Thursday, September 23, 2010
Andrew's view of the world around him...
We got a gift this week from Andrew...his photos. My daughters decided to look at the memory card stored in Andrew's camera and found about 300 photos he had taken in the last year of his life.
The photos showed Andrew's work and projects and some of the scenery he so enjoyed being immersed in. He loved to hike and go off-road in his truck, and he skiied and surfed in the ocean nearby. He built things -- home improvement projects, his truck, a dog house, and he worked in his father's plastering business. Andrew was very proud of his patch jobs and his lathing and his straight, flat finished walls.
Looking through the photos, I naturally searched for some clues to what Andrew was thinking. He drove to the highest point he could on Cuesta Ridge and took pictures of all views: North, South, East and West. He went up the coast and took pictures north of Cayucos of the rocks and surf on the beach, showing Morro Rock, Montana de Oro and points north. He took pictures of the setting sun.
He also had pictures of his projects: his truck, the doghouse, a rock wall with the home address etched on it, and he took pictures of the pets at play. I think these dogs and a cat became his trusted companions when he no longer trusts the humans. He didn't read things into what the dogs did and he could say whatever he wanted to them without drawing strange looks back.
The hardest part is that everything looks so normal and, well, beautiful. The pictures are uplifting, not depressing. One wonders what he had been thinking, or if he went seeking peace and serenity and was trying not to think much at all.
My daughter had one of the pictures blown up and pressed on canvas like a painting. She made a place to hang it in the dining room and put up a stenciled saying, something about a miracle. It makes an really stunning display. The coolest part is knowing the point of view was Andrew's.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Getting strength through Andrew
I am always striving to get myself into shape. One thing I would like to accomplish is to run in a marathon, or at least a 5K. This is my 50th year; I will turn 51 in November, so I am feeling the pressure to get myself going on this goal.
So I started jogging at little about a month ago, just short stretches of 1 to 3 minutes at a time. I entered myself in a 5K Run / Walk event that is just 3 weeks away now. I don't really think my body is up for it, so I am taking it really slow. I walk during the major portions of my workouts and keep the jogging part to a minimum. Last week my pace for a 3 mile workout was 51 minutes one day, 48 the next; 16-17 minutes per mile average on the school track. I also mapped out a 3-mile walk around the neighborhood, and there is a boardwalk where I run that says the loop is 1-mile around. I did three loops in 33 minutes today--I don't think I was particularly fast, I just think the loop is less than 1 mile.
I have marked off my route on the boardwalk into halves. I walk half the loop and try to jog the second half. I vary the direction I go so sometimes I am walking through the lower, twisting part of the path and jogging along the top, straighter stretch. Then I will walk the straight part and jog the twisty part, which has a long downhill stretch that really helps buoy me along.
Today I walked to the boardwalk, which is about a half-mile from my house, so I was nice and warmed up by the time I reach the walk. I decided to go up the straight part first at a jog. I went about one minute and felt tired, so I walked a few paces for about 15 seconds, then resumed the jogging pace. I repeated this for three minutes until I reached the halfway marker at the highest point on the boardwalk.
Wow! I am tired today, I thought. That's not a good sign! I need to be getting better and stronger.
I turned around and headed back down the straight at a jog, intent on keeping going until I reach the starting point again. After about a minute, I walked a few paces and thought of Andrew. I often think of him when I am on this walk for some reason; I really feel his presence when I am out here looking over the Estuary. So I thought of him and asked him to help me find the strength to do this thing, this running thing.
I resumed my jog and it felt good--I felt energized and made my way down the boardwalk. I noted that my chest did not feel tight and I wasn't out of breath. My legs weren't hurting or tiring so much as I mentally thought about walking again, but I just willed my legs to keep moving at the jogging pace, one step after another. I got to the start point and turned to go down through the twisty path that meandered through the trees, slowing to a brisk walk.
I kept the quick walking pace all the way to the top of the loop at the halfway point, checking my stopwatch for time: 9:30 for the loop. That's a pretty fast pace for me; the loop has to be shorter than one mile. I rested at the top for about one minute, turned, and headed back down the twisty part at a fast jog. I gained momentum as I went along. Because I was feeling strong, I pushed myself to go as fast as was comfortable. Moving through the turns, I was running, actually running! It felt great! Thank you, Andrew, for running along with me, giving me strength! I feel you with me!
I checked my watch and was coming up on two minutes and I was almost to the point where I usually stopped to walk. Just a little farther...then, whoa! Turning a corner, I saw an elderly man who had moved over to the side and was protecting his little doggy from me, the approaching runner!
I screeched to a walk and said a quick "Hi" as I went past them. Since it killed my momentum, I didn't resume the jog...I was almost to my stopping spot. Had I kept the pace I would have reached it in way less time than three minutes; probably more like 2:20. That would have been my fastest time!
I continued a brisk walk all the way along the straight to the high point, then went another time around, finishing three loops in 33 minutes. I felt really good about that pace and the energy I felt while doing it. It had to be Andrew!
Since I was now technically finished with my workout, I had time to sit and rest. There was a little side path that took off the boardwalk at the high point that I had been meaning to explore, so I figured this was as good a time as any since I had no other agenda for the day. I turned down the path, expecting it to end shortly as there was a sign posted about a restoration area for the plants.
However, the trail turned and headed down the hill, deeper into the forest. Cool, I thought, an actual trail without the boardwalk. I liked it! It felt more natural, somehow. Soon the trail came to a ledge above the roadway and followed along for about 50 feet. Then it turned in again, toward some stands of oak. There were steps built into the trail, so I knew it was an established path.
Pretty soon I came to another oak grove and saw an entrance. The trees had grown in a sort of circle, creating sort of a little room underneath the trees. I entered, thinking how magical it all felt. I half expected to see Andrew sitting in there, waiting for me. It was kind of eerie in a non-scary way, because I was really looking around and sort of felt him there.
I have no idea if Andrew had ever been there, but he had lived in Los Osos for a year and explored the area. He liked to hike and bike and often went up to Montana de Oro. One day he told me about going on a run through the scrub brush area leading up to the MDO park. He said he ran for miles, kind of getting lost, but he kept running for a long time. He finally came out by the road and made his way down the hill and back to his house, but he was exhausted.
Anyway, knowing that story, I always feel like he might have been there some time and I sense a connection to him here in the Elfin Forest. I really felt him in that grove. It was cool.
As I often do, I took out my cell phone and used the camera to take several pictures. I upload them to my Facebook photo albums, one of which is about the Elfin Forest. So when I got back to the boardwalk, I sat on a bench and uploaded 20 photos I had just taken of the trail. When I got home and was editing the captions, I came to the ones of the grove and was started to see an image that resembled a human form. Looking closer, its a tree trunk, but the lighting gives it the abstract impression of a form. I think it was Andrew. I think he was with me today, encouraging me and giving me strength to reach my fitness goal.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Memorial Day memories...
Memorial Day weekend is over and images I saw and shared brought up so many different thoughts.
I share a lot on Facebook with friends and coworkers and relatives, so on Memorial Day I posted a photo of my parents, whose anniversary had been May 29, and another of my Dad and brother in full Navy uniform as they prepared to attend my brother's retirement ceremony from the Naval Reserves. Others shared pictures of Memorial Day services they had attended, along with some shared images of National ceremonies and such. Through all the sharing, people who knew my Dad and Mom mentioned seeing their headstone as they paid visits to the resting places of their own loved ones at our local town cemetery. Our town had also erected a Veteran's Memorial and many residents bought bricks inscribed with names of their loved ones who served our country in the military. One of my Facebook friends put up some photos of the Memorial Day service held there this last weekend and we were posting comments about seeing each other's families' bricks and so forth.
I remembered how I had stood on my parents' bricks as I greeted the people who had attended Andrew's memorial service held there in the park just a year ago. I stood on those bricks and thought of my parents and Andrew and their special bond. I stood on those bricks and prayed for the kind of strength my parents had given us throughout our whole lives.
I went back through my photo albums and reviewed the photos my stepson had taken for me of my Dad's burial service at the cemetery when he died in 2008. We had arranged for a VFW Honor Guard and the Catholic Knights of Columbus Color Guard to serve at the ceremony as my Dad's casket, draped in an American flag, was escorted to the burial site by five of my brothers and a nephew. Words of praise were read, rifles were fired, and the flag was ceremoniously folded and presented to my eldest brother, along with the bullet shells tucked inside. I was filled with awe, admiration and humility for my father and the men who knew him as an officer and comrade. I think all of us (children and grandchildren) saw my Dad in a little different light that day. To us he was our father and a pretty ordinary man, but to his peers he was a hero. We saw my Dad as a good example, a respectable, loving, responsbile person, but I am not sure we saw his heroism. It gave me a new connection with Memorial Day and respect for our military.
Andrew was there at my father's burial with us that day: me, my husband and stepson, my daughters. I have pictures of Andrew with us at the cemetery. I was so glad he was there, because I knew it was difficult for him. He was doing his best to avoid family gatherings and rarely came to any functions anymore, but my Dad was really heroic to Andrew.
My Dad had reached out to Andrew when he was at his lowest and taken him along to some Knights of Columbus meetings, trying to show him the Catholic way of serving God. At that point, Andrew was attending church services and reading the Bible constantly, trying to find some comfort for his feelings and sort out his jumbled view of the world and the family. I wasn't sure if Andrew was really going to fully participate in the Knights' as a member, but I stepped back and hoped, prayed, that he would find some peace and guidance from my Dad. Andrew went to all the meetings with my Dad and drove Dad to some of the out-of-town functions for about 3 months. Then, during a local meeting, Andrew abruptly got up and left. He didn't want to be there anymore. One of the men in attendance was a school principal from Andrew's elementary school, and he made some negative association in his mind and just left and wasn't going back.
My Dad couldn't understand what had happened and tried several times to talk to Andrew, but Andrew just avoided him. I tried to explain to my Dad that Andrew was dealing with some kind of paranoia and he would just do stuff like that, but I think my Dad was really hurt and mystified by the turn of events. I shared all I had been studying about the symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia with Dad and hoped he would understand from a more clinical level, which was my Dad's normal way of looking a most things, being a Medical Labortory Technologist and Registered Nurse, but in this instance I think Dad felt more emotional about it. That was a rather ironic twist, I thought, getting an emotional response when a clinical one would have been more beneficial. Dad always gave us the clinical version of most everything in life.
Dad suffered a fall and declined in early 2008. He passed away on Memorial Day of that year. I had stopped by to visit Andrew while on my way up to the hospital to visit my Dad after his fall, and I invited Andrew to go with me. For some reason, he accepted. At this point, I never knew when Andrew would change his mind about something, so I sort of held my breath all the way from the house to the hospital. Andrew sat with Dad and chatted, quite normally, in the hospital for at least 30 minutes. I took a few pictures of the two of them sitting there. It bordered on miraculous, I was thinking, that this visit was even taking place. Thank God!
The insidious part of mental disease, in my opinon, is that judging from those pictures, you would never know Andrew had suffered a psychotic break and was teetering on the edge of something tragic. He looked healthy and wholesome and strong. His conversation was normal and personable.
Another visitor stopped by just then, a member of the Knight's of Columbus. He was a really nice, friendly man, and he recognized Andrew immediately. We exchanged polite greetings, but I could see Andrew was uncomfortable so we said our goodbyes to my Dad and left. By the time we had reached the parking lot, Andrew was in tears. He felt guilty, confused, sad...just a jumble of emotions he could no longer sort out or keep in perspective. He felt like he had dissappointed his grandfather by quitting the Knights', and that he was a failure as a grandson and as a person.
I wished I could have found the magic words to take away Andrew's pain and make everything right once more. I knew it would be his and Dad's last visit. I tried to let him know we loved him no matter what, but Andrew felt judged. Whatever his unseen demons were, they made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin and he just couldn't block it out or make it go away. Andrew knew we loved him, but he just didn't feel worthy of our love for some reason. That was the sadest part of all of it...
I share a lot on Facebook with friends and coworkers and relatives, so on Memorial Day I posted a photo of my parents, whose anniversary had been May 29, and another of my Dad and brother in full Navy uniform as they prepared to attend my brother's retirement ceremony from the Naval Reserves. Others shared pictures of Memorial Day services they had attended, along with some shared images of National ceremonies and such. Through all the sharing, people who knew my Dad and Mom mentioned seeing their headstone as they paid visits to the resting places of their own loved ones at our local town cemetery. Our town had also erected a Veteran's Memorial and many residents bought bricks inscribed with names of their loved ones who served our country in the military. One of my Facebook friends put up some photos of the Memorial Day service held there this last weekend and we were posting comments about seeing each other's families' bricks and so forth.
I remembered how I had stood on my parents' bricks as I greeted the people who had attended Andrew's memorial service held there in the park just a year ago. I stood on those bricks and thought of my parents and Andrew and their special bond. I stood on those bricks and prayed for the kind of strength my parents had given us throughout our whole lives.
I went back through my photo albums and reviewed the photos my stepson had taken for me of my Dad's burial service at the cemetery when he died in 2008. We had arranged for a VFW Honor Guard and the Catholic Knights of Columbus Color Guard to serve at the ceremony as my Dad's casket, draped in an American flag, was escorted to the burial site by five of my brothers and a nephew. Words of praise were read, rifles were fired, and the flag was ceremoniously folded and presented to my eldest brother, along with the bullet shells tucked inside. I was filled with awe, admiration and humility for my father and the men who knew him as an officer and comrade. I think all of us (children and grandchildren) saw my Dad in a little different light that day. To us he was our father and a pretty ordinary man, but to his peers he was a hero. We saw my Dad as a good example, a respectable, loving, responsbile person, but I am not sure we saw his heroism. It gave me a new connection with Memorial Day and respect for our military.
Andrew was there at my father's burial with us that day: me, my husband and stepson, my daughters. I have pictures of Andrew with us at the cemetery. I was so glad he was there, because I knew it was difficult for him. He was doing his best to avoid family gatherings and rarely came to any functions anymore, but my Dad was really heroic to Andrew.
My Dad had reached out to Andrew when he was at his lowest and taken him along to some Knights of Columbus meetings, trying to show him the Catholic way of serving God. At that point, Andrew was attending church services and reading the Bible constantly, trying to find some comfort for his feelings and sort out his jumbled view of the world and the family. I wasn't sure if Andrew was really going to fully participate in the Knights' as a member, but I stepped back and hoped, prayed, that he would find some peace and guidance from my Dad. Andrew went to all the meetings with my Dad and drove Dad to some of the out-of-town functions for about 3 months. Then, during a local meeting, Andrew abruptly got up and left. He didn't want to be there anymore. One of the men in attendance was a school principal from Andrew's elementary school, and he made some negative association in his mind and just left and wasn't going back.
My Dad couldn't understand what had happened and tried several times to talk to Andrew, but Andrew just avoided him. I tried to explain to my Dad that Andrew was dealing with some kind of paranoia and he would just do stuff like that, but I think my Dad was really hurt and mystified by the turn of events. I shared all I had been studying about the symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia with Dad and hoped he would understand from a more clinical level, which was my Dad's normal way of looking a most things, being a Medical Labortory Technologist and Registered Nurse, but in this instance I think Dad felt more emotional about it. That was a rather ironic twist, I thought, getting an emotional response when a clinical one would have been more beneficial. Dad always gave us the clinical version of most everything in life.
Dad suffered a fall and declined in early 2008. He passed away on Memorial Day of that year. I had stopped by to visit Andrew while on my way up to the hospital to visit my Dad after his fall, and I invited Andrew to go with me. For some reason, he accepted. At this point, I never knew when Andrew would change his mind about something, so I sort of held my breath all the way from the house to the hospital. Andrew sat with Dad and chatted, quite normally, in the hospital for at least 30 minutes. I took a few pictures of the two of them sitting there. It bordered on miraculous, I was thinking, that this visit was even taking place. Thank God!
The insidious part of mental disease, in my opinon, is that judging from those pictures, you would never know Andrew had suffered a psychotic break and was teetering on the edge of something tragic. He looked healthy and wholesome and strong. His conversation was normal and personable.
Another visitor stopped by just then, a member of the Knight's of Columbus. He was a really nice, friendly man, and he recognized Andrew immediately. We exchanged polite greetings, but I could see Andrew was uncomfortable so we said our goodbyes to my Dad and left. By the time we had reached the parking lot, Andrew was in tears. He felt guilty, confused, sad...just a jumble of emotions he could no longer sort out or keep in perspective. He felt like he had dissappointed his grandfather by quitting the Knights', and that he was a failure as a grandson and as a person.
I wished I could have found the magic words to take away Andrew's pain and make everything right once more. I knew it would be his and Dad's last visit. I tried to let him know we loved him no matter what, but Andrew felt judged. Whatever his unseen demons were, they made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin and he just couldn't block it out or make it go away. Andrew knew we loved him, but he just didn't feel worthy of our love for some reason. That was the sadest part of all of it...
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The Bubble Sighting...
I mentioned something about seeing a bubble in a previous post, but I don't think I ever related that story here in detail.
On my birthday last year, I had plans to meet my girls for lunch. I got up and took a walk down to the Elfin Forest near the Estuary. It was a crisp, clear morning in November. I went along the boardwalk, meandering through the forest path. I was up on the highest part of the walkway when I decided to rest on a bench. I remember looking out across the Estuary toward Morro Bay's marina.
As I was looking out over the water, I suddenly saw a large, shiny bubble moving through one of the canal-type areas in the bay. It was translucent, like a soap bubble, but it appeared to be 10 or more feet in diameter. It was moving toward me a little bit, away from the Marina and towards the open water. I watched, transfixed. For some reason I felt it had something to do with Andrew. He had been in my thoughts all morning.
I wondered if it was some sort of reflection and glanced up at the sky, looking for an airplane, but nothing! I cast my gaze around the bay to see if there were any boats that might be causing a reflection. I didn't see anything that would explain the shiny bubble.
Suddenly the bubble changed shape, shifting into a sort of ribbon-like form. It began "dancing" -- moving like a rythemic dancer twirling ribbons. The lighting changed as the ribbon dipped and soared on top of the water. It reminded me of dolphins frolicking in the surf. Abruptly, the ribbon turned steel gray, then back to shiny silver, kind of like a flock of birds flying in the sky.
It came to me that Andrew was sending me a message: Happy Birthday, Mom! Have a fun day!
After a few minutes, it faded away and was gone. Wistfully, I looked around for it. Why hadn't I tried to take a picture of it with my camera phone, I wondered? After all, that morning I had been taking lots of pictures as I walked through the Elfin Forest for my little photo essays I post on Facebook. But while I was watching the bubble, it hadn't occured to me to record it.
I just accepted that it was Andrew, showing off a bit and wishing me well. That would be something good and positive to share with the girls today. Thanks, Andrew!
On my birthday last year, I had plans to meet my girls for lunch. I got up and took a walk down to the Elfin Forest near the Estuary. It was a crisp, clear morning in November. I went along the boardwalk, meandering through the forest path. I was up on the highest part of the walkway when I decided to rest on a bench. I remember looking out across the Estuary toward Morro Bay's marina.
As I was looking out over the water, I suddenly saw a large, shiny bubble moving through one of the canal-type areas in the bay. It was translucent, like a soap bubble, but it appeared to be 10 or more feet in diameter. It was moving toward me a little bit, away from the Marina and towards the open water. I watched, transfixed. For some reason I felt it had something to do with Andrew. He had been in my thoughts all morning.
I wondered if it was some sort of reflection and glanced up at the sky, looking for an airplane, but nothing! I cast my gaze around the bay to see if there were any boats that might be causing a reflection. I didn't see anything that would explain the shiny bubble.
Suddenly the bubble changed shape, shifting into a sort of ribbon-like form. It began "dancing" -- moving like a rythemic dancer twirling ribbons. The lighting changed as the ribbon dipped and soared on top of the water. It reminded me of dolphins frolicking in the surf. Abruptly, the ribbon turned steel gray, then back to shiny silver, kind of like a flock of birds flying in the sky.
It came to me that Andrew was sending me a message: Happy Birthday, Mom! Have a fun day!
After a few minutes, it faded away and was gone. Wistfully, I looked around for it. Why hadn't I tried to take a picture of it with my camera phone, I wondered? After all, that morning I had been taking lots of pictures as I walked through the Elfin Forest for my little photo essays I post on Facebook. But while I was watching the bubble, it hadn't occured to me to record it.
I just accepted that it was Andrew, showing off a bit and wishing me well. That would be something good and positive to share with the girls today. Thanks, Andrew!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Knowing how to grieve...
Some people say I am doing amazingly well, considering how I lost my son to suicide. They think I am handling it okay...
It's a nice compliment, really, but not a great prize, I'm thinking. It's the consolation prize, if anything. But I would rather do it well, the grieving, than do it badly. I have seen plenty of badly done grieving in my time...
I have also seen grieving done well. My parents were my main example. Through their involvement in their church community, they served other in times of grief on a regular basis. They attended funerals regularly, and in their latter years, it seemed like they were attending a funeral at least once a week. Mom always made a potluck dish for the luncheon after the funeral, participated in a prayer chain, and wrote a comforting note in a condolence card for the family. She anguished over each death and truly felt the sorrow of her passing acquaintances. Dad visited widows of his Knights of Columbus men and helped them sift through their grief by taking care of practical matters, like how to collect their insurance. He organized Rosaries and participated in services. He gave them crosses, candles and holy water, icons to facilitate their devotions to their dear departed. They did this sort of thing week-in and week-out ever since I can remember. They visited gravesites. One thing I could take solace in when my parents were buried is that they were surrounded by their friends of more than 40 years from living in the same community.
So I had a bit of an example to follow in grieving. I understood the purpose of a public service, the benefits of private mourning, and felt the freedom to be able to go through it however it benefited me and my family, without worrying so much about protocol. The main thing I wanted to accomplish in the short term was honoring my son, sharing his life with those whom he had formed connections with throughout his life, and facing people head on, accepting their condolences. My ex-husband's method would be to avoid all of it and my daughters would have like to follow suit, but I knew that wasn't the most beneficial way to handle it. I worked out a plan and they agreed to it, then thanked me later. When all the services were done and over with, they had to agree it hadn't been horrible. There had been some nice moments..touching sentiments shared by people who knew and loved our boy.
A year later, I am still grieving, but I do it by remembering my son and enjoying his gifts. I talk about him often. I hope people aren't put off by that, but most seemed to be put at ease about it. I don't want his memory to be awkward and stifled. He was a wonderful person and is worth mentioning from time to time.
Following suit, Bill and the girls are doing things to keep his memory going, also. They are putting in a vegetable garden again this year. Last year Andrew had planted one and they kept it alive through the summer months. We all shared in its bounty and thought of Andrew with all those meals. I could never get much gardening done while the kids were growing up, involved in sports and always on the go. It's real nice to see everyone taking an interest in it now, due to Andrew's interest.
Anyway, I thank my parents for their example and strength in facing death. they showed me the way, and I hope I am showing my family the way in turn...
It's a nice compliment, really, but not a great prize, I'm thinking. It's the consolation prize, if anything. But I would rather do it well, the grieving, than do it badly. I have seen plenty of badly done grieving in my time...
I have also seen grieving done well. My parents were my main example. Through their involvement in their church community, they served other in times of grief on a regular basis. They attended funerals regularly, and in their latter years, it seemed like they were attending a funeral at least once a week. Mom always made a potluck dish for the luncheon after the funeral, participated in a prayer chain, and wrote a comforting note in a condolence card for the family. She anguished over each death and truly felt the sorrow of her passing acquaintances. Dad visited widows of his Knights of Columbus men and helped them sift through their grief by taking care of practical matters, like how to collect their insurance. He organized Rosaries and participated in services. He gave them crosses, candles and holy water, icons to facilitate their devotions to their dear departed. They did this sort of thing week-in and week-out ever since I can remember. They visited gravesites. One thing I could take solace in when my parents were buried is that they were surrounded by their friends of more than 40 years from living in the same community.
So I had a bit of an example to follow in grieving. I understood the purpose of a public service, the benefits of private mourning, and felt the freedom to be able to go through it however it benefited me and my family, without worrying so much about protocol. The main thing I wanted to accomplish in the short term was honoring my son, sharing his life with those whom he had formed connections with throughout his life, and facing people head on, accepting their condolences. My ex-husband's method would be to avoid all of it and my daughters would have like to follow suit, but I knew that wasn't the most beneficial way to handle it. I worked out a plan and they agreed to it, then thanked me later. When all the services were done and over with, they had to agree it hadn't been horrible. There had been some nice moments..touching sentiments shared by people who knew and loved our boy.
A year later, I am still grieving, but I do it by remembering my son and enjoying his gifts. I talk about him often. I hope people aren't put off by that, but most seemed to be put at ease about it. I don't want his memory to be awkward and stifled. He was a wonderful person and is worth mentioning from time to time.
Following suit, Bill and the girls are doing things to keep his memory going, also. They are putting in a vegetable garden again this year. Last year Andrew had planted one and they kept it alive through the summer months. We all shared in its bounty and thought of Andrew with all those meals. I could never get much gardening done while the kids were growing up, involved in sports and always on the go. It's real nice to see everyone taking an interest in it now, due to Andrew's interest.
Anyway, I thank my parents for their example and strength in facing death. they showed me the way, and I hope I am showing my family the way in turn...
Friday, April 2, 2010
Hallowed ground...
My boss asked me how my children were doing and I told her about the girls graduating from college and their careers. Then she asked me about my son. I hesitated for a second, thinking surely they knew—they must have read it in the newspaper—then just simply told them Andrew had died from suicide last April. From the shocked looks on their faces, they didn’t know, but my boss said, “Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t know, or I forgot.” I tried to remember if they had sent me a sympathy card or not…I had thought so, but I guess not.
Yes, forgot…it is easy to do when it’s not your family, your loss, I thought, without bitterness. I routinely read the obits and myself would sort of hesitate when encountering people from my hometown, thinking, “Gee, was it her father who just passed away?”
Life is strange, I thought, how we travel on parallel paths, concerned with the events in our own lives, unaware of others until we cross paths once again. I was working for this person when Andrew first began exhibiting signs of paranoia. I asked her advice and took time off of work to take Andrew to some of his appointments with the therapists we were trying out. She knew some of our most intimate details of the struggle at that time. She also had personally experienced the suicide of a family member. But she didn’t know about my son’s death until now. I hoped I hadn’t been too blunt. It just came out the way I have been trying to deal with it—out in the open, directly.
Reflecting on that encounter reminded me of how I feel now when I watch a high school football game. I went to one last October to watch a nephew play. All during the game, as the players set up each play, I would see Andrew. One of his roles was the kicker, and I could feel him taking those steps as I watched these boys, just in the same way I took each step with him when he play on the same field. They had better honor him, I remember thinking to myself, since they are stepping in his footsteps now. Then I thought about how my son had traced the same steps as hundreds of players before him…the field has been there at least 70 years. I wonder how many of the kids currently taking the field think about those that have gone before them.
The same thing goes for the baseball field that he loved to play on at the lake park. When I went to high school, our baseball team held their games there before a new field was built on the school campus. For Andrew, it was the home of Babe Ruth Baseball. He played there for three years in junior high and his freshmen years. Prior to that, he was the ball boy for a semi-pro team made up of high school and junior college-age players who called that field home, so he hung out there a lot. It was hallowed ground to him.
Come to think of it, Andrew’s father had played there in his youth, as well. I wonder if Andrew had ever thought of that when he was playing on the field, especially in the position of catcher, same as his daddy—that he was walking in his father’s footsteps, catching the ball, throwing down to second base, blocking a pitch behind the plate, making a tag as the runner came sliding in. I’m sure he had thought of it—Andrew tried to emulate his dad, and Andrew loved playing on that field.
That is one reason I picked that baseball field as the site of his memorial service. It was a place where his dreams were formed and some of them played out. He experienced some awesome moments there, shared the comraderie of team sports and the excitement of baseball. We watched him play there and struggle to succeed there. He always wanted to be great. I think that, many times, he achieved greatness there.
One thing Andrew had always wanted to do was to hit a home run ball into the lake. He did get some home runs over the fence a couple of times, but I don’t think he ever made it into the water. So at his memorial service I had a pitching machine set up and asked that anyone wanting to take a few swings in Andrew’s memory were welcome to try and hit one into the lake for him.
Several months later I ran into some old friends, the dad who had coached Andrew in baseball and whose son had played baseball and football with Andrew for their whole lives. They had something for me, the dad said. They had gone back to the field a few weeks later and took some swings. Andrew’s buddy had hit one out into the lake for him!
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