The Grey Metal Casket

          

This is it.

             One of the strangest things about having a child die suddenly is that all at once, there are many questions asked of you. Will you be wanting burial or cremation ? Where are the remains to be buried ? Where is the funeral to be held ? Do you want an open casket or a closed one ?  How much do you want to spend ?  Will you be needing embalming services ?  No one really cares that your child collapsed and died three hours ago, and no one knows why.

                 In the past I have thought of myself as someone whose mind works fairly quickly. As a critical care nurse I have functioned well and thought clearly in any number of pretty horrible emergencies both in and out of hospitals, but nothing can compare to the sudden absence of your child's spirit from his body, before your eyes. Nothing can compare to being told that since there was no "foul play" suspected that any autopsy would have to be at your own expense ***, and nothing can compare to being asked a number of fairly complex final questions when you have absolutely never considered such things where your child is concerned. We actually didn't know of a single funeral home in our area.

               Part of the reason I had difficulty answering such questions is that the questions and the answers were complex. Our farm actually has a family cemetery, and despite the frozen ground, we wondered if it could be used for Daniel's remains now. Secondly, how could someone have an open casket funeral after an autopsy ? Thirdly, why was embalming required by law ?   Somehow we navigated this very difficult time and item by item came up with answers to these mind bending questions. We chose to have the funeral in the county seat of the place in which Daniel and our other children had homeschooled. We thought that more of his friends could attend this way, rather than holding the funeral in Charlottesville, which had been my first leaning. We learned that despite the autopsy, that great care had been taken to allow an open casket funeral afterward. I did not want this, but my husband did, and who was I to argue ? He too had lost his youngest son that day. Also at that time, we chose cremation, just as my parents, grandparents, and aunts had.  And so, we needed to buy a casket, not for him to be buried in, because his remains wouldn't be, but simply for the hours of the viewing and the funeral itself.  Afterward, we could have given it back to the funeral home where it would be refurbished and presumably used again.  We selected a rather heavy metal casket painted a matte gray with shiny silver toned handles.  Inside it was lined with a particularly soft pillow and white soft lining which reminded me of the fabric of the gown and clothing Daniel wore for his christening. The funeral itself was quite beautiful and well attended. It truly was a celebration of Daniel's life with many people ranging in age from babyhood to in their eighties in attendance. Even a cat named Macintosh, that Daniel truly loved, that belonged to a friend, attended the gathering in a carrier.

                   All of the decisions we made we solid reasonable ones, perhaps except for one. Rather than giving the coffin back to the funeral home afterward, we decided, in advance, to keep it. There was a great deal of metal in it and we'd paid what we considered a great deal for it. Daniel was a big believer in recycling and repurposing almost everything, and perhaps this was a hats off to him.  Perhaps our eldest son, who was completing his degree in sculpture at university could use the metal and fashion an incredible sculpture of some kind. He certainly had with other heavy large metal items. The funeral home wanted it off their property as quickly as possible after the funeral.  The day after, we secured it to one of our trucks using multiple bungee cords and covered it with a tarpaulin. As we drove the distance to the farm, periodically the tarp would blow upwards in the wind, and drivers behind us would see that we were toting a coffin. Daniel would have thought this hysterical. I remember being an odd combination of distraught and amused as they passed our truck, looking strangely at us. Why shouldn't I want the casket? I thought. We didn't yet have Daniel's ashes back. I still wasn't sure that the happenings of that week weren't a terrible nightmare.  When we got home, we placed the coffin in one of our outbuildings on its back. I was surprised to see that the pillow and lining were still intact and clean and had not been removed.
              It didn't matter how much we said that Daniel's casket didn't really have anything to do with him and how repurposing it as a sculpture would have pleased him. Our eldest son, who had originally planned to use the metal in a project was struck by lightning while closing up another wooden building with a metal roof here in August of 2011. Although he survived, he had a number of ongoing medical problems which limited his use of the welders and equipment necessary to completely take down the casket to its component parts.
            And so, an empty gray casket sits alone and waits in an empty building here on our farm, and has now for eight years.  It remains as beautiful and as clean as the day in which I first saw it. It has taken eight years for me to be able to tell you this. Perhaps 2017 is also the year in which the casket is set free to become something else other than a symbol of a very sad day indeed.

















***The University of Virginia Medical Center eventually chose to make Daniel's case a teaching one, as no clear structural cause of his passing could ever be demonstrated. Since his cause of death was theoretical, we were never billed for multiple autopsies by different pathology teams. The cause of death was surmised to be a functional cause of death, a supposed heart rhythm disturbance in a heart that appeared healthy otherwise. We learned later that this flaw of heart rhythm does run in our family, and it had to be treated by ablation in other family members.

Eight Vast Years

           

       I found this picture of you taken when you were about eight at Christmas, at the first farm. I believe your sister says you were being dressed to be an elf.   I can't believe that it's eight years today since you had to depart. I love you just as much as I ever did, and the memories of what you liked and disliked when you were here are still fresh. You will always be my son whether you had continued life here on Earth, or in Heaven. Your siblings and your dad mention you often and we often giggle at things you said which have turned out to be quite true. Love to my Dad and everyone with you. I love you wider than the oceans, and deeper than the seas, and I always will.

Stop Crying: This is the Good Stuff

             

  Today, just two days before Daniel would have been gone eight years, one of my sons was married in a beautiful church ceremony with friends and family in attendance.  He has married a lovely young woman that Daniel clearly would have adored. Perhaps our entire family will benefit from a wedding anniversary that occurs just two days from Daniel's sudden departure from Earth.
            
              There were lots of tears at the lovely well attended wedding.  In fact, some of the bride's nieces and nephews asked me why so many of the adults were crying.  I told them that first, we were crying because seeing two people very much in love who finally are able to marry one another is both rare and sweet and makes us cry. Also, such beautiful music, which was especially chosen by the bride and groom makes many of us cry, all by itself.  Also, if we are the parents of the bride or the groom, we cannot help but remember them as small children and wonder how they made the jump from toddler to kindergartener to teen, college student, graduate, and then husband or wife. We wonder how the years could have passed so quickly when they might seem not to have for us.  Lastly, we cry because we are just a grain selfish. When our children marry the love of their lives, there simply will be a bit less time for us, and we cry because we may, just a bit selfishly,know that life will change and that we will miss them.  The kids seemed to accept this, or perhaps they simply were sorry they asked.

              In any case, I send understanding and good wishes to anyone who has had to sit through beautiful music and has been the mother of the bride or the groom.

Our Fragile Times

                

Daniel,  May, 1996-November 28, 2008

 

       This week, two ladies who worked with my daughter died on the same day.  Later in the week, the lady who took over work for one of our family members while he vacationed, passed in a car accident.  The end of this existence will come for each and every one of us, and yet, we work, play, and sometimes plan as if it will not.

    We are just five days away from the day when, eight years ago, my son Daniel, who was only 12, collapsed and died here at home. He had a clean autopsy, and so the prevailing pathologist's theory is that he experienced a sudden heart rhythm disturbance, as increasing numbers of children who play sports are doing, and that despite immediate CPR, his rhythm disturbance was non-recoverable. He's had a physical with a professor of pediatrics just a week or so before his death, and now ironically, both my son and that physician are dead.This time of year used to be my favorite, and yet, even eight years past Daniel's passing, I am fragile around Thanksgiving. It seems to me that almost everyone in our family eventually passes within October or November.

                    I am however, not quite as destroyed as you might expect because I know a few things which ease the journey.  Our trip to Earth is a temporary one for us all. Each one of us is issued a mortal flesh suit and then raised with the idea that our stay is somewhat open ended. After all, when we're in school we may be told that by the time we are middle aged, there will be a cure for all the cancers, and failing organs will be laboratory grown and transplanted. You'll live to 120 the school physician told me at 16 when I had a tennis physical.   Of course, none of this is true. Our bodies are on loan, a bit like a tuxedo rental from the Men's Warehouse. We work and play and over time, we age. The aging that is evident on the exterior indicates that similar or even more severe aging is occurring internally.  Entropy is real. We age in steps and eventually must evacuate our flesh suits even though we wish, at that point,  simply to shelter in place. It is universal. It will happen to us all.

                   I have actually accepted my own mortality pretty well over the years. The only reason I fear it now is that I have more skin in the game than I used to.  I still have four children remaining on Earth, and a grandchild. I dislike the idea of feeling as if I will ultimately be abandoning them all in a world that is not quite as friendly as most mothers wish it were.

                 Still, we come to Earth. We live, we love, we work, and this too is very important.  Eventually, we leave the rental suit and go home to a more permanent arrangement.

                  Make sure that tomorrow when you see family and friends that you drink the water and realize how cool and quenching it can be. Be kind, even to those who don't really deserve it, because this could be their last Thanksgiving.  Drink the sparkling cider and don't be tempted to drink anything that muddies your memory of this rare day. Realize that the little kids who will spill gravy on the oriental rug are going to remember tomorrow always. See that they remember you for forgiveness.  Remember always to place people above even valuable things.  Make sure that although you have a strong work ethic, that you are also known for the important ability to set work aside, even just for a day.   Eat and enjoy, but not so much that you make the rental suit sick, because you will have to inhabit it the day after, as well.

                   Enjoy this day as if it is your last, not because it will be, but because someday there will be a day that is.

                      Happy Thanksgiving

The Truth of the Damaged Time Line

  When you lose a child, many physicians and ministers in particular, allot you a time in which to grieve of about a year. Then they expect that you heal sufficiently to head into what they call "the new normal". If you don't, they consider that you are grieving abnormally or perhaps even arrested in the development and maturity of your grief.

       I was a great little soldier through my grief. It's not because I am particularly brave or not in touch with the devastating loss we had experienced. It's that I had three other children and a husband who was understandably broken following our sudden loss of a healthy 12 1/2 year old beloved youngest son.  I was certainly broken. I just needed to make sure that everyone else would survive this loss before I fully examined what the loss of Daniel from Earth really meant to me.


         This November, it will be eight years since Daniel abruptly left his beautiful flesh suit.  Eight years later, I don't believe that there is a new normal. I think that what happens to most people is that they craft a life without their child or the loved one they have lost and they do so as if the life they lead is the result of a fractured timeline.  What I mean by that is that if Daniel had remained here on Earth, then he would be twenty years old. He would be in college or working.  He would have adult friends and be driving and planning for the future. He would be going places with his older siblings. They would be planning vacations together.  Instead, the branch of the tree that would have been Daniel's is now absent. The life we lead is not the one we would have. Our lives without him have continued to grow on that tree and as bright as some of the fruit in this timeline might be sometimes, the tree has now grown as a disrupted timeline.

The reason this is important is that in order to make best and most productive use of the life we have remaining, it's important to describe our situation, at least to ourselves, accurately. I don't cry much, although I think of Daniel each day. I miss seeing his wonderful life unfold. I miss his commentaries and I miss seeing what he would become. I will also miss seeing the family he would have made.

I don't believe that anyone who hasn't lost a child or a loved one can truly understand the pervasiveness of such a loss, or all of its implications.  This does not mean that I am lost. I accept and believe that God keeps Daniel and that I will see him again when I leave this existence myself.  I believe that at some future day we will be reunited.

     This does not stop my feeling that in late November, 2008 that the loss of Daniel altered the timeline we expected to live. The timeline was replaced by one with less joy.  I will continue to build the best life I can for my children, my husband, and my grandchildren, just as Daniel would have strenuously requested, had he had the chance to speak to us after his passing.

      Please remember that those you love who have experienced a crushing loss might feel this way also.  There is no genuine return to the days before such a tragedy. Be kind as you talk to others, especially those who know grief, either the anticipated kind, or the kind that envelopes us. May your "time line" be linear and as you expect.

         

Please See:" The Short Life of Peep"

Sometimes God sends some animals for a short stay here on Earth.

  Please see one of my other blogs, "Life After The Rescues" for the story of Peep, a Rhode Island Red hatchling at:


http://lifeaftertherescues.blogspot.com/2016/07/the-short-life-of-peep.html

Electronic Notes Through the Veil Which Separates Us

 Daniel,

      I know that you and Dad watch us sometimes.    Your sister had asked me to "inspect" her house before the appraisal for her refinance recently, and I felt you there with me.   I am also pretty sure that you and Dad were the ones telling me in dream to check the Summer house and that there was damage there. (Thank you by the way. I have hired someone for the repairs and they are under way.)  The caretaker phoned to tell me the same, the following day, after I had mentioned the dream to your Dad.  I still miss you both very much and I think of you both often.
        Daniel, you passed just after Barack Obama was elected, and from his writings you and I were both concerned about the direction of our country.  It actually has been worse than you and I had anticipated.  In some ways I am glad that you are not here to have seen the wanton disregard of our Constitution and the mismanagement of our country and world affairs by this regime.  The choices for the next election are not good.  One candidate is frequently dishonest and self serving and mismanaged her role as Secretary of State. Another potential candidate is out of touch and a communist.  The presumptive candidate for the Republican ticket says things that a lot of people think, but seems cavalier in some of his comments, and erratic sometimes.  Sometimes a small part of me is glad that you are home safely and not subjected to this.
       I know you pray because you always did.  Please pray for us, and for our country.  Your siblings especially have a hard road to hoe.  Your nephew will as well.  With that, I send the warmest hugs to you both.  I am doing the best I can.

Almost Eight Years Ago

  

I liked it, and I thought of you, but then I could not bring it home.

 
               

  Daniel,


            Many times I function very well.  I do what I need to do as a parent and as a grandparent.  I take good care of your animals and their descendants.  Every once in a while there is something that I see or hear which triggers less than a happy recollection.  I think today was one of those days.  I went to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for someone and I saw a small blue and white house flag.   It said
        

     If tears could build a stairway,
    and memories a lane.
    I would walk right up to Heaven
    and bring you back again.

                             (Author unknown)

     
  I picked up the flag and added it to the few things I bought there. It will look nice on the small flag holder near the driveway. Then I thought about it some more.  You were called to Heaven supernaturally.  No clear explanation of why you passed has ever been demonstrated.  Repeated autopsies found nothing wrong but concluded that the manner in which you fell coupled with family history among older family members probably pointed to an abrupt cardiac arrhythmia.  You were called home by God in just a few seconds. Even though I gave CPR immediately, I never got you back. You were no longer there when I began.   If I were to build a bridge and walk up to Heaven to bring you home then I am doubting the plan of God. God needed you home in Heaven, and by saying I would bring you home I am doing something contrary to God's plan for you, for me , and for this family.    Still,  I love you and I miss you more than words can say.   I left the flag in the store.  I chose to trust God's plan for us all.  Perhaps this is as close to acceptance of what happened to which I will ever arrive.


              

Forgotten ?

             

Oil painting    Simon Gaon

 

        I have wondered how long it would take before people outside our family completely forgot about Daniel's passing. How long would it take for us to get to a point where his birthday would come and go, and no one would say anything, via card, or via e-mail or phone call ?   I have that answer now.  This week would have been Daniel's twentieth birthday had we been lucky enough to have his soul remain with us in a flesh suit here on Earth.  There was not one phone call, not one e-mail, not one card and few who came to the blog to see what would be here.  It took only seven and a half years for all of those who knew you to be absorbed by the Earthly and to forget. People have their own problems, their own grief and their own losses.

               It doesn't matter.  Our family won't forget. I won't forget.  For as long as I live you will be one of the most important reasons I came to Earth. Daniel, you and your siblings made the trip, as arduous, as difficult and as hard as it sometimes is, worth it.

                Today is Mother's Day and it looks as if that has been forgotten too.  It doesn't matter.  Had you been here, I know you would have remembered.  As I move through life more and more waits for me where you are.

Daniel's Twentieth Birthday

      

 
   Sometimes, it's hard to believe that this week, had you remained here on Earth, you would be twenty years old. It shouldn't be amazing to me. Some of your friends are in college and have girl friends, and are decidedly man sized.  In my heart though, you are somewhere between twelve and nineteen, a beautiful boy who simply had not yet been corrupted in the ever deteriorating world that the remainder of your family occupies. No wonder God called you home. Perhaps in his place I would have also. In dreams I have had, you have been about thirty, and so wise.

              This week I had an interesting experience.  Your sister and I were on our way back from an errand with her baby, and we stopped at a Burger King. I stayed in the car with the baby, and your sister went inside to get the food.  All at once, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young man of about twenty walking from the highway up to the Burger King. For just a moment, simply from his walk, I wondered if it were you. As he drew closer, I could see that he had a red long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of khaki cargo pants on. He had brown hair with the same distribution that you had, and a bit of facial hair stubble as if he were attempting to grow a beard, but it had been a fairly recent thought. He walked right past the car, saw me, and there wasn't even a hint of recognition. Sometimes it still surprises me that someone who looks something like you, doesn't recognize me. It's silly, I know.   As I watched him walk into the restaurant I told myself that as of this week, that the man walking in would likely be the size you would be now, had you still been here. He was about six feet tall and of average to muscular build.

         When your sister returned with the food, she had seen him too and thought that he looked like you also.   I am at a loss as to what to do for your birthday this week. In the past I have sent canned goods to the food bank. I know you always enjoyed doing that.  Other years I have done a secret good deed in your name. Some sad years I have simply made you a birthday cake I know you would have liked. Of course, your brothers and sister, and now your nephew consume it.   This year I am already planning your cake. I will play the good deed by ear.

           There is less turmoil regarding your birthday and the anniversary of your departure from Earth. However, I am never okay with your being gone.  Sometimes, it's as if you are on a special outing, perhaps an exchange student program, and that my job is to keep the farm maintained and ready for your return. I know that is not going to be, but sometimes that's how it seems.

         I miss you and my Dad very much.  Happy Birthday........and I love you more.

A Visit to Elmira, New York in Dream

        

 

   Last night I had the most strange dream.  The family and I were traveling out of state to meet someone who was providing both a reference and a great opportunity for a job for our eldest son. The family was happy to travel there with him so that he could be alert and well rested for the appointment.  As he often is in my dreams, Daniel was with us.  We arrived in Elmira, New York and attended an afternoon party at the home of the man who was providing our son with a reference. He had a large home which had everything from a bar inside to an English garden outside. The party spilled throughout the house and through the gardens.  The gathering was very nice and we all had a nice time. We realized, as we took quite a time to gather our large family, that no one had seen Daniel since the beginning of the party.   The rest of the dream was spent with the family wandering through different businesses in Elmira looking for Daniel. He had visited several shops and had apparently left the party to explore. He had no cell phone.  Of course, in real life, Daniel has been gone for seven years. In real life, Daniel would not leave somewhere without someone knowing where he is and how to reach him. He would also have borrowed a cell phone in order to stay in touch. In the dream, I was truly worried and afraid because although he would be nineteen now, in the dream, he was twelve and a half.

              I awoke in a sea of perspiration, with the instant knowledge that I not only would not be retrieving him from Elmira, New York, but that he had been gone from Earth for seven years already. I have no idea why the dream was set in Elmira. I haven't driven through there since 1983 when I used to drive the rural routes from our home in rural New Jersey to Montreal.  In a sense, I suppose I lost Daniel during the journey that is life. Perhaps the dream is simply my own restatement of this.

A Message to Daniel

Sam Shepheard

Daniel,

 Today, one of my friends from Linkedin reported that his son Sam had passed overnight in his sleep. Most of us know how lost we would be, as parents, if we were to lose one of our children, especially unexpectedly. We could imagine what a loss and a devastation that could be. However, our family has actually lost a son unexpectedly.  You passed in an instant almost seven years ago, and although I recognize the shock, the loss and the grief, I am short of any real wisdom.

    What can I say to his father Craig ?   I could tell him that Heaven is real and that Sam is safe with God and is free from the limits our bodies and brains place upon our far more perfect souls. I could tell him that I have heard from you, and my Dad in dream, and that you have provided factual information in advance of our hearing it later from others here on Earth.   I could tell him that at first, when the pain is so new, that the memories of all that you and your child have shared, are locked away in your mind and your heart for safekeeping. Eventually, each of those memories come back one by one, almost in technicolor. The moments of your hugs and things you said are now some of the very best memories of my own life here on Earth. I want to tell him not to evaporate. I want to tell him that it's worth continuing to live and that there is good left in his life.  Sam will be there when it is time for him to leave this life.

       Daniel, if it's possible for you to welcome Sam, I would appreciate it.   I remember you, and think of you every day here on Earth.  I love you wider than the oceans and deeper than the seas, and I believe you have always known that.

        May God bless Craig and his family, Sam,  you and my Dad.


 

A Gift to Daniel

   

 

   One of the sad things about having lost a child, is that now, almost seven years later, I don't know what surprises would have come in terms of the music you would like.  Music is something we could have shared as you grew.  I knew what music you would have enjoyed at 12, but I can only hazard a guess as to what you might like at 20.

          Still, I thought of Daniel when I saw this.  This young man is Aston Merrygold.  He clearly has been influenced by Michael Jackson, but then there is a good deal in the song, and in the video that is his own.  For some reason, I think Daniel would have liked this, and have been amused.

        Aston Merrygold has an album which is about to be released in May, 2016 called Showstopper on Warner Brothers Records

          The song below is from that upcoming album.    Enjoy.


 

Waking From a Nightmare

                 

This is not Daniel. So far as I know, he never tried a cigarette or a lite beer. Someone sent me this picture and it looks so similar to him at five or six except that Daniel had lighter eyes. I decided to include it.

           Last night around three thirty in the morning, I had a strange dream.  We were all living in the blue house we had owned when the older children were small. Daniel had never lived there. He had been born in the next much larger home we moved to after this one.   In the dream, I came home in the afternoon from work and could not find Daniel.  I quickly tried to call everyone including the older children who were in college. I was hoping that someone had picked him up to do something, and I had either not known or had forgotten.  I had trouble making these calls because I had a new phone and could not get it to respond the way I wanted, especially in view of the stress of being worried.  None of them knew why he would not be at home today. When I called his school they said that he had not reported to school that day.  This is also strange because Daniel never attended school.  He was homeschooled all of his academic life. I also rarely if ever, worked during the day. I was consumed with worry. I went outside and called for him, as if he had simply been playing outside.  I knew something was very wrong, although I still hoped there was some sensible explanation for his absence that I had not considered. In the dream, I believe he was about nine years old.  I began to dial the police when I awoke. My heart was pounding and I was in a cold sweat.  However, waking from this particular nightmare brought no particular solace. Daniel is still not here with us.   Yes, he died suddenly and unexpectedly and was not abducted never to be heard from again. But his beautiful flesh and smile are still not here. He is still absent from Earth in the manner in which we always knew him.  I lay awake until four thirty when I decided to start the day.

                    Perhaps I had this dream because there was an amber alert on my phone yesterday. Perhaps my own psyche is trying to tell me that Daniel's passing from a sudden arrhythmic death is preferable to an unexplained disappearance. Sometimes, I tell myself that in a parallel dimension, there is a Daniel who still lives with us, and is not twelve and a half as he was at his departure from Earth, but who will be twenty years old in May.  I just know that I still have empty arms.

Visits in the New Year

            

         I haven't heard from Daniel in a dream in quite a while.  I wasn't really pining to do so, although as I have said on this blog many times, that anytime he or my Dad would like to appear in dream, I would be happy to see them.  Last night at I believe about five in the morning, I heard from Daniel, once again.    He was on a short trip with three of his friends.  Two of them were light brown haired young men, about his age, one of them with glasses.His friends briefly discussed something about Russia and it being Christmas there, and something about the oceans and dolphins. The other one was a brunette young mother, about thirty, who was a nurse who came wearing a multi-colored scrub top and pink scrub pants.   They were stopping off to visit loved ones in the holiday and New Year season.  We were all eating hors d'oeuvres mostly made of cheese. There were some I noticed that were little axes and arrowheads of cheese.

                In the dream, Daniel who will be 20 this year was tall and calm. Somehow I told him that I knew he wasn't dead. I told him that now he was here, that I would like to take him to the electrophysiology cardiologist to make sure that his heart was working as it should be.  I said something about family history. I also wanted to feed him better than lumps of cheese.  I asked him how tall he was now because he seemed to have grown a great deal. He didn't know how tall he was, and so I estimated from my height that he was between 5"10 and 6 feet tall.  "Yes, you're six feet", I said with some certainty.   Then Daniel said, "I just came to give you this" Then he hugged me. I could feel the hug as if it were real. Then, they all had to go.
               In the dream I thought that Daniel was physically present as if his passing had been some type of mistake. Upon awakening, I realized that this was simply a visitation in which he came to show me that he is alright, and to leave a hug.

               I am happy to have visits from Daniel and his friends anytime.

Voices Below the Wind at Christmas

  Dearest Daniel and Dad,

                     It's hard for me to believe that it's been seven years since each of you departed Earth.     So many things have happened, in the world, in the US and on the farm since that time.  Part of me believes that you know of these things, and then sometimes I am not so sure.  Part of me hopes sometimes that Heaven is so much better than Earth that you are not even concerned with some of the minutia that concerns me. Not a day passes when I don't think of each of you.    Sometimes I work in the barn with the horses or the other animals and I imagine that you both watch me with at least some level of amusement.  Daniel, I know you would love the horses and that you would marvel at how long the alpacas you knew when you were here, have lived, and how well they are doing.  Dad, I think you would be amused that the little girl who fought every one of your attempts at teaching me proper gun handling and to shoot,  grew up to be licensed to carry a firearm everywhere. I think you would be proud that I taught the same to everyone here and that I am a pro firearms and safe handling guru of sorts.

                     This week there was a woman on television named Laura Lynne Jackson who was passing messages from those who have departed from Earth to loved ones here.   It made me sad that so many others don't realize that if we stay still and listen that you do find ways to tell me things that are important. I understand those who seek psychics, although I believe that God gave most of us the ability to listen quietly to the voices below the wind.

                      Merry Christmas to you both.  Please know I love you both very much and that I try hard to do things that I believe would please you both.  Sometimes I feel you both beside me, and I am grateful for your efforts to guide me.  God bless you both.......and thank Him for me, for allowing me to know you both on this all too short trip to the cold Earth.


                         

(Picture: www.davesgarden.com  )

Seven Years

 

In this picture, Daniel was eight.  He passed four and a half years later/

 This week, on the day after Thanksgiving it will be seven years. Seven years since the day in which Daniel  happily entered the bathroom to get ready to go Christmas shopping, and collapsed.  Immediate intervention with CPR and epinephrine made no difference and despite his good color,  he was in cardiac arrest. He was pronounced dead here in our house on the farm later that morning.

     "Move on" some of our acquaintances say.  The reality is that no one who has lost a child  "gets over it".  It is not that we ruminate upon it.   It is that it is a life defining moment.  My life was sharply divided as if by machete into "With Daniel on Earth" compartments, and "After Daniel's departure from Earth"., when he died.  The world is forever changed.  I don't want to forget Daniel. I am going to mention him in conversation. This week I was recalling that he learned to read so quickly that I don't think I ever taught him.  I think being an infant and toddler while we were homeschooling his siblings and using the computer simply moved his reading and vocabulary along quickly.   I am aware that parents who have not lost a child are instantly uncomfortable when I mention my son who just happens to have passed.

       In all honesty, if I can mention him and do so with a smile following our family's loss, who are you to convey discomfort ?  You never knew him, never loved him, and don't really care.  If you don't like my mentioning Daniel, it's your problem,  not mine.

      This said, if you are the parent of a child who has passed and you are moving headlong into the holiday season, you are in my thoughts and prayers.  No, it will never be easy, but you will reach a plateau of "better" where you recall the joyous moments of your life together unimpeded by the moments which took your child from you. Some day, the loss will not obscure the joy you had by having that wonderful soul come to Earth as your child. Here's wishing that this day comes soon for you. Someday, you will be thankful rather than wholly sorrowful. I promise you this.

       Wishing all readers and their families and lovely Thanksgiving Holiday.

Another Tragic Sudden Death in Virginia: Leah Goff

                

Leah Goff,  age 13,  from Facebook

           When I started this blog I had no idea that I would ultimately be profiling so many young people who died from more or less, the same set of causations which took Daniel.  What was felt to be rare, most certainly is not.   This week, A Floyd County, Virginia , 13 year old Leah Goff collapsed at basketball practice, and like Daniel, could not be revived.   Leah died in Roanoke, Virginia doing what she loved to do, which was playing sports.  No autopsy information is available but the scenario is highly suggestive of Sudden Arrhythmic Death Syndrome, like so many others not only in Virginia, but throughout the United States, and throughout the world as well.
             "Leah Bug" as her loving family called her, was an avid sportswoman who loved basketball and other sports and who had recently discovered track.
                    I am sure that Daniel and many others will be there to support Leah as she enters the Kingdom of Heaven.  My hope is that Leah's sisters, parents,  family, and friends  finds all the comfort and support they can.  Funeral arrangements are said to be complete.  May they all feel God's loving hands during this very difficult time.

Funeral information

A Somber Fourth

This photo is courtesy of the San Diego Foodbank

Dear Daniel,

           I remember so well how you loved the Fourth of July, our country's Independence Day.   I think one of the benefits to homeschooling is that you understood the proud history of our nation and many of the good things about it.  I think it made Independence Day more special for you, in a way in which many Americans have forgotten.

           Most of the time I still don't understand why you were called home. Sometimes though, I look at the financial situation of the US and of the world, and I breathe a tiny breath of relief that no one hears, that you will never know some of the things which have become commonplace in our nation.  You will not know a sudden job loss from a company for which you were totally loyal.  You will not know sending out a thousand resumes, without a single response.  You will not know the loss of what you might think, at the time, is your great love.  You will not know a broken engagement.  You will not know a serious car crash. You will not know a betrayal from a friend.   I could go on.   Perhaps God knew that you were pretty well cooked to perfection here on Earth and ready for the rewards of Heaven. Of course, we still miss you terribly.

Photo: www.ikocommunitymanagement.com

          Independence Day this year will be even more quiet and somber than the year after your passing.  Taxes have increased and salaries have not, and there is less disposable income for things like fire works and barbecues.  Many of the animals you knew and loved are quite elderly, and the fireworks display we used to do would probably frighten them.  This year, we are fortunate enough to have had enough rain that they would not have been a fire hazard, as this was a concern the last year that you were here for Independence Day.     If you were here I have no doubt you would be explaining to everyone in an articulate manner than any number of executive orders and supreme court decisions were unconstitutional.  Part of me is relieved not to have you see some of the travesties which are occurring, but I am sure that you know.

            Still, please know that we do our best.  I miss you and my dad more than you know., and I know that everyone else does here also.   I appreciate the visits in dream, even though they are just flashes.  Thank you for the encouragement for your sister. We will continue to move forward and continuing to be the people you knew while you were here.  I love you both deeper than Earth's oceans and wider than its seas.





        

The Abyss

                 

Sometimes the decor does not describe what we feel inside.

  

               There was a film that Daniel and the other kids used to watch periodically, called the Abyss.  They enjoyed it and we have a copy on DVD somewhere in the house to this day.   However, the abyss to which I am referring, is something a bit different.

                        Each year since Daniel and my father passed, we go into the holidays with hope and positivity. Thanksgiving often has glorious weather in Virginia, often with warm winds, fallen leaves and easy travels.  Of course, Daniel passed suddenly the day after Thanksgiving, at the beginning of the Christmas season.  With the completion of the washing and putting away of the last Thanksgiving platter, our thoughts turn to Christmas, and the weather turns cold, just as it did that one cruel year in which we spent the weekend after Thanksgiving planning a funeral rather than putting up wreaths.  The cold weather which seems to come on precisely that weekend coupled with the fragrances of this time of year has almost a transformative power to take us back to the very moments when Daniel evaporated from Earth.  Thus begins our own annual abyss.   I am not saying that the holidays no longer have joy here, because we find it somehow, to honor him and to honor my father, but during the period of time which stretches from Thanksgiving to Christmas, the abyss is a continually repeating bridge from cataclysmic days and to firmer footing in which we decide that God is indeed in control and that He still intends the rest of us to remain here and live a life as best we can.  It is however, never easy and never carefree, this new normal.  These days become less terrible than the initial ones, but never without the overlay of having suddenly and inexplicably lost Daniel, and my father just before.

                         We are not depressed, however we are ever mindful of the shortness of human days.  Each Christmas we enter the season with fewer friends and relatives than we had before.  This is normal and yet it does not seem so, so many times.

Sometimes the answer to surviving this season emotionally intact is a scaled down Christmas with only what was really important to you, and yours.

                         For many people the Christmas season is an abyss for you too.   Please know that our family is thinking of you and praying for you too.  Please know that although the season can be hard on many of us who know a loss or layered losses at this time, that eventually, we are all reunited and that eventually all will be well.  Until then, enjoy each moment of your life as best you can, and as it benefits those you love. Celebrate in the manner in which was most important to you and to your loved one who isn't with you this holiday season.  Remember that even without them, that Love never ends and that it endures all things, even our separation across the veil.   There is more on the endurance of love in a quite famous and wonderful book, but of course, you know this.