Triggered Memories - February 10, 2010

Memories of Josh are triggered by various things. For example, walking into an American Eagle shop with my daughter the other day, and looking at the various items for boys, brought a lump to my throat. I couldn't get out fast enough.

We live in the Washington DC area and are being bombarded with snow. "Snowmageddon" is what they are calling it. Kids have been and will continue to be home from school for days. "You know who would've like all this snow and no school," I said to my husband the other night. Of course, I meant Josh. He was not particularly fond of school, except for the social aspect of it and would've liked having all of these snow days. Boy, he's really missing out, I say to myself while trying not to think of where his physical body lies.

We have two dogs, Buddy and Benji, who had a special relationship with our boy. The other night, while Tim and I were watching TV, they were on each end of the couch with their heads laying comfortably on the armrests. We had to get a picture because it reminded us of when Josh and Gillian were little and did the very same thing. I have posted the pictures below.





What I feel now is a dull ache and an underlying, perpetual sadness. Josh's death is not so much in the forefront of my mind but resides within the second or third layer of conscious thought. What was once a raw, open wound feels scabbed over, but still sore and vulnerable. I suppose this is the mind and heart's way of coping and trying to move forward.

Sometimes, though, while getting a cup of tea before sitting back down at my computer for work, it hits me. How could he be gone? Why did he do this? Why couldn't he have survived that dark night? Why didn't I do or say more? How could we not have known he was contemplating suicide? And I am right back to feeling the guilt, sorrow and pain - over 10 months later.

But then I realize that nothing I do or say can change what has happened. No amount of tears will bring our beloved Josh back. It is a tragic event that has occurred within our family and we have to find a way to cope, integrating it into the fabric of our lives and move on. One step at time. One day at a time. Helped by the love, support and prayers of extended family and friends.

God Bless.

A Sign From iPhoto?

Gillian has been coming home on the weekends from college to earn a bit of money working as a youth league basketball referee/scorekeeper. We like having her home as the house is too quiet otherwise. Last night, I was at my desk working when she came downstairs saying in a somewhat strained voice, "Mom, you have to look at this." My stomach dropped a bit, not knowing what I would see. Another note from Josh? A picture that I haven't seen? Another reminder of our painful loss?

What she showed me took my breath away. On her Mac, she had been working in the iPhoto program, where you can "tag" someone's face, name it and iPhoto will suggest other photos they might be in. Once tagged, it is a clever way to find all the pictures with that person in it.

She was working on tagging all photos of Josh. Below is the screenshot of what she wanted to show me. Above the black bar are all the tagged pictures of Josh. Then the words: "Josh may also be in the photos below". It is a bit difficult to see on the first screenshot, but the second shows the photo is one of angels on the side of the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris, France.




We both stared at the screen, shaking our heads and wondered how this could be. Being a novice Mac user myself, I asked her, "Have you ever seen something like this before?" Gillian, who has thousands of picture on her computer and works with iPhoto regularly, answered emphatically, "Never, no way! This has never happened."

Just two weeks ago, at Josh's grave site, on his 18th birthday, I asked him to let us know he was okay.

Thank you, Josh for giving us this sign and letting us know you are now our guardian angel.

God Bless

"JA"

Since Josh's passing, my mindset has changed about a number of things. One example is tattoos. I never really understood why someone would want to mark their body in that fashion. However, this past weekend, I accompanied one of Josh's friends as she got a "JA" tattoo on her arm, in memory of our son. She used the letters from a note that he had given to her, so the tattoo is in his handwriting.

I am not sure what I expected, but the place was clean and neat. Photo albums depicted real-life samples: all black, color, large, small, lettering, animals, NFL teams, flowers, etc. The variety was amazing.

The artists that we met were passionate about their work. Very knowledgeable and followed such strict hygiene protocol, it reminded me of being in a doctor's office. Since it was the first time for Josh's friend, the standard warnings that some people faint or get sick was a bit nerve-wracking, but in fact, the tattoo took less than five minutes and did not seem to bother her at all. This was the experience of our daughter as well, who got a "JLA" tattoo on her arm, shortly after his death. You can see this tattoo as well as a couple of others from Josh's friends on the side bar of the blog, under "Original Art".

While I wanted to go and provide moral support, I had an ulterior motive as I, too, have been thinking about getting a tattoo on my arm. His name, his handwriting, taken from the final note which had two short sentences and "Josh". Small and easily covered by my watch, when needed. But in a place where I can see it. Another way to have my beloved boy with me, everywhere I go.

Photos are posted, with her permission.

I think Josh would be flattered. But why are we having to do this in the first place? No matter where I turn, the unanswerable"why" question is always there.

God Bless

January's Fundraiser at BWF

Many thanks to everyone who came to the fundraiser at the Buffalo Wings Factory where the manager has graciously allowed us to gather on each anniversary month of Josh's passing. 10% of the receipts are donated to his fund at the Great Falls Optimist Club. It helps to have something like this to look forward to; a gathering of friends who knew, love and miss Josh - just as we do.

This past Monday was particularly poignant as it was two days after his 18th birthday. In fact, the manager presented a photo cake to us, in memory of our beloved boy.

Here is a photo collage made by one of Josh's football coaches, up on the wall, along with other sports paraphernalia.

At these fundraisers, it is wonderful to see our friends, but in particular, my heart is lifted in being with Josh's friends. They are full of life, energy and hope for the future. College applications are done and they now must wait for the decision letters. It is an exciting time, but also a bit scary and unnerving. I feel privileged when taken into their confidence and feelings are shared. They have been there for me; in whatever way I can, I would like to be there for them.

These kids remember Josh in their own ways. I have shared in another post how one of his friends wore #33 during the football season - in dedication to Josh. Another friend ended up being a walk-on football player at JMU this past fall and since #33 was already taken, chose the next closest number.

Another friend was able to get his number for the basketball season. I know Josh would get a kick out of this picture. They had that kind of relationship.

Even when writing this post, I am amazed at how much our Josh was loved. Makes his choice and subsequent action even more senseless. How does a kid get to that point? I don't know but hope that any other young person who might be toying with idea of self-annihilation, would look past their own pain and realize there is a vast network of loving people to help, support and guide them to life. I wish Josh had known this. It is too late for him, but hopefully not for anyone else who has witnessed the impact of his life and death.

God Bless

10 Months Later - January 18, 2010

Has it been ten months already? On the one hand, it does not seem possible, but on the other, it does, as my mind flips through the calendar of time.

• March 18 - the day Josh left us
• May - Lauren's graduation from college
• July - vacation
• September - start of school and football season
• November - Thanksgiving
• December - Christmas and New Year
• January 16 - his 18th birthday
  

Yes, he was missing at all of these events.

Then I think of what we've done because he is gone.

• The funeral service and burial
  
• Picking out his gravestone
  
• Regular visits to the cemetery or " Josh's Park" as my mother calls it
• The monthly fundraisers at the Buffalo Wings Factory
• A photo scanning project that has overtaken my dining room
• The dogwood tree planting at the youth league football field
• My "jandermom" email address
• New license plates for our cars
• Accruing a mini library with titles like Grieving a Suicide or No Time to Say Good-bye or By Their Own Young Hand: Deliberate Self-harm and Suicidal Ideas in Adolescents
  
• Three filled journals
• White christmas tree

So strange that a year ago, I was completely oblivious to the impending doom. Josh had just turned seventeen years old, was acclimated to his new school, had a girlfriend and was seeing a counselor which helped in his communication with us....things seemed to be pretty good.

Never, ever, in a million years would I guess what would transpire within two months. That Josh would smoke pot again, be caught at school which enforces a strict Zero-Tolerance policy, face expulsion, and choose to take his own life - the day before the School Board hearing. It is like a nightmare that replays over and over again.

Everyone in our family is traumatized. How could we not be? Totally and completely blind-sighted with no warning or time to prepare emotionally. One minute, we were living normal lives, then the unthinkable happened: I found our Josh dead. Gone. Never to see, hear or touch again. He took himself out with no explanation and left a boatload of unanswerable questions.

Ten months later, we continue to reel - trying to come to terms with this most incredible, horrific event. How do we live with his death? How do we live in spite of his death? How do we go forward with our lives - without him? I think of it like being at a rest stop while on a family vacation. We have to get in the car to keep going but Josh cannot continue with us - at least in a physical form.

After a number of conversations with our daughter, who is having a particularly hard time right now, I wrote this in my journal.

Everything has caught up with her. She has to stop and think about how she feels regarding her brother's death and how to incorporate "it" - Josh's suicide, his tragic, sudden and senseless death and our subsequent loss into her young life. And as much as she'd like to bury and ignore everything, "it" must be faced and dealt with. "It" is life changing; she will never be the same, none of us will. I think this is part of grieving, to process not only losing Josh, but a part of our family and a part of ourselves - very overwhelming and difficult.

In addition, feelings surrounding the mode of death are complicated - in comparison to say, an illness or accident. In these situations, one can say, "my son died by X disease" or "he had cancer" or "he was in a car accident". In our case, "he committed suicide" or "he died by his own hand" or "he decided to take his life" brings up questions with no known answers. Even after ten months, I cannot think of one thing he said, did or didn't do that could have alerted us to his fatal mindset.

For all family members who lose a child, at whatever age, the grief is immeasurable. But when it is via suicide, processing this death is more challenging. The waters are muddy, the way is unclear, the path like a maze. One question leads to ten others. None with answers. So because the reason for death is unclear, there is no resolution. Feelings include the expected sorrow and grief, but also a tremendous amount of guilt and even a little anger. Difficult terrain to navigate for a middle-aged mother, much less for siblings who are 19, 22 and 24 years old or friends who are 17 or 18 years old.

As well, we've not had to deal with death prior to this as both sets of grandparents are living. Even our pets have survived Josh. A distant concept has become a living reality. The shadow of death is an unbidden and unwelcome presence - constant, relentless, and unmerciful. Permeating conscious, subconscious and unconscious thoughts. Casting a permanent grey cloud over previously sunny skies. Poking its head in our dreams and thoughts while causing a general feeling of malaise. Unshakable. Unlike guests that eventually leave, death and all of its partners (grief, sorrow, pain, etc) have taken up permanent residence and we have to figure out how to live with them. "One day at a time" is my motto and mantra.

Josh did not understand the far-reaching consequences of his actions - I am sure of this. For if he could see even 1/100th of the pain we are in, he could not have gone through with it.

Rest in peace, my dear boy. We love and miss you with all of our hearts and promise that as we move forward with our lives, we will take you with us.

God Bless

Happy 18th Birthday - January 16, 2010

I have been dreading this day and now it is here. Just typing the title causes my eyes to fill with tears. What can I say? What is there to say? Nothing really, except that I wish with all of my heart that Josh were still here. To be celebrating his 18th birthday with his family and friends, not with balloons on his grave stone saying "Happy 18th Birthday."

If he were still alive, what would we be doing? Those that knew him could attest that he did not like parties where he would be the center of attention. In fact, the last birthday party that I was allowed to organize was his 13th. How could I know that there would only be four more?

Below is a slideshow of photos from Josh's birthdays, beginning with the wonderful day he came into our family.



My dear friend, Roxanne and her son have flown in today to be with us. We went to visit Josh with arms full of balloons, flowers and photos. When we got there, we found a letter to Josh from one of his friends. Tim and I were moved by the sentiments expressed. With his permission, this is what it said:

Dear Josh,
Hey, your birthday is on Saturday so I have come to visit you. I think about you all the time. You were a great friend, who always looked out for people who needed it, especially me. We were very close for a good while, and I considered you one of the most important people in my life. I miss you so much, and I am so sorry for whatever situation led to your final act. However, I feel your death has helped so many people realize what they have in this life. I am so thankful to you for making me more appreciative and grateful for everything. I pray for you and your family often, and I hope your soul has found a peaceful place to rest. I will never forget you and everything you meant to me.

Love,
Your friend,
Always,
Kas

We spent a good amount of time decorating "Josh's tree" with photos that Roxanne had laminated, laying rose petals on the grass and positioning his balloons. Below are pictures of our handiwork. As Rox said, "Anyone who sees this will see a much loved soul". I agree.










Josh,
We love and miss you so much, especially on this day. Do you like the balloons? One is from Grandpa and Grandma. And Gillian thought you would like the dog with the shades. I will never know why you felt that leaving us was your only option and I confess that this question haunts me every day. I wish you could have understood how important you were to so many people. Maybe if you had realized this, it would have saved you. Please watch over us as it is still so very hard. We take one day at a time - it's the only thing we can do. I pray you are at peace, my beloved son. One day, we will be together again.

Love,
Mom

Running Half Marathon: March 20, 2010

On a previous post, Josh's sister wrote about running a marathon in memory of Josh. And it just so happens that the National Marathon is being held in Washington DC on March 20, 2010. Fitting as this is only two days after the anniversary of his death.

I enjoy working out, and even teach a few aerobics classes a week at a local gym, but am not a runner. I get bored easily and have always found the monotony of running something to be endured, not enjoyed. But in the past few months, to mix up my own work-out, I've begun running once a week. It is not much, but enough to have my daughter ask if I would consider signing up for the half marathon and running the first part with her.

In the past, I would've laughed and said, "Are you crazy?" However, things are different now. The thought of being in training during the weeks leading up to the "one year" mark is appealing. To do this in memory of Josh, with his sister, something hard and challenging - feels right.

One small caveat. In order to sign up for this race, you have to post a qualifying time in another race, like a 5k. "How long is a 5k?" I ask my daughter. "It is 3.1 miles and you have to run at least a 10 minute mile or within 31 minutes", she replies. So I sign up for an outdoor race called the Christmas Caper which ended up being canceled due to a huge snowstorm that hit the day before. Probably a good thing as running on a freezing, cold morning might have done me in.

Next try is an indoor track meet at a local middle school on a weekend morning. I did not know what to expect and was surprised to see children, teens, and adults of varying ages. "People do this for fun? Why?" says my thought bubble.

The 5k was the last race and I was there with about 20 other runners. 25 laps around. As I look around, I notice that I am the only one with an IPod. This should have alerted me to what I was in for. Start gun goes off and I can tell my pace is faster than a 10 minute mile. But very quickly, I find myself at the end of the pack and not only that, people are passing me because they are 1, 2, 3 or 4 laps ahead! I am the last one to finish and get a sprinkling of applause when done. I clocked a 27.40 minute time, well within the time needed to qualify which was good enough for me.

So I now have a calendar with my running goals and only hope that I can get acclimated to running longer distances. It is not so easy to coax an older body to get used to the constant pounding on the joints. And with all that has happened, I feel as though I have aged 10 years in the past ten months.

One of my daughter's college friends is running the full race with her and I hear her mother may be interested in running the half with me.

If any others are interested, please join us. We would love to have you. In memory of Josh.

God Bless

My Journal - My Friend

In the post Writing To Heal, I share how the act of writing has become a life preserver for me, saving my life. This was written at the end of August, and four months and three major holidays later (Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year), it is still the case - even more so. And as I look to the future, with Josh's 18th birthday on the horizon (January 16th) and the ever looming one year anniversary date on March 18th, I suspect that without my new friend, I would not survive.

My journal writing over the years has been sporadic and if I look back on the entries, very boring. Pretty much a list of activities done by myself or members of my family. Not much color or emotion.

Since Josh's death, I have already filled three blank books. Thoughts, questions, emotions and feelings such as hurt, pain, sorrow, and grief are scribbled in these pages. I am doing a lot of reading and as I journal through the books, it helps me to remember what I've read, and internalize key thoughts and ideas.

For example, I can relate to the author of The Suicide Index. Joan Wickersham was already out of the home, married with a child when her father shot himself. Fifteen years after his death, she began penning this memoir. She ponders over the same questions that I have.

What was it about him that made him add up the reasons and come up with dying as the right answer? Had he been adding up reasons? Was it possible to arrange rational causes in a column and arrive at an irrational result? Was his death a rational act, or an irrational one? Was his suicide a decision he made, or a force beyond his power to control? Did he have a choice? If so, then he did something unforgivable. If not, then how can we blame him? (69, 229)

I read this book quickly, with my customary underlining, writing in margins and dog-earring the pages that speak to me. Let's just say that I would not be able to resell this book or even give it away. After finishing, I set it down for a few days. Then came back, re-read what I marked, and opened up my journal. This is what I wrote about the above quote:

First of all, will I be obsessed with these questions fifteen years from now? I hope not, but knowing me, I probably will be. "Queen Analyzer" - that could be my middle name. It is like taking a thread - a question or thought and following it to where it leads. Problem is, the answer is unknown, or if it could be known, it is complicated. Cannot be one answer. Someone cannot commit self-murder as the result of a simple answer - like he was a teenage, impulsive, spur of the moment, wasn't thinking, his brain was not fully developed. Too neat, like an accident. Cannot explain an accident, it just happens. Unavoidable. Chance. Nothing could be done. I am therefore absolved of all guilt as a mother of a child who committed suicide. Sorry, I can't accept this. I cannot or will not let myself off the hook that easily. So while some of this may be true, I reject it as the only answer.

I currently write in a bound black book with unlined pages which I found for around seven dollars. Being the control freak that I am, I was unsure about writing without any lines. "Be free, write big, small, diagonally across the page, draw - whatever you want to do," the "how-to" journal books have said. Surprisingly enough, I do like it. And I've found a type of pen that I like too. A disposable fountain pen which I've ordered from Staples. About two dollars per pen, it is a little pricey, but I like how it feels across the page.

So with my unlined blank book and my fountain pen, when I sit down to write, I feel at home. With a friend. A confidante. Available 24/7 - without judgment, critique or the need to "fix" me. Willing to take whatever I give: good, bad, ugly and downright horrible. Can take my tears without getting uncomfortable or the silence without needing to fill the space with words. Willing to listen to all of my emotions, regardless how irrational they may be.

Sometimes I have been unable to sleep and so I take my journal downstairs, intending to write while in front of Josh's tree. Most times, I get sleepy, lay down and fall asleep with the lights and beautiful white tree being the last image in my tired mind - my journal doesn't care. Nor when I wake up at 6:30 am with some thought that I have to get down on paper - no problem. Completely unselfish - only there for me - as much as I want to give or as little. Hours and hours in one day and only a couple of quick minutes in a week - my friend is always there.

How could I survive the overwhelming loss, sadness, grief, guilt, despair over Josh's young and tragic death without it? Simply put, I could not. My feelings, without a safe outlet, would churn, boil, bubble up and explode. I can now understand why some people turn to alcohol after tragedy to mask the pain. Instead of this type of harmful activity, I can bring a nice cup of tea or glass of wine to my room, sit down and pour my feelings onto the pages of my journal.

There is not a human who could be this type of friend to me. I could not be this for someone else, but a ninety-nine cent spiral notebook or seven dollar blank book can be. And so I say, "Thank you, journal, for being there for me over the past nine-and-a-half months - the most horrible that I've had to endure - that any mother would have to suffer. You have kept me sane. You have saved me and will continue to do so. Thank you for being my friend".

God Bless

A Mother's Love - December 31, 2009

It's been my tradition at the end of every year to "take stock" in my journal: highlights, accomplishments, work, family, review of goals, etc. I just can't bring myself to take pen to paper this year as what would I say? Everything pales in comparison to the loss of our beloved Josh. This is not only the event of the year, but of my life. Nothing will be the same for me since that fateful day on March 18, 2009......ever. Why is this?

What was just an intellectual truth to me, has now been lived and experienced. Grief is directly proportional to love. Love much - grieve much.

In the book, Silent Grief: Living in the Wake of Suicide, Christopher Lukas and Henry Selden write: "The guilt and depression among parental survivors does seem to be more intense and longer lasting than among others. Every single parent to whom we talked expressed this same feeling: their "job" had been to protect their child - and they had failed" (127).

One cannot measure the love a parent has for their child - no matter how old that child is. And while a father's love is intense, I still don't think it is the same as a mother's love. And it doesn't matter how many children a mother is blessed to have, as her heart just grows to accommodate the same, intense love for each one.

These thoughts were roaming in my head one night and the next morning, I had to write this poem down. I dedicate this to my fourth son, Joshua Lee Anderson, whom I love with all of my heart and soul and therefore am grieving with all of my heart and soul.

A Mother's Love
by Sue Anderson
(12/29/2009)

A mother's love,
if expressed as hope,
is never ending.

A mother's love,
if expressed as energy,
is boundless.

A mother's love,
if expressed as space,
is immeasurable.

A mother's love,
if expressed as truth,
is irrefutable.

A mother's love,
if expressed as substance,
is indestructible.

A mother's love,
if expressed as understanding,
is unfathomable.

A mother's love,
if expressed as sacrifice,
is unquestionable.

A mother's love,
if expressed as devotion,
is unconditional.

A mother's love,
if expressed as time,
is eternal.

Rest in peace, my dear, beloved son.

God Bless.

Christmas - Then and Now

"Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!!" In a world that seems so far away, yet was only twelve months ago, these words were said with much sincerity and gusto to everyone I knew. Nothing too "merry" or "happy" about it now. Apart from the fact that I love having the girls home, I want it to be over as soon as possible.

I never realized it before, but it takes a lot of energy to have a "merry" christmas or "happy" holiday. Decorating, shopping, wrapping along with the cooking, baking and cleaning. Just don't have what it takes this year and right now, not sure if I ever will have the energy of the past, or "pre-Josh".

Also, it is hard to sit down and think about what to write on this post. Much easier to be mindless and numb while going through the motions of daily activities. Thinking means crying. And anyone who has had a good cry recently knows this activity is an energy drainer.

We have received so many cards with special notes of sympathy. One came from Germany in which a dear friend shared that she reads the blog and has passed it along to others who have lost children to suicide. She says the blog helps them but is sorry that the loss our beloved Josh makes it so. I know what she means. I am glad it helps but wish to God as I know these other mothers do, that we did not have to suffer this tragedy. We wish that our children had survived those dark moments so they could be with us today.

Letters and pictures are often included with the cards. I enjoy looking at the photos as it is amazing to see how quickly children grow, to young adults and then with families of their own. In fact, some of the pictures of my friends are only with their grandchildren, which is very cute. The letters, however, that describe the family highlights of the year, stay in the envelopes for now. I will look at them later, as it is too hard to read about the "normal" lives of so many.

Grieving is a very personal thing. "Everyone grieves differently," all the books say. Having observed our own family on this point, I would agree. What I didn't realize is that it is also lonely. My heart always aches, but there are some moments when the sorrow rises up and needs release. These times may not coincide with what others are feeling so in an effort not to bring anyone else down, I weep alone, as inconspicuously as possible.

I still find myself asking "why?" over and over. "Why did he do this to himself? Why didn't he say something? How long had he been feeling like this? What did we miss?" Sometimes it seems like I have let these unanswerable questions go, and then they pop up again, as if never asked before. It is a mystery which cannot be solved, although it may be that some answers lie in his unused room.

As a huge favor to me, in the week while everyone was home right after his death, Josh's room was cleaned up. His clothes were divided into various piles: keep, give away and throw away. His desk and closet became neat and organized. I wonder if, within the untouched notebooks, are missing clues?

Some of the seemingly blank books were taken by Gillian to use. While at school, she found something and emailed the following to me:

I'm using one of Josh's old composition books for school and while I was mindlessly flipping through the pages, I spotted some ink. My heart sped up as I slowly sifted through the notebook, trying to find the page. I kept thinking, "please let it not be angry, please let it not be angry, please let it not be angry." I didn't want to see the hate and despair he might have felt about the world and himself. What I found was more comforting than anything I could have imagined:

Josh Anderson

Got up today like it was any other day,
Thing is, I didn't know that I'd have to pay
For the series of events that would change my ways,
But still I know everything'll be okay.

When I read it, I felt like he was telling us that "everything'll be okay." He said it again through me in my Mother's Day poem. I don't think it's a coincidence that both poems share the same ending. On the previous page, you can see his formation process of the poem:

My dad came back just the other day, (crossed out)
And he came back from work in the (crossed out)

How come things ... (crossed out)
My dad came home just the other day
Another long day of school ahead (crossed out)

Got up today like it was any other day

-respect your parents (crossed out)
-try hard in school (crossed out)
-everything'll be alright (circled)
-to get over it (crossed out)

Got up today like it was any other day
Thing is, couldn't have known what was destined to come (crossed out)
Thing is, I didn't know that I would have to pay
For the series of events that would change my ways
But still I know everything'll be okay.

Now I know that he had a much deeper understanding of what was going on and how he was trying to cope with it. That's what I found most heartening. He WAS trying to cope with it. And he wanted so much to be respectful to you and do well in school and so many other things, but in the end, he realized that everything would, eventually, be okay. Which gives me more hope than I've ever had before, even a shred of certainty, that wherever he is now- he is better. He is happy. He is telling us that everything is okay. That everything will be okay.

I hope you can find the same comfort in his words as I have. I love you and he loves you.

Reading this poem, while comforting, raised other questions. Unfortunately, there was no date so I don't know when he wrote it. After the first time he got in trouble in March, 08 or this recent time, which led to his fatal action? Are there other writings in his room, waiting to be discovered? One would think, with all the questions in my head, that I would have torn through every book, nook and cranny to uncover something that might help me understand. But for reasons that are unbeknownst to me, I have not done so. Am I afraid of what might be found? Or afraid of the disappointment if nothing is found? I guess for right now, it is better to flirt with the possibility than to know for sure.

I end this post with the photo we sent last year in our card as well as the only two pictures of Josh last Christmas.






"Merry Christmas, dear Josh. We love and miss you so much."

God Bless

"Remember Me" - Nine Months Later

Books can be found in the most interesting places. While shopping for groceries in California last October, I came across a book called The Angel's Game from an unknown author - at least to me: Carlos Ruiz Zafon. After finishing this book, I had to read his first book, The Shadow of the Wind. Not only are they well written, but the protagonist in both stories are book lovers and authors. And right now, my favorite hobby is reading and favorite place to spend an hour or two: the bookstore.

In The Shadow of the Wind, I was struck by a few sentences written in a letter to the main character - by one who knew their death was imminent.

So long as we are being remembered, we remain alive.
Remember me, even if it's only in a corner and secretly.
Don't let me go.

I have underlined this quote, written it in my journal and have thought about how true these words are. Even in the past week, I've heard stories of loss and what actions the living undertake to remember their loved one and in doing so, keep them alive.

Someone from my cycle class shared about losing a brother many years ago due to a heart attack. He was only four years older than her and they were very close. "His pictures are everywhere. In my bedroom, my office, my home. He is with me all of the time. I will never forget him."

Another situation touched me deeply. A mother whose son was one of Josh's good friends, recounted losing a child several years ago due to health issues. She said the pain does lessen over time, but never goes away. And her child will forever be in her heart. In fact, their Christmas decorations this year will reflect something special about this child and she was so kind to say that an ornament will be put on their tree in memory of Josh.

It is hard to explain, but it helps me tremendously to know that Josh is being remembered not only in our family, for that is expected, but with so many others. I like hearing people say his name. I may cry but that is okay. I want to hear stories about what others remember most about him. I would never tire of listening; even if it is the same one over and over.

One of Josh's friends emailed me recently and said he used to spend hours and hours playing video games with Josh. And it was hard to do so after his death because of the memories. However, he is playing them again and has found that this is his own way of spending time with Josh and remembering him.

Another friend is a starting player on the high school basketball team and is wearing Josh's number, 33, in memory of him.

And while Josh had many close friends, there is one who was like a brother to him, Bryce. Our first introduction to his family was when the boys were about 6-8 weeks old so when I say they have known each other all of their lives, it is not an exaggeration.

Josh was part of their family and Bryce was part of ours. Even though many miles separated them during the last few years, their friendship never suffered. I recently received a most beautiful gift from his mother - a photo album of our families. It arrived in the afternoon but I had to wait until the work day was over to open it for I knew what would happen. I don't think I've cried that hard since the first days after Josh's death. To see picture after picture of the two boys and know that there will be no more just breaks my heart. I feel for this young man who has lost a true best friend. This album is a precious gift, made with love and tears.

Bryce's sister is remembering Josh in a most special way. She is due to have a baby girl early next year and along with the father, has decided to name her HaiLee. The "Lee" is in honor of Josh for that is his middle name. As this child goes through life, she herself, will keep his memory alive. I am amazed. Josh would be too.

All of this is summed up in a card received this week by a work colleague.

Those whom we have loved never really leave us. They live on forever in our hearts and cast their radiant light onto our every shadow.

The holidays are difficult but what helps us through these hard days is knowing that our beloved Josh has not been forgotten. He still lives in all of our hearts.

I will end this post with a slide show of Josh as a happy, nine year old boy in 2001.

God Bless

New Holiday Traditions

The holidays would be easier to bear if it were limited to one or two days - like Thanksgiving. The day would come and go, along with the heightened grief and sadness felt from Josh's passing.

But no, the "Christmas season" or "holiday season" is four weeks or longer. In the past, or "pre-Josh", I enjoyed the holidays. I looked forward to the family traditions and most of all, the time together.

These days, I take inventory in my head. Examining each tradition or action associated with this "festive" time to determine if I can or want to do it. Am I motivated? Do I have the energy? Will it be too sad or will it help?

In speaking about this with our girls at Thanksgiving, I said it wasn't clear to me what I would be able to do. They understood but hoped that we could, at the very least, still have a tree. I didn't make any promises, but over time, after seeing our neighbor's trees in the windows, I came to want one too. But I couldn't bear pulling out the same decorations as years past.

You see, this was one of our traditions. I always got an ornament for each child complete with their initials and the year. When it came time to decorate, the Christmas music played, a plate of cookies were out and the kids put their ornaments on the tree. It would be too sad to look at Josh's ornaments - each one a reminder of our loss.

So this year, we have an all white tree. White lights, ribbon, flowers, ornaments and snowflakes. In memory of Josh. It is absolutely beautiful - exactly what I pictured. Tim took special care in picking out the tree - it is perfect. I don't think the picture does it justice, but I have posted it below.



Another tradition at this time is to put candles in each of the upstairs windows. I like the simplicity of this and it reminds me of being in New England during Christmas. This year, I decided to put one candle up - in Josh's room. Again, in memory of him.

Then something new to consider. What to do about decorating his grave site? I wanted to put a wreath by his stone, but what kind? How big? Where do I get the wreath holder? Should I make it? Or buy it? Real or artificial? These questions occupied my mind for a few days. Having never thought of such things before, and wanting it to be perfect for our beloved Josh, made this seemingly simple task, a bit overwhelming.

In the end, I went to a craft store to look around. I found the wreath holder - a simple stand that can be pushed into the ground. And the perfect wreath - beautifully decorated with bright green ornaments (for Langley) and one bright blue ornament (for South Lakes). I could not have made a better one. So I took it out the day after the first snow fall of the season, set it up and had a good cry. No one was around. A little breeze made Josh's chimes ring softly. The snow, unmarked by footprints, was beautiful.


The holidays are hard and without the continued love, support and encouragement from family and friends, I don't think we could bear it. Not a day goes by, where we don't get something - either a call, an email, card or letter which lets us know that our Josh is loved and missed. This lifts our hearts, like nothing else can.

Thank you and God Bless

Another Sign?

While in Florida for Thanksgiving, we took advantage of the beautiful beach scenery to take our annual Christmas photo - in our "Josh" T-shirts, of course.


After taking the picture, Lauren, Gillian and I decided to stay and watch the sunset since we were leaving in the morning. In my heart, I am always hoping to see a sign that Josh is okay. While we were waiting for the sun to go down, all three of us saw something most unusual. In the sky, were two short vertical lines that were brilliant orange-red and blue-purple. It was striking in its beauty. Gillian immediately took a picture.

Then we saw something more amazing. The same two vertical lines were on the other side of the sinking sun. Yet there was not a hint of rain or any type of precipitation that would warrant what resembled the beginning of a rainbow. Gillian snapped several pictures as none of us had seen anything like it before. Was this a sign? We all hoped it was - something to say that Josh is always with us - like a guardian angel.

Other pictures of the gorgeous sunset.

A photo of our whole family - honoring and remembering Josh. As we were walking to the beach, my nephew said it looked like we were on a field trip due to our matching shirts. I guess we were pretty conspicuous.

Josh - we miss you. Not only on this vacation, but each and every day. You are in our heart always. Rest in peace, my dear, sweet boy.

God Bless

Thanksgiving 2009

This is a difficult post to write for what can be said on a holiday in which all over the country, families and friends are gathering to celebrate the annual Thanksgiving feast? While living overseas many years ago, the fourth Thursday of November came and went like any other day. But here, schools and businesses are closed. It is one of the busiest times to travel whether by plane, train, bus or car. Extended family and generations within families gather. Talking, laughing, story-telling, playing games, watching football, and gaining at least a couple of pounds are part and parcel of this day. And in the midst of all the festivies and food, we stop and give thanks for the many blessings in our lives.

For those who live outside of the US and may not be familiar with Thanksgiving, just think turkey, stuffing, gravy, ham, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green beans, salad, cranberry sauce, pumpkin and pecan pie. Numerous variations of this basic menu will be served depending on where one resides (i.e. deep South, New England, etc.), the types of recipies passed down from prior generations, and as was in my case, the ethnic background.

My parents are Korean and as a kid, I remember the Thanksgiving dishes being along side many traditional Korean foods such as bulgogi (marinated beef) and kim chee (hot, spicy and very garlicky pickled cabbage). Doesn't that sound appetizing? The solution to this mixture of American/Asian foods was easy - two meals in one sitting. It would be fascinating to see what foods will fill tables throughout our country today. Times for this huge meal will vary. In our home now, if the New England Patriots were playing, the meal time would revolve around this game.

This year, my side of the family has gathered in Florda - renting two homes by the beach. We have traveled from Illinois, Virginia and New York to be together for both Thanksgiving and celebration of my father's 80th birthday. It is great to be together and would be perfect except for one thing. It is strange - Josh's absence is so much louder than his presence ever was. I just took for granted that we would have many Thanksgiving meals with him - little did I know it would stop at seventeen. Our kids were blessed with good health so the possibility of losing one just never occurred to me. So to be here now, sans Josh, is still too hard to believe.

From the beginning of the trip, I envision him being with us. Sacked out on the long car ride down, listening to his iPod, waking only for bathroom/food stops. In the house we are renting, his bed would be the couch - no problem as he can sleep anywhere. We would have gotten our money's worth for him at the "all-you-can-eat" pancake and sausage breakfast on the beach earlier this week. My sister's kids are younger and have looked up to Josh all of their lives. Just chilling on the beach would not have been an option as they would have pulled him into the water to jump waves and teach them how to ride the boogie board. An impromptu football game on the beach became too hard for me to watch as he would've been the star player. Strong, muscular, laughing, teasing, running, jumping, throwing and most of all - alive.

We've been eating Korean food every night, thanks to my mother's great cooking, and let just say that far few leftovers would be in our fridge if he were here. After the dinner dishes are cleared, a poker game commences. I can just see he and the youngest cousin as partners - Josh allowing him to throw in the chips, knock on the table to check, or throw in the cards for a fold.

It is not fair that these visions are only in my head and not reality. "How did we come to be here?" I ask myself. "What didn't we see? What didn't we do? What warning signs did we miss with him? What could we have done to prevent this horrible tragedy?" Then my thoughts, very predictably now, turn to questioning him. "Why, Josh, why? Why did you do this to yourself? Why did you go down this irreversible path of self-destruction? Why didn't you consider your life worth fighting for? Why did you give up on your life and future? Why did you lose hope?" I listen hard for answers, but there is only silence.

My prayer today is simple -

Dear God - thank you for the blessing of family and friends. Thank you for our home, health and livelihood. I pray that our son with with you and is at peace. Be with all of his friends who, while young, have had to deal with such a tragedy. May the impact of his life continue to be felt. May the mode of his death, if thought of by others, be tossed aside as an unviable solution so that no other family would have to endure the anguish and grief that we continually feel. Please continue to help each member of our family deal with the grief of his death while moving on with life.

God Bless

November 18, 2009 - Eight Months

It is now eight months since the passing of our son and I don't know what to think, say or write. Feeling numb. Knowing it happened but not wanting to think about it. Not even wanting to visit his grave site today because I will have to face reality. It is easier these days to wake up, work, go to the gym, have dinner, watch a little TV, read and go to bed.

But then, without warning, a memory will flash in my mind. Like a snapshot, a still picture, a frozen camera shot, a frame from a movie. It could be a picture of how I found Josh, or of a black body bag going out our front door, or of him lying peacefully in his casket, dressed in the outfit that his brother got from his room because I couldn't do it, or of us at his grave site, saying good-bye.

I can be driving along, minding my own business and whammo - my mind goes to those first awful days. Or sitting at my computer, working away and in a moment of distraction, another flash.

They must be coming from my subconscious mind because my conscious mind has blocked them out. These memories are still too painful. Even in my journal, I cannot write about the events that happened just eight short months ago. The mind must know when something is too much to bear. The body goes into a self-preservation mode: protecting the mind, guarding the heart, sheltering the soul.

In Beryl Glover's book, The Empty Chair, she quotes a woman whose mother committed suicide at 70 years old. I can relate to the following metaphor:

Sometimes when you put a glass in the dishwasher, it fractures. My theory is that if you knock the glass against the faucet in picking it up, you fracture it invisibly. It looks intact, but when you put it in the dishwasher, it falls apart. I've thought of myself in that way, like a glass that had a severe jolt that doesn't show, but is more vulnerable now. (54)

I am functioning in my day-to-day life pretty well. Perhaps if you saw me now and didn't know what happened, you would not guess. But like the glass, my heart is fractured and although not readily visible, I am weak and vulnerable, emotionally. Unusual feelings for me as I have been used to being strong, rational and capable.

I now have to look beyond myself for strength - to family, friends and faith. This is hard too, because like most people, I don't like the feeling if needing help, much less asking for it. But there are some things that are just way too hard to bear on your own; losing a 17-year old, beloved son to senseless suicide is one.

These are the Bible verses in which I find great comfort. They tell me that God is not far; He is close at hand and desires to comfort, guide, lead and save me. He can restore my soul.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18

Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Matthew 5:4

The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quite waters,
he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death;
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
Psalm 23:1-4

Thank you for the continued thoughts and prayers.
God Bless

2009 Football Season

On Saturday mornings, Tim always grabs the sports section of the Washington Post to read about the previous night's high school football games, paying special attention to the two schools that Josh played for: Langley and South Lakes.

The regular season is now over and All District players were named. Tim read me the names of kids we knew that made the first or second teams. While happy that the boy's hard work and accomplishments on the field were recognized by district coaches, there was sadness as we thought about "what if"? What if Josh were alive and played this season, would he be on this list? Probably so.

For those parents who have lost a child and if that son or daughter was involved in a particular activity during a specific time of year, as our Josh was every fall, there is experienced a double sense of loss. Luckily for Tim, he was asked to film the LHS games which put him on the field and kept him involved. In the two times that Langley and South Lakes did not play at the same time, he went to the SLHS games and was invited to stand on the field with the players/coaches.

For me, I went to the first LHS game but it ended up being so sad that I had to leave at half-time and cried all the way home. In retrospect, I probably should have known it would be too much, but on the other hand, you sometimes don't know. In fact, I felt fine driving to the game. It wasn't until I walked through the gate, and saw all of the healthy, strong boys on the field - so alive and one in particular, who told me that he was going to wear Josh's number, 33, and dedicate his season to our son - that the tears started to flow.




I probably could have made it through that first game had I stayed with Tim on the field. But I went up in the stands to sit with other moms and as I watched the boys and listened to the regular banter about the start of school, classes, teachers, dances, senior pictures, it just got harder and harder. These topics no longer applied to me. Irrelevant. Continued evidence that my life was not the same as theirs. I was on the other side.

It is quite uncomfortable to be in the midst of laughing, happy people while attempting to hold off the dam that is about to burst. Also, I didn't want to be responsible for bringing down the spirits of others around me, so I said my good-byes and left.

Since Tim is like most men in the uncanny ability to remember a game, play-by-play, including how much time was left on the clock at each particular play, I was able to keep up due to his thorough rendition afterwards. I've often wondered how he can remember sports stats galore and yet cannot remember where certain kitchen items are stored. Selective memory, I guess.

Eventually, I did end up going to another game. It was last week between the two schools. A perfect night - clear, crisp and cool. As the game got underway, I looked to the heavens and wondered if Josh could see. And if he could, what was he thinking?

My thoughts were clear. "You silly, silly boy. You should be here on this field. Playing in this game. But for the stupid mistake that started the events which culminated in your death that horrible night - you could still be here." In moments like this, his loss seems to be a dream - did it all really happen? Is he truly gone? In vain, I look on the field for him and cold reality hits again.

It was a hard fought game with both teams being winners, in my book. There was a moment of silence to remember Josh with a loud applause when the moment was over, touching Tim and I deeply. Both cheerleading squads wore ribbons that had JA and 33 painted on the ends. All of the boys helmuts were adorned with a "JA" football sticker. While this district game was important, the greater significance, at least to me, was that a fellow teammate, classmate and schoolmate had fallen and his life was remembered on that night. I'm glad that I stuffed a lot of tissues in my pocket - I needed them.

A few moms came to visit me during half-time and once again, we contemplated Josh's fatal action. And talked about the rash and impulsive behaviors that can overcome teenage boys with seemingly no thought to consequences. I can only hope and pray that any young person who has seen the devastation that Josh's decisions have caused for himself and his family would think twice before acting. Sometimes a few minutes of fun is just not worth it. And as a kids gets older, rules and laws are less forgiving. We learned this the hard way.

I just read a short book called The Empty Chair by Beryl Glover, whose daughter ended her life at age 23. In it she quotes another author, Doug Manning who wrote in his book, The Gift of Significance the following: "People are not going to move forward in their grief until the significance of the person who has died has been established. People who can establish significance, make progress. Those who cannot do so, hang on and hurt."

This sentence rings true in my heart. I am not sure how much "progress" I've made, but perhaps it is the reason why this blog has been my lifesaver. With each post and comment, Josh's young life is being established as significant. Or when our son is remembered on a Friday night football game. Or when I receive an email from his close friend in middle school, who sent me a draft of her college essay about Josh's death and the resulting impact on her life. All of this establishes the significance of his life and for that, I am grateful.

Here are some pictures from that beautiful, Friday night....









Thank you for the thoughts and prayers.
And most of all, for continuing to love, remember and miss our beloved Josh.

God Bless

Emotions at Periscope Depth

I've realized something about my feelings and emotions regarding Josh's death that has helped me. Maybe it can help you too.

I have always been a reader, but after Josh's death, my thirst for books is unquenchable. I am reading non-stop, but selectively. The book has to mean something to me, as a grieving mom or it has to give me something new to think about regarding Josh. Because of this, I am reading books that I would never pick up otherwise.

For example, I am currently reading three different books on journaling. The unusually long titles of the books say it all.

• The New Diary: How to Use a Journal for Self-Guidance and Expanded Creativity by Tristine Rainer
• Journal to the Self: Twenty-Two Paths to Personal Growth. Open the door to self-understanding by writing, reading and creating a journal of your life by Kathleen Adams
• Creative Journal Writing: The art and heart of reflection by Stephanie Dowrick

As I am discovering, one of the more well-known techniques to try and access the subconscious or unconscious mind is called free-intuitive writing. According to Rainer, the technique is simple. "You relax and try to empty your mind. You don't think about anything. You simply wait for whatever comes into your mind, and you write it just as it comes, without worrying about whether it makes sense. You let your hand do the writing. You record what you hear from the back of your mind. Nothing is irrelevant" (page 47).

Why would anyone want to do this, you say? For me, I want to know and explore my feelings about Josh and his sudden death. I need to look them in the face, deal with them and move on. For some reason, I know that I will have to do this eventually, so I might as well be proactive about it. At least, this is how I feel now. After a couple of exercises, I may want to live by the "ignorance is bliss" philosophy.

This is taken from my journal entry the night that I tried this exercise.

I am looking at my unconscious or subconscious thoughts. To get here, I've had to walk down corridors, through doors, shut them behind me - lower, lower and lower. I am looking at them - all jumbled, crazy, indiscernible, fighting one another to get to the top, noise, I cannot make anything out. I can't understand them. I can't hear them. My conscious mind won't let me listen to them or write them down. I am trying to hear but now it is silent and white - blank. I know they are there but I don't know what I am thinking.

Breathing deeply - what am I thinking? Why can't I hear? I want to hear my inner voice - what are they saying?

Josh - why did you go? Didn't you know how loved you were? Where are you now? How do you feel now? At peace? I hope so! Can you hear me? Can you seem me? See when I cry, weep and wail for you? I long to know that you are okay - why did you leave me? I didn't make you feel loved? Not enough? I am so sorry - I wish I could do it over again - everything from birth on. You were such a happy baby and little boy - even at 8 years old. So loving, innocent and happy - what happened? Where did you go? Why didn't I stop you from leaving? I am so sorry, my poor son - I failed you as a mother - no matter what anyone says. I failed you. My son, my poor, poor son. I wasn't enough for you. I didn't give you enough. I got distracted. I didn't make enough effort with you and now we are both paying for it. You are dead and I am still here. Why did you die? Now gone forever! My heart is broken. At my deepest level, I am so sad - weeping constantly, uncontrollably, non-stop for my poor boy.

(Still from my journal)

I realize from this exercise that what is happening in the depths of my soul and inner being, my subconscious is a constant, uncontrollable weeping for my son. I am not always in touch with this part of myself but it is there. I saw it. I was in it. This is why I can begin crying at any moment. What is going on inside rises - surfaces like a submarine after languishing in the depths of the ocean. "Periscope depth" is when this inner sadness that is perpetual and never ending comes to the surface. Poor me. Poor Josh.

Maybe what distinguishes really emotional people from me is that those inner feelings are almost always at periscope depth. And what distinguishes me from people who show little to no emotion is that my feelings come to periscope depth once in a while. Maybe for them, their feelings are so trapped - beneath layers of dirt, sand or water - buried so deep that they cannot come up.

As I closed my journal, I thought that perhaps I will know when healing has come. However long it takes, at some point in the future, I will take that trip again and see that the perpetual sadness and crying has been replaced. Maybe with acceptance and happy memories of Josh - maybe even joy? I can only hope.

I will end this post with a slide show of the adorable, happy eight-year old Josh.

God Bless

Extra Josh T-shirts

Soon after Josh's passing, our daughter designed a T-shirt in memory of him. We think he would have really liked it. You can see pictures of the shirt recently worn on an "Out of Darkness" walk by our children and friends.

I placed an order a few weeks ago and have some extra shirts in all sizes. Please let me know if you would like me to send one to you. I am just trying to cover the cost which is a total of $16 (includes shipping). Otherwise the shirt is $12. Anything above this will be sent to his fund.

God Bless
jandermom@gmail.com

Faith in the Midst of Tragedy - November 1, 2009

To have a strong faith when life is good and all is going well is not that difficult. The "Thank you, God for this, that and the other" is easy to pray. When times are tough, however, or when an unexplainable tragedy hits home as in what happened to us when our 17-year old son took his life in March, then having faith and trusting God becomes exponentially harder. At least for me.

The age old question surfaces, "Why do bad things happen to good people?" And "why did God allow this to happen? Why didn't He intervene?"

On a previous post, I had shared that to help me with the question of faith, I am working on a cross stitch of the beautiful Footprints vignette. Each stitch is a reminder that I am not walking on this grief journey alone.



In my journal, I wrote the following...

I have been walking this grief journey or through the grief tunnel, one step at a time and have felt alone for no one can do this for me. But I must remember that I am not alone for the Lord is by my side. He has not forsaken me. He has guided me - without my being aware. In the days right after Josh's death, He has directed the creation of the blog. Also, everything came together for the service - a massive undertaking to organize in just two days, under the most horrible circumstances.

I have seen and felt God in all of the ways that people have reached out to us and have felt strengthened by the numerous prayers lifted to the heavens on our behalf. In the midst of all of the bad that is reported in the news daily - the corruption in politics, business and sports, people are good. Have good hearts. Are kind, giving and loving. Willing to share, help, encourage and lift up. We are still getting cards and gifts even though it has been over seven months.

Pre-Josh, I was getting cynical about people - their motives, superficiality and hypocrisy. Then this horrible, tragic event happened to us and rather than feeling shunned or stigmatized, beginning with Josh's friends, we were surrounded by love and fellow grievers. It was the kids first - I will never forget how those young people came over, gave us great big bear hugs and wept unashamedly while looking at the pictures of Josh and writing in his book.

Our neighborhood provided daily meals for weeks. Friends helped tirelessly in our home - organizing and serving food and helping with the numerous plants and flowers being delivered daily. The friends of our surviving kids came that weekend by plane, car, bus and train. All three of them had a "posse" of friends surrounding them - encouraging, supporting and helping them get through this tragedy. Our own family flew or drove from great distances - leaving their own family vacation and even canceling a long awaited trip to China to come and be with us.

Then the hundreds of people who came to the service; many driving for hours to be with us, give a hug, show their support, and share their stories of Josh. And the thousands who have read his blog. The outpouring of love was and still is overwhelming. People are good - I was losing sight of this.

It feels like the movie "Pay it Forward". After being the recipient of a good deed, you turn around and do good for someone else. Maybe this is what is being done through Josh's blog - as it has appeared to help many people who struggle with the harsh inner feelings that can spiral into dark thoughts.

I hope the blog is helping parents open up the lines of communication with their kids, regardless of age, so that all unresolved issues can be brought out into the open, talked about, dealt with and forgiven. I realize now more than ever, that life is too short to keep from being close to the ones we love.

I hope kids will realize that parents are trying their best but are only human. We have our faults. We cannot read minds. That if there are things that are bothering you or dynamics in the family that hurt you - speak up and say it! If it is too hard to say, write a letter. Be open. Express yourself. If you need help, admit it and get it.

Our son did not do this and I wonder, why didn't he? Pride, fear, embarrassment? Maybe he didn't want to be looked at or thought of differently. Maybe he was afraid of what would happen if he really said what he thought. I don't know, but I wish to God that he had been open. Because he would still be here. What he did is what is often said about suicide: a permanent solution to a temporary problem. As his mother, this is what pains me the most.

I know that I need help. It would be easy to just shut myself off from people - no visits, phone calls, emails or posts on the blog. But this is not God's way. He works through others to provide love, support, guidance and healing. Prayer is a bit difficult these days, but when I think about all of what has been done for us, I can say my own "Thank you" prayer to God.

God Bless