Tracy BradshawThank you, Sawyer, for being in my dream this morning. I would like to share with you all that I can remember and my interpretation too… You and I were going on a cruise. I had checked myself in and stepped ahead to turn and get a picture of you checking yourself in by sliding a card much like a self-checkout at Kroger. I hit the button to turn on my phone and tapped the camera app wanting to snap your photo. I was quite puzzled when a picture of Your Uncle Todd popped up on the screen in camera mode. It was his picture caught in midair as if he was in the middle of a big jump. I chuckled at the photo and tapped to return to camera mode as you swiped your card to board the cruise ship. You placed a pair of black framed glasses on the white swim platform and said that you needed to get some things from your room. When you left, I noticed water lapping up on the platform. I worried that your glasses would be washed away. Just as I was thinking that very thought a wave came up and slid across the platform taking your glasses with it. I watched as they began to very slowly sink into the water. I reached for them and they seemed to travel in slow motion remaining just beyond my fingertips. When my arm was completely submerged in the water, I still hadn’t reached the glasses. I thought that you might not be able to see without them and decided that I’d dive in for them. I retrieved the glasses from the ocean water and returned soaking wet and hair dripping. I opened the ear pieces. They were stretched out too far. I recognized them as an old pair of my own reading glasses that I didn’t want anymore and realized that they weren’t yours at all. When you returned you were younger and smaller. You stretched out on your stomach on the swim platform in a tight outfit which may have been a tightly wrapped towel, but it looked much like a strapless dress. I slid my hand under the fabric between your shoulders and felt the soft skin on your upper back. I raised the material and found it loose though visually it appeared to be so snug. My limited interpretation – Since the day you passed away, I’ve been trying to save you somehow. Your love, your memory, your personality, your presence; I cannot allow these things to pass away too. I thought by sharing you via Sawbear I was saving you, but in reality, I was saving myself. Sawbear keeps me going because sharing you through his eyes, heart, and adventures gives me purpose. You left the glasses for me, so I can see what is closest to me. That understanding has been just out of my reach for several years. I had to submerge myself in Sawbear before I could see what saved me. Thanks for the glasses. I love you, Sawyer. I miss your physical presence so very much. Love, Mom |
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Category: memories
Hop John
Pam Ooten
| Oh, my love, my precious son Hop John, Life has changed since you’ve been gone. If I could just hear your voice once more Or for you to just walk in my front door, Oh how I want to hold you in my arms, To protect you from all the world’s harm. There were so many things I had to say, I have tried my best to be strong, I look to Heaven and throw you a kiss, I am waiting for that Reunion Day, |
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Dreamscape
Sean Fewer
In Memory of Damon
| The sights and sounds of what’s around slowly fade away A flood of precious memories return from yesterday Encircling me and moving past, like a fast approaching tide I catch a ride on one of them as I turn inside The world outside seems so far off Like a bustling distant land Here is where you hold my heart And I your little hand My lips stay sealed, but my heart speaks Of the love I have for you When I come here, I feel you near Wistful…but it’s true No weight of being, no encumbrance of sorrow Just surrounded by love with hope for tomorrow Then the return of sight and sound Brings me back to the place you left The tide recedes, but the affect profound Poignant memories of a family bereft A pensive journey of the heart and mind What I have there, here I cannot find Tears of the soul in searching for peace Are nurtured by faith and a love that won’t cease. |
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Chance Meeting
Mary Beth Cichocki
Did you ever have a chance meeting with a stranger and later feel that there was nothing chance about it? Today was one of those days. I woke to the grief that hits as soon as my eyes open and my mind wakes enough to realize my son, Matt is really gone. His loss rocked my being like nothing I could have ever imagined.
A Poem for Josh
Melissa Price Childs
It’s been five years
Since you’ve been gone.
The pain is so real
The hurt still strong.
The masks I had
Are all still there.
Depends on the day
As which one I wear.
Tuesdays I hated
For so many years.
But this one is back
With all of the tears.
The songs that I hear
“Wish you were here”
Are oh so true
Everyday of the year.
Your memory will last
As long as I’m here.
But the day I hold you
Will be so dear.
Remember I love you
And miss you my son.
The time will come
When our days are one.
Until that day
Remember to share
Your signs for us
So we know you are there.
Love and miss you big bunches,
Mom
Why Am I Still Here?
Tracy Bradshaw, Sawyer’s Mom
As a single mom, taking care of Sawyer was my purpose. Everything he needed emotionally, physically, and psychologically was up to me to provide. Getting him to practices, games, birthday parties, school, etc. was up to me. Making sure that he had a positive sense of himself, his lunch money, project materials, homework, signed permission slips and report cards, clothes, etc. was my lot in life. I loved him before I really knew him, so I was happy with this responsibility. It would have been my choice had I had one. The fact that he was a loving and touchy-feely person was an added bonus.
When his life was taken at nineteen years old, I was completely lost. Why am I still here? What will I do with my life? Where will I turn? When will I feel normal again? Who will I depend on to help me find my way?
I don’t remember when my first visit with Listening Hearts was, but I remember feeling like I had been with a group of moms who loved and lost. That was me, same as me, happy and sad. Their joys and pains were very much like my own. After several visits with this support group, one of the co-founders, Debra Reagan, offered to make me a bear out of two of Sawyer’s t-shirts. While I thought that was a very kind gesture, it took me months (maybe a year) to be able to turn over two shirts, as the material things were all that I had – I thought.
When she gave me my bear, and each scrap of material that wasn’t used from the shirts, the warmth in her eyes caressed my aching heart. She connected with this bear, and it was with tenderness and love that she presented him to me. He was delightful, yet he opened floodgates to my tears. The carefully chosen shirts represented Sawyer’s life as one was from his early years and the other from his later teens.
As time passed I wasn’t sure how I “should” be with Sawbear or if I “should” even call him that. I worried what people would think if I slept with him or held him too much. I hesitated to take him on family get-togethers or vacations. My face reddened, when I saw strangers looking as I took pictures of Sawbear. I went on a beach trip with my sister-in-law, and her love of Sawbear was instant like my own. She asked if she could sleep with him. She cuddled him, and her eyes lit up when I spoke of taking pictures of him. She didn’t care what anyone thought, and we set out to create a scrapbook of “Sawbear’s Vacation.” As I propped him against sand castles, pool floats, and chair backs, ideas would pop in her head to have him in the shade with sunglasses, in a kayak, and more.
Scrapbooks turned into self-made children’s books, and ideas for helping children became endless as I watched so many love and hug Sawbear. Like Sawyer, he is easy to love. To readers, he is accepting and understanding, helpful, and encouraging.
In answering my earlier questions, “What do I do with my life?” I reach out to help others going through trauma, entertain with a fun-loving character, and stay connected to a spirit I love. “Where do I turn?” I turn inward to memories and love and outward to anyone who listens or reads. “Why am I still here?” I am here because I have learned from a loving spirit, and I have the courage to share. “When will I feel normal again?” I will never be able to feel the normalcy that I once felt, so I will quit grasping for that. I will seek a new normal that includes Sawyer in every step and in every book. “Who will I depend on to help me find my way?” I will pray for guidance in my search to find a publisher, organizations, and children with a need for Sawbear. I will depend on Listening Hearts’ Moms, my friends, my family, my Church, and my community for support.
The material things are not all that I have. I have an ability to touch lives, an abundance of priceless memories, and a bonded love that knows no end.
Memories From a Dad
Sean Fewer
In memory of Damon Fewer. Damon’s 9th Angel date was May 22, 2016. This poem was submitted to the local papers in his memory by his father, Sean Fewer.
A thousand memories of you I hold
Thoughts held so close and dear
All a treasure to behold
Of a time when you were near
Memories Here and In My Heart
Julie McGregor
My son Joel died nearly 9 years ago. Joel lived at home and for a few years after, his room remained exactly as it was on that day. A life cut short, never knowing this would be his last day on earth. Memories filled every drawer, cupboard, hanging space, pictures on the walls, teenage stuff on his desk and the contents of his computer. Then of course there was his sound system, complete with turntable and mixer, he really loved music.
Math and Memories
Debra Reagan
During my grief journey, I have listened as fellow bereaved travelers imparted the fact that life is forever changed after the death of a child. For sure, on this we can agree. Since I thirsted for more information, I thought I would share a change I have noticed. Whenever the subject of a past event, or time is brought up, my mind rushes to do the math. I found this surprising in a way. I suppose I might be considered to have average math skills in everyday life. However, in normal conversation, when the subject is about a time or event in the past my mind can do amazingly fast calculations.
The Time Phenomenon
Amparo Atencio
I’ve begun to notice a phenomenon that is happening as of late. I suppose this is the natural order of things, but it is unsettling.
I see adults who are now entering middle age. You know, those nearing 30 like Tony would be. And I don’t see anything about Tony in any of them although these are his peers. No, his peers are supposed to be entering adulthood, not middle age. They are supposed to have the look of one foot in childhood, the other in adulthood. It has happened twice now that I see that lack of realization up close and personal.
The first time, I was visiting a friend. As I got out of my car to go into her house, I noticed a father and his child on the quiet street. The little boy was gleefully pedaling his two-wheeler as his father walked behind him, encouraging his son on. I smiled at the scene. It’s nice to see fathers involved with their children. When I got inside, my friend asked me if I had seen “so and so.” I didn’t know who she meant and didn’t recognize the name until she reminded me that it was one of our boys’ old friends. If she hadn’t told me, I would have never thought the man was of that age group, that time frame. Nothing about him suggested a peer. Instead, he was just a mature man entering middle age and not an immature young guy making his way into adulthood.
The second time, I was in a lobby, waiting for my appointment. A woman standing behind me asked, “Are you Tony’s mom?” I turned to see a fit, athletic woman whom I didn’t recognize. I responded yes and asked her how she knew my son, and she told me they were good friends in high school. Stunned, I asked her “Oak Ridge High School, class of 2007”? Could this young woman entering middle age be a graduate of Tony’s class? Wouldn’t those young people look so much younger than her? I was so grateful to hear her memories, see photos of Tony I had never seen before, and share tears over a life cut too short, gone too soon. If she hadn’t told me, I would have never thought she was of that age group, that time frame. Nothing about her suggested a peer. Instead, she was just a mature woman entering middle age and not a silly kid making funny faces at a camera.
But that is the way of it, and I adjust to this reality. Tony’s peers are indeed entering middle age. They indeed are maturing adults with children and good paying jobs. Tony is forever young, and that gap will only grow wider as time marches on.