From Mama Pajama
7-15-06
Dearest, precious Henry, my boy,
From the window of room 333 here at Salishan, I can see the sun setting in a clear sky. A car drives by. The constant breeze rustles the bushes and the fir trees. It must be very much the same as it was for you that last evening. Only I am safe on this couch. You placed yourself on the edge of the cliff. Then you were gone.
I haven’t really talked to you since that day, except to moan your name or to call you to come back. Are you here with me? Can you discern my thoughts as the psalmist says God can do? I don’t know. Believe me when I say I would much rather talk to you IN PERSON. But your achingly sweet beautiful little body is smashed. Destroyed. Broken beyond repair and six feet under ground. Are you sorry now? Do you wish you were back with us? Can you see now what a no-turning-back blunder that was? That was the KING of all blunders.
It is kind of like there are two Henry’s. There’s you, the one who worried me so much and gave me so much joy. The one who would have made it. The other Henry is the one at the end, the one whose thoughts were hijacked by those medications, those damnable “medications.” I don’t really want to talk to that Henry, but he achieved significance because it was he who stole you away. It’s hard to avoid him.
Henry, do you know how truly special and beloved you are? Did you see the outpouring of love and tears? You might discount all that and say, oh, that’s just because people know you and dad. But you see, love, it’s us. It’s our family, it’s all our love for each other that so many people were touched by. And, darling, you are so young. At 26, don’t you know, you didn’t even have a chance to really get started? Your dad and I cry over all your missed opportunities. You could have been anything, done anything.
Jim and I told each other tonight that we both were unprepared for the magnitude of this pain. I always imagined the death of one of my children would be unbearable, but it’s actually worse than I thought. And yet we are bearing it somehow. Everything is different. Everything will be different forever.
Courtney is the other great sufferer. She may have told you she didn’t love you. I guess she said that. But that was just a messy, silly thing to say. She loves you. And dear Isaac – did you see how changed he was? He’ll be seeking you always, but you won’t be there IN PERSON. I’m stuck on that phrase. Did I ever tell you about the dream I had of my mother, the comforting dream where she visited me and I really felt like she had been in the room? Well, that was good, but right now I’m telling you there’s no substitute for IN PERSON. But if you can make Isaac feel like you love him and you’re with him somehow as he grows up, please do it. Remember, I told you, little boys need their daddies.
Oh Hen-Ben, my heart hurts. Your dad says it feels like swallowing light bulbs. I keep going over your last day. Did you know that morning? Why did you take soup for lunch? Remember when I told you to work as though you were working for God, and you froze. You stopped and thought about it. Did you almost change your mind then?
See, I’m talking to the other Henry now, the not-real one. You would never have left us, would you, Henry? You know how much we loved you, didn’t you? I just can’t bear that you were all alone and I wasn’t there to hold you, to love you and call you back, to tell you how precious, how eternally precious you are to us. Why couldn’t we have figured out where you were? All your problems could have been worked out. I know they seemed huge, but now you can see how “nothing” they were, can’t you.
I feel bad about asking you if you are a flake. Remember? On Monday? You came to the shop in the afternoon. That morning you didn’t show up for work, so I said, “Henry, are you a flake?” I said it kind of softly, almost in a shy way. I’m sure I made you feel bad. I probably thought you deserved to feel bad. You answered me in the same soft voice, “No, Mama, I’m not a flake.” You apologized and we cheered up and had a nice time. You were looking forward to your counseling appointment later that day. You must have met Pack at the Ridge afterward, since he closed that day, because I found a receipt in the pocket of your jeans later. Faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt. The sleeve had a little blood on it from your new tattoo. It’s the same shirt I grabbed and hugged and smelled Wednesday night June 7th, and I’ve slept with it every night since then. I’ve wrapped my Snoopy in it. I tuck him into me and imagine I’m holding you tight. I love you so much, Henry. I always will. If there’s a heaven and we get to go there, will you meet me and give me one of your fantastic heart-melting smiles and call me Mama Pajama? And hug me with all your might? My tall son Henry. I love you.
-Mama Pajama
Sunday night, 7-16-06
My Hen-Ben,
Courtney came tonight to pick up the car payment. We were able to talk a little more openly about you because Isaac wasn’t with her. It struck me after she left that it is the future I must focus on – her future and Isaac’s. She is working hard to rebuild her life. She said that if it wasn’t for Isaac she too might have chosen to end her life by now. My son, surely you did not understand the pain you would inflict on those who loved you best when you jumped from that mountain. If you had, surely, surely you would still be here slogging it out with the rest of us.
I can’t share with Courtney my grief over your broken heart about your failed marriage. She can’t bear that from me, not now and maybe not ever. Nor can I talk about Prozac issues with her. Maybe some day. But I truly did begin grieving for you the day your great hopes were dashed. Remember? You had been staying here a week or so. “Don’t bother getting me a key to the place,” you told me. Things were going so well. You’d done everything Courtney asked: you’d given Casey the boot, moved in with us, made your appointment with the doctor. You’d come clean. A real return of the prodigal. We were rejoicing. And you’d had such a good night with Courtney and Isaac. I came home from work and you were parked in my spot. I was a little annoyed until I saw you walking up the sidewalk with two bags in your hands. You looked so happy. You packed two bags, you told me, just in case she didn’t let you stay; one for the return to our place, just in case. You were so sure, though, so sure she’d let you stay. Your face shone with happy anticipation. I felt scared that you’d suffer disappointment. And sure enough, the next morning the door to your room was closed. You were back. I grieved, and in my memory it seems like the very beginning of the grief I feel now and will always feel over losing you.
I am glad you returned to us, though. At least we have that. We had our return of the prodigal. If you had left us during the awful time when you were “in the far country” the pain would be even harder to bear.
As we walk around, it seems like there must be a big sign on us that says, “Our Son Committed Suicide.” It amazes me that this awful fact is invisible. How many other people are walking around with their own awful labels?
Our time at the beach was good. We stayed far away from Manzanita. The beautiful sunset was hard to bear – I had to turn my back on it. But I believe I can go to the beach now without any more, or much more, grief than I have here.
Your pops had some chest pains when we were walking uphill today. That happens fairly often. Fear.
He and I are even closer now than before. We hold each other up, although it seems like mostly he holds me up. You know, he is such a tender, passionate man. So remarkable. And he loves you fiercely.
Why couldn’t we have figured out that you were in Manzanita?
-Mama
Tuesday eve. 7-18-06
Dear Hen-Ben,
If you were here today you’d be excited – we bought an air conditioner! We’d joke about you sleeping on the floor in our room, etc. They say it’ll be 105 degrees this weekend, so I decided your dad should not have to suffer through that. Handyman Jim of the complex installed it for $30.
Today I didn’t cry more than a tear or two. I guess we were too busy, and I didn’t listen to your memorial service CD, which always makes me cry. Yesterday, though….I went to your grave after work to water the plants. Did you hear my sobs there? This grief is so awful because you cry and cry, but when you’re done, everything’s the same. When I cry during a fight with your pop, at the end I make a decision – go back and make it up, everything will be alright. But with you, cry and cry and cry – stop crying. Nothing is changed. You are still gone. Your sweet beloved Henry self is gone.
When I got home and checked my email, I cried again. Ray Boatright wrote me that they want to put a bronze plaque in your honor over the door of the science lab at Sonrise Christian High School in Ghana. It will say “to the glory of God in loving memory of Henry Abram Roberts by his parents, Jim and Patty Roberts.” What do you think of that? I told him that you liked to tell people about the Jesus lattes.
I wrote a letter tonight to Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Lloyd to tell them about you. I hate to mail it. Aunt Eleanor may not be able to understand, but hopefully Uncle Lloyd can. Paula hasn’t told Tyler yet. She’s waiting until she picks him up in Brazil at the end of the month. She is scared about Tyler – he has been troubled for a long time. There are probably others out there we’ve forgotten to tell. But I suppose most people who are close to you at all have been told.
I still can’t believe it sometimes. We haven’t heard from you for a long time!? Why don’t you call?
I love you, punkin. I miss your hug and looking way up to see your sweet face smiling down at me. Caramba, my heart aches.
Love,
Mama
Thurs, 7-20-06, 7:45 pm
Dear Ben Bridge,
Yesterday was Wednesday, my long day. I have a bad feeling about Wednesdays now. That day, as soon as I found out that you hadn’t gone to work, I had an ominous feeling. I kept repeating, “oh no” out loud. Oh what a sad dark day.
Since it was my long day yesterday, I was tired. I’m tired a lot these days. Couldn’t get up the gumption to go to workout Tues. Last night I started to watch “House” but it was so grim I turned it off. Then I fell asleep on the couch; didn’t get any writing done, not to you nor anyone else. I try to write one thank you card a day. Even so, I’ll not get to everyone. I lost track of many of the money donations we received in your honor.
Today we got a card from Justin Kempner; remember him from All Yall’s? I used to worry about him and his drinking. Now, here we are; he’s made it to today and you haven’t.
Patrick misses you so much. He said, in all the grief and commotion, he forgot about the simple fact that he misses hanging out with you.
I don’t think I can ever describe how really deep down sad I am. I may act normal and satisfied, and I guess on some level I am, but the truth is I am broken beyond repair.
I can’t draw like you can.
-Mama
Sunday, 7:30 a.m., 7/23/06
Dear sweet Hen-Ben,
The past couple of days I’ve been feeling sad and discouraged. Tears came easily, as usual, but I’ve also had no energy. Depressed, I guess. They call it “situational depression.” But today I’m determined to be better. We have church, then Jamie’s birthday. We got him a used Gameboy and a couple of Mario games. He had been looking forward to your gift, because Uncle Henry always gives him something truly exciting. There will be lots of relatives there, and it will be hot – 98 degrees, they say. You will be there in our hearts.
Pack made me a copy of that Ween CD he said you liked. It’s sad, especially track 11. My already broken heart shatters when I listen to that song with your ears.
I put some pictures of Courtney and Isaac playing in the water out at the shop. People like looking at them. Every day I have to put out more copies of your dad’s prayer, because people want to have one of their own.
Henry, I have been on that cliff with you many times. I have made the decision with you to fall off. I’ve felt the rushing wind, seen the rocks rise up to meet us, felt the terrible impact. Over and over.
Let me tell you what else I’ve done over and over. I have thrown out all your damnable pills. I have taken you in my arms. I have cradled your sweet head, flapped your precious ears, kissed your hair, wiped your tears. I’ve promised you everything will be all right. We will work it out together. I’ve told you, you’re not alone in this. We love you, we love you, we love you. You are a man of integrity, because it is your heart’s desire to be one. We will help each other with this integrity thing. Henry, my beloved boy, I comfort you continually.
I’ve been thinking about Saul. He lied to me, Henry. He and Patrick went to the cliff. He told me he didn’t climb out onto that ledge, that dangerous spot from which you fell. But Patrick told me he did, that Patrick screamed at him not to, but Saul did it anyway. I know Saul lied to “protect” me, but Henry, I can’t bear it. I am scared to have anything but clear truth between my children and I. I may not like the truth, but oh my God, it is so much preferable to lies. I have to talk to Saul about this. He always was the one I worried most about, at least until a couple of years ago. Then it was you.
We all have promised each other solemnly that we will never, ever take our own lives. We have known the grief that results.
I know, darling, I know, you would not have done it either, even though you wanted to sometimes. You would not have done it if not for those pills. What they gave you was not courage. It was blindness.
Mama Pajama
Tues., 7/25 8:45 pm
Dear Henry,
Sunday wasn’t so good after all. Neither was yesterday. And today was awful. Jamie’s party was nice – he was totally excited about the $15 used Gameboy we gave him. And he loved the Sponge Bob boat thing that Isaac picked out for him. But after we got home I just felt awful. It was like a dark cloud that just settles over the whole world. Your dad and I didn’t really fight but we were tense. This continued on Monday. I couldn’t even smile at customers without an effort. I went to your grave in the afternoon and cried a bucket. I planted some more flowers. I lay on the ground next to you. When I got home I just sat around, watched stupid TV and went to bed early. This morning I went to my workout, still feeling dark. I had Michelle work for me, so I didn’t have to go back to work, but I went for coffee and to say Hi to Pack. Then your dad and I got into a terrible fight. It was so meaningless and it left us both feeling so hopeless, lost and beat up. We felt like quitting the world.
But gradually we got it together. We came home and tried to salvage our day. I mailed your photo CD’s to Paula. She wants them for when she tells Tyler about you next week. I got an oil change. I shopped for Isaac and Phin’s birthdays. So far, I have a Hot Wheels coloring book and another book that comes with chalk and has chalkboard areas in it. A Learn to Write book. I was impressed by the way Isaac wrote “Daddy” and “Isaac” on your Father’s Day card. Did you see it? I wish I knew.
I’ve had only one dream (that I remember) that I think was about you. It was a couple of weeks after you died. I swam or flew somehow way out to the edge of nowhere. The sounds of the earth faded into the distance behind me. It was completely silent, completely gray and empty. I waited, looked, listened. Nothing. It felt like I was in a place where I didn’t belong. Remember that feeling? Like when you’re in an off-limits area, all alone? Suddenly I felt myself being pulled back, sucked under water, tossed about. I could see the clear water about me and the clear surface rippling far overhead. I saw the screen curtain of our apartment door, so I swam through it and popped to the surface. Then I woke up.
I think I was looking for you, Hen-Ben. Looking for #3, my skinny son Henry.
I love you,
Mama
Friday 10:30 pm 7-28-06
Henry,
Today I coped pretty well. I started telling Patrick, Amanda and Michelle about a bizarre Japanese toilet training cartoon, and I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. Tears rolling down my face, unable to speak. It felt really good. I haven’t had a good belly laugh for a long time.
Sometimes your image floats into my inner eye, and I gasp in my heart. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. It still isn’t real. Then it’s too real.
After coping well at work, on the way home in the car I cried hard. It just hits. I feel my lip go out, my face feels like it’s breaking apart. Audible groaning. I try to keep it together so I don’t have a wreck. This is a pretty common experience in the car, especially when I listen to your memorial service music. I listen to it often. Why do I do that when I know it hurts me so much? I need to for some reason.
Here’s a deep worry I have: your dad’s heart. I didn’t go to my workout today because he was stressed out, and he told me he’d had serious chest pains and had taken a nitro tablet. It helped. See, that’s scary. He’s taken them before and not noticed any difference, but this time it worked. I asked him tonight if he wants to go to the doctor about all this. He says he can’t face the angioplasty or bypass thing, at least not right now. He says he’s not afraid to die, but he is afraid of a lot of hospital time. He said his main concern is being here for us. Life seems tenuous right now, really day-to-day. The ground is not solid. Tomorrow anything could happen.
I deposited the cash that people donated to the Henry fund today. It came to $954. We’ll offer it to the glass studio guys; if they insist on doing your grave marker for free, we’ll either give it to Sonrise or put it in Isaac’s trust. Maybe divide it between them. After the donations at church, Courtney’s finances are in pretty good shape and Isaac has a good start towards his education. People are so generous.
Here’s something I’m trying to remember: what’s happened to us is terrible, but compared to what many other people go through …. we’ve had a few layers peeled away, down to a new level of reality, but so many people are trying to survive extreme poverty, genocide, etc. Their layers are peeled to the bone, and then the bone breaks.
Tomorrow I don’t have to be at work till 8, but it’s after 11 now. Should get to bed. We have Isaac overnight tomorrow! He’ll be tired, and so will Myra. She’s spending 8 hours outside with him and Sophie and James while Courtney plays in her tournament. That’s a lot of softball, a lot of outdoor time. I’ll let you know all about our time together. He’s a wonderful boy. Just like his daddy.
Hugs, Mama Pajama
7-30-06 Sun 9:15 PM
Henry,
I have been mad at you since Sat. afternoon. Saul showed me your MySpace page. It made me mad at you. It hurts to be mad at you. Finally this evening your pop drew me out and got me to talk about it. He always knows when something’s bothering me. Maybe I’m transparent? Is that an understatement?! Anyway, Bede made me feel better. I’m not mad at you now. But I’m too drained to write about it tonight. I’ll tell you more later. Only this I’ll tell you now: I dreamed that you came back; you said it was all a hoax, a joke. My relief that you were alive lasted only a fraction of a second. Then I was furious. I was so mad, it made me wonder if I would have preferred that you were dead.
That felt horrible. Just horrible.
Isaac was fine. He’s healthy and sweet, a little disobedient, a little stubborn, but we did alright. We were all of us tired. We read books, made paper airplanes, played at the playground, played a little video games. All he ate was a roll with peanut butter, an orange, a banana, and a glass of soy milk from 5 pm Sat. to 1 pm Sun. He went to children’s worship with the big kids today – did just fine.
He loves to read Zipperumpazoo. It’s the same copy you read when you were little.
I’m tired, honey. I do love you.
Goodnight,
Mama
Aug. 1st, 2006 9:30 pm Tues.
Hi Sweetheart,
If this was a letter to the Human Man Henry, I might say, “how are you?” I suppose, since I believe you do live on in some real way, that is a meaningful question. But you remember how we humans are. We deal with what we got. So I’ll skip the question.
Today I talked to Patrick about how important it is to me that the kids be truthful with us. He assures me that he is always truthful now, that he understands how vital it is. He told me that you told him that you didn’t sleep with that girl…was it Becky? I believe him, and you. Somehow it makes me feel better to know that. Not sure why. I know you and Courtney weren’t getting back together. And it’s not like that would be a heavier sin than many others. But I can’t help but think that it would have weighed heavily on you. But really, I’m talking nonsense. You had burdens enough that you took your own life. Can’t get much heavier than that.
Here’s what was bothering me the other day: I became frightened that you might not go to heaven. And if you weren’t in heaven, how could I bear to be there? I was upset about your MySpace page – it reminded me that you were a real person, complicated, sinful as well as my sweet loving son.
Your dad helped me. He reminded me of the verses in Romans about “doing what I don’t want to do.” He reminded me of your very sincere desire to conquer your demons, to be a man of integrity. He reminded me of your sincere professions of faith at LIFE group and with us privately. Who of us can claim more? “There is now no condemnation.” Jeff repeated that 3 times at your memorial. Did you hear? We cried together, your dad and I, and I felt better.
He is so dear to me. Much more dear than I ever realized. That’s one outcome of your terrible choice that is good. I am so much more alive to what I have with Jim, Myra, Patrick, Saul, Sophie, James, Isaac and Phin. Thomas and Courtney, too. Neecie we are not so close to, and I suppose that won’t change. But this is a precious family. The one given to me to care for.
I have prayed only a little. I don’t seem to have much to say. I ask God to please take care of you. I ask Him to somehow let me know if you are happy now. What a comfort it would be to me if I could know that! Perhaps I never will, but will have to learn to take it on faith.
I want to get back to being close with God.
Your smile – how I miss it. Few people could melt my heart just by smiling at me, but you could, Henry. I was wrapped around your little finger the whole time, right to the end, right to the bottom of the cliff.
Hugs,
Lady Mama
Thurs., Aug 3, 2006 8:30 pm
Dear Hen Ben-a-Rooney,
We have so many silly names for you. Endearments for a dear boy.
Speaking of dear, I have a joke for you. What do you call a deer with no eyes?
No-eye-deer.
I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a few days. I can hear you laughing. You probably would have told that joke at work. Speaking of work, I bet they miss the way you used to bring them a bunch of coffee cake once in a while. No Henry, no cake. Life is tough, boys.
I kind of have an attitude tonight, don’t I? Not sure why. My stomach hurts, for one thing. I had a real melt-down today too, in the car on the way home from the cemetery. Dear God it hurts, Henry. I never knew. I never knew what people go through.
I don’t know if I had a premonition of all this or what, but for a couple of months I kept thinking, something bad is going to happen. I thought I was ready for it, though. I thought, I’m strong, I can get through it. Of course, I never thought I’d lose one of my children. Jim would get sick, the shop would fail, that kind of thing. Or there’d be some kind of disaster. Bring it on! These experiences peel off the petty veneer, bring people together!
What an idiot I was.
A customer had a cute little boxer named Bella today. Oh, Henry, she was so cute. You would have been all over her. She made me cry because she reminded me of happier times with Penny.
Yesterday Goat brought us a gift: she took your memorial service folder and mounted it in an acrylic box with black backing. It sits on a little easel by the clock at the shop. That was perfect timing, because someone took the last one, and I’m almost out. Every day I have to put out more copies of your dad’s prayer. So many people want a copy of their own.
Today is Isaac’s birthday. I left him a message on the phone. His party will be on Sunday at Papa’s Pizza.
I am like Rachel, weeping for my child, and I cannot, will not be comforted.
Henry. I like to write your name.
I love you Henry. Henry. Henry.
Mama Pajama
P.S. I am not strong. I am weak.
Mon, 8/7/06 8:45 pm
Dear Hen-Ben,
I’ve been on the internet a long time tonight reading about Prozac and other related drugs. I am so sure that you would still be here if it weren’t for those meds. So sure. Oh, Sweetheart, how could I have been so careless with you? With you, my irreplaceable Henry. I’m just a bunbling, fumbling well-meaning goofus of a human being.
Isaac’s party was good. He made a big haul. Courtney got him a sweet bike. We sat across from your old CFO buddy Jeremy and his wife. They are a sweet couple.
Today I did pretty well. I looked down into the black pit a couple of times, but I never crawled in.
Your father, however, tells me he cried hard for you at 4 o’clock this morning. He mostly, but not always, cries when only when he’s alone.
A customer gave us a book about Heaven. Your pop says it’s really good so far. I think I’ll read a little of it before I go to bed.
Hen-Ben, I think I am permanently broken-hearted. Somehow, I don’t feel the need to resist that or change it. It’s the New Me.
Kisses and hogs, Mama
P.S. Your dad’s scone sign on Friday: “Loved ones are irreplaceable. Scones aren’t. So kiss your honey and have a scone.”
Thurs. 9 pm 8-16-06
Punkin,
I’m too tired to write much tonight, but I just needed to say hello to you and to tell you that I love you. Precious, boy, I keep seeing the bottoms of your shoes as you fall off that mountain. I can’t seem to erase that terrifying image from my mind. I am besieged by sadness and obsessed with questions about life after death, heaven and hell. (Father, we need your mercy.)
In my mind you are getting younger.
Your loving Mama Pajama
Sunday, 8:15 pm 8/13/06
Darling,
We visited the Lebanon folks today. It’s the first time we’ve seen them since your memorial. Your Aunt Julie is so broken up. You know, she always wears her heart on her sleeve, and she loves you dearly. Adam looked a little better than he did on June 14th. He has searched out clothes at thrift stores that remind him of you. I’m going to give him your jeans, shoes, and some of your shirts. He is skinny enough to wear them. We didn’t see Casey. Julie said he got a good job in Salem, and he’s back together with his old love… is it Jamie? Anyway, I pray things are looking up for him. Joe and Melissa came over with their new daughter Hayley. She was born June 15th, the day after your memorial service. Her middle name is Abram.
It was a good visit. We cried and talked about you. Grandad told about his war experiences liberating the death camp. I didn’t want to leave. We are planning to get together Labor Day weekend. I’m going to bring a lot of photos of you to Julie – she wants to make a memory book.
The other big news is Amanda and Joel’s wedding yesterday. It was so sweet, Henry. You would have loved it. It was so focused on Christ. Of course, I cried. I always cry at weddings, even before my precious Henry jumped off a cliff. Now, any act of kindness or expression of deep emotion makes me cry.
Remember Glenn and Ruth Redmond from NEC? Your father recommended Glenn for the job of LIFE group minister at SW, and according to Bob Israel, he’s one of the 3 finalists! Wouldn’t it be great if Glenn and Ruth came to SW? Somehow, to have that connection with these folks who shared our NEC experiences is very attractive and hopeful for me.
Stan has not called or written since we told him about your death. I guess he doesn’t know what to say. I can understand. I don’t know what to say.
Hen-Ben, how could you be gone? Come back! This heartache is bigger than I am. Sometimes I think it will swallow me up.
-Mama
Thursday, Aug 17, 2006
Sweetheart,
Today is my holiday – I don’t have to go in until 11 or so. I’ve been working a lot of hours and it’s beginning to get to me. Yesterday I truly thought I was going to lose it. My eye has had a twitch for days. I wanted to scream at people. Stop coming in! Stop asking me if a soviet mocha is any good! Can’t you see I’m crazy with grief?! But I just smile and do what I’m supposed to do.
On Tuesday Courtney brought me your “kid box.” She and Isaac hung out for a while. She’s having a real hard time, honey. Maybe you thought your leaving wouldn’t bother her. After all, she’d already chosen to live without you. She said she didn’t love you anymore. So, you thought (I’m guessing) what’s the difference? Well, she had a breakdown at work last week. Now she’s on leave until the end of September if she needs it. She’s increased her counseling appointments to twice a week. Isaac is going to start at the Dougy Center soon.
Courtney has really been dreading today – your anniversary. It would have been 5 years. If you were alive today, what would you have done? It would have been a sad day either way. I was thinking about sending her flowers myself, but she’s gone camping with her parents.
There are so many little things I miss sharing with you. Work has been so busy this month – I miss telling you about work. I sometimes wonder how long I can keep doing it. I get so tired and stressed out.
Darling, I know you had no idea how devastating this would be for all of us. You weren’t thinking clearly. I’m sure you thought you were doing the right thing. “They’ll be better off without me in the long run.” Or maybe you weren’t thinking about us. You just couldn’t figure out how to solve your problems, and the Prozac confused you into thinking you should throw yourself away. That’s what you did. Incredible. Unbelievable.
When I looked through your box I felt so many things. I regretted so much that I was working long hours all those years and so I didn’t spend enough time with you – with all of you. Each one of you kids should have been an excellent student and gone on to college. Maybe if I’d been more involved in your schooling all the way along you would have been successful. If you’d been successful in school, maybe you would not have wasted so much time with pot and stuff. You would have felt better about yourself.
Remember the plate you painted in kindergarten? I found it in your box. I can’t believe you did that when you were 5 years old. God gave you such talent. And you were so sweet and good-hearted.
I wish you were sitting here beside me. You would give me that little smile. You would put your arm around me and pat me on the head. You would say, “I love you Lady Mama.”
This is all too hard. Lord help me.
-your Mama
Sunday, 8:45 am, 8/20/06
Dear Hen-Ben,
Last night I tried an experiment. I imagined a fantasy of what might have happened. You went to the doctor who got you healthy again, helped you get free of your oxycontin dependence. You and Courtney went to counseling and got back together. You got that salesman job that seemed to be dangling out there in May. And you went back to school. It was a good fantasy, completely plausible. But it didn’t fool me. I didn’t enjoy if because I know it wasn’t true.
Remember “Grumpy”? Otherwise known as Josh? He didn’t find out about your death until last week. He came in yesterday and I was able to give him some of the details. He’s happily married now. “Mr. and Mrs. Grumpy” we joked with him.
Also Ben came in yesterday. It’s the first I’ve seen him since the memorial. He and Patrick were going to hang out together last night. Ben said they’ll find out the sex of their baby in a few days. Also he quit smoking 2 months ago. Must have been around the time of your death.
I bought some scrapbooks so I can start organizing all the cards we received as well as all your artwork and things. When I get home from work each night I think about starting that project, but I have avoided it so far. Seems like I’m tired and I just want to escape into some mindless TV. Our apartment is a disaster right now. It’s hard to get motivated. Amanda will be back at the end of next week, so soon I won’t have to work such long hours. Maybe then I will get some things done.
Saul came to see us a couple of evenings ago. I had emailed him that we miss him. He never goes to church anymore, so we don’t meet up. Myra delivers biscuits twice a week, and of course we see Pack every day, but Saul is MIA. So, he dropped by after work on Thursday. Your dad had an opportunity to give his perspective on how important it is to him/us that Saul not give up going to church. That was good. Saul listened. However, today he and Rebecca are going to Wild Waves, so I guess there’s no immediate change of plans….oh well, the good thing is we had our opportunity to, tenderly and lovingly, I trust, tell our feelings to Saul.
Courtney tells me all the plants at your grave are toast. I figured as much. It’s been so hot and dry, and I haven’t been out there for a week or so. Maybe when fall is truly here and rain is back we’ll get that lilac tree and bulbs Meg was talking about.
I’ve been having such a hard time lately. The whole world seemed dark and hopeless. Then, I was telling Jim, I had this moment at work that felt golden. I was happy. Remember how good it feels to get well after you’ve been really sick? It was like that. Jim said, Henry would want you to be happy. I reckon so. In some ways, it seems wrong to be happy. How could I? But maybe, in spite of myself, I will be.
Precious child, in my heart there is a hole that can never be filled.
I love you, I miss you,
Lonely Lady Mama
Sun 9:15 pm 8/20/06
Dear Sweetheart,
I must have been motivated somehow, because I spent several hours this afternoon and evening arranging cards in a scrapbook. I got through most of the ones from people at SW before I ran out of the paper inserts to mount them on. Tomorrow I’ll get more inserts. I really enjoy working on this project. It’s something to do that is about you. That’s what I need right now. When I get the card books done, I’ll start on one for your art. Then I need to do the memory book about your life. There is plenty to keep me busy. Meanwhile the apartment is still a mess. I did get some laundry done and my hair cut.
Packy was at church, and Myra and the kids. Thomas had to work and I think Courtney was still camping.
Jeff said in his sermon today that Jesus loves our children even more than we do. That made me cry. Are you in His arms? Is it true?
Sometimes I love you so much and think about you so much that I feel guilty. What about Saul and Myra and Patrick? Don’t I love them as much? They might say, What are we, chopped livah? You are gone now. I can’t help you anymore. I had my chance. It’s over. Myra, Saul and Patrick are still here, still alive and kicking. So I must love them with a renewed fierceness.
But you, I must cherish you forever, Henry. You are gone but never forgotten.
Your dad and I love this picture because you look so relaxed and happy. Maybe you were on one of your car trips with Courtney and Isaac – I don’t know, but it is great. What a beautiful boy.
Mama
Wed Aug 23/06 8:30 pm
Dear Henry,
It’s been a little tough lately. Your dad was crying in his sleep last night. He had a bad dream about you. You were alive, but kind of flat and you kept almost falling down. You couldn’t talk. He said you seemed confused. And he said it felt eerie, like you had really been there. On the other hand, Patrick had a good dream about you. You came to his apartment dressed in your blue birthday shirt, the one we buried you in. You were happy, but you were surprised that Patrick was so emotional about seeing you. You said you did jump off the cliff, but that it “didn’t work.” You said you’d been in the hospital. Then you two talked about your last hours. You told him you listened to the last song on your Ween album at the end. “If I could save myself I could save the world.” You and Pack spent a long time together playing computer games and just hanging out. Patrick woke up feeling comforted. He doesn’t know if it was just a dream or if it was really you. But he felt better And he listened to that song, one he hadn’t noticed much before. He says it fits.
Could it be that you are in an “intermediate heaven” and that you are not yet really aware of what happened? I long to know whether you are well and happy. So far, though, I am in the dark.
Courtney called tonight. We’re having Isaac this weekend. She told me she’s still dealing with some of the financial loose ends you left behind. You really left her in a mess, honey. When she tells me about these things I feel all those old emotions I had when you were alive and she told me about what was going on: defensive, ashamed, embarrassed. It’s like I did these things myself. I hope Courtney can forgive you. And I hope she can forgive herself. Aagh, there is so much pain in our world.
Hen-Ben, you just had some problems like anyone else. You were a young guy with a lot of things to work out. I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you more. I’m so sorry. I miss you so much. I treasure that night that you were finally honest with us, the night you came back with such resolve to change your life, to make things right. I treasure it, but it’s bittersweet, because it sealed your fate, since one of the resolutions was to see a doctor about your depression. He handed you Prozac. You had 3 weeks to live.
God help me. I am broken.
-Mother
Thurs 9 pm 8/24/06
Henry,
It feels like if I can cry long enough and hard enough I can bring you back. But at the end of it, everything is the same.
We’re supposed to make decisions about the LIFE group kick-off meeting: what date, whose house, etc. We’re having trouble making these simple decisions. I don’t want to host a LIFE group this year. I can’t get our apartment clean for weeks on end. I hope your dad will get out of it.
Michelle’s grandma died yesterday. Michelle was upset so I sent her home at 2:30 and closed the store by myself. Her grandma was 86. That’s a lot different than 26. 60 years different. I suppose to God that’s nothing, but to us mortals it’s a big deal.
I’m sorry. I seem to be in a lousy mood tonight. It’s just that it hurts so very much.
-Mama
P.S. A fellow on TV whose teenage daughter died said this: “You can live with a broken heart, but it sure is tough.”
Sunday, 8:45 pm 8/27/06
Dear Sweetheart,
Today was special. Everyone came over for dinner after church. We celebrated Phin’s birthday (she was in Utah the past couple of weeks) and ate your dad’s pot roast, mashed potatoes, creamed corn and salad. Myra made her stellar chocolate cake. We had Isaac overnight: Courtney was in the Dalles attending her friend Amanda’s wedding. She didn’t get here until 3:00 or so. She looked so beautiful, honey. I kept thinking, if only….she has lost a lot of weight, too much, but she really is so pretty. We all enjoyed ourselves. There were tears but we are holding each other up the best we know how. Courtney stayed a while and ate some food and talked with me while Isaac played outside with Phin, Saul and Rebecca.
I have so much love for my family. I have so much love for you…it is….I don’t know what to call it….Hen-Ben, I have a broken heart that is full of love.
Isaac helped me cook breakfast this morning. We had scrambled eggs, bacon, cheese bagels, tomatoes and kiwi. He ate a good amount. He said he wants to be strong like his daddy.
When he saw your picture on my computer desktop, you should have seen his face light up. “My daddy!”
Next week we’ll be going to Lebanon, and the week after I think Saul and Rebecca are going to take me rafting on the Clackamas. You would be so down for that, wouldn’t you? I hope I can convince Patrick and you dad to come too, maybe even Myra.
Dad and Saul had a really good visit today. Dad urged Saul to get a check-up, to take care of himself. And he talked a lot about his dad and about his worries over Adam and Casey. Of course, all of us talked about you. You are always on our minds. You are always on our minds.
Love, hugs, tears, prayers,
Mama Pajama
Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2006 7:45 pm
Henry, come back! This is ridiculous. I’m flabbergasted that you are not here. Come on, this is just dumb. You can’t be gone. Not forever. NO.
I had a day off today and I spent most of it putting together the scrapbooks of all the cards we’ve received. I finished the job – 2 full books. Maybe someday Isaac will want to look at them.
Today I feel kind of wooden. I’m riding along on automatic.
Where are you? You have to be around, somewhere close by. I miss you.
-Mom
8/31/06 Thurs 8:15 pm
Dear Hen-Ben,
This has been a really hard night. Something on TV made me cry while we were eating dinner. My crying made your dad feel bad. He’s lonely for me, in a way, and he feels helpless to make me feel better. I don’t know what to tell him. I’m tired, and sad. On the way home from work today I thought how weirdly satisfying it would be if some car hit mine and smashed me flat. It feels like it would even things out if I could be smashed too. I know it isn’t so, and I would never really wish for that. I would never tell anyone about this but you. It’s just a weird emotion I have sometimes.
When I pray I don’t know what to say to God. I ask him to please take care of you, to love you. I tell him that if he doesn’t love you then I don’t know if I can go on living. But how will I know? I have to trust that God loves you. Then I get to a point where I have no words. I know God won’t bring you back. “Help me?!” Help me what? I have no words. Just hear me, God, that I am so sad. There is no depth, no bottom to how sad I am.
Sorry to be such a downer. What a bummer. Ha ha. I think I’ll go to bed now.
-Ma
9-1-06 Fri 8:30 pm
Henry, I love you. I just wanted to tell you that. I had a better day today – less focused on my grief for you. I’m focusing on Patrick and his drinking. It’s worse since you died.
On the prayer chain today came news of another suicide. Last night a young man named Tim Luper killed himself. He was 39. His parents go to SW. Heartbreak.
Dad and I played Scrabble this afternoon. I’m trying to be less the Grieving Mother and more the Attentive Wife.
Kisses, hugs and love to you my dear sweet Hen Ben,
Mama Pajama
Sun, Sept 3rd, 10 pm
Dear BenBridge,
Right now I’m doing your laundry. Your socks and underwear are in the dryer and your towels are in the washer. Tomorrow we’re going to Lebanon for Labor Day and I’m going to give Adam some of your clothes. I’m keeping some of your t-shirts and a cap, and I’m not washing those. Adam is getting your jeans, a CFO shirt, socks and underwear and your shoes. We’re also taking a bunch of photos, your dad’s prayer, and a couple copies of your memorial CD.
Since we’ll all be together I hope we can talk about your headstone. What should it be like, Hen-Ben? What should it say? In the first weeks after you died, I think we wanted it to be like a sculpture or a shrine – something really unique. But now your dad and I are wanting it to be more simple and dignified.
Maybe it should have that scripture about wiping away every tear. That’s what I hope and pray is happening for you.
Last night I spent hours cleaning the carpet. I remembered how stoked you were when I got that Dirt Devil. Right away you asked if you could borrow it sometime. I don’t think you ever did, though.
There is such a narrow, skinny little band of “normal life” where I exist. Underneath is this huge grief, and it doesn’t take much to fall into it. I know I’ve told you that many times. Sorry. If you don’t like it you should have stuck around.
At church during communion I wrote your name in my Bible on the “deaths” page. Does it mean something that I couldn’t do that until today?
If I ever act happy, you know I still love you and still miss you, right? I’m trying to cope the best way I can, but I feel crazy sometimes.
Last night I dreamed I yelled at Stan because he hasn’t called or written, hasn’t talked to your dad since you died. I also dreamed I was singing “Precious Child” into a microphone. It had something to do with Belle Voci. Rehearsals start again a week from Monday. I’m looking forward to it, but I cry so easily from music – it might be hard at first.
Doug hasn’t talked to your dad either. And I haven’t heard from my Uncle Lloyd. I guess some people just don’t know what to say, so they don’t say anything at all.
LIFE group is going to start again in a couple of weeks. I think I’m going to be ready. It looks like we’re going to go ahead and host it again here. Maybe we’ll change it to Wed night so Saul can come. I so wish he and Patrick would.
I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, HenBen-a-Rooney.
-Mama
Wednesday, 9 a.m., 9/6/06
Dear Henry,
This is a weird situation. I am at home at 9 in the morning. I guess the last time anything like this happened was June 7th. Remember? You called me to tell me I didn’t need to come in until 9 a.m. because you were there, and you didn’t need to be at CFO until 9:30. I was so happy! A morning free! Three hours to do nothing but read! I said, thank you so much! I love you!! I have not been that happy again. That was Wednesday too. Your last day.
There is so much to tell you. Too much. My heart is too full.
Joe and Melissa hosted the picnic on Monday. They have a nice place and seem to be doing better. It was a good visit. I gave Adam your clothes and shoes. But things were tense between Jim and I. Miscommunication, frustration, etc. This added to my already building feelings of loneliness and hopelessness. Then I went to bed and my brain seemed to spiral out of control. I couldn’t escape the horror of what you did.
Wanting to die. It doesn’t have anything to do with how much other people love you.
Yesterday we tried to do some good things. We put Boyd on the payroll. I gave blood. I got to come home early and your dad and I were kind to each other.
Today I got up at 6:30, made coffee and toast and watched a movie called “Amelie.” Soon Jim will be home. I don’t have to leave for work until 12. I might leave early so I can stop at Target – Saul says they have inner tubes.
Dad is mad at you. He doesn’t want to honor you in a way that romances the way you died. He loves you and he weeps for you at 4 in the mornings.
Myra and Thomas are going to have another baby after she gets her teeth fixed.
Love, Mama
Tues. 9/7/06 8:15 a.m.
My dear, sweet Hen-Ben,
I’ve found a little relief from the dark time that has buried me. Last night your dad came back out after he’d gone to bed. He asked me if I was lonely. That broke the dam. I told him I’d been feeling ashamed for being sad; I thought he wanted me to “buck up,” and I want to be strong for his sake and for Saul, Myra and Patrick. But that made me feel so lonely, so sad with no one to talk to about it. I cried hard. Your dad is good to me. He keeps telling me he’s my companion, the one I can turn to. And I can grieve for you as long as I need to.
I need to for a long time. This is truly horrible, Henry. But at least today I didn’t feel like I wanted to die.
And your dad made a rockin’ good pizza today. You would have scarfed it down, none left for the troops at work.
Goodnight, Sweetheart
-Mama Pajama
Monday, 9/11/06 10 p.m.
Dear Hen-Ben,
I just got home from the first Belle Voci rehearsal of the season. It was nice to be there. I got through the “how are you doing” questions. I appreciate people asking, but I struggle with how to answer. “I’m OK” or “I’m alright, getting by…” That’s what I usually say. I’m thinking, my world has crashed to bits along with my heart. Except today, it wasn’t. I was pretty good today. And that’s my problem.
If I’m having a good day, it means I have not thought about you. And if I don’t think about you, I’m scared I’ll forget about you, and that you will cease to matter to me. I can’t let that happen. I have to hang on to you tightly to keep you from slipping away. At least, that’s how I feel right now.
Yesterday I went on the “booze cruise” with Saul, Rabecca, Patrick and Tessa. It was fun, even though I felt out of place as the only geezer, and the mother to boot. I enjoyed myself, lost myself in the afternoon, just let the water pull me along. Once again, I didn’t think about you, at least part of the time. I hope one day your dad will do the river trip with me.
Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of Carryl Norton’s death. I saw her mom at church. We gave each other a hug and shared tears.
Your sister is enduring horrific pain from her wisdom teeth. I feel bad for her. Why can’t a mother take away her children’s pain? Tomorrow afternoon I’m watching Sophie and James so she can finally go to the dentist.
Darling, never forget how much I love you and miss you. You. Henry. Hankus Pankus. The boy with the winning smile.
-Mama
Wednesday, 9/13/06 9 pm
Dear Henry,
This afternoon we went to Tim Luper's funeral. Same room as yours, not nearly as many people there. Tim lived in Grants Pass, so not many people here knew him. I don't know how he killed himself. I don't think he had any children. Very very sad.
Patrick had a tough day today. He and your dad disagree about the degree of responsibility you bear for taking your own life. Patrick is adamant that you bear zero blame. Jim thinks you bear some; in fact, he thinks you have ultimate responsibility for your actions. He thinks the Prozac just made it easier. This really upsets Patrick. He told me that he knew you in a way that no one else did, that you reserved a core of yourself to reveal to him only. That may be. I guess my feeling is that each of us is known by others in unique ways. No one knows us completely, no one person can. And I'm not sure about how much responsibility you bear. I do believe you would still be here if not for the Prozac. But I'm not sure. You chose to take way too much. You chose not to seek help. But then, maybe you chose that because of the effects on your brain. I don't know. I only pray that Patrick will sleep tonight. I pray that he will stop drinking.
Myra made it to the dentist yesterday. Poor girl, she was in tears when she came back from the appointment. She'll have them out next Wednesday - two infected, impacted wisdom teeth. Remember when you had yours out? You were so miserable and freaked out by all the blood. Oh my God, I love you so much, Henry.
The thing that hurts Patrick the most is that Jim thinks you "resigned from the family." How could he do that? Jim cries. Patrick says no, he didn't, he never would.
It's very painful. It's true that we have taken your pain onto ourselves. Into ourselves. I just hope and pray you have it no longer.
Kisses and hugs. I wish.
Remember I told you that you never had to worry about having a place to stay and enough to eat, because so many people love you. You said, sometimes a man needs more than that. I was perplexed that I was unable to comfort you.
For you - kisses and hugs, food and a place to sleep, and all the love in the world,
-Mama Pajama
Sunday, 9/17/06 8:15 pm
Dear Henry,
When I woke up this morning my mind was consumed with the idea of making a scrapbook of your artwork. I lay there, planning it all out in my head. Then your dad came in at 6:30 and said, "Happy Birthday!" I completely forgot it was my birthday. I don't think that's ever happened before.
We got out of the house by 7:30 and began our day trip, driving the "fruit loop" out by Hood River. Remember when we used to take those drives out to apple country? I wonder if you were bored. Well, today we started by eating breakfast at Cadillac Cafe. Not boring.
Since we got such an early start, we were too early for some of the stands to be open. But it was a pretty day and we managed to come home with some good things: besides apples, peaches, pears and plums, we got some other neat things - pear brandy, cornflower blue alpaca yarn, and three really cool scrapbooks. I'm going to make Saul, Myra and Pack each a Henry book. This will keep me busy for hours and I think the kids will really like them.
Jim emailed Stan and got a reply. They had a couple of good exchanges. I sent Stan your dad's prayer and a couple of photos. This is good. I hope, for your dad's sake, it will continue.
Issac went to his first Dougy Center session. Sounds like he really liked it - Courtney said he talked much more openly about you than he has been. I'm sure it helps him to be around other kids who are going through losing a parent. Courtney is going twice a week to her counselor. She's finally getting some sleep and she's up to two meals a day. I don't know how much weight she lost, but it's a lot. She's been going to church with her parents - we haven't seen her much. I think it's hard for her to go to SW.
Here's some news: Coffee People sold all its leases, including Diedrich stores, to Starbucks! Can you believe it? All the CP stores will become SBux. We're getting some publicity from it: your dad did great interviews at Jim and Patty's with channels 2 and 6, and Tuesday he'll have an interview with the Oregonian. Saturday we blew our sales record out of the water (the one we set a week or so before you died, remember?) It was rad. I kept thinking how excited you would be about it all.
Meg said Steve is doing better. He's up to 127 pounds. The doctor thinks if he keeps improving he might be able to get off oxygen in 12-18 months. I'm amazed. I really thought his outlook was bad.
I haven't heard from Dave at all since your memorial. He sure worries me. I hope he'll be at Meg's Saturday night for the September birthday party.
After the party we get to bring Isaac home to spend the night. Then Sunday everyone is coming over for a beans & cornbread southern dinner. Yes, we'll make your green beans too. Sunday dinner with the family at Mom and Dad's! - how you liked that!
Have I told you everything that's been going on? I don't want you to miss out. Oh, I wish I knew what it's like for you now.
Did you know the Crocodile Hunter was killed? Sting ray got Steve Irwin in the heart. Very sad. Now I especially treasure the croc hunter doll you and Courtney gave me. He has 2 little kids who no longer have their daddy.
Jim is having a hard time because, as he sees it, his mission in life is to make me happy. But he can do nothing to make me happy. Not deep down care-free jolly happy. Of course, it's not his fault.
He does more than make me happy. He keeps me going.
I wish I could draw a hug. A hug for you.
Love, Mommy
P.S. In one week I'll be as old as my mom ever got. 55 years plus one week.
Monday, 9/1/06 10:30 pm
Dear Henry,
I'm home from Belle Voci practice. I thought of you all day. I think I'm never not thinking about you. But I don't think I cried today.
Michelle gave her two weeks. She inheirited money from her grandma. Sigh. Just when I had her trained and ready to be in charge of the close. She's full time, too. Michael is nowhere near competent yet, and Amanda has dropped back to very part time because of nursing school. Sure could use your help right now. You sure knew how to make a beautiful latte, Hen-Ben. What a pro.
Your pop is way invigorated by the Death of Coffee People. That is good. I should work on my creaky old prayer life, get it in gear for your dad to make a go of things one more time.
I'm so lonely for you. Duh. Broken record. Broken me.
-Ma
Wednesday, 9/20/06 9 pm
Dear BenBridge,
I have to say, I feel happy right now. I went to the LIFE-group combo-pot luck at the bewding, and it was fun. It was nice to just hang out and chat with people. Your dad didn't go because his back is out. Pack wasn't there, Saul wasn't there, Courtney wasn't there, Myra wasn't there, you weren't there, but I didn't let any of that get me down. Myra had her 2 wisdom teeth out today, but they wouldn't have come anyway. I wish all my family was more involved because I think it would be so good for each one. But then, the same can be said of me and your dad.
I got to leave work early today so I could pick up James from school and then go get Myra from the dentist's. (Your pop dropped her off at 11 for her tooth pulling activities.) I'm so glad she's done with that. After she gets over this, she'll be home free. The poor kid has put up with way too much agony.
Goat gave me a birthday present today! Freewheelin' Bob Dylan on vinyl! She and Ann are so extremely sweet. I love it.
Other news: Meg won first prize at the NW Quilters Expo! Remember, it's the quilt that hung in our store of a basket of flowers. I'm not surprised she won - it's an incredible piece.
Tomorrow I will interview and probably hire a girl named Liz from Eugene. I hope she works out alright. Understatement of the year.
The Oregonian lady, Erin Somebody, really did a thorough interview with us. Your pop told her our whole family story. They both cried over you. And today she came back and talked to customers, like Wave. A photographer took action shots. I think it'll be a good article. I hope you can see it from the Great Beyond.
Myra loaned me a big stack of books. I have yarn to knit, I have your scrapbooks to make. And I have music to practice. No need to veg out every night. I can keep my mind occupied.
New time measurement: BHD / AHD.
I Heart Henry
-Mama
Thursday, 9/21/06 9:30 pm
Hen-Ben,
Aaaagh!! I am such an idiot! I just deleted a picture of you accidentally, and it's one I don't have anywhere else. Dang. Why did I do that?? I have one tiny copy with the color all wrong. It's a good photo of you, but I was going to get a new color ink cartridge and print another with better color. Man. I'm SO bummed.
I can't really talk about anything else now. I'm too upset.
-Ma
Sunday, 9/24/06 8:30 pm
Dear Sweetheart,
Sometimes I feel like a nut writing to you. But, who knows? Maybe there's some way you receive these letters. Of course, it's silly - if you are hanging about as a spirit, you must know what's going on without my telling you. Nevertheless, I like writing to you.
I've been skating along above my heartbreak for a few days. I feel it down there every once in a while, but I haven't touched it for a while.
Last night we had our September birthday gift exchange at Meg's. It was great, but Courtney didn't show up. I was so worried. Turns out she couldn't find the house because YOU always drove there before. I felt so bad for her. She drove around with Isaac for 2 1/2 hours before she finally called. I wish she had a cell phone. We still get to have Isaac spend the night, at least. His prize was a set of fighter jets and a play mat to land them on. You would enjoy playing it with him.
Isaac ate 2 eggs, toast and cheese for dinner. And he stayed dry overnight.
I can feel the heartbreak coming closer to the surface now.. I love you, Henry. I can say that a billion times, but it doesn't fix anything. Still, I want to say it. I love you.
-Mama
Tuesday, 9/26/06, 8:30 pm
Dear Henry,
We just finished our first LIFE group since you died. Denny Cole, Dennis Norton, Patrick, and Dennis' cousin Gary were here. Your dad talked a lot about you, or rather, about how we're coping with your death. It was good. I thought Courtney and Isaac might come, but maybe it's just too hard for her.
Yesterday was a big day at work: we got rid of the graveyard of junk!! You would be so stinkin' pleased. We called 1-800-GOT JUNK (you remember those guys, regular a.m. customers, big on caramel fudge mochas) and they hauled it all away. Tomorrow we'll put a new double door fridge back there. Finally the old trash fridges will be history. Your dad realized that he can't make a lot more cakes without more refrigeration, and we think we might be busy after Thursday's paper comes out. Luckily he thought of that in time, and also luckily we have the money to buy the fridge.
I called Lincoln City Glass and left them a message. I've emailed them several times, and now today's phone call..I'm thinking they've decided they're too busy to make your headstone but they're afraid to tell us. If we don't hear from them in a couple of days then we'll have to get you a more traditional stone. Oh well.. I guess it doesn't matter, except the boys will be disappointed.
This morning when I got to the shop, Saul and Myra were there. I was so happy to see them. We all were together except you, and you are there in our hearts. Saul dropped Rabecca at the airport - her grandma or grandpa died, can't remember. Isn't that awful? I didn't even tell her how sorry I was. You'd think I would know better. I'll have to remember that when she gets back.
Paula emailed me that Sam and Tyler need prayers. She didn't have time to go into why, but she'll let me know later. Teenage boys. It's scary, the not-funny kind of scary.
I hate the picture that I create (I never saw you!) of your precious body on those rocks. My mind keeps going there. Makes me want to scream forever.
I'm glad I can still hear your voice in my mind's ear. Will I ever forget it?
Love, Mama
Wednesday, 9/27/06, 9:30 p.m.
Hi Sweetheart,
I love you. I miss you. In my heart you are with me still. I pray that you are safe and happy. Pain is for me now.
-Lady Mama
Sunday, 10/01/06, 7:30 p.m.
Dear Henry,
Wow, it's been several days since I wrote to you. These have been pretty full days, some very hard, some pretty nice.
The article came out in the paper on Thursday. There wasn't as much detail as I expected, so in that way I was disappointed. But it was a good article in that it portrayed nicely the wonderful rapport we have with our customers, and the support they've given us.
Then Friday we were in A&E Best Bites or Nibbles or something..anyway, we got Best Coffeecake. More people seemed to see that article than Thursday's. But the combination brought in lots of new people and we had some very busy days Friday and Saturday.
Friday evening was the start of my Belle Voci retreat at Menucha. I was almost late though because your dad and I had such a painful fight. Hen-Ben, you would never have guessed all the complications that have arisen as a result of your death. I know one thing: I really need to remember that Jim needs me. I can't just wallow around in my mad sorrow and forget about him. His diabetes is worse, his feet are getting more and more numb, he has chest pains a lot. He needs me to show him I love him and that I care and want to be with him. It is frightening to contemplate living without him. I try not to think about it.
The retreat was good. I got to talk about you quite a bit, which I appreciate. I feel much closer to these ladies this year.
The other amazing thing is that I wasn't at work on Saturday! A very busy Saturday, 8 dollars short of our record. They did alright, apparently.
Tonight I finished Myra's scrapbook. I'm going to add a few more touches, copies of your signatures and "I love you's" from cards, but basically it's done. I think she'll love it. Two more to go! If I can do one a month, I'll make it by Christmas.
Your dad and I both have experienced our grief sneaking up and pouncing on us without warning, like a tiger. Suddenly we find ourselves sobbing out loud, racked by the most awful pain.
The rest of the time I can sense the tiger sleeping, letting me go about my business.
Your father tries desperately to avoid the pain. Sometimes I seek it out, because you are there and you are so precious, so irreplaceable, so MISSED. So loved.
-Mama
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