Within the past two weeks, I have somehow managed to get through the tenth anniversary of my son, Josh’s, suicide, what would have been his 30th birthday, and Mother’s Day. Whew…!
Oh, how I’d like to tell all of you who are newer to this journey that it was easier than in years past, but I can’t. I’m not exactly sure why, but this year felt much more “intense,” more emotional. I think it was the milestones that caused such intense feelings this year. I have a feeling that each of us will have at least one of these rougher-than-usual years as we progress through our grieving and healing. Mine just happened to be this year—the tenth.
Most of the time, when I think of Josh, my thoughts are of the past—funny things he said and did, the good memories we all hold on to. I’d guess about 95% of the time, I smile now when I think of him and remember. But not this past couple of weeks. In the last two weeks, I have cried more tears than I have in the last two years.
I can only compare this intense feeling to approaching a huge chasm as the dates grow near and finding myself taking a running leap over it…and after two weeks of flailing in the air, I find myself once again standing, this time on the other side of the chasm, ready to continue the journey. And when I look back, I can see it’s not quite as big and scary as it seemed from the other side.
I had to work on Sunday, so there wasn’t much time for me to fret about Mother’s Day. I saw or talked to my other sons and daughter, talked to my mother, and felt a real sense of “it’s over” … if that makes any sense? I can actually feel my blue mood lifting. I know that I am returning to myself as I have become.
I also saw our first hummingbird buzzing around the patio. He has always shown up on Mother’s Day. (My husband said he saw him a couple of days earlier, but that doesn’t count. I saw him on Mother’s Day!) We call him Scout because he always seems to show up to see if the feeders are out before he tells the rest of his clan that it’s time to move back for the summer.
The feeders will be out tomorrow, as will the signs that I put on the patio indicating a “low fly zone.” The flock loves to zip through there, and it makes people jump. We aren’t sure how many there are, but last year we counted 18 at the feeders at one time. Allowing for double-counting, there could have been a couple fewer, but I tend to think there are even more than that.
Tomorrow, I will sit on the patio and thank Josh for sharing these beautiful, fragile birds with me. He gets the credit because all the flower beds I’ve planted to honor and remember him are what initially attracted the hummingbirds, and as the flowers spread, the flock expands.
As the years pass, we learn to go with the flow, let ourselves grieve when we need to. We also learn that each day is a new day with its own share of blessings.
May all of you connect with these blessings in the aftermath of Mother’s Day.
