INCONSOLABLE,Inconsolable, Inconsolable, Inconsolab


Yes, three years, eight months and some change.
I am inconsolable.  Our son, George, said, "Everyone will be sad and mourn for a while, but life will go on".
He wasn't a mother and he never had to watch one of his children die.  We, his Father and I, did.
We are inconsolable yet.

Both of us are inconsolable because we cannot call him and hear his voice. He talked with his Dad every day. They were silly, often, and laughed at stupid jokes.  Now, his Dad is inconsolable having no son to call.  
I am inconsolable because never again will I hear his melodious voice saying "Hey, Mom, whatcha doing"?
I am inconsolable because his oldest son will be 21 years old this month, and George will not be here to hug and admire him. I am inconsolable because his son will not share that first real step into adulthood with his Father.
I am inconsolable because after all this time I am still inconsolable.  Sure, I can forget and immerse myself in trivia for a time, but then, missing him, intrudes. 
I am inconsolable because I saw the new leader of our country ridicule a handicapped man. It reminded me of a blog entry George wrote when the same thing happened to him on St. Patrick's Day when he was trying to forget he was handicapped and alone.  I am inconsolable because so many in our country weren't offended by the lack of compassion for humanity that it exhibited.
I am inconsolable because this handicapped man and so many others, including George, had diseases that are still incurable.  Where is our focus?
I am inconsolable because I will never be able to bake another cookie for my son to enjoy. I am inconsolable because his death is forever, and I still am living while his life had real meaning, especially for his children.
I am inconsolable because I have no ability to detach myself from the hurt and pain his suffering caused him and us.
I am inconsolable every time I see a refugee baby, dead on a shore, because George's death magnified the tragedy of indifference.
I am inconsolable in so many ways, not the least during special days when George will not be in our company.
I am inconsolable because memories are not sufficient to take away my inconsolability.
I am inconsolable as I miss my wonderful son who got a shit sandwich, lost his health and chose to die.
Inconsolable, forever.

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.

GEORGE BOKOS...BEFORE MS...A FINAL TRIBUTE

March 2, 2014

Tomorrow, March 3, 2014, is the first anniversary of George's death.
I have chosen to write a tribute for him on his blog, Thegreekfromdetroit.com.
It is about who George was before MS became his destiny.
From this time forward, I will try to dwell in the good memories that we have.
He would have wanted it that way.

In loving memory of a wonderful son......

Hilda

Lamentation of a mother

One year ago on this date,
George was alive and miserable in his bedroom in our home.  
Today, I am alive and miserable remembering each day last year, even though much of it has become a blur.
Anticipation, not filled with hope, but with dread. 
Little did I know then, that in less than two weeks, our beloved son would be dead.

Oh, he had told us in no uncertain terms that he was NOT going to live in the state that MS had placed him.  That he would not want to live to continue to deteriorate, become more dependent, lose more function, remain isolated from all that made him who he was; children, a loving woman, work, physical strength, friends......PURPOSE.

Now, he saw himself as an imposition on two aging parents, dependent on a caretaker to wash and assist him in his most intimate functions.  He saw a man who would never have a woman hold him intimately, care for him as a husband, share all his life with him.  He saw no future hope in all the drugs being touted by the pharmaceutical companies and the MS Society.  He saw that he could not live with his four children, guide them, play with them, understand and participate with their changes and maturing.  

He envisioned nothing but pain, deterioration and dependency.  
"This is NOT who I am, Mom, and you know it". Yes, I knew it and understood his every word.

Now, I am a shell of who I was.
I walk, talk, smile, socialize.
I knew that I loved George.
I knew that we had a special bond.
I was willing to care for him for the rest of my life.
I never really knew how much I really loved him.
I never fully comprehended how much I would miss him.

The world expects that I move forward.
That I remember all the good times and find peace that George is no longer suffering.
It doesn't work that way.  I have sat all this month remembering the terrible February last year when he suffered, realized his life would never get better and knew that the future held only more pain, suffering, loneliness and decline.
He worried about us caring for him.  He didn't want any more ambulance rides, hospital visits, fighting for doctors to help him, sadness over his loss of love and friendships.

I can't explain how the light has gone out of my life.  I try to be uplifted with love for my grandchildren, but then I am so sad that they are growing and becoming so wonderful and beautiful and George is not here to see them.
Nothing makes me really happy.  I smile and participate, resemble the old me, but still feel like a ghost.  I am the ghost, lost in this world and wanting my son to be with me.  

I don't know if I will ever recover, find meaning in this life.  Look forward to anything.  I cry when I think of George's kids, their lives going on and he is not with them. Sadness prevails, and no matter how good my fake face is, I am not there.


Just like George is not here or there.  I do not see him in the sky or feel him in the night or see him in my dreams.  He is lost, gone.  I do not want to believe that he is reborn to another life, as in reincarnation.  I do not want someone else to have his love, his beauty, his humor.  I am selfish.
I think he is just gone, belonging to the past, no longer any part of this world and not believing that there is another one in which he can exist. I hope I am wrong.


I just want him. 

I just want him.........



  (Photo taken early in George's diagnosis.  Symtomatic, still functioning, but struggling with treatments and adjustments.)

MS and BS Go Together Like Peanut Butter and Jelly

Really? Really?

Does time heal all wounds, including grief, or does it just drive them deeper into one's heart? I erased all my previous posts in a moment of deep discontentment and sadness over another's reactions to a testimony to George's suffering and death.
Why?  Because, personal perceptions dictate how truth is viewed and remembered. And, their perception was tragically flawed, giving lie to all that George endured.

My purpose and desire is that the real truth of how George suffered and why he chose to die is never lost or forgotten.  To do so would dishonor his courage, his efforts to find a way to cure his MS or at least halt its progression.  To forget what he endured is to ignore and repress what so many others are truly suffering with this disease, this MS, this Multiple Scarring of once healthy minds and bodies.

I describe my grief as a form of dis-ease, just like having a chronic, debilitating disorder like MS.  It is an undercurrent that never goes away.  No, it does not paralyze me nor take away my abilities to lead a normal physical life.  But, like MS, it changes my brain.  Grief sucks the zest from life.  It appears whenever it wants, right before falling asleep, seeing a man whose haircut reminds me of George, hearing his son 's voice telling me what he is doing, and on and on.  In other words, it takes over my life, fooling me into thinking I am doing fine and then slamming me into a funk of despair.  

MS does that all the time to those who have it.  It is beyond comprehension that observers think that MS is all about not walking or having a little numbness.  The MS society shows magazine covers of pretty healthy looking people just having a great time as they beam from their wheelchairs or bike for charity or lead such a nice well managed life.  MS and BS go together like peanut butter and jelly. Now, how do you think that picture got painted?????

Back to grief.  It is a combination of despair, deep longing, dreadful unending missing for the touch, company, voice of my beloved son.  Grief is filled with confusion as I examine all the philosophies and religious concepts that deal with the possible after life.  Mostly, it is a yearning for my life to be what it was once, when my son was alive and healthy.  

Grief gives no quarter.  There is no answer to the why, the never ending trauma of remembering the indignities and sorrow and finally, finally, seeing the moment as the light of hope left George's eyes.  It is remembering how he accepted that his life would never be what it was, that he would continue to be dependent, ill, in pain and emotionally isolated.  Grief encompasses much... but mostly it aches with the waste of a truly beloved and sweet man's life.

I don't want to hear that there is a lesson to be learned. I look at George's picture when he was vibrant, healthy, purposeful.  Then, I look at his picture when he was bedridden, paralyzed, struggling to cope with all his losses, especially not to be the Dad he wanted to be for his kids. It makes no sense.

Yes, each milestone, each month, each occasion etches another notch of hurt and pain into my soul.  Forget my heart, that was ravaged from the day he was diagnosed.  So, nine months into mourning, one birthday, Thanksgiving and now Christmas to remember that he is gone and there ain't one thing I can do about it.

Really...time heals?  Really? Really? Just ask me if you want to hear my truth.  Really....

For my Son

Just a few words today to tell you that it was the greatest honor of my life to be a Mother to you and your sisters.  We all invoked your name and shared memories of you.  Be at peace and know that I shall be your Mother until my last breath. 

And, by extension of that love, I have
your precious children in my heart. They will grow and learn of the gift of your love and heritage because of the beautiful and authentic words that you have bequeathed the world and them in your blog, Thegreekfromdetroit.com.


Rest my beloved son, and be at peace knowing that we shall never forget you.