5 YEARS

Tomorrow will mark 5 years since Jason died.  Even as I write that, I can feel the downward spiral of denial and I can hear my own voice yelling, "No! No!"

How can that beautiful child born to me be gone? Memories flash in my brain.  I can't breath and my eyes are overflowing again. 

The 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

What little I've read about these stages insists that the order is not necessary, nor is there a fixed or equal time given to any particular sage.  That's good, because, while I have dabbled in all these responses, the one I live in most is denial.

"You have to move on." "Life is for the living."  These stupid cliches are nevertheless true.  I still have to get up everyday, interact with other people, continue to grow and learn so I can help others walking through the valley of the shadow of death.  Those who, although they may not have experienced the death of a close loved one, still grieve and hurt and are stuck where they are.  My husband is a big believer and encourager that God uses the difficulties we have faced to teach us to lend a hand to those going through what we did. It's a positive position and gets me out of my own sadness. Sometimes it's all I can do to walk on.  Sometimes I just put my head down and cry and grieve and yell at God.

In moving on, once again I fear that I will the loose the essential Jason.  I will remake him using rose colored glasses as my tool.

The last time I saw him was Christmas 2009.  All the kids were in San Antonio with us for the last time.  Because Christmas and winter coincide, schedules got mixed up and we were not able to spend as much time together as we had planned.  When Jason finally got here, I grabbed him and hugged him and didn't want to let him go.  Here's the part I have never told anyone: he pushed me away.  I am certain he did that because he was cranky and needed a cigarette. My logical, conscious mind knows this.  But my soul still hurts.  I still feel him brushing past me to make for the nearest exit.  I would like the opportunity to talk to him about that.

As a matter-of-fact - this is a line of thought that started this past Christmas - I would like the opportunity to travel to the past.  Just certain times that maybe had more of an impact on future events than others.  Partly to fix damage I did to my children and partly to fix damage my own thoughts did to me.

Because I thought I was at fault for Jason pushing me away - I must have hugged him too long - in the effort to be completely truthful, I knew that I was not at fault.  Clicking back through the pictures I've taken in my mind, the ones where I felt failure, I would like to grab that girl Leigh's hand, look her in the eye and tell her, "You are doing the best you can.  You yield your children to God everyday and work tirelessly to put good things in their lives."

So my next task is to let go of my "failures".  To remember that my efforts were inspired by a desire for the best for my kids.

Jason, I love you.  I miss you.  I want to put my arms around you and squeeze you so that you can't get away. I can't wait to see you again.