As I was making my bed this morning, I noticed my customary sign that I call my shout-outs from Tony: crossed drumsticks, symbolizing the passion of my Funky Drummer. I climbed on my bed with my camera to find the best vantage point through the small window for a photograph. Several shots included the window frame; others included telephone wires. I was frustrated with myself when it dawned on me that the easiest solution was to simply step outside onto my front stoop!
One thing we who have lost children are faced with daily is how will we cope and possibly go on without our child. After our son, Brian, died in 2004 at the age of 22, our lives came to a standstill. We moved in and out of activities with our two daughters, 15 and 18 at the time, and in and out of our other chores, work, life in general, in a slow motion fog. At times, people had to remind us to breathe as we were mostly taking shallow breaths and then deep,deep sighs.
Being a bereaved mom and having a lot of sadness, I would like to share with you a little about myself and my family.
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.
These are the messages my head tried to tell my heart at the beginning of my grief journey.
The first two months after Joel, my 18 year old son died, I spent most days sitting on the couch staring at the television. I came across a show about people getting tattoos for lots of reasons, including memorial tattoos. As I watched the show regularly, the thought formulated in my mind that I would like to get one eventually as a memorial for Joel.
I learned of a special spot at Frozen Head State Park when one of Tony’s friends shared a memory with me. She said they had frequently hiked there with friends, and one day Tony carved his nickname into the handrail of a bridge on a trail.
I became obsessed with finding that bridge and seeing the carving with my own eyes. And finally, after numerous hikes, I spotted yet another bridge. I hurried to this one, inspecting the handrails, as I always did, scanning it for the T-Dawg carving, This time, I found the very bridge that Tony had stood on with his friends. I ran my fingers over the slightly faded carving, feeling my spiritual connection to him.
How fitting that his mark was on a bridge. A Dictionary of Symbols indicates, “The bridge symbolizes the link between what can be perceived and what is beyond perception. Even when it lacks this mystic sense, the bridge is always symbolic of a transition from one state to another–of change, or the desire for change.”
A dear friend said of this definition, “Somehow, this describes your new relationship to Tony, who for you now exists in nature, which you can perceive through your senses, even though you cannot actually perceive Tony as he once was.” He went on to say, “It symbolizes both Tony’s transition to another state and your own transition as you come to terms with his new mode of being.”
I added my own carved inscription to Tony’s, adding my mark to connect us always, “MAMA.”
And so I name this Frozen Head State Park bridge, Tony’s Bridge, always to be my transitional link between what was and what is now.
The heart remembers even when we aren’t actively thinking about our child. It was 5 1/2 years since our son had died of a drug overdose. The thoughts weren’t in front of my face all the time, and the weight wasn’t so heavy on my shoulders. I was finding the energy to re-invest into my new normal.