This is hard

 The last several weeks have felt like I've stepped back in time grief wise. The trouble focusing, ugly crying, and mental and physical exhaustion are all back. My energy level is back in the crapper. I thought I was past this. I wasn't prepared for what this anniversary date would bring. 

I'm trying. I really am trying hard, but, I'm struggling big time. Not much motivation to do anything at all. Doing things because I need to do them, but, not really feeling anything besides sadness and confusion. Sadness because I miss you, terribly. Sadness because I can't see you, touch you, hear your voice, talk with you, listen to you laugh, and watch you make memories with the family (or falimy as you used to say when you sang the Barney song to us no less than a MILLION times when you were little). The falimy is not the same. There is a HUGE hole where you should be. You didn't have to leave. You chose to. That hurts really, really bad. Sometimes I can understand that you are no longer in pain and can feel relief that you are not suffering here on this earth. But other times I feel angry. Did you know what this would do to us? To all of us that love you so very much? See - I have all these questions and I try to use logic to understand and come up with answers, but, they'll never be answered because there is no logic that can be applied here. I just don't understand and I am realizing that I never will. I feel like the life I had - the before - is no more. Sure, there are parts of it that remain the same. I still have Dad, Shaylee, Stephen, Theo, Maddy, and Spencer. And we have been blessed with the most amazing little granddaughter, Elena Brielle, that is the sweetest little thing around. What I lost when you left is that feeling of being complete, being whole. I now live a fractured life. I want to be with the family, but that means not being with you. I want to be with you, but that would mean being without the family. It was not your time to leave us. Your final decision has shredded our hearts and catapulted us into a reality we don't want. These are the facts. 

But, my sweet Brendan, I don't want to live the rest of my life dwelling on those facts. I have learned that I have to work hard to shift my focus. I don't want your entire life defined by your last act. I want to remember your kind heart, your witty sense of humor, your ability to figure out anything you really wanted to and your pretending to be dumb when it was something you didn't want to help with. Yes, you did that. :-) I recall how worried you were about Husker Bear when 2 year old Theo clobbered him in the head (on accident) with the tomahawk toy Gramma and Grampa probably shouldn't have got him. It was so cute and seemed like a good idea at the time... I remember you waking me up one night when you got off work and made me come out to the kitchen to show me the bouquet of flowers you bought for me with your own money. The kindness and gentleness you showed toward your sisters when your dad had his stroke and I was camped out at the hospital. The time you reorganized the entire basement while I was asleep one night and you were so excited to show me how much better the flow was than the way I had it before. :-) You were brutally honest, for sure. 

I think how you loved gingersnap cookies and ate so many at a time I was afraid you might get sick. I also remember how naughty you were. You would be driving and deliver a silent but deadly fart and you'd lock the windows so none of us could get away from the toxic fumes. I remember how you always ordered the hot beef sandwich at Hickory Park and got corn as your side so many times. You were funny too. I think of how Shaylee was eavesdropping on a conversation you and I were having and you delivered a great line without missing a beat. You said, "Roll in your antenna, Shaylee." Made her mad and made me laugh. I remember so many times that you had your dad laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. 

Your talents. Singing, playing piano and multiple other instruments, your creativity, your Lego building, your decorating for Christmas, the pond you put in at your house and the garden path with the beautiful roses and tons of other flowers and vegetation. I remember when you played a lead part in the school musical when they performed Meet Me In St. Louis! You did a really great job and you were very proud of yourself. We were proud too. 

You also embarrassed me quite often. Like the time you were in elementary school and on purpose didn't tell dad and I about the Renaissance Fair the students were having. I found out about it from another parent and asked if you needed help making your castle and you told me that you had it all done. Where is it?, I asked. At school, you said. Dad and I showed up with all the other parents and there were stunning castles on display that had been created by industrious students and I daresay helpful parents - some with moats for pete's sake! We were walking along admiring the hard work these students (and parents?) had put into their creations. I think I was the first to identify yours. I recognized it by the lack of grandeur compared to all the rest in the room. You had simply covered a square Kleenex box with aluminum foil, added a roof, and taped empty foil-covered toilet paper rolls to the four corners. A perfect example of doing what you had to do for the assignment and not one bit more because you just weren't into it. Then there was the time you told your choir teacher your family couldn't afford to buy you black pants because you wanted to wear jeans to the choir concert. How about the time you told your 6th grade teacher that you weren't allowed to bring snacks or treats to any school events - that was awkward when Mrs. Simonson asked us about it at parent-teacher conferences. 

So many things. So many memories. So many times of laughter, frustration, humor, and tears. I hurt when you hurt and I cheered when you succeeded. I loved getting to know you as a grown up man. It melted my heart when you'd send me a screenshot of a kudos you had received at work. The fact that you wanted to share your highs and lows with me meant the world to me. I never stopped being proud of you, never stopped loving you. I knew the look of your walk when I would see you from a distance and could always pick out your voice in a crowd. I'm sorry I only got to do it for 31+ years. I'm thankful I had 31 years of knowing and loving you. I did not know grief could be this deep. I've experienced my share of loss, trauma, and grief over the years, but this is a new and unwelcome experience. I remember telling you that I would always be here for you, no matter what. I believe you knew that. Even though my mind knows you are gone, my heart still looks for you, my ears listen for you, and my body physically longs for that strong hug from my son. 

I will keep trying to shift my focus to the beauty of your life rather than the shadow of your death. I will continue trying to be a light and show kindness to all. I will forever be grateful I got to be your mom. One year is such a long time to be without you. I sometimes can't grasp how life can just go on. I felt like mine stopped when yours did. I don't know how many more years I have to wait until I can be with you again, but I will do my best to spend them in ways that honor God and your memory. I will keep showing up for people, showing love, and trying to make people understand that they are loved, needed, valued, and irreplaceable. I wish you would have stayed. I wonder if you wished that too in your last moment. I try not to let that thought haunt me. I choose instead to believe that you drifted out of this world and woke up in the arms of Jesus.