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.
My husband, Alan, came home from the dentist. He had his teeth cleaned. He proceeded to tell me that the young girl working with him mentioned that she went to school with Sawyer. She went on to say that Sawyer was a nice guy and fun to hang around.
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.
This is the fourth Christmas that I’ve not put up a tree or decorated the house. I have only been shopping one time, and I’m okay with that. My heart just isn’t in the traditional family gift giving anymore. No doubt, the reason for that is because I don’t have a list for Sawyer with “Mommy, this is my Christmas list. Love, Sawyer.” Now, Sawyer was nineteen years old and called me mom, EXCEPT when he wanted something. “Mommy,” melted my heart, and he knew it. “Mommy” persuaded me to buy too many presents at Christmas, take way too many trips to Taco Bell, and even occasionally pay his rent. I miss those times when he could rely on me, and he went about it with such tender affection.
Brian died on the 15th of December,11 years ago of a heroin overdose. Heaven heard my scream of agony that morning. A week later the tsunami of 2004 hit Indonesia. Seeing a photo of a woman lying prostrate on the beach in anguish over her loss, I knew and shared her grief. It was palpable. The world became a very small place.
It was the 4th anniversary of our son’s death, and I was having a difficult time. My husband was working out of town, and this meant for the first time we would be apart on this date.
I turned to the woods, a place I find myself often when I seek peace. As I started the trail, I noticed a tree that was bent and twisted. Despite the fact that the base of the trunk was nothing but a shell, the tree continued to live and strive to reach the sun.
I felt a kinship with that tree. At times, I felt like a shell of my old self, yet a part of my soul was wanting to find my sunshine again.
Isn’t it wonderful that the universe remains constant? Even if our world feels like it has collapsed, the universe remains the same. In my early grief, I was angry that the rest of the world continued after Clint’s death. Now I find comfort in that consistency. The sun is in its place even if I don’t see it.
Further along on the trek, my eyes embraced nature at work around me, and my heart began to understand that I could learn things from this adventure. Take the river, for example. I saw sections of raging currents of turbulent water followed soon by calm peaceful pools. Some parts of the same river appeared impossible to cross, yet just around the bend of the trail, I found large boulders that created easy crossings. My grief journey is like the river; at times, it is calm and other times, it is raging.
When I feel that my grief is impossible to cross, I need only to be patient and take it one step at a time.
This article was originally published in April 2010 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.
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.
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.
April 21, 1983 – July 18, 2005
Son of Ruby and Mack Buchanan
Today is the second anniversary date of your death.
How the pain still feels sometimes causes us no rest.
One day life was so content,
Memories flood our minds; we know that is how it was meant.
As we go on with our every day life,
Some people ask, “How can you be so strong?”
Wade, if they only knew how they could be so wrong.
Angels all around you up above
Doing special things with all kinds of Love.
Everyday we must go on, no other choice to make.
Blessed we were to have you before God had to take.
Until we meet again, we must take one day at a time.
Courage it takes, sometimes, not to lose our mind.
Happy we will be to be reunited. Some days we can hardly wait.
As we wait for you to meet us at God’s Heavenly gate.
No one knows the things we learned from you at any rate.
And your time on Earth was for a purpose.
No more tears in Heaven will come to surface.
(Always in our hearts!)
Sadly missed and cherished,
Mom and Dad
–This poem was originally written in 2007.
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.
Written in memory of our son, Clint Tyler Reagan. www.clint-reagan.memory-of.com
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.