Moving

We moved to this new land a week before the one-year anniversary of Josh’s heaven day.

I never realized how gratefully numb I was.

Determined to make this move without falling apart.

Completely detaching from the world that included Josh. Leaving behind, in a quick slash, every person and familiar surrounding. Todd and I didn’t realize this is what it would take to help us move forward. Nothing the same. No one we could lean on except God and each other.

Little did we know that God had already put into place a neighborhood of fun and laughter.

Neighbors who listened to my stories of Josh.

Numbness gone and the pain suffocating me.

Year two was the ripping of the scabs. The continuous ice-cream headache that leaves you grabbing your head in pain.

Glimpses of joy did come.

Babies grown into toddlers, running and learning to talk. Hugs abundant!

Our street of big kids walking down our hill happy to be home from school. Playing together, laughing!

In one short year the Quarter Horse occupants have become family.

Who knew a simple breakfast at Panera would lead to a fulfilling nine months opening a Talbots store and becoming a part time Key Holder. A manager and assistant manager who challenged me to learn the system of retail. Taught me more than I ever dreamed. Pushed me at times when I really wanted to retreat back home and hibernate. I discovered I enjoy dressing mannequins, organizing signage, back stock, helping women feel pretty and important!

What a joy I have had working with so many ladies and helping in the training as they become the face of Talbots.

All a part of my healing. Every one of them listening and listening to my stories of my boy.

My Talbots family!

We have enjoyed this beautiful area. I never thought I would be sad to leave. Just look at what God hath provided. Each a piece of our story. A piece of our healing.

My friends at the hairdresser told me I looked stronger and healthier than I did a year ago when I walked in their door. I’m glad. I’m trying.

I believe God has a plan for every aspect of our lives. He did not plan for Josh to kill himself. But, he knew of my boy’s sickness and pain. Todd and I have a choice to blame or follow. I have tried to watch for God’s plan to make beauty from ashes. To follow the path laid out for us on this journey.

I will never be healed from my grief. I will just keep moving forward. This emptiness that used to be filled with my boy will always be there until I too can finally move HOME.

Until then, off to the swamp of New Orleans!

CLIMB

CLIMB

My word of the year. CLIMB!!

It’s a hard journey that climb thing.

But I don’t want to climb any more…. It HURTS!

“Climb”, says my Sista’s.

“Climb”, says my neighborhood kids.

I fall down and bust my knees. God says, “CLIMB”.

It feels like a huge, weight has been put into my backpack. I trudge forward because God has my safety rope. He pulls, I make it again.

This isn’t the way our family or life is supposed to look like. Todd says, “we will climb it together!”

I’m not the same fight back type person I was. I can't do it....

“Keep climbing” says my counselor. “You are doing amazing. You are finally healing after years of taking care of others.” “Climb…”

But my baby isn’t here. The one that depended on me for 18 years. But he has climbed to the HIGHEST of HIGH. “You can do it, Mom!”

Half of my heart is in Heaven. Half of it here.  Thank you for the cross Lord. One day I will climb to the highest peak, but not now. I have a huge mountain to keep climbing.

My phone gets a text, “CLIMB MOM.” I smile at the precious picture of my girl and her BIG baby.

But ALL of my friends are back in Texas.

 I can’t be in the capacity some friends need or I once was. I'm doing the best I can in this new, PA mountain range. 

“Climb”, says my new friend, who on a whim, came into Talbots on a night I took another shift.

“Climb”, says the new fulfilling church service we went to. “Have a protein bar and remember where your strength comes from.” “Jehovah Jireh” sang the choir. “Climb,” says the choir as they sang this song from Josh's and my favorite NYC choir.

Days of fog I don’t want to share Josh’s story. But that tug of the rope is there, I share and God uses my boy once again to help another, right there in the middle of Hallmark.

“CLIMB,” says the “Encounter” speaker Tuesday night. “Stare ahead to the Lord so you won’t steer off the path.”

YES. “Prepare your mind with the things of the Lord so WHEN you encounter a season of mountains, you will be able to climb.”

Do I continue to climb, even when I stumble? YES, YES, YES!

Am I a perfect Christian or person? OH, NO!!

I made the statement when Josh died that I would not let it debilitate me. Cry, hurt, scream? YES! But I know where my strength comes from. JEHOVAH JIRAH, MY PROVIDER.

The one who fastens my safety harness and helps me CLIMB!

Who provides my rescue team encouraging me to CLIMB!

CLIMB

He is fading....

He is fading….. wait….. please don’t go….

A simple thank you note written by the parents of the precious two year old across the street. Thanking us for her birthday gift. You see, she struggles to speak words. We cheer when she says “bye” as I cross the street. Her mommas glow with pride when they tell me of more words she is learning. So the thank you note is meaningful on so many levels. “ I am learning to say “JOSH.” These neighbors I have only known for a few short months, pour over everything I post on FB. Learning about my boy. They told me they recognize his smile. They are getting to know Josh.

Next door my sweet Alex, innocently, yet sincerely tells me that Josh would have an asthma attack if he had been with us at the pumpkin patch. I smiled and agreed. She sat at the table last week scrolling through years of pictures. Asking about different ones. Alex knows Josh.

At home for a wedding, a young man Josh’s age who recently wed, tells me how he cried when a butterfly landed on his pants leg during the ceremony. He told me he thought a lot about Josh.  What? I never knew. I didn’t know as you grew up and came to my house for airsoft wars.

Desi, Josh’s online best friend for many years ask if she could have some of his “items” from a game they used to play for hours.  How special it would be. Amber went on Josh’s account and gave them to her. A simple thing but again, she is keeping Josh alive.

But, where are some of the memories from his childhood? Please share with me…. He is fading…. I’m glad you will always remember him…. But he is fading……. TELL ME…

What do you occasionally laugh about? What memory do you have?

Why, why have so many that helped raise him gone on? Why would you not help keep my boy alive?

Ashtyn and Nick only knew Josh for 28 months. Ashtyn continually thinks of stories and we laugh and laugh. He is alive in Ashtyn….

I have a FB messenger group that Kelly named, “FAM”. Yes, sweet kids, to me they are my kids.

We share what is going on in their lives. Everyonce in a while I ask for a memory…. They keep him alive….

Oh “V”. Thank you for not leaving me. Thank you for all the stories of the 4 short months you had with him.  Thank you for letting me watch as you move on, yet include Ashtyn and I.

Oh, believe me, I know that time goes on and life moves on. I love hearing what Josh’s childhood friends are doing and watching them succeed.  

When a parent loses a child, the biggest fear is that they will not be remembered. That their name won’t be said.

I go through his emails. I dig through his account. Is there something new I haven’t seen? A funny picture? Oh please friends of his. Dig through every picture, video. Are you sure there isn’t something else I can see?

Beth gets it. Josh kept Zach alive. But now they are both together and we are trying to remember. To keep them both alive.

"We are praying for you."  STOP! I KNOW YOU ARE. I WANT MY BOY TO BE ALIVE. TELL ME THE MEMORIES. 

The last picture taken of you. The radiant happy young man. Oh sweet boy. That picture is getting further and further away in my photos.

Todd, please lift him up so I can put my arms around his body one more time. That shell. The one in the new tennis shoes, fancy jeans and black shirt. Your glasses are smudged. Like always.

I put both arms around you, trying to hold you up. This shell, the one I raised.

 

In reality, you and Zach are alive and well. Both of you are healed. Running ahead of us. Joyful and happy. YOU REALLY ARE ALIVE.

This is grief ya’ll. This is reality. I am content and joyful in my sorrow because Jesus lives in me and he lives with Joshua. We are just in different spots right now.

Please don’t worry about me. I’m good. God is good. This is just things that go through your mind and heart when your child is gone.

Please don’t fade….. AS LONG AS I HAVE BREATH YOU WILL LIVE.

“I’m learning to say Josh!”