Marathon Ran in Memory of Josh

In life, one never knows how the crossing of paths with various people, will bloom into loving, supportive friendships. This is one of the blessings that I have personally received since news of Josh's death, thanks to the Internet and probably Facebook in particular, went literally around the world.

One dear person, Nadine, sent me pictures of a recently completed marathon in which she ran in memory of Josh. My heart was touched beyond words when I opened up her email, saw the pictures and read her thoughts that are posted here.

After 2 years of falling in love with running, this is the first time that I really ran one of my runs in honor of anyone. The day and night before the run it was pouring in Northern Virginia. That next morning, however, it was such a perfect crisp fall morning. From the night that I was sewing the number 33 on the back of my shirt through the 26.2 miles, I thought of and prayed for Josh and all of you. The funny thing is that I needed Josh just as much. Right around the times I wanted to stop and walk someone would yell out "Go Nadine" or "Go 33". It inspired me to keep going (made it all the way to 24 miles before I had to stop for a short walk), then finished the rest strong. RIP Josh, you are all in my thoughts and prayers.

Like streaks of light that permeate a dark, gray day, so these unforeseen relationships and news of how Josh is being remembered, gives comfort to this grieving mother's heart.

Tree Memorial - October 18, 2009

I love the spring in Virginia. We are far enough north where we experience all four seasons, but not so far as to seriously shorten the golf season (very important to Tim). One of my favorite trees is the dogwood. Wispy, beautiful white flowers adorn this tree in early spring. Every time I see this majestic tree in full bloom, I am in awe. So when asked, "what tree would you like to have planted at the McLean Mustangs football field in memory of Josh?", the answer was easy.

Our son has played football since he was eight years old. Starting out as an "ankle-biter", he had a real affinity for the game. I still remember being amazed at how these fully padded little boys, who could barely sit still for anything else, had the discipline to be motionless before the ball was hiked. Every year, Josh was fortunately to be on teams with excellent coaches who taught him not only the game, but lesson that transcend sports: teamwork, do your best, never give up, how you play is more important than winning or losing, the little things matter, etc.

We were triply blessed to be part of this particular youth league as the kids and their families were all great. Relationships were forged over the tailgates held in the parking lot right after - hosted by grandparents of one of the boys. Josh was never shy about diving right into the food after a hard fought game, along with the other boys.

Because youth football teams are determined by weight, and since Josh was always bigger and heavier for his age, he would invariably have to lose some weight to stay with the same group of boys. I have vivid memories of the poor kid mowing the lawn in 90+ degrees in layers of clothing. Or going to the official weigh in a couple of hours early and running on the track dressed for a blizzard. Or looking at pizza - wishing so much that he could have a piece, while eating salad. Seems a bit cruel for a kid - I thought so too at the time, but he was willing to do these things to stay on the team.

Being at the football field last Sunday, on the 7 month anniversary of Josh's death, for the gathering at the newly planted tree with this group of boys and their parents was so special. It is times like these, when we see once again, that our Josh is so loved and missed by others, that our grieving hearts are encouraged.

We could not have gotten through the past months of shock, loss and pain if it were not for the love, support and prayers from friends in the community - both Josh's and ours. In the midst of it all, we feel so grateful. I will end this post with pictures from our gathering.

Josh's tree planted on the end of the football field.

Boys gathered around....

So many memories on this field.....

Josh - we all love and miss you and will remember you forever.....

God Bless

Out of Darkness - 7 Months Later

Two weeks ago, our children were together in Atlanta and along with some good friends, participated in the "Out of Darkness" walk that is sponsored by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. According to their web site , these walks are taking place all across the country this fall to "raise money for AFSP's vital research and education programs to prevent suicide and save lives, increase national awareness about depression and suicide, and assist survivors of suicide loss."

The statistics reported on their web site are staggering: "In the United States, a person dies by suicide every 16 minutes, claiming more than 32,000 lives each year. It is estimated that an attempt is made every minute; with close to one million people attempting suicide annually."

The title of the walk, "Out of Darkness" is apropos. That fateful night, our Josh entered into a dark place within his mind that he never recovered from. Upon finding him the next morning, cold and stiff, our family was thrust in a darkness of our own. Unwillingly, without consent and any prior warning, having no experience with this type of death, we've had no choice but to walk through this darkness.

At first, you don't see the light at the end - you can only believe it is there. And so you walk - one step at a time in those first few hours and days. Then you walk one day at a time through each month's anniversary. For me, the time seems to have gone so quickly. How can it be seven months already?

How am I feeling now - seven months later? The only word that comes to mind is "resigned". Resigned to the fact that Josh is gone - and nothing I do or say can bring him back to me. He will never be coming through our front door again, to drop his backpack and sports bag on the floor, flop onto a living room couch and take a quick nap with the dogs. We'll never hear the quick race down the stairs in the morning and slam of the door as he scurries to get to school on time. There will be an empty seat at the Thanksgiving table. We won't see his "Santa list" on our fridge door. He will not be part of our annual Christmas photo. He won't be around to celebrate his 18th birthday next January.

Resigned that unless I was a mind reader, there was no way to know that Josh was thinking of suicide as he gave no indication to us or anyone close to him. So I cannot blame myself anymore.

Resigned that I will never know the answer to the question, "why". Through the books that I am reading and some email correspondence from readers of this blog, I have a better understanding of a suicidal mind. But even if I knew exactly why Josh did this, I probably wouldn't understand anyway, because to me, there was nothing in his life - even expulsion from Fairfax County Public Schools - that would be a reason for death.

Resigned that we have to continue with our lives - in spite of his absence. And that it is his memory that will live on in our hearts.

I suppose resignation is good. Perhaps it the precursor to acceptance.

I will end this post with pictures taken at the Atlanta "Out of Darkness" walk. There is one coming up in our area. The Fairfax NOVA walk is this Saturday, October 24th. Unfortunately, Tim and I will be out of town and cannot participate. If there are some that do, in Josh's name, please take some photos and email them to me: jandermom@gmail.com.

Photos of Josh placed on a table with pictures of other loved ones.

A quilt called "Faces of Suicide"

Participants made necklaces out of different color beads which has the following symbols:
Lost a child - white
Lost a sister or brother - orange
lost some other relative or friend - purple
Support the cause - blue
Lost a spouse or partner - red
Lost a parent - gold
Struggles personally - green

Lauren, Gillian and Tyler wearing their "Josh" T-shirts and necklaces. Gillian wore a white bead for us.

Tyler and Emily's dogs, Tom and Huck, walked in memory of their favorite uncle Josh.

The "Josh Anderson Team" was well represented.

Josh - we love and miss you.

God Bless

Give Sorrow Words

Give sorrow words.  The grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'refraught heart and bids it break (Macbeth IV, III, 211-212)

Yesterday was our 26th wedding anniversary. Tim and I found each other in college, fell in love, got married and had our first child eighteen months later. After seven years, our fourth, Josh was born. Having four children while just turning thirty and thirty-one ourselves is quite a challenge. With the support of our faith, family and friends, however, we managed to navigate the bumpy waters of raising a large family.

As time passed and the children grew, while celebrating our 10th, 15th, 20th and 25th anniversaries over a romantic dinner, one of us would always remark how lucky we felt. Lucky that we found one another; lucky to have four beautiful, bright, talented children. When others gave us positive comments about our family, we simply said, "We have not done anything to deserve this - we feel so blessed."

No more. Unbelievably, we are now part of a small minority of parents who have had to bury their child due to the violence of self-murder. Our lives do not feel very blessed right now. We are not so lucky anymore. In fact, we are extremely unlucky - to have someone commit suicide anywhere in the family tree, in any generation, is profound. To have it happen in your own nuclear family - within your four walls, in the sanctity of your own home is incomprehensible.

One minute, we were normal parents - dealing with all of the joys, challenges and issues that face anyone who is raising kids. The next minute - in a millisecond, in the time it takes to register a thought, take a breath, blink an eye - we were no longer a normal family. What happens to other people, other parents, other families has just happened to us.

In an instant, our entire world - life as we knew it - was gone. Changed forever. Irrevocably altered. Turned upside-down. Shattered. Devastated. Disintegrated. Blown up. Thrown out-of-whack. Discombobulated. There aren't enough words in the English language to describe the effect of suicide on those of us left behind.

The old "normal" is gone and there is no going back. Josh's loss and the mode of his death will forever be a part of our family. Henceforth, his absence will be felt at every family gathering, every holiday, every milestone event such as a graduation, wedding or birth.

And now, a "new" normal needs to be found. I suppose this is all part of the grief journey - to "right the ship", so to speak, so that life can go on - without the physical presence of our Josh. As a result, different words have found their way in my journal: recalibration, rebalance, reinvent, reintegrate and reboot.

Because of my analytical nature, my journey involves processing everything in my head: asking the unanswerable questions, coming up with every possible answer and thinking through each one ad nauseam - it is exhausting, but necessary. For me to get through this pain. To get to the other side.

For I do see light at the end of the tunnel.

During the week, my mind is taken up by work; things are busy as there is more than enough to do in an eight-hour period. I think this is good as it gives my thoughts a break. So on the weekend I visit Josh's grave, read, think, and cry. And plan what I will write on the blog. It is difficult, but critical. Just as air, food and water are necessary for survival, so facing the pain, sorrow and grief in my writing, head on, through this blog, is essential for healing.

Week by painful week, I feel the light getting closer - moving towards recalibration & rebalance. The new normal. I am reluctant to say peace, because how could I ever be at peace with Josh's death? Acceptance - yes. Peace - no.

I see this movement in the letters I write to Josh and will end this post with what I wrote yesterday....

Dear Josh,
I am sitting in the car by your grave site because it is raining outside. I am kicking myself for not coming yesterday when it was sunny and warm. I am starting to let myself understand what was going through your mind that night and perhaps earlier. The dark place or tunnel in which you found yourself: maybe overwhelmed and exhausted with life, and perhaps even contemplating getting help, but in the end, the thought of reaching out was unappealing. Perhaps your future seemed more like a dream than a reality and in general, your life felt out of control. And this was the only way you could be in total control.

Is this how you felt?

In a book that I am reading, the author recounts a very scary 12-hour period when she had a loaded gun on her bed with every intention of ending her life. She says that in that whole time, not once did she think about her family, her kids, her therapist - nothing but her pain. Everyone important to her was outside of her mind and not even a factor.

Was this true with you?

You would not hurt a flea - you had such a tender heart. I have to believe that you would never intentionally want to cause me this much pain. But the reality, son, is that it has. When my mind goes to the place where your death is before me, I have a physical reaction. I feel the blood rushing to my head, my mouth grimaces in pain, my eyebrows furrow, my entire face tightens and the tears flow unchecked - all within a couple of seconds.

This can happen anytime - while talking on the phone with someone who doesn't know and before getting off she asks a very innocent question, "How are your kids doing?" While driving in the car, doing yard work, taking a shower, listening to a song. Anytime, anyplace, with anyone. I cannot control these emotions. So although you did not mean to hurt me, it has - so deeply, so profoundly that I am forever changed.

And it is more than hurt, Josh. If you had died by illness, accident or even murder, a part of me would've have died too. I think any mother who loses a child prematurely, whether in the womb, a baby, child, teen or adult would feel this. But when I found you dead - by your own hand - there was a whole other part of my heart and soul that died. I can't describe it - there is a deeper pain knowing that you were suffering so much in your mind - for how long, I do not know and that death was your only option. How can I ever stop feeling as your mother, connected to you in the womb and who gave birth to you seventeen years ago, that I should have known? I should've have done something more?

In my mind, I know that it is unrealistic to think that I should be a mind reader. You didn't want anyone to know so no one did. But I can't help wishing that you had opened up and shared your heart and pain with me or someone who could help you. Because if you had done this, maybe you would be here now. Maybe we would be a lot closer as I came to understand your inner turmoil.

I would've have done anything to help you - to save you. There is nothing that would be too much. I don't say this flippantly - I would give you anything: a kidney, my liver, my blood, my life. Without a doubt. Without question. I would trade places with you if I could. You were only seventeen; I am almost fifty. My life for yours - absolutely.

But this is not to be. I suppose a saving grace is that your story is saving others. It is making people think more - especially those who struggle with the dark thoughts. My prayer is that what is on your blog will prevent their own demise. But I would take it all back to have you here with me - my baby boy.

I am moving forward - slowly. Doing things and finding interest in things that I stopped after you died - like watching Food Network, Numbers, and House. I am cross stitching the "Footprints" pattern and it is helping me. I have been watching the baseball playoff games with Dad although the Red Sox are not doing well - one game from begin eliminated. When watching, I cheer with enthusiasm.

William Shakespeare said, "Give sorrow words". I guess this is what I am doing - in my journal, in my letters to you, in your blog.

You are free from your pain and suffering. But when yours ended, mine began. I know you didn't mean for this to happen but it has. I forgive you - I hope you can forgive me.

I love you son.
Rest in peace.

Mom xxxooo

"Why?" by Rascal Flatts

I received an email last week from Josh's counselor at school. She is a big country music fan and heard a song from Rascal Flatts on the radio called "Why?". It moved her so much that she had to pull the car over while listening. With one click of a button, I could download the song as a gift from her and listen to it as well. Her caveat - when I was ready.

The email sat in my Inbox for several days and a few days ago, I listened to it. There is something about music - the melody, tone, lyrics that can capture feelings and emotions like nothing else. I began crying while listening to the first sentence; it is as if he is singing about our Josh.

You must have been in a place so dark, you couldn’t feel the light.
Reaching for you through that stormy cloud.
Now here we are gathered in our little home town.
This can’t be the way you meant to draw a crowd.

(Chorus)

Oh why, that’s what I keep asking,
Was there anything I could have said or done.
Oh I had no clue you were masking,
A troubled soul
God only knows what went wrong and why you’d leave the stage in the middle of a song.

Now in my mind I’ll keep you frozen as a 17 year old,
Rounding third to score the winning run.
You always played with passion no matter what the game,
When you took the stage you shined just like the sun.

(Chorus)

Now the oak trees a swaying in the early autumn breeze,
The golden sun is shining on my face.
Tangled thoughts I hear the mocking bird sing
This old world really ain’t that bad a place.

Oh I there’s no comprehending and who am I to try judge or explain
But I do have one burning question,
Who told you life wasn’t worth the fight?
They were wrong…..
They lied…..
Now you’re gone and we cry
It’s just not like you to walk away in the middle of a song.
Your beautiful song.
Your absolutely beautiful song.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

When I visit Josh, it is always my intention to sit at his grave site with my journal and write. The past two weeks, however, I was unable to do so because of a burial that was taking place very close to where Josh lay and the weather. But yesterday, it was beautiful. Sunny, warm, a little breeze and quiet. I wrote this in my journal.

Already October! It is scary to me how quickly the time is flying by - it will be October 18th (7 months anniversary) before I know it, then Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, then Josh's 18th birthday (January 16th) and then the one year anniversary of his death (March 18, 2010).

I want time to stand still. Or better yet, I want it to go backwards - all the way to March 6 when Josh was deciding whether or not he should drive off school grounds at lunch with a friend to smoke pot. In my fantasy, he thinks, "No, this is not right and I can't risk getting caught again".

Then time can fly forward - through lacrosse season, end of school, summer, taking senior pictures, August football practices up to the South Lakes game Friday night and their win against McLean. They are enjoying a 4-1 record and who knows, with Josh at linebacker, maybe they would not have lost the one game by 4 points.

Everything we have gone through the past 6+ months would be erased and I would not be sitting here on a beautiful Saturday afternoon crying while writing by Josh's grave site, after putting a dream catcher and a rainbow decoration for the song that we all associate with him in his tree, and rose petals all over his grave. These all came from my friend and her kids, who are as close to us as family. Photos are below.

No, we'd be talking about taking the SAT's one more time, college choices, football games and his plays in them, the Red Sox making the playoffs, etc. etc. There is more that dies when a child dies - a part of a mother's heart and soul dies too. And all of the hopes and dreams for the future of that child are gone too.

When I think of Josh now, it is no longer the overwhelming grief, although this is still felt intermittently - it is just sadness and emptiness. A void. Space. Empty like his room which now has only a dresser and desk. Because Josh was our youngest, we are empty-nesters, but 1.5 years too early. Our home feels empty, without his quiet presence.

It is easier to keep the house clean, do the laundry and I am spending less at the grocery store. We don't have to wake up in the wee hours of the morning to make sure he is up to get to school on time. I was looking forward to these things at the right time. But not like this - not when our son took his life just two months after turning 17 years old and thrust an empty house on us with such sadness.

When I think of the dates looming in the future, it is so overwhelming. In order to cope, I take one day at a time. For what choice do I have? We have three other children who need me. But I have thought that if and when it is my time to go - that will be okay. I don't fear death - how can I when it would be a way to be reunited with my Josh?

Josh - I love and miss you so much. Be at peace, my dear boy and one day, we will be together again.

Love,
Mom

Is Hindsight 20/20?

These days, thoughts swirl non-stop in my head. Josh's death has changed me so fundamentally that everything I take in - be it a book, newspaper or magazine article, TV show, movie, song or conversation - is filtered through the same questions, "Why did Josh take his life? What did I do wrong? What I could have done to prevent it? What did I miss?" It is like wearing "I need to understand Josh's death" sunglasses, which colors everything I see.

I have just finished reading a very interesting book, The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. It has raised a lot of questions that I will attempt to articulate on this post - with what success, I am not sure.

I am also making progress on the mammoth project to scan all my negatives. I have just finished with 1999, when Josh turned 7 years old and it occurs to me that it will probably get harder and harder to look at pictures of each subsequent year, almost like a countdown to the year of his death - an event that I cannot stop from happening.

Looking at myself in the pictures is strange - I am completely oblivious to the impending doom, the tidal wave of grief and despair that will come in ten short years, the "suicide quake" that will upend our world. I am an unsuspecting victim - we all are - including Josh. He did not know that through a series of bad decisions on his part and getting caught and disciplined according to our school board's Zero Tolerance policy, that he would be facing circumstances beyond his ability to cope. No, in 1999, he was a happy, go-lucky seven-year old kid who was still excited about school, the baby of the family - spoiled by all. Even then, his smile could light up a room. The Christmas photo that year made a close friend cry when she opened up the envelope and saw Josh's beaming smile literally jump out of the picture.

If I only knew what tragedy would be coming, what would I do differently? Josh was such an easy, compliant kid at this age, very laid back and low maintenance. I remember our three older children needing more of my time, attention and energy. This saying was true in our large family, "The squeaky wheel gets the grease" and Josh did not squeak.

I started to notice his behavior changing, especially with school, around the end of 5th grade. He was not motivated, turned in assignments late or not at all and had a "laisse-faire" attitude about everything. Being a responsible student was not an issue with our older three kids, so this was new for us. Despite everything we tried, keeping on task with school work became an on-going problem. At one point, he was interested in home schooling. This was not something that I saw as a viable option but now I think, would he still be alive if I had done this?

"Would have, could have, should have" - these thoughts drive me nuts as I can write a list of these - if only I had known.

In Niffenegger's book, the main character is able to travel through time, forward and backward. He knows things that are going to happen and yet when he travels back to the time of that event, and attempts to force a different outcome, always without success, he eventually realizes that even knowledge is not enough to change what is meant to be.

Thus the title of this post. To me, "Hindsight is 20/20" has always meant that if I knew then what I know now, I could change the course of events by thinking or behaving differently. Like Josh's death - if I had done all of the "would have, could have and should have's", he would still be alive. But is this really true?

My mother has quoted an old Korean saying when discussing how some things for some people are inevitable. "If someone is meant to drown, they can do so in two inches of water". Meaning that even if they knew they were supposed to die by drowning and did everything they could to avoid water, it would happen anyway. The converse would be true too. If someone is not meant to drown, even if there were multiple opportunities for this to occur, it would not happen.

When I was very young, my parents tell me that I almost died. Apparently, I got sick and dehydrated which resulted in a very high fever and was rushed to the hospital. My vessels were so small that any attempt to give me life saving fluids through an IV were thwarted. As a last resort, they put one above my ankle (I still have the scar). My parents left one night to take care of my younger sister and get some rest. They were called back in the middle of the night because the doctors did not think I would make it.

I guess my survival was called a miracle as I made it against all odds. I think back to this event and ask God, "Why did you spare me? I was a small, insignificant child, so close to the line. All of the medical professionals thought I would die. Why didn't I?" And I invariably come to the same conclusion; for whatever reason, it was not my time.

And so I think about Josh. Why did our son die when another high school junior, who recounted his story in a recently read book, Aftershock, survived a three-way suicide attempt of slitting his wrists, jumping off a bridge onto interstate highway traffic? When he woke up in the hospital, he was furious that he was still alive. Since then, he has been trying to understand God's purpose as he has also survived the many life-threatening injuries as a result of his suicide attempt. Clearly, it was not his time.

Was it Josh's time? Despite anything Tim or I could have done, was it his time to go? My mother says that "Josh is an angel. He was here for a purpose. He is saving others". This is sometimes hard to hear because I would take it all back to have him with us

I cannot deny from what has been shared, that Josh's story is saving others. And for this I should be very grateful as it is an answer to prayer - that his death would not be in vain. In comparison to someone who dies and no one is moved, nothing changes, everything goes on as if that person never existed. How sad. How tragic. At least this cannot be said about our Josh as the impact of his life/death is being felt literally around the world. Amazing. He would be amazed.

So based on what I see and witness, was this meant to be? That he came to earth for a specific purpose? And are we seeing this purpose unfold?

• The spotlight shining on serious teen issues?
  
• Highlighting the stress and anxiety that some of our young people find too much to bear?
• Will kids be more open with their feelings and get the help they need?
  
• Will some make better decisions regarding drug/alcohol use?
  
• Will parents work harder to keep the communication lines open with their teens?
• Will parents make different decisions with their kids based on knowing Josh's story?
  
• Will something get done with the unconstitutional way our kids are treated via Zero Tolerance policies?
  
• Will someone, somewhere make a significant difference in this world, in part, because of the convictions developed through Josh's death?
  

I don't know, but I can only hope.

And so I end this post with pictures of the happy, seven-year old Josh.
Rest in peace, my son.
We love and miss you so very much.

God Bless

Pictures From Six Month Fundraiser

Tim and I are so grateful for the continual outpouring of love and support from all of Josh's friends and their families. It has meant so much that others remember us in particular, on the 18th of each month. These "anniversary" dates are so hard and I've come to see that in order not to spiral down into the depths of despair, we need to be with others.

Last Friday was the 6 month anniversary and since high school footballs games were played on Thursday, kids were able to come to the fundraiser, held monthly at the Buffalo Wings Factory. We took over the restaurant as so many people came. It is evident that our Josh is still loved and remembered. Our hearts were so encouraged.

We received some very special gifts that night. Tim is staying involved by filming the Langley games. The boys gave him a photo with their signatures. I received a plaque with the Lord's Prayer that will be placed by the dogwood tree we have planted in our front yard - in memory of our son.


I don't yet have the total amount raised, but when I do, I'll post it on the blog.

To end, here is a slide show of pictures taken at the restaurant.

September 18, 2009 - Six Months Later

I have been dreading this day. Six months since our beloved son decided to leave us. Why? This question still haunts me. I rack my brains to find some clue, action, word or deed that would have alerted us to Josh contemplating suicide, much less going through with it. I can't come up with anything and it drives me crazy.

I ask God, "Why did this happen? Why did you allow our dear boy to take his life? Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you give my mother's intuition a nudge?" Surely I would've acted on it. I would've have asked the hard questions. I would've forced myself into his world to make him see this was not a viable option. Now it is too late. I am too late.

God is silent. He wants me to trust Him which is hard. But I am trying. I picked up this cross stitch pattern that I plan to work on while on my grief journey. It is a story that has been around for a long time but maybe there are some who have not seen it in a while or have never read it.

Footprints
One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord. Scenes from his life flashed across the sky and he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand, one belonging to him and one belonging to the Lord.

When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he recalled that at the lowest and saddest times of his life there was only one set of footprints. Dismayed, he asked, "Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. Why at the troublesome times in my life, the times that I needed you the most, would you leave me?"

The Lord replied, "My precious child, I love you and would never, never leave you. During your times of trials and suffering when you saw only one set of footprints...
That was when I carried you."

I have read this several times in my life and it has given me comfort. But there was always a part of me that knew that I had never known real suffering. Now I know. So it is at this time, when a part of my heart feels like it has died, that I have to ask myself, "Do I really believe?"

So part of my grief journey involves the testing of my faith. Is it possible to come through this "fire" with a faith that is stronger and more genuine than ever? I hope so because I know that being at peace with Josh's decision/death will have to involve trusting God. With Josh. With me. With our family. Believing that good can come out of this horrible, unspeakable tragedy. Believing the story above.

There is a bestseller that will soon be out as a movie. I read the book, The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold quite a while ago but as with many other things, I have a whole different perspective now. Anyone who sees the back of the book will know that this is a story about a 14-year old girl who was murdered and in heaven, is able to watch what happens on earth - with her friends, her killer, her grieving family. She sees her father writing in his journal and as I read this I wonder, "does Josh see what I write? Does he see this blog? Does he see how much he was truly loved?" I can only hope. And so I end this post with a letter to him.

Dear Josh,
I am sitting by your grave site. It is a cool, cloudy day. The mowers have come through so I've had to clear the grass clippings from your stone. Since it is cooler now, hopefully the fresh carnations that I've placed in your vase will last for a while. There is a little breeze so I hear your chimes. There are seven now in "your" tree. I am the only one here so it is quiet and peaceful.

It has been six months since you decided to leave us. I still do not understand why but know I need to accept your decision. As a mother, it is so hard. I can't help feeling like I failed you. If only you could have told me what you were really feeling inside. I would have done anything to help you. And not just me - your dad, siblings and friends too.

In your short life, you've had such an impact. I've been re-reading the comments on the blog about you. All of your friends say the same thing - that you were one of the kindest and nicest kids - who would never say anything bad about anyone else. You brought a smile to all who knew you. You made people laugh. Quieter than most, but when you spoke, people took note. Smart. A great team player. Being a surprise baby, you were always special to us. But I didn't realize, until hearing from your friends after you were gone, how special you were to them.

My son, there is nothing that I can do now except to try and accept what has happened and move on. I'll tell you, it is not easy. Sometimes I have a busy day at work and almost forget what has happened. Then I remember and it hits me like a punch in the stomach - to where I can bowl over in pain. I guess this is to be expected from a mother who has lost her baby. I know you didn't mean to cause this much sorrow and grief. I only hope that you are at peace and know how much you are loved and missed by your dad and I. You were a surprise gift given to us over 17 years ago and we cherish every moment that you were a part of our lives.

PS - I read in the paper of a 15-year old boy who threw himself in front of a train in Maryland. This is now the 6th boy between the ages of 15 - 22 that I've heard who has killed himself. I don't know the circumstances of this poor boy but some of the others, I do. They were like you, from families who loved them dearly. What did we do wrong? What is happening in our society where young men are choosing not to live? I don't know the answer, but it is scary.

PPS - You are buried in such a beautiful place - like a park. So Grandpa and Grandma have bought plots not far from where you are. So when their time comes, you can keep each other company. Also, when we got a grid map of the place where you are buried, Grandma was the first to notice that you are in section #33! We looked at each other in disbelief. It still amazes me when I think about it. Maybe Dad and I will buy plots so that we can one day be all together.

Rest in peace, beloved son. Be our guardian angel.
Love you with all of my heart,
Mom

Would anyone else like to write a letter to him? Please feel free as a comment to this post.

God Bless

"Suicidequake" - September 11, 2009

I am probably no different than any of you. When I see the date, September 11th, I am transported to that horrible day when our country was attacked in a most vicious and unmerciful way. I remember exactly where I was when the unthinkable had occurred and the numbness at the realization of how many innocent and brave lives were lost.

There was absolutely no warning for those whose loved ones died on this day. They kissed their spouses, children and friends good-bye as they boarded planes or went to work. Little did they know that within moments, their lives would be changed forever.

I have a greater understanding of what these survivors must have felt as my world has been been changed forever too, but in a different way - by suicide.

In their book called Aftershock: Help, Hope and Healing in the Wake of Suicide by David Cox and Candy Arrington, suicide is likened to an earthquake. I find it an appropriate analogy as while earthquakes might give off some warning signals, they are often so unexpected that no one is prepared for the utter devastation and chaos that occurs. Cox begins the book with his own experience - his father took his life when he was 9 years old. He was the last family member to see his dad alive.

On July 17, 1967, an earthquake rocked my world. Felt by relatively few people, it devastated those in its epicenter and brought chaos to our lives. Although not a dynamic force of nature, the event shook my universe, crumbled my stable foundation, and sent shockwaves far into the future. It was suicide.

I can relate to the author's description of the overwhelming devastation that the immediate family suffers as the "epicenter" of the "suicidequake". And just as an earthquake can be felt for miles around, so the effects of Josh's suicide have radiated far beyond our family.

Next Friday will be six months since he has been gone. It is hard to believe almost half a year or two seasons has passed. On the one hand, it seems like yesterday and I am still raw with grief. On the other hand, as I think back to everything that has occurred, I feel detached, as though I see snapshots of someone else's life, their tragedy, their loss, their heartache and sorrow.

Maybe it is my mind and heart's way of protecting myself for if I could feel the brunt of Josh's death, even 6 months later, I don't think I could handle it. The pain would be too much for this poor mother's soul to bear. When I do recognize that it has happened to me, I feel sorry for myself - which is a new feeling. But how can I not? I am living every mother's worst nightmare and the horrible thing is that I can't wake up. It won't go away. Josh really did take his life - for reasons I still cannot fathom, but need to accept.

Sometimes, I wish I could move faster through this "grief journey" and get to the other side which I hear is acceptance and peace. This seems so far away to me - a distant shore that I am struggling to reach. I am realizing from my reading that I must be patient and while I don't want to be stuck or frozen in grief, I shouldn't rush it either.

The secondary effects of an earthquake are often greater than the actual event: fires from broken gas mains, flooding from ruptured water lines, theft and looting in unprotected areas, and panic and fear as aftershocks continue. In a matter of minutes, everything that is stable and firm is destroyed. Once familiar surroundings, now devastated, are oddly unrecognizable.

Just as earthquake survivors must sift through the debris of their homes and lives, so suicide survivors must deal with the emotional and practical fallout that remains. Life becomes unstable and uncertain. It is possible to rebuild your life following suicide, but it involves hard, painstaking work (83).

I guess this is where we are at. Slowly picking through the debris, trying to get our lives back in order and learning how to live with the vacancy and loss felt from Josh's passing every minute of every day.

Thanks so much to all who continue to keep us in your thoughts and prayers. I am not ashamed to say that we still need them.

God Bless.

Pictures of Josh: 5 - 6 years old

I've successfully scanned in two more years of negatives to my computer. What a monumental project this has become! Good thing I will not be hosting Thanksgiving as my dining room is now "Memorial Central".

This blog is a memorial too. In Louise DeSalvo's book, Writing As A Way of Healing, there is a section called, "Writing A Loved One's Dying". How apropos. A memoir is referenced, Heaven's Coast, written by Mark Doty about his lover's death from AIDS.

Making a record of Wally's life and death was a way for Doty to remember him, to hold onto him. Remembering, he says, "is the work of the living." It is what the living must do for the dead. Recalling faces and they way they look in all moods and weathers. Anecdotes that they tell and tell and tell again. Incidents that signify the shared life in all its variety - its ecstatic and banal moments. "Gestures, tics, nuances, those particular human attributes that distinguish us as individuals." Doty believes it is his duty to capture the singularity of Wally, to erect a monument of words to his partner. But Heaven's Coast is a testament, too, to Doty's love for Wally and to his loss and grief (188).

I can relate completely and this is how I feel about the blog. It is a web monument - being erected by each post, comment, photo, shared story and art work - in honor and memory of our Josh. It is also a testament to the love felt for him by family, friends and those who have never met him. This was articulated in a recent comment from a friend whom I have not seen for years, and who, because of what she has seen in this blog, cries not only for me but for him.

This blog is also a record of the tragic circumstances surrounding his death and a call for parents to question the effectiveness of the Zero Tolerance policy in many of our school systems.

It is reminder that the minds of our young people can be quite fragile. That sometimes, they are not as strong, competent and emotionally mature as they appear to be and need more support and protection than we may think.

It is with these thoughts in mind that I end this post with a slideshow of when Josh was five and six years old. Missing front teeth, Little League baseball, first day of kindergarten, Halloween, first (and only) trip to Disney, summer visiting both sets of grandparents in Oregon and on Cape Cod, Christmas.




Josh - we love you so much.
Rest in peace, our dear boy.

God Bless

Writing to Heal - August 30, 2009

Strangely enough, the thesaurus has become my friend. Helpful as I journal through my days, striving to put into words the depths of my feelings and emotions - struggling to come to terms with Josh's passing. It is so hard and painful yet I push through as I believe it is better for me to face the grief head-on, rather than to avoid or suppress it, as tempting as this may be.

In her book, "Writing As A Way of Healing", Louise DeSalvo summarizes ten years of scientific research recorded by James W. Pennebaker while at Southern Methodist University. Here are two quotes that keep me motivated.

Many researchers have observed that survivors of childhood sexual abuse and other trauma (like rape) or the suicide or accidental deaths of people close to them, if they do not discuss these events, tend to develop more major illnesses than people who do express their feelings (24).

Writing that describes traumatic or distressing events in detail and how we felt about these events then and feel about them now is the only kind of writing about trauma that clinically has been associated with improved health. Simply writing about innocuous subjects (like what we did throughout the day) or simply writing about traumatic events or venting our feelings about trauma without linking the two does not result in significant health or emotional benefits (25).

There is now a thick, black line that is permanantly placed in time. Before Josh Died and After Josh Died. Everything in my life is relegated to these two time periods. Because he is gone, nothing will ever be the same. And it happened without warning or suspicion. Without any time to prepare myself. One moment, I am feverishly working to get ready for a client meeting, thinking that Josh is upstairs sleeping; the next, I am all alone and holding my dead son in my arms - screaming his name over and over again.
I write to help me navigate this new grief journey. I write because according to DeSalvo, "after a loved one dies, our lives are temporarily in serious jeopardy" (189) and that "we are living in the midst of the disintegration of everything that has marked our lives as normal and meaningful" (195).
Disintegration - this is an accurate description of what has happened on March 18, 2009. My thesaurus gives me other words and I nod my head "yes" to all: break apart, fall apart, shatter, explode, blow up, collapse, perish, bust.
From my reading, I understand that my writing is a quest for several things: to try and understand why Josh took his life, which I know is a futile exercise, but I cannot stop asking; to acknowledge the irrevocable changes to my world and to find some order and meaning in the chaos after his passing.
And so, I find myself in DeSalvo's words:

People who write about their loved one's deaths are paradoxically engaged in a search for the meaning of their loved one's lives. They want to make a record; they want to describe their loss and their grief. But they want to discover, too, an overarching meaning for this death so that it will not have been for naught.

This seems especially necessary if the death was a violent one, if it was a suicide or an accident, or if it was the death of a child. For these deaths greatly threaten our sense of order. They shake the foundations of our belief in a meaningful, beneficent universe; they make us question whether any actions we undertake have meaning" (191).

One of the earliest exercises in her book asks the reader to think about a metaphor for writing. For her, writing is a "fixer"; a means by which she can work through problems and find healing or like a compass, giving her a "fix" on her life - where she is, where she has been and where she is going. For another author, writing is like a "very sturdy ladder out of the pit" (8). For me, writing has become a life preserver. I will end this post with what I wrote in my journal about this metaphor.

Writing is now my lifeline - my life preserver. Without it, I would drown in all of my feelings, sorrow and guilt. Where could it all go except inward to eat away at my soul? Instead of drowning, I am holding onto this life preserver - bobbing up and down in my grief, but not going under. The writing on the blog forces me to think about how I am feeling, organize it and write so that it makes sense to myself and others.
This life preserver is tethered to something bigger - a boat that maybe represents normalcy or happiness (can my life ever be "normal" again? I don't think so). Can I ever say that I will be happy (can't even imagine it right now). So here I am, hanging onto this life preserver - writing - not ready or able to get into the boat. It has been a natural thing to do - even though I've never had to write for my life until now.
Without my life preserver (writing), I would have drown. It has saved me. Could I even hope that my life preserver has provided a life preserver for others?

Please let me know.
God Bless

Remembering Josh - T shirts, Chimes and Monthly Fundraiser

What helps me these days as I try to cope with the indescribable pain and sorrow associated with losing our Josh? Simple - it is the knowledge that he is being remembered by all of you. This means more to me than you can know. My spirits have been lifted by recent examples such as these....

• When I hear a story, memory or dream about our son.
• When I hear that a football teammate is not only wearing Josh's number this season (33), but has also put his initials (JA) on new football gloves.
• When plans are moving forward to plant a tree on the McLean Youth football field, in memory of Josh, who played since he was eight years old. I still love the name of this age group - "Ankle Biters".
• When I hear that some of his closest friends have his pictures in their homes or in their rooms.
• When I hear that you still visit the blog and it helps you in your own "grief journey".
• When you tell me that knowing the circumstances around Josh's tragic death has caused you to think about your family and perhaps make some changes that may save your children, or at least, strengthen the relationship.
• When you say that now, over five months later, you still think about and miss our Josh.

The title of this post and the following pictures are other ways that encourage me. Our daughter, Gillian, designed a T-shirt soon after Josh's passing. I have provided the link, in case you would like to order shirts, as some of his football teammates have recently done. Whenever I see someone wearing this shirt, my heart catches. It is a reminder of our loss, but also a way to commemorate his brief but beautiful life.

http://www.customink.com/designs/rememberj/12758413-2583889/retrieve

A couple of new wind chimes were recently placed on "Josh's tree" - close to his grave site. We appreciate these gifts - bought specifically for him by his friends.



On the 18th of each month, there is a fundraiser at the Buffalo Wings Factory in Reston. As the day approaches, it is a painful reminder of another month without Josh. September 18th will be six months or half a year since he died. It is amazing and sometimes frightening how quickly the time passes. It definitely helps to be with others on these anniversary days. I appreciate those who came out in August. Below are some photos from that night.




We appreciate the continued love and support from our family and friends. Speaking for Tim and each of our surviving children, we could not handle this loss without you.

God Bless.

My Dream - August 24, 2009

I've only had two dreams about Josh since he died. The first occurred a couple of months afterwards, and was so strange that I didn't bother writing it down nor have thought much about it since. The second dream was four night ago - right before I woke up, so I remembered all of it. It was like a movie, going from one scene to the next.

First scene: Tim, the girls and I were at home, but not our current home nor one we've ever lived in, but it felt like home - you know how dreams are. We had white shag carpet and just like what happened in real life a few months ago, our washing machine overflowed. Walking into the hallway, I saw water everywhere and starting yelling for help to clean up.

Next scene: I was taking something into the garage (s0 we could pull up the carpet) and I saw Josh putting something down. I was shocked and said, "Josh, is that you?!?" We locked eyes and he gave me his infamous smirk. He looked good - tall, healthy and strong. I couldn't believe my eyes and thought I was seeing a mirage.

Next scene: He was standing right in front of me and I was poking him with whatever I had in my hand - not sure what it was, maybe a pencil. The poking was hitting something solid! I asked him to give me a hug. He obliged me but I could tell that he felt awkward. I didn't care and said, "Hug me tighter!" which he did, and it felt like so good. I asked Tim if he could see Josh, but he could not.

Next scene: We were standing in front of a nail that was sticking out of the wall. I had a key ring with several keys that I did not recognize. He wanted me to put the keys on the nail in a specific order. It seemed very important that I do so exactly as he said.

Then I woke up.

Being a bit groggy, it didn't really register what just happened. As my mind started remembering the dream, I quickly got my journal and wrote everything down. I felt pretty happy to have a dream about him since I have wondered why he wasn't in them more frequently. Also, he looked good , which was a relief. Once recorded, I attempted to decipher what it meant but didn't get very far, so I left it for later.

After re-reading my dream yesterday, I spent some time thinking and writing about what it could mean. Maybe Josh is telling me that he wants to help. To not forget about him when things are happening in our lives. He wants to still be involved.

Keys open things. Maybe I am thinking too much of him in the past and that my heart needs to be opened so that he can live with me in the present. That I should leave behind the thoughts of what was - with all of its regrets, guilt and questions - and rather, live for now, with him always by my side.

Gillian wrote this and shared it with Tim and I a couple of days before my dream. Maybe he is telling me that what she is saying is true.

"...Another resolution of mine is keeping in touch with my brother. Wherever he is, I want him to know that he is a part of my everyday, my present and my future, not just my past. I want to keep him alive in my life and I want to stop thinking about him in the past tense. It's hard for me to just imagine having these conversations with him so I am (finally) using the journal that my mom gave me to write to him, not about him. I tell him how I felt when he left, I tell him what I'm feeling now, I share memories I have with him and I tell him that I am determined not to forget. I tell him that I love him and miss him. That he will always, always have a place in my heart."

I love what she wrote and along with this dream, I have something new to think about. A way to navigate this "grief journey".

God Bless.

Sadder Than Ever, Five Months Later - August 18, 2009

Is it even possible? To feel more pain, anguish and sorrow than when our dear seventeen year old boy died five months ago? I would have thought “no”, but unfortunately, it is so. The ache has intensified and the grief has not abated; it is still overwhelming in its force.

Why? Maybe it is because our two girls will be leaving home soon - one to start a new job in Atlanta, and one to go back to college. Maybe I fear Josh’s absence, overlooked while the girls are home, will be more than I can bear.

Maybe it is because football practice has begun and I fantasize what should be. Josh coming home, hot and sweaty, taking a refreshing dip in the pool and passing out on the couch. I can close my eyes, visualize him and in doing so, my heart breaks even more.

Maybe it is because the days in August are quickly passing followed by a new school year. Josh should be a senior – big man on campus. Leader on the football team. Enjoying the present, while looking to the future. But it will not be.

With this example, it has dawned on me that Josh experiences loss as well – and this knowledge adds to my grief. We saw the new Harry Potter movie while on vacation – he would’ve enjoyed it. We went horseback riding and I could envision his smile/smirk at this new experience. Laughing at the horses as they raised their tails and pooped at will. Trying to determine, as all the men were, how to be less uncomfortable while trotting.

Has Josh ever skied? I don’t think so. Will ever experience college life? No. Have the chance to find his “soul mate” and marry? No. Ever know the joys of fatherhood? No, no and no. No new songs, books, video games, or experiences – ever. What a waste. What a loss. Why didn’t he think about these things before taking the steps to end his life? Maybe they would’ve pulled him back from the brink and he’d still be with us today.

After five months, why isn't it any easier? Maybe it is because the horrible reality of our “new” lives, without the existence and being of our beloved Josh, is sinking in. Is this really it? Did it really happen? Is he gone from our lives forever? I can’t stand the thought and want to scream and shout, “NO, IT’S NOT TRUE!”

Maybe it is because of a long letter received from a dear college friend. I should have waited to the end of the day to read it. Her empathy and condolences as a fellow mother made me cry. She also shared that her twenty-two year old daughter was no stranger to suicide as one of her best friends in high school took his life, and a girlfriend in college died by her own hand. More tears flowed, thinking about these two young lives, our son and three other young men I’ve heard of, who took their lives this year between January and April.
Why are young people doing this to themselves? What makes suicide a viable option? How can their minds allow for this permanent self-destruction? Why didn’t they open up with their true thoughts and feelings – to receive the critical help needed?

Has the media (TV, movies, books, video games) de-sensitized our young people to the horrors of death and its resulting wake of despair and sorrow for those left behind? Has this made it easier for them to walk towards and embrace death? I don’t know.

It is hard for Tim as well. Since Josh was a linebacker, Tim would watch football games on TV, focusing on that position in hopes of catching a great play, which he would then show and discuss with Josh. The first preseason Patriots game was on the other night, and Tim cannot watch the linebackers anymore.

Since he is a real estate agent, Tim spends quite a bit of time alone on the road. “Josh’s death,” he says, “is always right here”, holding up a hand in front of his face. Last week, he was driving around in Herndon/Sterling, on the same roads that he and Josh traveled while doing errands - just a few days before his death. It is so hard when something as insignificant as driving down a road can bring up bitter memories.

Unfortunately, it does not seem that grief follows a linear progression where one goes from stage to stage – on the way to recovery. No, for me, the grief process is more circular where the stages follow one another, round and round, and sometimes out of sequence. For how long, I do not know. Some of Josh's friends tell me that when they think of him, it is the happier memories that occupy their minds. Not me. When I think of Josh, it is still so hard, so painful, so sad and depressing. I don't know how long this circular voyage of grief will last - I only hope that at some point, the slope is upward, leading eventually to acceptance and peace.

Poignant writing from Nicholas Wolterstorff whose book, “Lament For A Son” was written in honor of his twenty-five year old son, who died in a mountain climbing accident.

Nothing fills the void of his (Josh’s) absence. He’s not replaceable. We can’t go out and get another just like him (32).

My son is gone. Only a hole remains, a void, a gap, never to be filled (33).

Something is over. In the deepest levels of my existence something is finished, done. My life is divided into before and after (46).

So it is with all memories of him. They all lead into that blackness. It's all over, over, over. All I can do is remember him. I can't experience him. The person whom these memories are attached is no longer here with me, standing up. He's only in my memory now, not in my life. Nothing new can happen between us. Everything is sealed tight, shut in the past. I'm still here. I have to go on. I have to start over. But this new start is so different from the first. Then I wasn't carrying this load, this thing that is over (47).

Perhaps what's over is happiness as the fundamental tone of my existence. Now sorrow is that (47).

I end this post with a photo of all of the family on Tim's side, wearing our "Josh" shirts, in memory of him.


Josh - we love and miss you with all of our hearts. Rest in peace, our dear beloved son.

God Bless.

Story from an older sister of one of Josh's friends

This story touched our whole family. With her permission, I have posted it on the blog.

Hi Mrs Anderson (& the rest of the Anderson crew),

I have never officially met you, but you know my brother Artie - I'm his oldest sister, Alexa. I've wanted to write to you for a while, but always thought it was kind of weird since you don't know me, but through your blog I don't think that bothers you very much. I wanted to share my brief memories of Josh with you, as he always held a very special place with me among my brother's friends...

It's a rather bizarre story about how I was able to immediately bring up your son's name when I thought of Artie's gang. When I was a freshman in high school, my best friends (Mary and Alison) went to Stone Ridge in Bethesda, while I went to O'Connell in Arlington. We only ever saw each other on weekends and during the summer. Just before our sophomore year started, we all went to Kings Dominion for the day. When we were in line for the bumper cars, we noticed this REALLY cute guy ahead of us. Through a series of frantic whispers, we decided that we must take secret pictures of him. I think he noticed (we were probably not the very covert), and he turned to give us a weird look. I boldly asked if he would take a picture with the three of us. Shockingly, he agreed.

The picture came out great - he had a beautiful smile and his arm around my waist (plus the three of us looked good). We decided to make up a story and history of this kid, based on this one picture. Since I didn't go to their school, not many of their classmates knew much about me. We then decided that he should be my boyfriend. Obviously, we needed to make it convincing, so we developed a whole backstory, starting with a name. I christened him "Josh Anderson," after my favorite actor (Josh Hartnett) and another friend of mine (Jackie Anderson). It seemed like a totally believable story. We even made up a screenname on AIM ("JAnder527") and a birthday (May 27, 1986). This ploy went on for a few months, and I think the people we told still believe he is a real person.

So you can imagine my surprise when, during my second year at UVA, I saw a real kid named Josh Anderson on Artie's football roster. I had come up to watch a game (their freshman year at Langley), and I was looking to see who I knew on the list. I excitedly exclaimed, "oh my gosh, is there seriously a kid named 'Josh Anderson' on this team?!?!" My parents just looked at me and nodded, not understanding my excitement. They mentioned that he was a friend of Artie's, and did not seem to appreciate the hilarity of finding out that a person who had been completely made up suddenly materialized and turned out to be real - even down to the nicknames!

A few months later, over Christmas break I think, I had the pleasure of meeting your son. I immediately told him the story of how I had dreamed up another Josh Anderson years earlier. Artie cut me off three-quarters of the way through the story because "Josh doesn't care," but Josh laughed all the same.

After that I ran into him at other times whenever I was home - picking up/dropping of people, gatherings at my house, sports events at Langley, etc. I think I may have even talked to you on the phone when you called to see if he was at our house (which I loved, because it showed me that it wasn't only my parents who called to check in). Even when he was with a big, loud group of other guys, he always stood out to me. Initially, this was because I was so thrilled to have found a flesh-and-blood Josh Anderson, but as I was around them more often, I noticed that he just had a strong, silent presence. He didn't have to be the most boisterous to get attention. But when he smiled (that classic smirk everyone mentions), you could see how it drew everyone in, and when he said something, they all listened (and laughed, loudly).

When I heard the awful news in March, I felt crushed. I actually came home to be with my brother, who was devastated. I will never forget how lost he (and his friends) looked that weekend. I cannot even imagine what your family went (and continues to go) through. As an older sister, I felt utter shock, grief, and disbelief for your other children especially. Through these past months, your blog has helped us all deal with this tragedy. I hope this random little story helps add another facet to Josh's life for you. He won me over when he didn't scoff at the story of the first Josh Anderson in my life, and I will never forget him.

Please give your daughter my congrats for her graduation from the Comm School. My thoughts and prayers are still with your family. Thank you for all that you have provided through your blog - it means a lot to a great deal of people.

Yours,

Alexa

My "Grief Journey" - Why, Josh, Why?

Consider this - everyone’s life is a journey, a linear road in which things happen, events occur and memories are made. There are forks in the road when decisions like moving, going to a new school, taking a new job, getting married, or having kids changes the landscape and makes the journey new, exciting and sometimes scary. At other times, unexpected obstacles make the road difficult and challenging but hopefully not insurmountable.

Our son, Josh was on such a road – a pretty typical teenage boy’s life as one can see by reading the posts on this blog. Granted, in the past year his journey was more challenging due to the changing of schools and just prior to his death, the probable expulsion from Fairfax County Public Schools. Difficult? Yes. Worth ending his life over? No, nor did he ever give any indication that he felt like it was.

But for some reason, still unknown to us and anyone else who has known our boy in his short life, he faced something he could not overcome nor could he share. Had he told either Tim or I, we would've done anything to help him. So whether this obstacle was like a Mount Everest that he could not climb, go around or pass through; or a deep chasm that he found himself unable to climb out of, he decided to end his journey. I don’t understand it and in my journal, I am writing the same three words over and over: “Why, Josh Why?”

To say his action has changed my life is an understatement. It has changed me - permanently. Prior to March 18, 2009, my own journey was pretty “normal”. Childhood, adolescence, college, marriage and over time, the normal chaos of juggling work and raising four kids with two dogs. Post Josh’s death, it's as if I have woken up from a horrible nightmare and am now on this somewhat familiar road minus a part of my heart - without any idea of what just happened and why. Why me? Why us? Why our son? Why, Josh, why?

I don’t want to be on this "grief journey" as it is not part of life’s natural order – a parent is not supposed to bury a child. It should be the other way around. I don’t like this journey as I am not prepared and am here against my will. Plus, it is so emotional - draining my energy and making the simple things more taxing. Why, Josh, why?

As a kid, the passing of our pet dogs was sad but did not put me on this journey. Nor did the deaths of my maternal grandparents (I never knew the grandparents on my father’s side). So at 48 years old, this is new. I feel for my own kids and Josh’s close friends who find themselves on this road at such a young age.

Regardless of my feelings or unanswered questions, here I am. Unexpected things have occurred, such as this blog. The writing has helped me and as I have been told, it has also helped many others. Of this, I am grateful.

These days, the bookstore is a magical place for me. At home, I frequent the large chains like Borders or Barnes and Noble. On our vacation in New England, however, I found locally owned bookstores similar to the one that Meg Ryan’s character operated in the movie “You’ve Got Mail”. With hardwood floors, tall wooden bookcases overflowing with books, comfy seats in various nooks where one can sit undisturbed for hours and friendly, knowledgeable employees whose love for books is unmistakable - a book lovers dream.

I have always been a reader, as mentioned in a Book Review post, but why this almost insatiable desire to read, read and read? I don’t know except that it is an important part of my journey.

A couple of days ago, as I was browsing through a bookstore in Vermont, this title intrigued me: Writing through the Darkness, Easing Your Depression with Paper and Pen by Elizabeth Schaefer. The author, who suffers from bipolar disorder, uses writing to successfully help her cope with her illness. She has also formed a writing group for others and the book is a result of what she has taught and learned.

Though I do not relate to her daily struggles, I do feel as though life is now dark and grey. After reading a few sentences shared below, I not only bought the book, read it in within a couple of days but also ordered seven more books based on the bibliography and resources listed in the back. This book is a gem.

This book and its approach to writing and healing are designed specifically for people coping with situational depression due to a difficult life event, or with major depression or the depressed phase of bipolar disorder (pg. 18).

Writing can help you overcome the trauma of a situational depression more quickly and assist you in finding perspective on how this event fits into your whole life (24).

Writing will help you discover your feelings, too. It can help you acknowledge the hell you may have gone through, validate how it may still pain you, and digest those feelings to bring you into a new place and perspective (52).

As I had read through the book - with all of my customary underlining, notes in the margins and dog-eared pages - I think, "Aha! This is why the blog is so important to me. And why I always feel better after writing a post, even though it is often difficult emotionally."

I never realized there were so many books on the topic of "writing to heal" or on "journaling". Here are some that I am eagerly awaiting.

• With Pen in Hand: The Healing Power of Writing by Henriette Klauser
• Writing as a Way of Healing by Louise DeSalvo
• Writing to Heal: A Guided Journal for Recovering from Trauma & Emotional Upheaval by James Pennebaker
• Writing to Heal the Soul: Transforming Grief and Loss Through Writing by Susan Zimmerman
• Journal to Self: Twenty-Two Paths to Personal Growth by Kathleen Adams

My "to read" stack is tall. The grief journey has led me to books written by survivors of suicide, books about why people commit suicide (I have not been able to read these yet), fictional books on the topic of suicide/grief and now, these books on writing/journaling to heal.

I read to learn and if helpful, I plan to share this on the blog. I also realize that I am reading to become a better writer. This is one of the most surprising things on my journey as I have never liked writing, nor would I ever consider myself a writer, but here I am, and it is helping. Who would ever have guessed?

I think that writing has helped some of you as I hear there are still friends posting on Josh's facebook wall. Many of you have written a letter to Josh in my book while in our home or at the funeral service. I cherish what was poured out from your hearts. Since then, maybe you have written a poem or a song or a story. If so, would you share it with Tim and I? We would love to read it.

Writing has been healing. This blog has been healing. Thanks again for the love, support, thoughts and prayers from all of you - it means the world to us.

God Bless
jandermom@gmail.com