Another year without you.....

George,

Another year about to end and another starting.  Do you know what it means to me?  The horrible thought of another year without you in my life.  Each year takes me further away from when you were here, and no, it doesn't get easier.  It really hurts more because of the hopelessness of never being able to see, hear, touch or talk to you.

Sure, I have been reading blogs about grief, afterlife, mediums who swear that death is just a transition.  Doesn't really matter because all I have is this life and you are missing from it.

My memories of you fold into each other like molten lava...one leading into another, and all just reminding me that they are just that, memories.  It is not enough.

Here are some of the things I remember.  When you were in high school in the glee club.  We had come to the Christmas program, and during the performance, out steps this tall, handsome man in a black tuxedo.  His strong voice rang out in a solo, and it was you, handsome beyond words. What a surprise for us, and how proud we were of you.

Or, how about, how every night, here in Florida, when it was just you confined to bed and your two old parents trying to not give in to despair, you would call to me.  "Hey Mom, hurry up, it's Family Feud".  I would rush to lay next to you in bed and watch that really stupid show, just to keep you company, like your wife used to when you lived together.Guess what...I cannot stand to see Steve Harvey anymore.  Too sad.

I haven't baked a cookie since you died.  Too hard for me because baking and crying  are not a good mix.  I made cookies each week for you, and you would ask for one, and then say, "got another one Mom?"  No, I will never bake another cookie because you cannot eat it.

I watch your Dad sit in the garage at night, sometimes smoking a cigar.  You never really liked to smoke, but you would light a cigar stub that you nursed for at least a week, sitting in that behemoth wheel chair and just talk with your old Dad.  Now, he just sits and stares at empty sky, perhaps remembering those moments.

Memories are supposed to bring comfort.  Not for me.  They just make me realize how much I miss you, how much I long for you to be here, healthy, back in your old life, content with your family.  I couldn't heal you and I can't get you back.  It sucks and how I always hated that phrase.

So, this new year, I will count to three for the years you have been gone...and wonder how I can stand to live for how many more years.....without you in my world.

Look At the Moon

It is two years tomorrow since George left this earth.
I did not think that I would be able to ever write again on this blog.
Grief and longing are so profound that no words can adequately express the depth to which they go. I can only say that for these last two years, I have lived in  a dark place.

There have been moments of light.  Seeing my grandchildren and knowing they are healthy and joyful has been like sunshine caressing my face.  You know the warmth of that feeling.  Honestly, though, not a day has gone by when I have not cried, remembering George when he was ill, and lamenting the moments that will never be.

I have sought comfort in music, poetry, writings of other mothers who have lost their children.  I absorbed the sorrow, the pain, the longing of all those who have been thrust into this valley of grief.  It is truly a lonely place no matter how many others inhabit it.

My daughters have been so understanding. They have had to deal with their loss as well as mine.  And, my husband, how can one ever understand what it means to a man to lose his only son, his legacy, his counterpart in manhood? We have all shared our loss in many ways, but deep inside, we mourn alone.

George's children.  How can I possibly know what they are feeling?  I only understand that they will no longer have a most wonderful father to guide, love and cherish them.  Memories will grow dim, but hopefully the essence of who he was will forever influence and comfort them.

Last week was one of the worst that I have ever experienced.  My mind began the countdown of George's last days with us.  It was  physically and emotionally wrenching.  I sunk as low as I ever have in these many years.  And, then, NIko, George's son called me.

How I have worried for Niko, the eldest.  We talked about George, and then Niko did the most amazing thing.  He wrote and sang a song about George and life.  I cried for hours after I played it many times.  But, you know what?  His song and wisdom, cracked that canker of sorrow that has been my companion for too long.  The poison flowed out with the tears.  

Niko acknowledged the difficulties in life, but said that he and George did not want me to be sad.  Imagine.  I played the song over and over and will forever.
His final line, "look at the moon, he's all around"  Look at the moon.

I will.