The Portal: Portal-ity Thoughts

The Crosses Life is hard.  If you're here, you probably already know that.  You've experienced a devasting loss, diagnosis, or trauma.  It's inevitable.  I wish it wasn't, but friend, this isn't Heaven.  We live in a broken world and it seems like the trouble is getting worse, the darkness darker, and the hope that we so desperately cling to - well it can seem like you're hanging by that last nail.  Are you waiting for rescue?  Help?  Yeah, me too.  Today seems especially dark.  I've heard a lot of hard news lately and it wears on your soul.   I can feel like the darkness is winning.  But Jesus.  I wish I could tell you that it'll get easier.  That the darkness will subside and all your days will be sunny and bright. I so wish that for you.  But for those of us with a few years on us, we know that people die, wars are fought, tragedy strikes and conflict and strife abound.  Jesus said, "In this world, we will have trouble, but I have overcome the wo

Every year I go through the same thing.  I argue with myself for weeks about this day. Say something, don't say something.  Do something to commemorate it, hide in the house.  Share it, keep it to myself.  See if anyone remembers - don't be a jerk.  So five years of it, and I always end up here.  On the keyboard, dishing out my words.  I guess I need it.  When I logged into Blogger I was shocked to see that I had only blogged once since Year 4.  Sometimes I just post on my Facebook page - Portality Thoughts . . . I do a shorter version, but wow.  The blogging has really slowed down.   I think you get to a place where you just keep it inside.  After all, it's been literal years and it's not forefront on anyone else's mind (sans family).  And then I think, but this is my story.  My life living without him, and I remember how grateful I am that I documented it - because to be honest, grief can be a real memory stealer.  So, when I want to, I can go back and read throug

Dear John, 1599 days have passed since we lost you.  I miss you.  I can't put into words how much I miss you.  It's a ripping, a tearing, a knife through the heart kind of missing you.  I dreamt about you last night.  Somehow, a bag of your things showed up and there were two shirts in the bag that smelled like you, still.  I gave one to Dad and told him to smell it.  I was busy pressing my face into the other one.  I might even miss your smelly feet . . . I was holding your nephew over the weekend, and I was looking deep into his eyes.  Your sister and I have been wondering if he's going to have his Daddy's brown eyes, or have hazel eyes like you did. On Sunday, as I held him, they were mostly green.  And his eye lashes - wow.  I asked him if I could have them and he said "yes, Grandma".  As we sat there and I tickled his baby flesh, I was so reminded of you.  I opened my mouth to tell him that Grandma used to have a little boy - and the tears instantly came

Dear John, Year 4. November 4. I miss you. That part doesn't change with days or months or years.  It's still a horrific hole in my heart.  I want to preface this post by saying these are my thoughts, what's been on my mind.  I'm not looking to argue or debate, I'm just sharing how I feel . . . The thoughts in my head have finally gotten to the place where they are keeping me up at night, and I miss sleeping. If I've been good at anything, it's sleeping. So this morning, I'm up before the sun to get these words out of my head, at least for a while. I always go back and read the "anniversary" posts so I remember what those years looked like. Year One:  Devastation.  Court. Utter sadness and disbelief.  Trying to understand and learn about addiction - Substance Use Disorder.  I shared your story hoping to educate others.  Well, the war on opioids is still raging, and it's worse. CoVid had not helped. The isolation has not helped. The dr

Fall.  🍂 It's beautiful, but it has never been my favorite season.  I think it was the major change from carefree summer at the lake, to back to school and back to the cold.  As I got older, I missed the kids when they got on the bus, Brian headed to the field all day and half the night, and the summer warmth that I so love, with its sunshine and water was shelved until next year.  I've definitely noticed some Seasonal Affective Disorder over the years.  Now fall is the time that John died.  With every red, yellow, and orange showing up in the artistic palette of the leaves, we get closer and closer to November 4th. October is the month I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  (Please get your mammogram). 💞 A friend asked me to travel with her to Florida last year in October, and honestly, while I wanted desperately to go see Mr. Golden Sun, I knew it would mean postponing that appointment yet again, as I was supposed to go in April, then August.  Between CoVid and family events

John:) I haven’t written in a long while. Am I a grief writer? What about this whole cancer thing? Can I just write whatever – do a therapy dump? I guess I’ve been a bit confused lately, and to be honest, I just haven’t had the energy to confront all the thoughts and emotions of the last several months. But, I have some time today – and in all honesty, I think I could use some writing therapy. This post is probably going to be all over the place, but I think that’s okay – because so am I.  JOHN I will start with John because in all of this, speaking his name and keeping his memory alive is paramount. I started writing to help others and to help my heart. To help me process what I was feeling, and to reach out to other bereaved parents. I wanted to be as transparent as possible – to speak my truth and share the truth of other bereaved parents so they wouldn’t feel crazy in their grief and so I wouldn’t lose my mind. Over the last 3.8 years, I’ve done my best to stick with th