Ever since my son has passed I guess I have become as sensitive as an eyeball. I experience things differently and look for my son in everything, everywhere. It just isn't the same without him, but I try and see things as if we share them.
I also have this thing I do each year since being an empty nester. I ask Jesus to show me true Christmas and allow me to experience it in a special way.
I had gone on Christmas house tours and church and christmas pageants, and all of that. And last night one of the songs in the pageant when there was no room at the inn, was sung...."No room? and I thought, there still seems to be no room for Jesus in our Christmas. I always wish there was more time to get ready, to buy, to cook, to bake....no room just to focus on Jesus, no room.
This year, I have had so many glimpses of Jesus with me. I just got word of a new position that I wanted....on Christmas. I was so excited and preoccupied and self absorbed that I forgot an appointment I had set up to show an apartment. I guess I had dismissed the man the day he made the appointment to see it when he asked if it had a bathroom. I thought he was drunk or pulling my leg. I put the appointment off two days and he called my office looking for me. I almost cancelled because I had Christmas shopping to do and it was Christmas eve. I hadnt done any because of my finances but used money given to me by friends. I had to make it fast, I was running out of time.
I rushed over to meet him. He was old, and cold, and wearing a light jacket and carried a gift bag, with what I am guessing were toiletries or christmas gifts. I apologized aa he commented how cold it was outside.
Little did I know he was sleeping outside for days waiting for this appointment and a chance to be indoors again. I wasnt sure how he became homeless. Was he a drug addict, a drunk, did he do something wrong?
Should I go inside alone with him? I asked if he had money for the apartment. He said yes. I said three months were needed and he pulled out cash from his little bag, only enough for one months rent, no security and no brokers fee.
I called the Landlord and told him he was cold and homeless but had a pension and after christmas we could get the rest of the money and see where we were at with him, but that my heart told me to ask if he could let him stay indoors. He was quick to agree, and said you take half of the month rent for commission I will take half for the first months rent and we will see what happens after the holidays. He said you are right, we must sometimes follow our heart and it is Christmas eve.
I looked in his eyes and the scripture "Do these for the least of these and you do it for me"
I gave him the good news. But he had no bed, no food, no clothes or towels or anything. So I called a social worker I had met who lived in queens for advice. Instead, her and her husband packed up a futon in her truck and she on her christmas eve jouneyed out to deliver it. I spoke to two friends and together we bought him everything he needed to move in....except a toaster...I forgot the toaster.
But was so amazing is that this social worker and I had just become friends and worked on housing someone else who had a brain injury. When she saw this man, she said "Where did you find him?" I said, "He saw the sign and called.
She said I think he suffers from alzheimers or something, I think I can get him eligable for a program to help him with his rent. His had shakes and doesnt remember anything I say. He can't remember the code for the door. He is going to get locked out.
I said lets go inside and talk to him about this. We knocked on the door and he answered because he couldnt set up the futon. We helped him. He hugged me and said I think Jesus sent you to me. I replied, no I think Jesus sent you to me.
I
This is a Blog about grief and the loss of a child and how a mother copes daily . I want to share my feelings and help others through their grief while I go thru mine. My son was almost 22 when he died. A beautiful and amazing light in the world. I dedicate this blog to him and all the others who were the loves of their parents lives.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Holidays
Listening to O Holy Night in a department store full of mayham and nonsense I am especially offended since you died. Everything seems so ridiculous, so meaningless, so robotic, so besides the point.
I think until a tragedy hits we are just robotic, sleep walkers who buy into the insanity of consumerism and think we are experiencing the holiday season.
Oh how I miss you. Your life was so sacred. so beautiful. You were my Christmas everyday. You were my love and my peace and my joy that God had blessed me with. Every day should have been a celebration, a holiday, a special occasion. You were so special so full of love and kindness. I try so hard to hear from God and maybe even you. I look for signs. Yesterday I was behind a car that had plates that said
Psalm23D. Was that a Sign D avid. Another day a plate said Peace. Was that you? I was told feathers are signs and pennys are signs. Was that you? Or am I just desperate to connect with you.
I love you AND look forward to meeting you again in heaven
I think until a tragedy hits we are just robotic, sleep walkers who buy into the insanity of consumerism and think we are experiencing the holiday season.
Oh how I miss you. Your life was so sacred. so beautiful. You were my Christmas everyday. You were my love and my peace and my joy that God had blessed me with. Every day should have been a celebration, a holiday, a special occasion. You were so special so full of love and kindness. I try so hard to hear from God and maybe even you. I look for signs. Yesterday I was behind a car that had plates that said
Psalm23D. Was that a Sign D avid. Another day a plate said Peace. Was that you? I was told feathers are signs and pennys are signs. Was that you? Or am I just desperate to connect with you.
I love you AND look forward to meeting you again in heaven
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
THANKFUL FOR THE CHANCE TO BE MY SONS MOTHER
my daughter found an old school project of my sons from when he was twelve.......
He was an old soul full of love
He was an old soul full of love
David's School Project from 2000 - He was 12
My role in the family is the negotiator. I make sure noby fights a lot. If they do fight, I make sure there's some type of agreement at the end. It is important that I carry out this role because I don't like when people fight. When I help negotiate, everybody likes me and each other.
My family means a lot to me. They help when I'm in need it and I do the same for them. They make sure I'm safe and fed every night. Whe their in need, I'm there for them. I love my family and love me too.
My sister Genesis has taught me some very important lessons. One of the most important lessons I have learned from her is to never shoot anyone's dream down. While my sister was younger, she was told she would never do anything important, that she was, "a jack of all trades master of none." Now she has the important job of teaching young minds biology in East Islip. When I was younger, Gen would encourage any dream I had no matter how wild it was. She let me believe that I could be or do anything I put my mind to.
The Dawson Family challenge, is a single parent household raising three children. My mother and father separated when I was a baby. We moved into my grandmother's house. Where we made our new home. It may have only been an apartment but it was home to us. While my mom went out to work, my sisters and I took care of our home. My sister, Genesis, became my second mom and made sure that I was taken care of. My mom had only a high school degree and no real work experience. She started from a very low paying job and worked her way up. Now she works for a leading international company. It shows you what one person can do if they put their mind to something that they believe in. My mom worked hard at working all day and raising us from diaper to diploma.
Loving
Out of control
Very nice people
Exciting
I love you my son, so very much
My family means a lot to me. They help when I'm in need it and I do the same for them. They make sure I'm safe and fed every night. Whe their in need, I'm there for them. I love my family and love me too.
My sister Genesis has taught me some very important lessons. One of the most important lessons I have learned from her is to never shoot anyone's dream down. While my sister was younger, she was told she would never do anything important, that she was, "a jack of all trades master of none." Now she has the important job of teaching young minds biology in East Islip. When I was younger, Gen would encourage any dream I had no matter how wild it was. She let me believe that I could be or do anything I put my mind to.
The Dawson Family challenge, is a single parent household raising three children. My mother and father separated when I was a baby. We moved into my grandmother's house. Where we made our new home. It may have only been an apartment but it was home to us. While my mom went out to work, my sisters and I took care of our home. My sister, Genesis, became my second mom and made sure that I was taken care of. My mom had only a high school degree and no real work experience. She started from a very low paying job and worked her way up. Now she works for a leading international company. It shows you what one person can do if they put their mind to something that they believe in. My mom worked hard at working all day and raising us from diaper to diploma.
Loving
Out of control
Very nice people
Exciting
I love you my son, so very much
Monday, November 14, 2011
Thru the eyes of his friends I still learn about my own child
I search through old posts about him just to feel close to him or meet him for the first time. I am so frustrated. I was so hard on him. So wishing he could "get on the right track", thinking like a mother, like I knew best. I am sad that maybe I never knew fully. He was a bright and shining light, a kind and gentle soul, he lived life on his own terms his friends say, and he loved and cared for everyone he met., He was my love, my baby, my sweet child.
Here is another post from the past that makes me grateful I was his mother, even for 22 years. I just wish I saw him completely . I miss him so.
Here is another post from the past that makes me grateful I was his mother, even for 22 years. I just wish I saw him completely . I miss him so.
Monday, February 23, 2009
RIP..tearing me apart.
I found out last night, that a very dear friend to me as well as almost all of bay shore high school graduates died very tragecially. David Dawson. I remember the first day we met. How we met.
It was my freshman year and I was going up the stairs, lost in my high school. I was nervous and tripped and my books went flying. He saw the whole thing. He giggled a little bit and told me that he always wondered if it was possible to fall up the stairs. He helped me gather my things and walked me to class. He introduced himself and gave me a hug. Ever since then, him and I were close.
So many memories i share with him.
I carried him on my shoulders one day just because we asked me to.
David was not a short guy. He gave the best hugs, and always spoke in a calming voice. He had such a sweet spirit that no one could ever really hate him. He showed what it was like to live everyday.
I miss him so incredibly much.
And this is going to be so tough.
I miss my the kid who said he'd always be there for me
when I needed him. I miss the kid that said i could be his little sister.
I miss him<3
so much.
Rest in peace David. I love you. I miss you. This stinks =(
RIP..tearing me apart.
I found out last night, that a very dear friend to me as well as almost all of bay shore high school graduates died very tragecially. David Dawson. I remember the first day we met. How we met.
It was my freshman year and I was going up the stairs, lost in my high school. I was nervous and tripped and my books went flying. He saw the whole thing. He giggled a little bit and told me that he always wondered if it was possible to fall up the stairs. He helped me gather my things and walked me to class. He introduced himself and gave me a hug. Ever since then, him and I were close.
So many memories i share with him.
I carried him on my shoulders one day just because we asked me to.
David was not a short guy. He gave the best hugs, and always spoke in a calming voice. He had such a sweet spirit that no one could ever really hate him. He showed what it was like to live everyday.
I miss him so incredibly much.
And this is going to be so tough.
I miss my the kid who said he'd always be there for me
when I needed him. I miss the kid that said i could be his little sister.
I miss him<3
so much.
Rest in peace David. I love you. I miss you. This stinks =(
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Grieving the loss of a child
I havent written in awhile. Not much I have left to say that I havent already said. he was extraordinary. My pain never eases. I feel lost in my life and can't even seem to muddle through these days.
I think I will post some of the things his peers said about him right after his death. He was about to turn 22 and was a friend to all and a father to one amazing little girl who misses him as much as I do.
One of his best friends the day he died wrote:
David Daniel Dawson was a well known kid, from his high school antics to fixing your computer, or anything else you may need. Known affectionately to many as simply "Dawson", he was a kid with a bright and happy personality, and a disposition as cheerful as santa claus himself. He will be greatly missed, and i ask that you all come to at least one of the four viewing times and/or the funeral. I love you Dawson... Rest In Peace
I think I will post some of the things his peers said about him right after his death. He was about to turn 22 and was a friend to all and a father to one amazing little girl who misses him as much as I do.
One of his best friends the day he died wrote:
David Daniel Dawson was a well known kid, from his high school antics to fixing your computer, or anything else you may need. Known affectionately to many as simply "Dawson", he was a kid with a bright and happy personality, and a disposition as cheerful as santa claus himself. He will be greatly missed, and i ask that you all come to at least one of the four viewing times and/or the funeral. I love you Dawson... Rest In Peace
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Where have all the well-wishers gone?
Where did all the well wishers go?????
Loneliness sets in when the well wishers leave and stop calling. It happens you know. After awhile, people stop asking and visiting and inviting you over when you are grieving. I am not sure if it is more when you lose a child or not. I think it happens with a wife or husband too. But the well wishers carry on, almost without you . I am not sure why? Even your closest friends and family seem to drop off the radar and find a way to avoid you, like you died too.
Maybe because there is a change in the relationship, or they think you should be on with your life and you and it are too depressing, or maybe they are faced with the reality that it could happen to them and don’t want to even think that for a minute tragedy could strike, so they form an aversion, or maybe we are all get caught up in the stuff of life and forget that those we are in relationship with are suffering and we need to reach out, or maybe its awkward and they feel ineffective in helping. You almost have to forgive them ahead of time and carry on alone. I feel so shocked and disturbed by this and I try not to think about it because it hurts too much.
Then, like seasons changing new relationships form. I Spent another night at the home of the mom who lost her son this July, and invited me , a total stranger into her home to weather Hurricane Irene. Three other mothers came who had also lost children and together we shared and laughed and and understood each other’s pain .
It wasn’t planned. Sadly, it was quite spontaneous. I just happened to be in the neighborhood and then there were four. it wasn’t hard to find four women who had recently lost children and just happened to be friends or friends of friends and needed some social interaction and a break from their grieving to feel like for a few hours life was almost normal and they weren’t waiting for a friend or someone to call on them.
I spent another peaceful night there overlooking the barn and the woods and the beautiful view.
I then came home and began to do yard work. I started to reminisce about the times my son and I were out there raking. He of course felt forced against his will to do that chore and I was determined he would do it or else. But we were together and underneath it all we liked being together.
My 17 year old neighbor, came over and offered to help. It was so comforting to have him by my side, the way my son was during fall as we gathered up the many bags of leaves and did some fall clean up, minus the complaining and nagging between mother and son that comes up. We got so much done.
We had Chinese on the porch and talked, like a mother and son, but friends, no defenses up , no obstacles in the way, we just shared thoughts and ideas and read each other’s fortune cookies, and like we’ve done for the past six weeks or so, went to church together.
He wants a basketball scholarship and he loves playing. He loves church too. He gets embarrassed when he cries at church but I am excited knowing God is drawing him near.
He is sweet and polite and kind and gentle. I pray the Lord will bless him and give him a scholarship. I think God has his hand on him and his desire to know God is almost extraordinary for a 17 year old boy.
I am realizing more than ever we are always alone. People come and go. Love is not always love when it counts where it counts, but simply a word used to express endearment with a smile. Love must be practiced so that it moves one to action, to help, to show compassion, to encourage, to acceptance, to gratitude for the little things, love must grow into something more than a salutation.
Things can change in an instant , so love must always be in front of you with whoever is in front of you, beside you and around you. Love must be on your mind, in your heart, on your lips, in your gut, operational and ready to move in your hands and feet. Charged with love at all times, ready to love others and then remain alone again , well in prayer or in faith resting in God’s love, during your alone time, you can add so much meaning and direction to your new life even without the child you loved, as long as love has an opportunity to reveal itself, life will move and change and loneliness will leave as you accept your aloneness as a place to rest in God. That is how I am trying to get through this. I love my son through the love I can show to other people. I just wish God would reveal a glimpse of heaven and show me my boy is happy. I wish I could dream of him.
It was a beautiful fall day and much too short.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Hurricane Irene
It's been an eye opening week, Hurricane Irene made my home waterfront property! After a mandatory evacuation, I spent an unexpected few days with a total stranger who invited and welcomed me when surprisingly almost no one else did.
But I know it was destiny because the invitation came from the woman who I wrote about in "another mother suffers". She had just lost her son on July 17th. we never met but always meant to as I was friends with her friend who also lost a daugher right after I lost my son. Three mothers brought together three years ago so that we could weather our own storms with each other to hold on to.
We had a great time and a tearful time and a time to get to know each other. What an amazing thing to occur huh?
I
But I know it was destiny because the invitation came from the woman who I wrote about in "another mother suffers". She had just lost her son on July 17th. we never met but always meant to as I was friends with her friend who also lost a daugher right after I lost my son. Three mothers brought together three years ago so that we could weather our own storms with each other to hold on to.
We had a great time and a tearful time and a time to get to know each other. What an amazing thing to occur huh?
I
Monday, August 22, 2011
What's next?
I think I am going to start putting in messages left for or about my son. It comforts me to know that 2 1/2 years later people are still writing. I realized David was a friend like no other. People said whether you knew him for a minute or a lifetime he was impossible to forget.
Posted the other day....on a site my daughter created.."Friends of David Dawson" on facebook.....
Posted the other day....on a site my daughter created.."Friends of David Dawson" on facebook.....
I was th
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Lift me up Lord!
I guess sometimes its physiological. I am drained, scatter brained, empty, a bit confused and foggy in the brain today. My body feels him missing even when I am not thinking about him. Its such an intense loss it can not be described or dealt with easily, it just takes over and you feel like a lost soul. Nothing matters, nothing is the way it was its as if you are looking at whats left from the third person. Your life and your home and your clothes and your things and your friends and your bills and your family and your job everything is where it was ...but you are not there, he is not there and whats missing is all that really mattered ...sadly I took it for granted that everyday would not be everyday with him in it.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
We will stand together, we will hold each other up, we will band together we will not fall and not give up!
Mothers and fathers who have lost their child , we must unite in mind and spirit, we must stand strong and hold each other up in prayer and in love and in every way we can think of. We must draw near to our source and share it with each other in whatever way we can. We will learn compassion and strength in a true and deep healing way and become an army of Gods love and power for those who join us in this unimaginable place we find ourselves in and for those who simply need true love and compassion.. God is seeing us through. I am not sure why we weren't spared the pain but if we must go on let us go on knowing that he leads us through this valley of the shadow of death and there is nothing left to fear. We will march on with a limp but we will survive this and with faith find our way.
I don't know why we are called together in this grief but we are now a family, an army, and united force that is able to deliver Gods comfort, his loving kindness, his compassion, his resurrecting power both for our children and ourselves.spiritually here on earth. We must blindly if need be, even as we weep, even as we limp, even as we feel anger and despair, we must march on into our destiny and follow where he leads us and know he is with us.
http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=K7WPPLNX
I don't know why we are called together in this grief but we are now a family, an army, and united force that is able to deliver Gods comfort, his loving kindness, his compassion, his resurrecting power both for our children and ourselves.spiritually here on earth. We must blindly if need be, even as we weep, even as we limp, even as we feel anger and despair, we must march on into our destiny and follow where he leads us and know he is with us.
http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=K7WPPLNX
Monday, August 15, 2011
Another mother suffers....
I met two woman several years ago who were friends. We met through business but we liked each other and always said lets get together, lets go to church. Of course life is so busy we merely stayed in touch as best we could which was hardly at all.
First my son died in February, I went and told her and her husband and they cried for me and comforted me the best they could, then one of the other mothers daughter died right after mine, I believe in May , and now her best friends son, the third woman lost her son this July. Its unfathonable, its hard nor to say "where were you God ? We all love you and trusted you to fill in the gap for us.
Its hard to be consoled by the ones who have not lost a child, but even now I cannot find the way to console. No words can comfort, no words.
Reveal your self to us, we want to know what this is all about. How is it that even before we knew it you brought the three of us together. What do you want us to do for each other. We are all barely breathing, barely walking, our minds and our bodies are in a fog and disjointed way. We are empty and tortured, what do you want with us.
What are we supposed to do with all this love we feel for the children we can never again hold or scold or curl up with on the couch. What do we do with our love so that it doesn't spoil or dissipate. How do we
find a place to stand and trust and hear from you . How do we comfort each other Lord? I am speechless.
First my son died in February, I went and told her and her husband and they cried for me and comforted me the best they could, then one of the other mothers daughter died right after mine, I believe in May , and now her best friends son, the third woman lost her son this July. Its unfathonable, its hard nor to say "where were you God ? We all love you and trusted you to fill in the gap for us.
Its hard to be consoled by the ones who have not lost a child, but even now I cannot find the way to console. No words can comfort, no words.
Reveal your self to us, we want to know what this is all about. How is it that even before we knew it you brought the three of us together. What do you want us to do for each other. We are all barely breathing, barely walking, our minds and our bodies are in a fog and disjointed way. We are empty and tortured, what do you want with us.
What are we supposed to do with all this love we feel for the children we can never again hold or scold or curl up with on the couch. What do we do with our love so that it doesn't spoil or dissipate. How do we
find a place to stand and trust and hear from you . How do we comfort each other Lord? I am speechless.
Toast Mother
Toast Mother
Why am I here? Sometimes I just wish that God would take me, gently, peacefully, almost without notice. Its not that I feel suicidal, just empty with lack of purpose. I don't feel like anyone particularly needs me around., not really.
My daughters have their own lives. I seem to be almost out of date or something. They continue to create their adulthood, for the most part without me. Not that they don't love me. They just don't seem to need me much. I feel like I am in the way and annoying sometimes.
My grandchildren will carry on and almost remember me kind of, if I were gone, snipits and giggles maybe of silly times we had or times in the garden, like we all do. But I am not sure it would have a devasting effect on their lives either.
The sun would continue to shine , the moon would rise.
I lay on my bed sometimes thinking, "please God take me home to be with him. " "Please take me home. I just want to see his face and feel his hug and hear his voice again. I just want to make sure as he would say "we're all good momma dukes".
Why did I treat everyday with him like everyday would always be there? Why didn't I fully experience every juicy moment with him when all he wanted was me and my full attention? Why did I get so angry with him just being a boy? The whys and why nots, the if and if only's.. little words cripple me now.
Years before he died I could not even talk out loud and finish the sentence, "if something ever happened to one of my children..... I, I , I can't even say it," I would say.
Now my biggest fear realized, I am left to create a new world that does not include my sweet boy. How will I fill it . what will I do with the love that was meant for his lifetime? I am not afraid of much, not the dark, not dangerous places , I just am not. I am not afraid of anything that could hurt me more than this.
He used to crawl in bed with me every morning before school, even when he was a teenager. He would have these long, cold, clammy toes and wrap his long legs around me almost to annoy me and I would yell at him to take his feet off me. He would say "nooooooo, don't you know you are toast mother?" You are always warm and toasty and I come to you for warmth."
When he was small, I would slowly turn and look deep into his eyes and put on a blank scary face and say in return....with a deep voice...."I am not toast mother....I ....AM....ZOMBIE MOTHER"....and we would wrestle and laugh and play until we both felt that relief that only laughter and joy bring at the end as a special added bonus. Oh to feel that sigh that speaks volumes of stress that just melted away and brought everything into perspective and love to the forfront where it belongs.
One thing for sure, this experience has left me fearless in some ways. What could hurt me more than this loss? I am much less attached. What do I own that could take his place? I am stronger. I believe I am courageous in some ways, trying to make it through the day without crying or aching or wishing I was there with him.
There are times I want to dig up the dirt with my bear hands and climb into his grave and just be....toast mother for eternity.
My daughters have their own lives. I seem to be almost out of date or something. They continue to create their adulthood, for the most part without me. Not that they don't love me. They just don't seem to need me much. I feel like I am in the way and annoying sometimes.
My grandchildren will carry on and almost remember me kind of, if I were gone, snipits and giggles maybe of silly times we had or times in the garden, like we all do. But I am not sure it would have a devasting effect on their lives either.
The sun would continue to shine , the moon would rise.
I lay on my bed sometimes thinking, "please God take me home to be with him. " "Please take me home. I just want to see his face and feel his hug and hear his voice again. I just want to make sure as he would say "we're all good momma dukes".
Why did I treat everyday with him like everyday would always be there? Why didn't I fully experience every juicy moment with him when all he wanted was me and my full attention? Why did I get so angry with him just being a boy? The whys and why nots, the if and if only's.. little words cripple me now.
Years before he died I could not even talk out loud and finish the sentence, "if something ever happened to one of my children..... I, I , I can't even say it," I would say.
Now my biggest fear realized, I am left to create a new world that does not include my sweet boy. How will I fill it . what will I do with the love that was meant for his lifetime? I am not afraid of much, not the dark, not dangerous places , I just am not. I am not afraid of anything that could hurt me more than this.
He used to crawl in bed with me every morning before school, even when he was a teenager. He would have these long, cold, clammy toes and wrap his long legs around me almost to annoy me and I would yell at him to take his feet off me. He would say "nooooooo, don't you know you are toast mother?" You are always warm and toasty and I come to you for warmth."
When he was small, I would slowly turn and look deep into his eyes and put on a blank scary face and say in return....with a deep voice...."I am not toast mother....I ....AM....ZOMBIE MOTHER"....and we would wrestle and laugh and play until we both felt that relief that only laughter and joy bring at the end as a special added bonus. Oh to feel that sigh that speaks volumes of stress that just melted away and brought everything into perspective and love to the forfront where it belongs.
One thing for sure, this experience has left me fearless in some ways. What could hurt me more than this loss? I am much less attached. What do I own that could take his place? I am stronger. I believe I am courageous in some ways, trying to make it through the day without crying or aching or wishing I was there with him.
There are times I want to dig up the dirt with my bear hands and climb into his grave and just be....toast mother for eternity.
Notes from Earth to Heaven: How do I let go.....
Notes from Earth to Heaven: How do I let go.....: "Met an indian guru at a friends house. I asked him about how he views my sons death. He said that we are all given an alotted time on this..."
Notes from Earth to Heaven: Serenity Sonnet for my Son
Notes from Earth to Heaven: Serenity Sonnet for my Son: " Sonnet of Serenity for my Son
Which stands over his grave in a frame made for me by my nephew, lovingly.
..."
Which stands over his grave in a frame made for me by my nephew, lovingly.
..."
Serenity Sonnet for my Son
Sonnet of Serenity for my Son
Which stands over his grave in a frame made for me by my nephew, lovingly.
Frebruary 22, 2009
David Daniel Dawson
Which stands over his grave in a frame made for me by my nephew, lovingly.
Dear David,
I asked the Lord to let the sun warm your resting place just as you warmed so many hearts, I asked that the birds sing their songs to you each and every day with music that is pleasing to you.
Let the sunset , like a blanket tuck you in at night,
and the moon be your nightlight with a glow that reminds you that you are never alone, that God is with you.
and the moon be your nightlight with a glow that reminds you that you are never alone, that God is with you.
Let the stars be your party lights and the sky be your concert hall as you dance thru the universe with total freedom and joy, and ride on every shooting star!
Let your life be impossible to forget. Let your memory rise with the sun every morning to all who knew you. Let them never forget who and how you were and what you stood for.
Let them grow in Unconditional love, unity, acceptance, kindness, gentleness, joy, taking up for the underdog, encouraging the sad and lonely, making people feel better having been in their presence, peacemaker , full of forgiveness, and love of family.
Let them follow your lead, knowing that in your short life, you did what very few have managed to do, hard as they might try, rich or famous, you did it effortlessly...you’ve changed the world for the better. Your life truly made a difference to so many, leaving them better having known you.
My child. My love, my heart. You are my sunshine. We will always be two peas in a pod!
Lexi will always be your peanut!
Lord, keep him nearer than near, dearer than dear, let him never ever feel fear, forever and ever, amen.
Frebruary 22, 2009
Loving Son to One Mother,, Loving father to his one and only, loving brother, loving grandson, loving cousin, loving nephew , loving friend to so many. He was true, kind, joyful, encouraging, forgiving, and amazing., he was family to everyone who knew him. He had a love that few know how to express or feel
Sunday, August 14, 2011
How do I let go.....
Met an indian guru at a friends house. I asked him about how he views my sons death. He said that we are all given an alotted time on this earth. He said it was pre ordained for him to be here only till now. That he brings his good deeds with him into the next life free from all that he suffered from and begins again. that I must release him and be grateful for the time we had together.
I wish I had not taken one day for granted. I wish I had some kind of idea of the temporary stay we all have with no guarentee of tomorrow.
I wish I wish I wish
I loved you with all my heart son
I wish I had not taken one day for granted. I wish I had some kind of idea of the temporary stay we all have with no guarentee of tomorrow.
I wish I wish I wish
I loved you with all my heart son
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Notes from Earth to Heaven: Toast Mother
Notes from Earth to Heaven: Toast Mother: "Why am I here? Sometimes I just wish that God would take me, gently, peacefully, almost without notice. Its not that I feel suicidal, just..."
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Ecclesiastes 3:4
Today I begin to prepare for a beautiful wedding. No sorrow has permission to show itself. No looking to the past. Nothing but joy ! Saturday my little girl gets married to a wonderful man.
Her hopes and dreams have come true as she moves into her future with hope and love and anticipation.
Her sister by her side we have our first celebration since the funeral.
Its her turn to shine and explode with happiness! I am so glad for her. We are so blessed to receive this wonderful man into our family. He is kind and gentle and funny and caring and smart . He adores her and he will make a wonderful husband and an amazing father. He is heaven sent!
Saturday we celebrate. We dance and enjoy prayers answered and dreams realized. Her brother in heaven and the angels will lift up her day! Saturday will be heaven on earth .
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Mourning In the Garden
When I first bought my home and my children were small, I decided to do what my grandmother did. I Started a garden. My grandmother's home would not have been such a memory without it.
I was a young girl, when my mother sent me to spend time with my grandmother, who was old and wise and had magic in her hands.
She was born in Italy and was raised by her father , after losing her mother and sisters in an earthquake there. She came to Ellis Island with her father and future husband from an arranged marriage and began a life in America as a seamstress in a factory in New York City.
She sewed and gardened and crocheted and knitted and cooked like no one else ever could . Her breath and her hands smelled of garlic and whether you were being pinned for a new dress or spoken to about life, that garlic scent came with the territory, and you stood breath held but grateful that she was all yours.
She always wore an apron, unless she was going to a wedding. Her stockings were rolled down to her knees to be proper but cool . She wore a pair of black open toed, matronly sandals, that I am convinced served her for her entire life. When the stockings got too old and worn , they were used for holding up or tying the branches of something growing in her garden.
She recycled when no name was even thought of for it and the concept and problem had not been addressed or even spoken about yet.
The broken egg shells and coffee grinds fermented and waited their turn on the basement stairs to be used to enrich her soil. Seeds were dried on foil dishes for next year's planting. She was amazing and it was reflected in her garden. She and her garden were one.
If she was not at the sewing machine with an eye to the needle and the peddle humming out of control, or the stove, carefully stirring while smelling and tasting , you knew where she was.
She wore a kerchief around her head to contain the sweat in summer or keep her ears warm in cooler weather and most importantly to keep hair out of her pot. The same little sweater hung on her , tired , tattered with moth holes, yet it had not outlived its use, as it provided extra safety pins pinned in to it in case one was needed unexpectedly . She wore colorful cotton dresses that she made herself and an apron she also made to match, until grandpa died and then she wore black.... almost the rest of her life.
She convinced me that the pigeon who landed in her yard after grandpa died was grandpa coming from heaven to spend time with her and I waited every morning. when sure enough he would appear. Sometimes he'd visit in the afternoon after her 2PM nap, where she would turn on the old radio on the mantal by the rocking chair in the parlor. She would listen to the italian station and dose and snore for no more than than thirty minutes. Any more time than that would encourage laziness in her mind. After 2, we would convene to the driveway. I would hold the scane of yarn in my hands and she would put it in a ball and together we would talk about her childhood and a wide variety of topics like not kissing boys.
Herbs dried in her downstairs kitchen and pasta hung over an old broom stick, perched across two chairs that she raised on top of the table for "sanitary" reasons. There was always a cake under the cake keeper and cookies freshly baked in the cookie jar, which I am still jealous now resides now in my cousins' kitchen.
Spaghetti sauce and meatballs were always simmering on the stove and the creeking of the garden gate that was spring loaded would slam, which was a sign that the sauce needed more fresh basil or oregano.
She lived in the city, and had a little backyard garden tucked away among the brick buildings and concrete driveways, and slated roofs. It was hemmed in by a hand painted bright blue wood and wire fence, that complimented the sky she worked under. It was brimming with juicy figs and a variety of fresh vegetables. The flowers were so many in variety, and they seemed to compete for attention as they popped their heads up above the vegetables.
Lilac bushes, fresh herbs and roses seemed to create a perfumed potion that would intoxicate an innocent passer by and leave a child to stillness. I was convinced early on, that I had found the Garden of Eden and that perhaps my dear old gramma was actually Eve.
The only other invisible force that could even compete with that smell was the smell of the clean sheets on the clothes line beside the garden. It ran from my grandmothers' bedroom to the neighbors fence. I would hand her the clothes pins out of the old grey clothespin box. When she would go inside , I would hide between the sheets and just inhale and exhale until I was chased away to do something more constructive.
It was pure bliss being there with her. Pure bliss indeed. It was my retreat and my safe place even now, as I imagine being there, blessed by those memories that sustain me even in my grief.
I spent every summer with her and together we would carefully work in that garden. Daily she would search her fig tree carefully for figs, not even losing one to the ground. Lifting up the bottom of her apron up to form a pouch she would gather every one , as she reached high and low. She would allow me three figs a day, if I was good.
She seemingly tucked the figs secretly in her apron and with her italian accent , she would say " non't you tell noboddddyyyyyy! " and would place firmly this odd piece of fruit in my hand, like it was a piece of gold and I would eat it.
I wasn't even sure I liked figs and even if they were not ripe, they were sweet, because it was our little secret and I was the privileged one she chose to share them with! The rest of the figs went on a foil dish on top of the stove for a snack while cooking or simply left there warmed slightly by the pilot light to sweeten.
In winter she would take one of her old coats out and tie it up around that fig tree to protect it from the weather. It almost looked as if she stood out there throughout winter watching over her garden and keeping vigil, no matter what the harsh , cold winter would bring, until spring arrived again.
We'd plant and water and weed..... well she would weed, and we would eat from the garden.
When I was married and had children I lived out of state. Once a season we would travel to New York City to help her tend her overgrown garden that she was getting too old to tend. We never spoke about it. She just stood there one hand on her hip and the other hand directing and pointing at what needed to be done next.
To my children, it too was the Garden of Eden, and we would feel taken away to a magical place far from the concrete and brick and get lost in the beauty of her labor and the sound of her broken English commanding authority, and calling us in for dinner when the job was done. An Italian feast would be set before you and the courses never ended. I can still taste her cooking with very little imagination, smell it with even less, and my stomach will begin to growl.
She lived to be 102 years old, but her memory and the memory of that garden lives in my heart and the hearts of my and my children forever.
I never forgot those magic moments and how rich that time was.
Many years later, my husband left me to raise three children alone. No child support, no formal education, and an opportunity to see what I could create with my life and in my hands.
Eventually I purchased my own home, which coincidentally closed on the anniversary of my grandmothers death. I made a pot of sauce to create her essence and feel her presence and decided that next spring I would plant my first garden in her honor.
My son was 10 and together we planted and watered and weeded.... well I weeded , and we had the most amazing garden. He would be out in the neighborhood on his bike, shirtless and tanned with a possy of his little friends, and every summer day they would all roll in at the end of the day, almost seeming for reinforcements and to nourish the troops, as they would pick cherry tomatoes and fill their mouths until the juice and seeds dripped all over their little tanned chests, and picked snap peas right off the vine . He was so proud of my garden. He would camp in the yard and I would fry up zucchini and eggs with grated cheese for the boys as a midnight snack and they would smack their lips and rave how good it was. He loved that garden.
He is gone now. He died in February 2008 . He was 22 . He was an extraodinary young man. The death was senseless and too painful to write about for me, besides I will not let his death define him. He was amazing and unique and full of love and sunshine till the day he died. I can still feel him with me and will never be the same again.
Someone said once," you will forever more walk with a limp. " I do. Sometimes it hurts just to breathe.
He left me a granddaughter to love. She is almost five now.
Together we plant and water and weed.... well I weed, and we pick tomatoes and cucumbers and squash and green beans and she marvels at the garden we started in the spring and tend to as it magically grows. She asked for a sign that says "Lexi's garden " with an arrow pointing to our backyard garden.
She is all I have left of him now. But like a rose from a rare heirloom rose bush, she is as bright and amazing and unique and as colorful as he was. When she visits we escape to the garden where her playhouse also sits and we pick and play and laugh and hunt and picnic.
This morning I realized that the garden is a magical place where time neither stands still, or marks time like the rest of time. It has a rhythem of its own. Here the past , the present, and the future converge and life has no beginning and no end, and God is felt here. He speaks to me and brings me moments with my son, as he shows up once again a little boy, just sprouting up to be a man. We spend eternity together in one moment and memories are being made with my granddaughter, ripe with opportunities to speak about life and growing and changing and what I can teach her and show her. as a grandmother. And moments with my grandmother arise and I am a little girl again, protected from the broken heart I carry every day, she holds on to the pieces in her apron , hoping they will heal, that I will heal , while I ache with the reality of this great and amazing , handsome flower, barely bloomed, taken from me.
The seasons in my life seem to bounce from girl to mother to grandmother to girl and I am taken away in the garden's magic.
Where else can eternity and the present moment be felt so fully? Where can one face life and hideaway all at the same time. Where can one find God and feel peace, no matter what goes on outside its perimeter.
I remenice and miss my grandmother, yet I feel her nearer than near in my garden. I find a time to connect with my son, where the " if only's" don't torture my soul, and the years of his innocence soothe me even now, time paused for me to enjoy being his mother again, as he shows up to pick cherry tomatoes with his daughter and me.
Nature puts on its production. Butterflies dance through the air and the bees do their busy dance. Stray cats sneak about, through the high parts and the birds swoop and fly and wet their wings at the bird bath.
I am a little girl, I am a mom, I am a grandmother. Seasons of my life peek through, as the sun gets higher in the sky and the dirt and mud and sweat merge with my tears and the breeze blows coolness on me and dries them, while the sun embraces me with its warm hug and deep affection. There is no work in the garden, just healing and discovering and understanding, and knowing that God is there. God is always there. And I am never alone.
If I have to mourn, I am glad I have my garden to mourn in.
I hope this memory is treasured in my grandaughters' heart as it is mine, forever. I feel rich to have this stored in my soul. Thank you grandma for still and always being there for me. Thank you son for coming back to pick a time where we can share Lexi together and share a time when you were my little boy and time was sweet and unblemished. I love you son for picking a time to visit with me. Thank you God for bringing me this angelic little girl to love, who loves to plant seeds, water, and weed, well I will weed.... and together we will get through the loss of her daddy and my son together. Thank you Lexi for loving me.
I was a young girl, when my mother sent me to spend time with my grandmother, who was old and wise and had magic in her hands.
She was born in Italy and was raised by her father , after losing her mother and sisters in an earthquake there. She came to Ellis Island with her father and future husband from an arranged marriage and began a life in America as a seamstress in a factory in New York City.
She sewed and gardened and crocheted and knitted and cooked like no one else ever could . Her breath and her hands smelled of garlic and whether you were being pinned for a new dress or spoken to about life, that garlic scent came with the territory, and you stood breath held but grateful that she was all yours.
She always wore an apron, unless she was going to a wedding. Her stockings were rolled down to her knees to be proper but cool . She wore a pair of black open toed, matronly sandals, that I am convinced served her for her entire life. When the stockings got too old and worn , they were used for holding up or tying the branches of something growing in her garden.
She recycled when no name was even thought of for it and the concept and problem had not been addressed or even spoken about yet.
The broken egg shells and coffee grinds fermented and waited their turn on the basement stairs to be used to enrich her soil. Seeds were dried on foil dishes for next year's planting. She was amazing and it was reflected in her garden. She and her garden were one.
If she was not at the sewing machine with an eye to the needle and the peddle humming out of control, or the stove, carefully stirring while smelling and tasting , you knew where she was.
She wore a kerchief around her head to contain the sweat in summer or keep her ears warm in cooler weather and most importantly to keep hair out of her pot. The same little sweater hung on her , tired , tattered with moth holes, yet it had not outlived its use, as it provided extra safety pins pinned in to it in case one was needed unexpectedly . She wore colorful cotton dresses that she made herself and an apron she also made to match, until grandpa died and then she wore black.... almost the rest of her life.
She convinced me that the pigeon who landed in her yard after grandpa died was grandpa coming from heaven to spend time with her and I waited every morning. when sure enough he would appear. Sometimes he'd visit in the afternoon after her 2PM nap, where she would turn on the old radio on the mantal by the rocking chair in the parlor. She would listen to the italian station and dose and snore for no more than than thirty minutes. Any more time than that would encourage laziness in her mind. After 2, we would convene to the driveway. I would hold the scane of yarn in my hands and she would put it in a ball and together we would talk about her childhood and a wide variety of topics like not kissing boys.
Herbs dried in her downstairs kitchen and pasta hung over an old broom stick, perched across two chairs that she raised on top of the table for "sanitary" reasons. There was always a cake under the cake keeper and cookies freshly baked in the cookie jar, which I am still jealous now resides now in my cousins' kitchen.
Spaghetti sauce and meatballs were always simmering on the stove and the creeking of the garden gate that was spring loaded would slam, which was a sign that the sauce needed more fresh basil or oregano.
She lived in the city, and had a little backyard garden tucked away among the brick buildings and concrete driveways, and slated roofs. It was hemmed in by a hand painted bright blue wood and wire fence, that complimented the sky she worked under. It was brimming with juicy figs and a variety of fresh vegetables. The flowers were so many in variety, and they seemed to compete for attention as they popped their heads up above the vegetables.
Lilac bushes, fresh herbs and roses seemed to create a perfumed potion that would intoxicate an innocent passer by and leave a child to stillness. I was convinced early on, that I had found the Garden of Eden and that perhaps my dear old gramma was actually Eve.
The only other invisible force that could even compete with that smell was the smell of the clean sheets on the clothes line beside the garden. It ran from my grandmothers' bedroom to the neighbors fence. I would hand her the clothes pins out of the old grey clothespin box. When she would go inside , I would hide between the sheets and just inhale and exhale until I was chased away to do something more constructive.
It was pure bliss being there with her. Pure bliss indeed. It was my retreat and my safe place even now, as I imagine being there, blessed by those memories that sustain me even in my grief.
I spent every summer with her and together we would carefully work in that garden. Daily she would search her fig tree carefully for figs, not even losing one to the ground. Lifting up the bottom of her apron up to form a pouch she would gather every one , as she reached high and low. She would allow me three figs a day, if I was good.
She seemingly tucked the figs secretly in her apron and with her italian accent , she would say " non't you tell noboddddyyyyyy! " and would place firmly this odd piece of fruit in my hand, like it was a piece of gold and I would eat it.
I wasn't even sure I liked figs and even if they were not ripe, they were sweet, because it was our little secret and I was the privileged one she chose to share them with! The rest of the figs went on a foil dish on top of the stove for a snack while cooking or simply left there warmed slightly by the pilot light to sweeten.
In winter she would take one of her old coats out and tie it up around that fig tree to protect it from the weather. It almost looked as if she stood out there throughout winter watching over her garden and keeping vigil, no matter what the harsh , cold winter would bring, until spring arrived again.
We'd plant and water and weed..... well she would weed, and we would eat from the garden.
When I was married and had children I lived out of state. Once a season we would travel to New York City to help her tend her overgrown garden that she was getting too old to tend. We never spoke about it. She just stood there one hand on her hip and the other hand directing and pointing at what needed to be done next.
To my children, it too was the Garden of Eden, and we would feel taken away to a magical place far from the concrete and brick and get lost in the beauty of her labor and the sound of her broken English commanding authority, and calling us in for dinner when the job was done. An Italian feast would be set before you and the courses never ended. I can still taste her cooking with very little imagination, smell it with even less, and my stomach will begin to growl.
She lived to be 102 years old, but her memory and the memory of that garden lives in my heart and the hearts of my and my children forever.
I never forgot those magic moments and how rich that time was.
Many years later, my husband left me to raise three children alone. No child support, no formal education, and an opportunity to see what I could create with my life and in my hands.
Eventually I purchased my own home, which coincidentally closed on the anniversary of my grandmothers death. I made a pot of sauce to create her essence and feel her presence and decided that next spring I would plant my first garden in her honor.
My son was 10 and together we planted and watered and weeded.... well I weeded , and we had the most amazing garden. He would be out in the neighborhood on his bike, shirtless and tanned with a possy of his little friends, and every summer day they would all roll in at the end of the day, almost seeming for reinforcements and to nourish the troops, as they would pick cherry tomatoes and fill their mouths until the juice and seeds dripped all over their little tanned chests, and picked snap peas right off the vine . He was so proud of my garden. He would camp in the yard and I would fry up zucchini and eggs with grated cheese for the boys as a midnight snack and they would smack their lips and rave how good it was. He loved that garden.
He is gone now. He died in February 2008 . He was 22 . He was an extraodinary young man. The death was senseless and too painful to write about for me, besides I will not let his death define him. He was amazing and unique and full of love and sunshine till the day he died. I can still feel him with me and will never be the same again.
Someone said once," you will forever more walk with a limp. " I do. Sometimes it hurts just to breathe.
He left me a granddaughter to love. She is almost five now.
Together we plant and water and weed.... well I weed, and we pick tomatoes and cucumbers and squash and green beans and she marvels at the garden we started in the spring and tend to as it magically grows. She asked for a sign that says "Lexi's garden " with an arrow pointing to our backyard garden.
She is all I have left of him now. But like a rose from a rare heirloom rose bush, she is as bright and amazing and unique and as colorful as he was. When she visits we escape to the garden where her playhouse also sits and we pick and play and laugh and hunt and picnic.
This morning I realized that the garden is a magical place where time neither stands still, or marks time like the rest of time. It has a rhythem of its own. Here the past , the present, and the future converge and life has no beginning and no end, and God is felt here. He speaks to me and brings me moments with my son, as he shows up once again a little boy, just sprouting up to be a man. We spend eternity together in one moment and memories are being made with my granddaughter, ripe with opportunities to speak about life and growing and changing and what I can teach her and show her. as a grandmother. And moments with my grandmother arise and I am a little girl again, protected from the broken heart I carry every day, she holds on to the pieces in her apron , hoping they will heal, that I will heal , while I ache with the reality of this great and amazing , handsome flower, barely bloomed, taken from me.
The seasons in my life seem to bounce from girl to mother to grandmother to girl and I am taken away in the garden's magic.
Where else can eternity and the present moment be felt so fully? Where can one face life and hideaway all at the same time. Where can one find God and feel peace, no matter what goes on outside its perimeter.
I remenice and miss my grandmother, yet I feel her nearer than near in my garden. I find a time to connect with my son, where the " if only's" don't torture my soul, and the years of his innocence soothe me even now, time paused for me to enjoy being his mother again, as he shows up to pick cherry tomatoes with his daughter and me.
Nature puts on its production. Butterflies dance through the air and the bees do their busy dance. Stray cats sneak about, through the high parts and the birds swoop and fly and wet their wings at the bird bath.
I am a little girl, I am a mom, I am a grandmother. Seasons of my life peek through, as the sun gets higher in the sky and the dirt and mud and sweat merge with my tears and the breeze blows coolness on me and dries them, while the sun embraces me with its warm hug and deep affection. There is no work in the garden, just healing and discovering and understanding, and knowing that God is there. God is always there. And I am never alone.
If I have to mourn, I am glad I have my garden to mourn in.
I hope this memory is treasured in my grandaughters' heart as it is mine, forever. I feel rich to have this stored in my soul. Thank you grandma for still and always being there for me. Thank you son for coming back to pick a time where we can share Lexi together and share a time when you were my little boy and time was sweet and unblemished. I love you son for picking a time to visit with me. Thank you God for bringing me this angelic little girl to love, who loves to plant seeds, water, and weed, well I will weed.... and together we will get through the loss of her daddy and my son together. Thank you Lexi for loving me.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Breathe on me.
Breathe on me, let me feel you near
Inhale,Exhale , blow away my tears
Breathe in me your breath of life
that you breathed in Adam and then his wife.
Exhale a breeze like a quiet summer day
That brings back memories of a child at play
Who knew no pain, no worry, no sorrow
No anticipation or fear about tomorrow
Only intimate closeness a child can’t express
Of an invisible friend and welcome guest
A protector, a playmate, companion and friend
A love that had no beginning and has no end.
No thought to understand but simply feel
The essence of the glorious truth revealed
Oh mighty God be my delight
Escort me through my darkest night
I have fallen down in deep despair
With sorrow so great that I can’t bear.
Wipe my tears and make me whole
Help me feel you in my soul.
Breath, sweet breath breathed deep in me
That’s Rolling thru eternity,
Become each movement in my being
Present your love in all my seeing
Bring life to these dry and lifeless bones
My suffering, crying, heavy groans.
Its hard to rise with every day
Knowing he has gone away.
Reveal a glimpse of where he is
Of his great joy and how he lives.
I walk courageous every day
Till we are joined I truly pray
You comfort me and give me rest
Andhelp me show the world my best
Protect me from a bitter heart
A lonely soul that’s torn apart
An empty place that held him tight
He was full of love and shined so bright
Please promise me another chance
To feel his hug and see him dance
Reveal the Heaven that seems so far
And take away this awful scar.
Instead of anger help me seek
and give me strength where I am weak
I ask so often where were you then
I need understanding again and again
I haven’t fully forgiven you Lord
Where were your angels , where was your sword?
I can only believe what you place in me
So fill me with a glimpse of eternity.
(I felt the Lord Respond)
No need to look no need to find
To look above beneath behind
No chain and cross worn on the neck
Or statue card or monument
Its In the silence in the tears,
In the suffering, in the fears,
In the fox hole and through the years,
I am there, I am there I am always there
I give and move life even through sting of death
From sorrow To joy I resurrect
Live knowing I breathe life in all that lives
And move it and keep it and graciously give
Receive it receive it and know that I AM
I am all and in all I am The IAM.
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