Why the title "The Prickly Pineapple"?

Hi. My name is Laura Mead. I am a wife, a mom, a gramma, a sister, an aunt, a friend, and a new member to a club I don't want to be a part of. I already mentioned that I am a mom. Until the evening of October 21, 2023, when asked how many children I have I would quickly answer that I have three beautiful kids - one boy and two girls. Now I am dreading being asked that question. As I type this entry, just the thought of how I should answer that question makes my heart beat faster, my head begins to throb a little and I can feel my stomach starting to get wonky. How is a mom who had three living children and now has two living children supposed to answer that question? Should I say I have three kids, but only two living? Should I say I have two kids and feel guilty that I am somehow not paying homage to the one that is here no more? I don't know the rules. Are there rules? Is there an algorithm out there somewhere that clearly details what I'm supposed to do, what I am supposed to say, how I am supposed to feel? And the club - the grieving parents club - and to make things worse (is that even possible?) - a member of the grieving parents club of children who die by suicide. Suicide. I've always been afraid of that scary word. I never wanted it linked to any of my family members. Of course I know people who have lost their children or other loved ones to suicide. I would try to comfort them and tell them I can't imagine what they are going through. I would thank God that our family was untouched by suicide. That was then. This is now.

This is how I feel in this moment - I hate this new identity. I hate being a mom that HAD three children and now has two. I hate that my beautiful son, Brendan Lee Mead, suffered from such agonizing pain that the only way he thought he could find relief was to remove himself from this world. My world. His dad's world. His sister's world. Oh, how he was loved. IS LOVED. I would have done anything for that amazing, gifted, talented boy that grew into a loving, kind, caring man who impacted so many others for good. And I know that's true - I know that because I had the blessing of knowing and loving him. I also know that because so many others have reached out and shared stories of how much Brendan meant to them. Those tributes bring a smile to my face - which is shocking, really, because the first few days of living without Brendan I was sure I wouldn't be able to smile ever again. Some of those tributes also bring a bit of pain. How so? Because I didn't know that Brendan knew the name of every rose in Hyde Park Garden in Chicago. I didn't know that a classmate of his named her son Brendan after my Brendan because of the huge positive impact he had on her life. I didn't know about all the adventures Brendan had with his United family as he worked a job that he absolutely loved. It hurts because I will never again learn new things about this incredible man first-hand. My time of walking beside him, talking with him, laughing with him, texting with him, and traveling with him are over. I will never again get to touch his handsome face and tell him how much I love him. I will never again see his name and profile pic pop up on my cell phone when he calls me. I'll never again receive a text from him that simply says, "I love you, mom." Oh, God, this hurts so much. I didn't know anything could hurt this bad. And I do not understand. How is it possible for someone to tell you they love you so much and bring you the deepest pain you've ever experienced? I cannot wrap my head around it. I'm not mad AT Brendan but I am very angry that he is not here. There's a part of me that wonders if I am going a little bit crazy. So many emotions swirling around in my head. My husband, grief counselor, tells me what I am experiencing is normal. Normal. What does that mean? Will anything ever feel normal again?

So, today was the first day back at church since 'it' happened. My husband of 32 years is the pastor of our small, rural church. Today I worshiped with our church family, I lifted my voice and hands to a merciful God who I know loves me and who I know loved my son more than I can possibly fathom. I listened to my pastor-husband preach a message on how God places us in the cleft of the Rock and covers us with His hand. God is our provision and our protection. And I believe that. But it still hurts. A lot. It felt good to be in God's house. I was afraid that being there today might hurt so bad because the last time I was there I was there to celebrate the too short life of my only son. I was afraid the hurt would be too much to bear. But I am quickly learning that it doesn't matter where I am - the excruciating pain is with me. It is ever present. It does not yield. But I can feel God's presence and I can tell that I am being held up by the prayers of His people. Thank you to those of you who are lifting us up in prayer. We need it.

One might ask why the name for this blog...why 'The Prickly Pineapple'. Well, there are a few reasons. Brendan loved Hawaii - which happens to be where pineapples grow. He took me to Hawaii and pointed out a field of pineapples - I had no idea that pineapples grew in fields like corn and soybeans do here in Iowa. Hawaii was one of Brendan's "happy places". Hawaii and Disney. He was a ginormous Disney fan. And yes, I do know that ginormous isn't an actual word but it seems fitting when trying to convey his immense love for all things Disney. Back to the title of this blog...pineapples are prickly on the outside. They have many grids that have sharp edges that you might notice when you pick one up. But once you pick up that pineapple and cut into it you are rewarded with an absolutely delicious treat. When I get to enjoy a perfectly ripe pineapple I will sometimes close my eyes and try to focus only on how sweet and juicy that bite is. I find myself wanting to savor it and enjoy it as long as I possibly can. The pineapple reminds me of my Brendan. The memories and tributes of him are sweet and precious to me but the reality of having to find a way to go on without him hurts. There is no way for me to remember him without also being completely aware that he is gone from this world. Forever. It's impossible to experience one without the other. It's the good with the bad; the bitter and the sweet; the prickly pineapple.

I decided to start this blog to be able to journal my thoughts and feelings. The good, the bad, the ugly. Maybe it will help someone else along the way or maybe it won't. My husband tells me that every person has to grieve their own way. He says that there are no rules, that grief comes in waves. I have spent time in the ocean and I recall that there are "nice" waves and then there are the ones that knock you off your feet and as you struggle to get above the water you might panic a bit. Right now the waves of grief that are coming are those kinds - the ones that make you wonder if you will survive to battle another one another time. A friend told me that the price of deep love is deep pain. If that's true, and I believe it is, I loved Brendan more than I can possibly express with simple words. The pain is deep, raw, and constant. 

I just went back and read what I have typed. My post is very much a reflection of my mind. I'm hurt, I'm sad, I'm grateful, I'm blessed, I'm confused, I'm uncertain, and I'm tired. But I do remember. I remember that Jesus experienced every emotion that I am experiencing. He understands my pain. He has promised He will not forsake me. He has promised His strength in my weakness. He loves me. Please, Lord - please keep reminding me that I am loved, adopted, accepted, blessed, redeemed, and forgiven even as I know I am completely broken. You are the Potter and I am the clay. Please take the broken pieces of my heart and mend them together so others might see your light and be drawn to you. Please calm my mind and my spirit. And please let my boy know I love him and I am thankful he is at peace.