another poor soul; when I will be able to say clearly and soberly that I did all that I knew to do, that Josh did this to himself and therefore, I am not at fault?  I wonder.

There are moments now when these absolving thoughts float through my head but always, either softly in the background, or loudly in my ears, Guilt says, "No!  You should've known, seeing it coming, been on your guard, questioned him, talked to him......prevented his death."

Then Regret chimes in with her soliloquy which repeats like a broken record, unable to get out of the verbal rut: "what if...if only... would've....could've...should've..."

I endure their mental flogging as just punishment for not being a good mother, for although I tried to be,  I was not attentive enough, not what he needed me to be and now my Josh is dead - ergo, my fault.

I've come to accept Guilt and Regret's tenacious hold for it is the price of motherhood.  Moms protect.  Moms guard.  Moms are willing to die in order to save their children.  Moms are not supposed to outlive their precious offspring.  Good moms do not have a child who takes their own life.

So deep down, I believe Guilt and Regret words:

I should've been different.
I should've been better.
I should've seen something - a sign - even when no one else did.
I should've known and so been able to prevent his death.

And what it really comes down to is this most painful thought:

If Josh had a different mom, maybe he would be alive.

4 Years Later - March 18, 2013

Four years ago, Josh decided to leave us.  I still ask "why?" but am no closer to knowing the answer than 48 months ago.

The day started with a wintry mix so by 10:30am there was a thin layer of snow on the trees and on the ground which was actually quite pretty.  But by mid-day the snow had turned to rain, and thick, grey, gloomy clouds had settled over us - pretty apropos for the sad day that it was.

I have gone back over the previous "anniversary" posts (The day after burial, 1 year later, 2 years later, 3 years later) and still find it hard to believe that this tragedy happened to us. It remains difficult to comprehend, reconcile, absorb and digest.  I don't deny that it happened but the disbelief is still strong.

I have put all our pictures of Josh on a digital frame which usually sits in the family room, but has been moved to the kitchen counter this weekend.  While I wait for the tea kettle to boil, I watch the slideshow of his life and just shake my head and think for the umpteenth time: "why Josh why?"  This is immediately followed by self-recriminating thoughts of how I did not give him what he needed - to live or to want to live.  This well-rehersed pattern of thought is not part of my intellect, (for I can reason my way out of guilt), but lies in my heart - the seat of emotion.  It is hard to reason with a feeling: especially one as strong as a mother's guilt.

There are a couple of things that make this day bearable.  One: we had our 4th annual Running to Remember Josh on Saturday which was a great success (a post will be coming shortly). And two: all the friends who have gotten in touch via the various way we communicate these days (text, email, e-card, face book) to say they are thinking of us and most importantly, remembering our beloved Josh.

Josh changed our life when he came into the world on January 16, 1992

This was our last family photo taken at Thanksgiving 2008

This shirt was created in memory of Josh in the first year and graces one of his friend's room in a frat house

My friend, Rox, wrote this while in Hawaii on a recent trip

The front of this year's half-marathon running shirt...

....and the back

Runners and supporters before the start 

On Sunday, Rox put up this wind chime on Josh's tree...

....and adorned his final resting place with rose petals

I went today - you can see the snow 

RIP Josh - loved and missed more than ever.

Poem: "Shadows" by D. H. Lawrence

It continues to be my regular practice to visit Josh on Saturday's, clean his stone marker, untangle the chimes on his tree and write a weekly letter to him.  A newly added ritual is to stop at a local coffee shop and spend some undistracted time reading.  It was here, armed with a lite caramel latte, amidst a lively morning weekend crowd, that unexpectedly, tears began to fall as this poignant section of Lawrence's poem ploughed deep into my fragile, recovering soul.  (The edits in parenthesis are mine.)

And if, in the changing phases of (a mother's) life
I fall in sickness and in misery
my wrists seem broken and my heart seems dead
and strength is gone, and my life
is only the leavings of a life: 

and still, among it all, snatches of lovely oblivion,
and snatches of renewal
odd, wintry flowers upon the withered stem,
yet new, strange flowers
such as my life has not brought forth before,
new blossoms of me -  

then I must know that still
I am in the hands of an unknown God,
he is breaking me down to his oblivion
to send me forth on a new morning,
a new (woman).

The "changing phase" of my life has dealt what could be an unrecoverable blow - the suicide death of a beloved seventeen-year old son.  Indeed the aftermath, as aptly described by the poet, is shattered bones, a dead heart and deep fatigue from shouldering such grief, guilt and remorse, leaving only a mere shadow or "leavings" of the former naive life.

On the outside, I may look the same as the "pre-Josh" days but internally, nothing is the same.  I am not the same person; I am irrevocably changed.  Before reading this poem, I thought the difference was because of the Josh-shaped vacuum in my heart.  I have also described it as an internal amputation; the instant I found him, and my brain registered what happened, a piece of me was brutally hacked off.  So the focus was on what I didn't have, what was missing, what was lost and gone - never to return.

These words made me realize and acknowledge that even in the midst of death and destruction, loss and misery, the"withered stem" can give birth to "odd, strange, wintry flowers" that have never been seen before.  And that these are new bits or "blossoms"of me.  Writing very openly on a public blog is a new blossom.  Reading new genres and authors over the past 3+ years - also new blossoms.  The fact that I ran a half-marathon a year later to help raise money for the foundation in Josh's name (I despise running) is a big blossom.  My perspective on life is different; another new blossom.

The poet says this is evidence of the tender work of God.  And that despite it all, I am still in the palm of His hand.  I believe it.  This realization filled me with such solace that tears flowed.

October 18, 2012 - 3 Years and 7 Months Later

Once again, another month has gone by and it appears that my blog posts will be relegated to the frequency of these anniversaries.   There are times that I sit down to write, but nothing comes to mind.  I don't find it appropriate to share about mundane daily activities that fill my days.  For example, outside of my full-time job and working out several times a week, what is the significance of my sudden interest in WWI and WWII after reading the two tomes from Ken Follett: Fall of Giants and Winter of the World, then watching HBO's Band of Brothers and now reading the book from Stephen Ambrose?

And what does it matter that I am so disappointed in the Red Sox that I stopped paying attention in August; was hoping the Nationals would move on in the playoffs so baseball would hold some interest; wish the Patriots would play 60 minutes of football; am loving a new show (for me), The Voice; have lost interest in Glee and continue to like Homeland, The Good Wife and Blue Bloods?

Is this a sign that life has somewhat normalized for me?  That while I think about Josh every day, it is more in the vein of my other three kids, which means that his death is no longer front and center?  Could it be that I am "moving on"?  And if so, how do I feel about this?  The cursor keeps blinking while pondering.  I am not sure, so make a note-to-self; write about this in my next journal entry.  Whether I do or not, who knows, but at least the question is in my conscious.

In the meantime, Lauren's work with the Josh Anderson Foundation (JAF) is picking up.  We co-sponsored the powerful Active Mind's Send Silence Packing display on the University of Virginia's lawn" on October 4th.  Click here to see their blog post of the event.

Lauren had an opportunity to share with other students about that fateful day, when as a 4th year student at UVA, she learned of the devastating news that would change her life and work.  Click here to see the video.

We continue to make in-roads at local high schools and are being asked to fund a number of programs that will reach teens, our foundation's target audience; so much so, that we are considering an "emergency" bar fundraiser this fall so that we have enough money to last until the annual half/full marathon run fundraiser in March, 2013.   A good problem to have.

All in memory of Josh - whom we love and miss more than ever.