It was in February, two months after Brian died. I was alone and decided to head out on a Saturday afternoon down Route 7W, and attempt to work my way through the outlets out that way. A diversion on a cold and dreary day in what could sometimes feel like a cold and dreary life, I had found out in the worst way. I got a half mile or so past Tysons Corner and spied a big snowy field where my daughter had played soccer in the fall. Without hesitation or thought, I turned right, down the road to the field that was adjacent to a school, gladly abandoning the outlet idea. (more…)
Ms. Cooper is a guest blogger. She is Chaplain for Johns Hopkins Kimmel Cancer Center in Baltimore, Maryland, and sister to bereaved mom, Reneau Howard, Carson’s mom.
In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone….
Today was the last time I plan to set foot in the Anderson County Courthouse, in Clinton, Tennessee. It was the culmination of the criminal justice phase for the murder of my son, Tony James Phillips, forever 22. This is the impact statement I delivered to a crowded courtroom, full of defendants, the accused, the suspected, the admitted guilty, in addition to family members, prosecutors, defense attorneys, and the judge.
I think I’m ready. I love my friends. I want to spend time with them. And so I accept the invitation for Christmas dinner with my dear friend and her family. Dinner will be served at 3:00, so I arrive at 2:30.
Oops, I didn’t get the update that dinner is now scheduled for 5:00, but that’s ok. I’m welcomed with open arms.
Yesterday was emotional to say the least. A friend had bypass surgery Parkwest Hospital, and Alan and I went after he got off work. I didn’t want to go, but considering the seriousness of the procedure I made myself.
We were driving to UT hospital about the same time, four years ago after receiving a call that Sawyer had been taken there – memories filled my head.
Getting out of the car – memories filled my head.
Walking in, I saw the Emergency area – memories filled my head.
Inside, we didn’t know where to go – memories filled my head.
Talking with a receptionist – memories filled my head.
Waiting and wondering – memories filled my head.
A nurse came out with a report. I hung on every word – memories filled my head.
Memories filled my head…
We learned that it would be approximately an hour and a half, so Alan and I left to grab a bite to eat. Upon leaving the hospital behind us – memories filled my head.
Nervously entering the hospital again – memories filled my head.
Making our way to the elevator, holding Alan’s hand – memories filled my head.
A man exiting the elevator, walking toward us and pointing at me said, with a pause between each word, “Sawyer — Webb’s — Mother.” Oh, how it warmed my heart to hear those words again. I hugged him. He was Sawyer’s boss and said that he remembered “this day every year.” He said that he “loved that boy.” We hugged again, and I was somehow better. He did love Sawyer. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. How calming it was to talk with someone who shared feelings similar to my own.
Sawyer Webb’s Mother, Tracy
Hearing Sawyer’s name, knowing that he was remembered and acknowledged, and being given back my identity felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a bitterly cold night. I swallowed my identity back down inside. Yes, I am still and will always be Sawyer Webb’s mother.
I had met Sawyer’s boss twice at the restaurant over four years ago, and I remember him coming to the funeral. How he recognized me and the timing of the encounter, I believe, is no coincidence. Sawyer (maybe God, maybe both) knew I needed those words at that moment, and my mommy heart filled with a familiar appreciation for my loving son, Sawyer.
On August 6, 2005, a civil war was declared. You may not have heard of this war. It isn’t marked on a map or recorded in history books. Nonetheless, this war had a devastating impact on the people involved.
Upon hearing the news, The Heart declared war on The Head. The Heart built a fortress to keep away the pain. But no fortress was strong enough to hold back the anguish. The Heart ached and wailed out during the night, “This cannot be true! This can’t be possible! Just look at all the love and dreams we have for this precious child.”
The Head could only say, “Why did this happen? What did we do wrong?” The Head was confused and could not rest. It felt the need to be logical and find answers. The war continued.
The ruler of this land, The Soul, had great concern because The Heart was so deeply wounded. The depths of this anguish threatened its every beat. The Soul feared that in an attempt to avoid the pain, The Head would not rest, and that The Heart would cease rather than give up its great love.
Weeks, months, and years passed. The battle raged. There was fear in the land that the battle would not end. Slowly, as both Head and Heart grew to understand each could let go of the pain without abandoning the love, a truce was arranged.
Then a treaty was drafted in which The Head would rest and embrace the mysteries of life. The endless questions and reviews would be released, so they could face forward to a future. The Heart was allowed to keep all the love and to openly display it. The two agreed that The Heart could build a connection between the before and the after. There would be no putting away of this great love, even long after the putting away of all material things. Together they would build a peaceful place for The Heart to hold these honored treasures. In this peaceful place, the door will never be closed and the love will never end.
The Soul honored the fact they had passed through the depths of this great pain and challenged them to continue to live in peace and to learn new ways to approach the depth of this loss. Despite the battle scars and a full expectation of future skirmishes, The Heart and The Head have decided not just to survive, but to thrive with a deeper and broader understanding of Faith, Hope and a Forever Love.
This article was originally published on www.opentohope.com, a website whose mission is to help those who have suffered a loss to cope with their pain and invest in the future.
With Father’s Day approaching, I would like to take this opportunity to express my love and gratitude to the father of our sons, my husband, Alan. He carried us through those darkest times of early grief after the death of our youngest son, Clint. As I come out of the fog of anguish and begin to re-enter our new normal, I can appreciate all the many ways he cared for us.
I am a mother of a big brown eyed baby boy,
I am the mother of a toddler who kisses and hugs,
I am a mother of a fun playful kid,
I am the mother of a child who gives me hearts,
I came up to Todd and Bee’s boat for Memorial Day weekend. Belinda stayed home with her mom, because she has been having heart issues. She had a stint put in on Friday, and, I think, Belinda is afraid to leave her.
It was in February, two months after Brian died. I was alone and decided to head out on a Saturday afternoon down Route 7W, and attempt to work my way through the outlets out that way. A diversion on a cold and dreary day in what could sometimes feel like a cold and dreary life, I had found out in the worst way. I got a half mile or so past Tysons Corner and spied a big snowy field where my daughter had played soccer in the fall. Without hesitation or thought, I turned right, down the road to the field that was adjacent to a school, gladly abandoning the outlet idea.
