This gets weird very quickly

Okay, so among the other surreal tasks on our plate right now is planning a "celebration of life" service for our Michael. So, okay, I'm still pondering just what music is right for this. I've had some good suggestions offered, but I'm still looking.

I mean, this is a pretty tricky challenge.

I want music that has some relevance to Michael's life, that will also be meaningful in some way to us and to others, but that won't be depressing, that won't be inappropriate for playing in church...and that I/we can stand to listen to.

So, this evening, I resorted to a Google search. "What song can I use for my son's funeral that won't be depressing."

Oh, the oddest things popped up at the top of the list of results.

#2 - Uplifting, happy funeral songs

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No, seriously?

Yes, that is the name of the list. "Uplifting, happy funeral songs." That has to be one of the oddest things I've ever read. It just doesn't...fit.

And their list? Nope.

I mean, a couple are okay, and one is a tune I'd actually already thought of.

But, really?

They range from the slightly bizarre- "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" from Monty Python (which would probably have made Michael laugh heartily, but fails some of the other parameters)... to songs I definitely do not consider either "uplifting" or "happy"- more sentimental and slightly melancholy.

Then, there's the #1 result of my search, which is titled, "Best funeral songs to go out to."
This page is broken down into categories: sad songs, happy songs, funny songs, etc.

Their happy list does have one thing in common with the other one. Can you spot the similarity?

• Always Look on the Bright Side of Life – Monty Python’s Life of Brian
• Bring Me Sunshine – Morecambe and Wise
• Don’t Worry. Be Happy – Bobby McFerrin
• What a Wonderful World – Louis Armstrong
• You Are the Sunshine of My Life – Stevie Wonder

Yes, this is the list of "happy funeral songs."

It did not take me long to figure out that both lists originated in the UK, which might explain the appearance of "Bright Side of Life" on both. Again, I do see the dark humor of it, but not all of the lyrics pass muster on the "can I play it in church?" list.

And really? "Don't worry, be happy"??? I mean, I want something uplifting, but that's just weird. It is, after all, no matter that we call it a "celebration of life," the honoring of the memory of someone who has died. I just can't see Don't Worry, Be Happy being what I want to hear on that day. Also, while I do like "What a Wonderful World," it's just does not fit the mood right now.

#3 on the results? "The 20 Most Upbeat Songs About Death." 

I am not kidding!!!!

Before I go look at #3, I must say that #5 actually scares me a little- "15 Songs You Should Play At Your Funeral."  Really??? Now, if the deceased jumps up and starts belting out tunes or playing DJ, that would be one funeral nobody would ever forget!!!

Okay, now what are the "20 Most Upbeat Songs About Death?" ....

List subtitle: "Just because the subject matter is sad doesn't mean you can't rock it out."
     .....right....
Frank Sinatra "I'm going to live until I die"
Cutting Crew "I just died in your arms tonight"
    ...as they say- 80s Goth prom- how is this "upbeat"??!!!
Saves the Day "At Your Funeral"
Oingo Boingo "Dead Man's Party"

...this is a very, very bizarre list. I wonder how depressed a person would have to be, to find some of these upbeat.

Wow. This is such an odd list.

Everything from "Seasons in the Sun" to "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer."
Blue Oyster Cult to Hank Williams.
"My Darling Clementine" to Billy Joel and Ke$ha.
and the final offering...
"Another One Bites the Dust."  ....right.

...oh wait. There's one more.
"Send me to heaven in a Glad bag."

Thank you, and goodnight.

No, really. That's the last song title on the list.

Well, at least this search has not reduced me to tears! I have been mystified, confused, amused and even slightly alarmed, but not plunged into sadness.

This just confirms one of my life mottos: People are weird!!!

...what I want

I just kind of want to be someplace beautiful and peaceful, with wildflowers and water, and the wind shushing through pine trees, where everything is just happy and calm, and my son is alive. I mean, that's not asking for too much, right?

Normal Days

I just had a lovely phone chat with my dear sister Shanna, and in the course of our conversation I said, "I should probably write on normal days, too." She also thought that would be a good idea.

It helps a great deal, to pour out my heart in the hardest moments, but that doesn't give the whole picture. I want this blog to be a true representation of this journey, and not just a relentless hammering on the agony of the loss.

So, here I am, having sort of a normal morning.

I'm tired, because (surprise) I'm not sleeping well. We're working on that, trying different things. It's getting a little better, but I'm still tired. Along with all the other reasons for this, there is also a small, sweet dog who just misses me and decides that I need to be up. I should probably ask Lee to shut our bedroom door after he gets up, so I can sleep as long as I need to.

The pain of losing Michael never goes away, but it does shift to the background. Last night, I was grieving hard, and it was raw and all over the place. Writing about it helped. Sleep helped, even though I didn't get the hours I would have liked. A new day helps.

There's this thing that I think is very important. I have felt for a long time that it is morally wrong to victimize others by forcing horror or pain on them that they did not choose. For example, I think that people should be allowed to choose how fully informed they want to be about heart-breaking issues, like child-trafficking, genocide, and the abuse of children and animals. Forcing horrifying details onto other people, in my opinion, can be a form of emotional abuse. We don't know the private wounding of others, or their inner fragility. I really think it is wrong to assault others with images or knowledge that will cause trauma.

I feel similarly about my journey with grief.

Just because I am walking this unbelievably painful road, that does not give me the right to beat other people up with my suffering. I don't get to be rude or horrid to others, just because my life got really hard. I need to walk through this in a way that feels good and right to me.

I don't want to victimize others with my pain.

So, truly, there are days that just feel normal. Today, oddly, is one of them. Oddly, in light of the depth of my grieving yesterday.

This morning, I'm really okay.
This is a normal day.
I'm going to go start physical therapy on my shoulder. I'll do laundry. I'll take the dogs for a walk.

I am profoundly grateful for every one of you who grieves with me, with us, and for every bit of love and concern, and every single prayer uttered on our behalf.

I want you to know that while this road is supremely hard, there are also really normal moments and normal days. We do ordinary things and have ordinary conversations. We smile and laugh. We walk the dogs and plan meals.

We still have normal days.

One month later

Who would ever have thought that I would be sitting here one day, breaking my heart over Viking death metal music?

Not me.

This time thing feels bizarrely like when they were all babies.
As in: do I say he's a month old at four weeks, or when the date rolls around again?

Do I say it was a month since he died on Monday of this week, when it had been exactly four weeks? Or tonight, the 25th of the month, when...impossibly, horribly, it has been a month since our beautiful son ended his life? It feels darkly, badly the same.

The pain is so deep and so raw, I feel like my sternum might crack in two.

I hate so much that he is gone. I hate it with every fiber of my soul.
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Music was a bridge that Michael and I crossed, to try and find each other.

He shared lyrics from a metal song he liked, to show me that it wasn't all just gutteral screaming and profanity. "Mom, read this. It's poetry. It's about how he feels about his wife and his children." He told me that many metal musicians are actually classically trained. He went out of his way to find music I would like. For an out of town trip with Lee and I one time, Michael offered to cover the music. We laughed. "We know your music."

"No," he insisted, "I know music that you will like." And he did. He put together a play list that we both absolutely loved. It was such a fun day. How I wish I had written down that list.

He told me about folk metal, and symphonic metal and played them for me. I found it hilarious that there is heavy metal music that incorporates a polka beat on accordion, and that there is a metal song all about coffee. I got him an Amon Amarth concert DVD that he wanted, and watched it with him. All of a sudden, I got it. "This is how Vikings would sing, if they were around today!" He grinned. "Exactly." ...He shared a new genre with me last year- thrash grass; a fusion of thrash metal and bluegrass. I really liked the song he sent to me, so I said, "I should listen to more of their music." "No Mom," he said, "just this song." I appreciated his protecting me like that. When he was walking a tough road, he listened to the music of James Blunt, which was heartbreaking, but beautiful. He introduced me to the music of Rodrigo y Gabriela, and gave me two of their CDs, which I love. This became my favorite travel music, for just driving and thinking my thoughts. I told him several times how much I liked it. I had thought that someday we might go to one of their concerts together.

But no.

Instead, I am deliberating over the right music for a slideshow at his memorial service. 

It would seem right to actually play his favorite music, but I've been reading the lyrics, and they're so full of despair and death that I just can't do it. I mean, it's death metal. That is what it's about.

He would definitely laugh at the idea of his mom playing Amon Amarth in church, but I just don't think I'll go there, for several good reasons.

On the other hand, I have vowed that there will be no soppy tear-jerker heartbreak songs for this slideshow. We are all crying enough tears already, and our hearts are broken enough.

I'm searching for the right balance that will represent Michael and fit his life, but not tear us all to pieces. No John Lennon singing about his son, thank you very much. Definitely no "gone too soon" songs.

As I write this, I am listening to Rodrigo y Gabriela, and thinking that maybe this is just right. It's music he liked, that he shared with me, and it's not depressing or maudlin.

I feel about this like I did about writing his obituary. It is a hideous necessity, and absolutely surreal, but also something I want to do in the best way possible, to honor the life of our precious Michael.

So, one month later, this is how we are doing. How I am doing.

No matter how shattered you are by pain, life grabs you relentlessly by the face and forces you to do "normal" things- cook and eat, work, do laundry, talk to people, sleep, wake up, make decisions, run errands, handle practical details.

So we do. We shove the howling pain of loss into a big mental closet and gently close the door, then we go to the bank, to deposit Michael's paycheck, and the refund check from the deposit on his apartment, and call his phone company, and talk about how the death certificates will be here soon, which will enable us to deal with the cable company and to move forward with the life insurance company. And then we go buy carrots and broccoli, and get the alignment on the pickup checked.

It's like so much of life.

You just have to....so you do.

Somehow, impossibly, and truly by the grace of God, we do.

The Questions

People have many questions.

Sometimes, the questions bother me and sometimes they don't. I'm not always sure which it will be, or why.

The reasons people have for asking also vary. Some are just curious. Some have a voyeuristic thirst for details. (not cool!) Some have a subconscious feeling that if they can understand, maybe they can keep this from happening to someone they love. Some are just broken with us, and trying to make sense of this thing that makes no sense.

Some of the questions, I can and do answer.

Some of the questions, no person with a lick of compassion would even ask. Those I do not answer.


Of the ones I answer, the most common is- "Did you see it coming?"

No. No, we did not see this coming. We did not see any warning signs.

We talk about depression in this family, and I think that most of the time we do it pretty well. This is an open conversation, with no shaming. Of course, we long for all of our children to have a balanced and happy inner life, but in the end, we understand that it's not a simple issue.

But Michael was showing none of the classic signs of depression.

More than eight years ago, he was pretty far down. We walked through that with him.

This was different. For several years, he has been dramatically better. Happy. Working hard at a job that actually paid the bills. Working out every day, building his body into a tower of strength. Focusing on his health and fitness. Doing things that make him happy. The whole tone of his conversation had changed, with far fewer sarcastic comments.

Clear back in high school, I asked him one day, "Are you sarcastic and insulting because it amuses you, or do you just not realize how you come across?" He thought about it and said, "Probably about fifty-fifty." :)

That had changed. For the past couple of years, on the rare occasions when we got to all be together as a family, we have had really great, happy times together, with no sarcastic jabs. It was wonderful!

Some people have wondered if Michael was a loner.

That's the thing. He absolutely does not fit the profile of someone who would be "expected" to be suicidal.

He was living a positive, healthy life. He worked hard at his job and worked out at the gym every day. He focused on a healthy diet and a healthy mind-set. He had a girlfriend he really loved, and was making plans for the future. He had just gotten his passport and was enthusiastic about their plans for travel. He had a truly fantastic group of friends, who were genuinely like family to him. He even had a cat, so he was not alone even at home.

His cat suited him so well. This is not a sweet, cuddly little cat-friend. His name is Django. He is a black, shiny man-cat with green eyes and ready claws; very unpredictable. Michael liked that about him. He would have found a sweet, mild kitty very boring. When Michael ordered pizza, Django had to have his own piece. He is absolutely relentless in his pursuit of pizza. When Django puts his ears back in irritation, he looks just like Toothless the Night Fury from the movie How to Train Your Dragon! :) Michael and I had talked about how nice it is to just have a living creature that is happy to see you every time you walk in the door.

No, we did not see this coming.

I had spoken with him just the week before, on my husband's and my thirtieth anniversary. It was a great conversation, all about his creative ideas and plans for the future. Two of his oldest friends had just seen him and spent the evening together. They saw absolutely no hint that something was wrong. They would have some idea of what to look for, as one of them lost his dad to suicide just a few years ago. But there was nothing; not one thing that made them think, "Something seemed off, is he okay?"

There was no warning; no sign we saw that anything was wrong.

Another common question: What happened?

The answer is: We don't know. And, as my husband has said a number of times the past few weeks, we don't want to know.

We will never truly know what happened, in the space of a few days, to take our son from happy optimism to ending his life. It just makes no sense.

Many people, especially the people close to him, want to know; to understand what happened.

Some really want someone to blame for this horrible thing that has happened to someone we all loved so much.

I get that. I truly do.

But we just have a gut-level feeling that it won't help to dig for answers.

There is absolutely nothing we could learn that would make me say, "Oh, okay. I get it. This makes sense now." No. My son being dead will never be okay, and it will never make sense, no matter how much information I might have about the circumstances.

When people are hurting, I think they feel it would be a relief to get mad, and to pour that anger out onto someone. It would be a vent for the suffocating pain. But again, I just have this gut-deep feeling that it won't do any good. Turning on anyone, blaming them for what happened, will not make things better. It will only add more hurt, and will poison our hearts.

I think about what Michael would want; how he would want us to handle our great sadness, and pain, and bewilderment. I honestly, from my heart, believe that he would want us to just love each other; to just be kind to each other. I don't think he'd want to see the people who mattered most to him turning on each other with suspicion and blame.

Michael's death is an unspeakable, baffling mystery.
And it will just have to stay that way, as far as we are concerned.

Hunting for someone to blame will not help us heal.

That does not mean that we don't wrestle with anger. We do.  But we also see the destructive potential of letting that anger erupt onto another person. I think of the words from the Bible, "Be angry, but sin not." It's okay to feel angry. That's normal. We just really want to handle those natural feelings in a way that will not cause fresh harm, to us or to anyone else.

Other questions: Could it have been an accident? Could someone else have done this to him?

No.

There is no way this could have been an accident. I have no doubt about that.

I even toyed with the idea that someone might have done this to him, setting it up to look like suicide. Somehow, that would have made more sense to me. But no, there was no "foul play."

It is just an appalling mystery.

For some reason, he suddenly descended into a place of such pain that he was overwhelmed and took what he thought was the only way out; the only way to stop the pain. He had so many other options; so many people who would have loved him and listened and walked with him out of that dark place, but in that moment I guess he just did not see that.

So, there it is. Our quest is not for answers as to why and how this could have happened to our beautiful son. It happened. He's gone. Our aim now is to find a way to walk through this agony; to find a way to carry on that is healthy and good.

There are several Bible verses that have been very helpful to me/us.

Psalm 34:18 "The Lord is close to the broken-hearted; He saves those who are crushed in spirit."

I never knew that verse before. Now, it helps me breathe.

Isaiah 43:2a "When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown."

Again, words that help me to breathe a little easier.

There is no magical answer to be learned from this terrible tragedy.

In every single relationship, there are always some ways we could have reached out a little more, and loved a little better. No matter what we see in hind-sight, that is still not an answer to the big "why."

In the end, suicide is a terrible choice that a person makes, when they feel like they have no other options or they're just exhausted and want the pain to end. We have such sadness and compassion for how deeply he must have been hurting.


If I have any takeaway for others from this nightmare, it would be this:

Be careful with the hearts of others. Even when setting boundaries or saying hard things, it is possible to do so with kindness and with care. Great vulnerability can hide behind apparent strength.

Don't waste time with the people you love.
Live now. Love now.  Say the words. Make the effort.

Make the time. 

Yes, it's okay that we're tired

Something we have all noticed- that we just feel so very tired...physically, emotionally, mentally.

Grief is exhausting! It is a heavy weight that we carry, every moment of every day, even when we're not actively thinking about it.

We don't have the physical strength or stamina we did before. We go for walks or short hikes, to get fresh air, a little exercise, and "tree therapy," but these are all slower and shorter than they used to be.

We don't have the same mental agility or capacity. We are slower to process information and to come up with answers. Remembering things is difficult, and sometimes just not possible.

Even when we seem "fine," our brains and bodies are still operating at grief slow-warp speed.

It can be difficult to track with what other people are saying.

And we are fragile. Shockingly fragile, especially in light of the incredible strength and courage I have seen in our family these past few weeks.

We have walked through some incredibly hard things: conversations about the transport of our son's body, "viewing" our precious Michael, having to carry on with "normal" life, having grace for people who are thoughtless, or inappropriately curious, or who trample our pain...but then simple things will break our hearts wide open... seeing his name on my calendar, reminding me to call him (ooooh, that hurts!!!); a sentence written in a card that reaches right to the roots of my heart (in a good way); the small gift that I'd bought but not yet gotten to him- planning to give it to him next time we got together. Yeah. That hurts. A lot.

Some days, just breathing is a huge accomplishment. Seriously. The pain sits on my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

We try to rest, but rest is really hard, even with the sleeping pills our very kind doctor prescribed. Mama's still not sleeping very much or very well. I'm trying, but it's just not working very well.

We remind each other to be gentle with ourselves, to give ourselves and each other lots of grace; lots of room to be or do just what we need in any given moment.

Grace. Mercy. 

We have used those words so much recently. Giving grace, experiencing incredible mercy.

The night that changed the shape of my heart

I can't bear to change the "about me" blurb. Not yet.

With some things, I can be strong and forge ahead....but where I'm just not ready, I try to be gentle with myself.

Just a few weeks ago, everything changed for our family.

This will explain the name of this new blog, and why I took a little break from my recipe blog.

On June 25th, we entered a living nightmare.

It began just like it does in the movies, with a somber police officer standing on our doorstep.

He had come to tell us that the second-oldest of our four children, our precious son Michael, had died. He was twenty-six.

The words of the officer will probably echo in my ears for the rest of my life.

"It was suicide."

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There just are no words for how vastly and deeply this hurts.
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We live in a small town, and when life hits you hard, the very best of this community rises to the surface. We have received an overwhelming outpouring of compassion and kindness from our church family and the people of our town.

We have seen the mercy and love of God in so many ways. So many ways.

We are also still just stunned with pain and loss.
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I tend to process life through words. As I drove up to southeast Washington last week, for a couple of days with my family there, the idea came to me to start a blog where I could share this journey with others. I thought that maybe I could write about the really hard things, and the unexpected mercies, and the things that help ease the sharp edges. This sounded like something that would help me... and that could maybe be helpful for others out there, who may be walking a similar road of bewildering pain. I hope so.