Monday, October 12, 2025

Dear Readers,

Because it's not easy to access my blog content in chronological order, I've finally put it together in book form.  If you'd like to have a copy in kindle, paperback, or hardback, you can order one here: 

https://a.co/d/gbBN4rl, or just search Amazon for "Letters to Henry / Patty Roberts."

This material is meant to help people cope with dark times. Trust that you are never alone.  The Wellspring of Love walks beside you and is holding you close. - PR

 Dear Henry,

Sixteen Years.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day you left us. I want to tell you about how we’re doing. Well,

maybe just how I’m doing, since I can’t speak for everyone.

I get along ok. I used to think that I could never be happy again, but it’s not true. I have many many

happy moments and days. It is true that there is an underlying fault line; it’s always there and I can feel

it most of the time. But I don’t get shaken up by the earthquake of absolute horror over your leaving us

very often. It’s there. I just stay away from it until I’m caught off guard by something, then I fall. But

I get back up again, shake it off, and get going back on the road.

Your dad cries often over you still – he’s getting more emotional as he gets older.

We all talk about you as much as we can. We remember the fun and funny things about you, and all the

cleverness you had and the sweet warmth that you gave to us all. We don’t avoid the word “suicide”

and we still talk sometimes about how things might have been different. But, no, don’t worry, I don’t

wallow in the “what-if’s” so much anymore. The whole thing is so complicated, how could we ever

know if it was just the Prozac? And as much as it is tempting to blame ourselves, it’s not healthy to do

that and we just won’t.

I still feel confused when I’m planning family events. Your missing place throws my count off every time. 

I am hopeless with numbers and getting worse every year.

Most of the time when someone asks how many children we have I answer “three.” I just don’t feel

like getting into it with someone I don’t know very well.

We haven’t yet talked to Isaac very much about you. I hope one day he’ll give us the chance. I’ll talk

his ear off about you, the real you. I hope some day he’ll want all the scrapbooks and things I have.

They should be in his hands. But if he doesn’t, I know your sister and brothers would love to have

them after your dad and I are gone.

Losing you was such a horror, Henry. It’s not like when my parents died. Your Grandma Case’s death

at 55 was terrible, and your poor Grandpa Case suffered so badly from Parkinson’s before he died at

84. But the grief I felt at their passing did not flatten me and toss me into an abyss like your death did.

And, sweetheart, I don’t blame you. Hear me now, I don’t blame you. You were not in your right

mind. If only I could hold you and comfort you right now. How I long to do that. But we will greet

each other with joy one day in the Great Beyond, where God will wipe away all our tears. And I do

feel sometimes that you are close to me. Thank you for that, sweet Henry. I love you.

Mama Pajama

06.06.2022

Snapshot from February 1981

I wrote this note to Jim back in 1981.  I don't think he was out of town; I think I just wrote it and put it his lunch bag or something.  At this time, we lived in our friends Tom and Liz Head's house, in the Garthwick neighborhood in Sellwood.  It was pretty much above our station, but Tom and Liz were gracious enough to rent it to us while they were away at school.  Patrick was not born yet - he was still 10 months away.  I was 30 years old, not working at the shop at this point, but being a stay-at-home mom.  Henry was 1, Myra was 6, and Saul was 5.  Jim was 32.

2/24/81 1 pm

Dear Jim,

You are holding in your beautiful hand a letter from Patty written on Coffee Man stationery.  This is truly your lucky day, for I am not a bill collector (rather, I am an impediment to bill paying) and I am not a complaining letter writer.  However, I just want to say, for your own information, that I'm disappointed to see you make the big time, I liked your old place better, and your apricot tea is even creepier than you think it is. I don't usually do this sort of thing but I just wanted you to know.

Now I'll stop trying to be funny.

I know this is a little bit silly writing to you, but I hope it it gives you a lift.

Either Henry is poopy or my beans are getting real.  He is tearing a napkin into little pieces and throwing them all around the room.  He seems to find this educational and very serious.

Have you ever wondered what I do all day?  Well, here is a sample schedule:

Patty's Typical Day

7:30 am:      After you leave, I rush about getting Myra off and Henry fed.  Myra leaves at 8:10.
8-9 am:         Shower, make bed, change kids' sheets, start laundry
9-10:30  am: Henry naps, I sweep and sometimes mop, do dishes, make bread, get another load in the washer.  Saul goofs around and asks me to buy him stuff.
10:30 - 2:  Get Henry up, put away laundry, fix lunch, put Saul to bed, play with Henry, put Henry to bed 2 pm.
2-3 pm: PEACE. Read, write letters, do obsessive type housework, etc.
3 until Jim comes home: All hell breaks loose.  Myra comes home, Saul and Henry wake up, FIGHTS, I start dinner and yell a lot, sometimes we go for a walk.  Then sweet Jimo comes home and throttles all the naughty people and we all settle down

Now that's what I call TV!

I guess I'm writing a letter when I should be playing with Henry.  Uh oh.

I love you, honey.  If this letter was fun for you to read, I'll be glad.

Henry IS poopy.  I"ll change him now and then send him off to play with our cast iron lawn dog.  It is so good with the children.

SELL THEM SAMITCHES!

Love, She Who Must Be Obeyed

PS.  I've discovered that no one else lives in our neighborhood but us and Mrs. Cook.  No wonder perhaps!

Sunday Confession

We don't go to church anymore. Haven't for, well, pretty much since Henry died. Why? I don't know. Really. I think we should go, I think we are bad people not to go. So, why don't we? Well, one, maybe we're simply lazy. It is so much easier to avoid the challenge and stay home. If we were to go to any church, our first choice would be SW Church of Christ. Yes, we agree with the objections about all the baggage that goes along with a building and paid staff, etc. Read Ron Highfield.... we agree with him. But SW supported us through our trauma, they paid for Henry's grave, they gave us love in the most tangible ways to help us through those first dark months. They LOVED us.

But whenever we go back – I'm speaking for me, now; I'm not sure about Jim – I can't escape the feeling of failure that hits me when I enter that auditorium (we don't call it a sanctuary in the church of Christ). I failed my children by not bringing them here when they were little, to bring them up in the faith. I failed Henry by not helping him be more involved in church life so that he felt more support in his depression. I was not a good role model, I should have been more involved myself, and more forceful about preaching the gospel to my kids.

I just can't be there. But anywhere else is not home. So I don't go anywhere. That is a lame, sinful excuse for not going to church.

I read on FB today a conversation about church and its shortcomings. It's not supportive of the gay community, of women, etc. People were writing off God because of Bible verses that don't seem to make sense in today's culture. One person made the argument that it's reasonable that we might not be able to understand fully the mind of the creator of the universe. But that fell on deaf ears. To me, though, that is a good argument. I can't explain calculus to my dog. Well, mainly that's because I can't understand calculus myself. But I can't even explain arithmetic to my dog. Does it not make sense that the same conundrum exists between us and our creator? He MUST have thoughts that not only don't make sense to us, but we can't even understand the context of them. Knowing this and accepting it requires a fundamental humility that is absolutely necessary to becoming a Christian. Some people, many people, will never be able to cross that line. They cannot give up “me.” They don't feel they should – in fact, it seems wrong that they should be asked to. It's a red flag to them. I understand that, but I believe that that path is a sad one, with no hope at the end.

I happen to believe that the verses in the Bible that talk about women being subject to men, remaining silent in church, etc, have been misinterpreted, that the message of Paul's letters on that subject are actually about something entirely different and of local importance, at the time they were written. But here is my crazy point: so what? How we as women are treated today or in history is important, but it is not the most important subject we should be concerned about. What is most important is this: are we putting God first in our lives, loving him above all others, and loving our neighbors as ourselves? Of course we're not. But is this what we're striving for? That is what our lives should be about. And I'm preaching to myself first.

I am blue most Sundays. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I'm not at church. Maybe it's because it used to be the day when our family would gather for a meal after church; Henry would be the one who objected the loudest when we missed an occasion to do that. Maybe I'm just having a Sunday pity party and I need to get over it.   

January 24, 2017

Dear Henry,

I've been thinking about the dream I had a couple of weeks after you died.  I wrote about it before:  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.


That place was so foreign.  It was like Genesis describes the world before creation.  It was without form, and void, and darkness was ..... well, it was darkness.  There was a horizon, far away, but it was just discernible because there were two shades of dark.  I was there, full of breath, and color, and life, and I knew that I did not belong in that place.  But I was determined to find you, to follow you wherever you had gone, and to grab hold of you and either bring you back, or, failing that, to be with you, wherever you were.  I asked Jim last night, where do you think that place was?  He thought, maybe, it was death.  And, Henry, you were not there.  And I did not belong there.  So I was sucked back into my life, painful as it was.  I had to come back and learn to live in this living, colorful, breathing world, without you.  I'm still working on that.  I know Jesus weeps with me, and that is comfort indeed.  I love you, my sweet Henry.  - Mama Pajama

"Life" by Henry Roberts (a high school poem assignment)

Growing up,
Time moves rapidly,
The smell of Play-Dough on Sunday afternoon,
Feeling big in an adult world,
Rubber and plastic are magical substances.

Growing up,
Everything is a toy,
Imposing fills your world,
Getting older is shunned,
Cartoons seem somehow real.

Growing up,
Innocence starts to fade,
Expensive technology replaces old favorite companions,
Teenagers are mean,
Play-Dough is replaced with modeling clay.

Growing up,
Your age limits your enjoyment,
You miss the innocence of times past,
Life is run haphazardly,
Parents contaminate your freedom.

Growing up,
The future is a distracting nuisance,
The opposite sex is no longer an unpleasantry,
Black is my favorite color,
Envy circulates.

Growing up,
Why can't parents understand?
Maturity has found a well-hidden home in your heart,
Deep thoughts appear,
You pity the young.

Growing up,
Experimentation is uncontrollable,
A car will make you desirable,
Friends are suddenly important,
No one can know you.

Growing up,
Maturity is exposed to the wiling public,
Being nice is acceptable,
You seek your past,
You feel invincible.

Growing up,
Envy is childish,
What will happen tomorrow?
You try not to make it an effort to act mature,
Television is a parasite for the weak.

Growing older,
Aspirations are limited to your imagination,
Children comfort your soul,
Someone relies on you,
You rely on someone.

Growing older,
Your parents have created your personality,
Your children want to play!
Friends die unhealthy,
Life goes on.

Growing older,
You acknowledge your mortality,
You respect life,
You don't fear death,
Your love does not last.

Growing older,
You inherit your parents' rejected features,
You want to have young feelings,
Years of determination has paid off,
You are tired.

Growing old,
The present doesn't appeal,
Old memories fade,
Why?
No one listens.

Dying,
It's inevitable,
You greet death with half-way open arms,
You cry,
You have earned the right to rest.

June 1, 2014
Sunday 1 pm

Six more days and it will have been 8 years.

When you are recovering from a traumatic event, you want to tell about it.  Over and over again.  This is how it happened.  First this, then that. After the first few days, or maybe weeks, though, no one wants to hear you tell it.  And who can blame anyone for not wanting to hear your sad, messy story?

If I tell about Henry's last days here, no one has to read it.  I am safe from embarrassment and you are safe from awkward listening.

I can't go back all the way, like about how he was such a wonderful, normal kid, never any trouble, easy to care for and love.  At least until he was about 16.  There was that day I found out he'd been smoking.  How I cried about that!  I surprised myself at how I cried.  Why was I so hurt?  I did not know then, but I think somehow, I knew that Henry had started down a 10 year path of no return.  You probably are scoffing at that, but in my gut I know that those tears that day were for more than just that day, that teenage misbehavior.  I say this even though I strongly believe that Henry would be alive today if he had not been put on Prozac three weeks before he died.  It's just that my gut seems sometimes to be able to see the future.

So that week, his last week.  Monday.  He did not show up for work.  I was pissed.  He came in later and apologized to me.  I forgave him.  You always had to forgive Henry, because his smile was so open and warm, no guile in it, just sincerity and vulnerability.  He had a doctor's appointment that day, and the doctor increased his dosage of prozac.  He wore a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans.  He had a new tattoo: Sanskrit or some such language for "integrity."  Because that was the quality that Henry most wanted for himself.  He wanted to be a man of integrity.  There were little blood stains from the tattoo on his sleeve.

That night I had a re-audition for Belle Voci, the women's group I sang with.  I was nervous about it.  I did alright though.  Actually, I was happy with my performance.  I sight read the piece before me quite well, and sang with confidence.  So, I came home feeling pretty stoked.

Henry was in the living room when I arrived.  I told him about my audition.  He listened, really listened to me.  Then we talked about his problems.  He was broke.  He couldn't figure out how he was going to ever get on with his life with his marriage falling apart, debt piling up, no prospects for a good job. He talked about becoming a bartender.  I did not respond well to that.  I tried to reassure him.  I talked about how he never had to worry about a place to stay or his next meal as long as he had us.  I hoped that would give him a feeling of security.  But, he shook his head.  "Sometimes that's not enough," he told me.  I kissed him goodnight, ruffled his hair a little and went to bed.

Tuesday.  I don't remember any interaction with Henry that day.  Later the boys told me that they went out for beers with Henry that night and that he talked about killing himself.  I guess he even pulled a suicide note out of his pocket and showed it to them.  It was on red paper, they told me. (I never saw it.) They laughed about it.  Ha, ha. You're kidding, right?  Patrick and Saul wrote out a week by week plan for Henry to turn things around, and after a while Henry seemed his old self.  "You would never actually do it."  That's what they thought.  I can't blame them.  I most likely would have done the same.  But we did not know about the meds, about the side effects, about how dangerous it is at the time when the dosage is changed.  That night Henry crashed at Patrick's.

The next day, Wednesday.  I am getting ready to go to work at 5:30 a.m. when Henry calls me.  I'm here, he says.  You don't need to come in until 9 o'clock.  At 9 Henry would have to leave to get to his real job at Cabinet Factory Outlet.  I was overjoyed.  Such a little thing, but oh so sweet to have an extra couple of hours to myself.  Thank you so much, Henry!  I love you!  He seemed pleased and a little surprised by my outburst.

I got to work by 9.  Henry was getting ready to leave.  He was gathering some things for lunch.  I had some tomato soup that I let him take, and he added a cheese biscuit to go with it.  He told me that he had been having some trouble at work, that he had been "written up," and was not getting along well with his boss.  I recognized that this was tough for Henry.  He did not fail well.  I gave him a hug, and told him to remember the advice of Paul in the Bible, that he should do his work as though God was his boss, and do his best to please Him, then everything would fall into place.  Henry listened, in fact, he stopped in his tracks and really listened to me as I talked, with my arm around his waist.  I thought I was having an impact and was pleased with myself.  "I love you," I told him.  It was, thank God, the last thing I ever said to him.

He walked out the door into the sunny day.  Jim was talking outside to Pete, and wanted to stop Henry as he walked by, to talk to him about an idea he had for him to make extra money.  But, he didn't want to be rude to Pete, so he told himself he would talk to Henry about it later.

We noticed a puddle accumulating under the espresso machine that day.  I called a plumber, who told me he would not be able to come until after 5 pm.

Sometime around 2, Courtney called to say she had not been able to reach Henry, that he had not shown up at work.  She asked me if I could watch Isaac that Friday night.  I said of course, but I thought, Friday night?  I can't think about Friday night. What about now?  What has happened to Henry?  I felt a black weight pressing on me, a terrible fear.

I called his work.  Please, please call me if you hear from him.  I'm so worried, I said.  He hasn't been himself lately.  I don't know who I spoke to, but the man was kind, and he agreed, Henry had not been himself.  He promised to call if he heard anything.

I called Patrick and Saul and Jim. I didn't call Myra - cannot stand to worry her until I have to.  Of course I tried to call Henry over and over.  Nothing.  We were all trying not to panic.  I wanted to go home but had to wait at work until close, and then the plumber didn't show up until 5:30. So frustrating waiting for the plumber.  Meanwhile Saul and Phin were at the apartment, just to be with Jim and be there if and when we found out anything.

When I got home, Patrick had called to say that Henry had called him.  Oh joy!  It's going to be alright! But, no, Henry's voice had been odd, slurred,  and he was talking about being at the beach, and that he was going to kill himself.  He said he took all his pills. He wouldn't tell where he was.  Patrick's friend Jesse called a sheriff's office on the coast, not sure which one, while Patrick tried to keep Henry on the phone.  Eventually Henry hung up.  We kept trying to call him, but his line was busy.  Then when we called, there was a message.  "This is Henry.  It's June 7, 2006.  I'm at the edge of a cliff.  It's beautiful here.  I love you.  I'm sorry."  Click.

A search was underway.  Patrick and Saul left to help.  Thomas brought Myra over to the apartment and we waited it out.  I was hugging Henry's white t-shirt with the tattoo blood stains.  Where could he be?  Cannon Beach, Rockaway, Seaside....  I cannot think, for the life of me, why we did not think of Manzanita.  Manzanita had been Henry's favorite place for years.  His elementary school friend, Brandon, often invited him to stay weekends at his family's beach house there.  We teased Henry all the time about how much he loved Manzanita.  And that was where they found his car.  Patrick called at 11:30 that night to say they had found his car, and that there was a note in the car.  The police took the note, so we did not know what it said.

The next morning we drove into town early and put a sign on the door of the shop.  "Closed due to family emergency."

Jeff Hicks came over to pray with us later that morning.  I can imagine how he dreaded that home visit.  Ugh.  It was a prayer that, somehow, Henry would be found to have slept it off in the bushes somewhere, or hitchhiked down the road to California.  I did not cling to that hope.  I am afraid that I already knew what was to come.

I told Jim after Jeff left, "I think we've lost our boy."

Then, around 1 pm, Saul called to say that the searchers had found his body.  He had fallen on some rocks among bushes along a rather inaccessible beach at Neakhanie Mountain.  Patrick and Saul were not allowed to see him, but were asked to identify him by a description of his hair color and his clothes.

I remember Jim asking, after he answered the phone and listened for a moment, "Was he in the water?"  That's when I knew. That's when Myra screamed and ran out of the apartment.  I chased after her, and brought her back inside.  We sat together on Henry's bed and sobbed among his sheets.

Later she told me that she had run outside because she panicked, thinking that Thomas was arriving with the children, and she didn't want them to see the terrible scene of grief that was about to unfold.

There was one moment that afternoon where I remember standing in the apartment, feeling like I was drowning.  I was not going to be able to get my footing, I was going down. Then there was a shaft of light that opened  from above.  It held me, with all the chaos going on in the shadows around me.  It held me, and God told me, I will give you a place to stand.  I am with you.

I cannot explain that vision, why God would give me such a gift.  But I have clung to that moment and it has sustained me.  I have kept a sometimes thread-bare hold on my faith because of that vision, and a few others that have been granted me.  I have a place to stand.

We were never allowed to see Henry's body.  The funeral director gave us his ring, which was misshapen from the fall.  Saul wore it from then on.  I regret not being able to at least see Henry's hand, or something.  I think it would have helped me.  Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe I still would have looked up, expecting to see him walk through the door.  For whatever reason, I could not, and sometimes even now, I still can't quite believe he's gone.

A few weeks after Henry's death, my nephew received a call.  The caller ID said, "Henry Roberts."  Someone had found his phone.  I wish I had talked to them, to find out more about where they found it.  Seems like the story was that they had found it while they were climbing.  Were they climbing from the beach or from the road?  We don't know exactly where Henry was.  I suppose I could ask to see the file at the Tillamook County Sheriff's office.  Maybe someday.  There might be some awful pictures in there.  But I would like to know exactly where he was when he fell.  I don't know why.  I feel the need to participate in Henry's sorrow as much as I can.

A few days after Henry died, we were looking through his things, and I found some literature about his medications.  That's where I first read about the possible side effects that included the word "suicide."  Why hadn't we known about this?  Patient privacy?  Who was watching out for Henry?  No one.  No one was checking in with him at those dangerous stages when dosages changed.  I remember him telling us how weird it felt to be on these things, how, even if he tried, he could not think a negative thought.

Now, I know they must really be a life saver for some folks, but I want to say that I believe that Henry would not be dead today if he had not taken anti-depressants.  I think they gave him a false courage to do what would have been impossible for him to do without them.  But that is something we will never know.  Henry did not struggle with depression all his life, but he did have problems with it off and on starting in his teenage years.  In his last weeks, he had panic attacks at work that I did not understand.  I had no experience with that.  How could he not be able to work the counter all of a sudden?  He never had any trouble with it before.  I was not understanding or sympathetic.  Oh brother, I said, get back there and do it. I did not get it, God help me.  So, maybe anti-anxiety meds helped with that.

If he could have made it through this rough patch in his life, with his marriage failing and his anxious hopes for "the American dream," he would have been fine.  But then, how many families can say the same thing about their loved one who took their own life?  Not all, but I expect many of them.  Many of them would say, if only they could have made it till the next day, they would have said, thank goodness I am safe.  Look how things have worked out!

There is more to tell, about his memorial service, about the miracle of our customers' love and support.  Henry died on a Wednesday, June 7th; his body was found on the 8th; on Monday our employees and customers opened the shop in our absence and did their best to run it so that we would not lose too much money.  Henry's service was on Wednesday, the 14th.  We were back at work on Monday, the 19th.

That's all the story I have in me today.  Thanks for listening.

Saul's Birthday Card from Henry, December 2000

This card was just found by Denice Roberts.  Saul was 25, so that means this was in December of 2000, when Henry would have been 20, almost 21.    So glad this has surfaced!  Thank you Neecie!!

Henry's Baby Journal - My First Letters to Henry

Infant Joy, by William Blake from  Songs of Innocence

"I have no name:
 I am but two days old."
What shall I call thee?
"I happy am,
Joy is my name."
Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!
Sweet joy but two days old.
Sweet joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while,
Sweet joy befall thee!

Born at Portland Adventist Hospital, 5:40 a.m. Sunday, 2/10/80
8 lbs. 5 oz, 19 1/2 " long, chest 13 1/4",  head 13 3/4"

First Month, Feb 10- March 10

We brought Henry home at 3:30 p.m. on his birthday.  Meg, Karl, Grant, Myra and Saul were waiting for us.  Henry was thoroughly passed around, sleeping all the while, the rest of the afternoon.  Meg and the boys left and Grandma and Grandad Roberts arrived at 5 p.m. to take over the oohing and aahing.  Then everyone left and Jim fixed us a beautiful dinner of Phoenix nests and carrots and rice with crab and champagne.  Henry cried a lot the first night - I began to wish I could send him back!  But I soon got used to it.

Henry's birthday presents: blanket knitted by me (Mommy), 2 sweater suits knitted by Meg, 3 outfits from Grandma and Grandpa Case, crocheted blanket and dish set from Grandma and Grandad Roberts, teddy bear from Granny Ferguson, batik shirt from Liz Head.

Dave, Beth, Circe and Claire came to visit Monday.  Dave clipped Henry's long, long fingernails.  One week old, went to Lebanon to visit Grandma and Grandad, Granny, Julie, Mike and Joe.  Two weeks old, went to Newport to visit the other Grandfolks.

Henry's very peaceful so far, except in the evenings.  Looks like Grandpa Case, which pleases him, I think.

Two more presents have arrived: an 18 month outfit from Jane Cook next door, and a sleeveless undershirt with "Coffee Man's Best" embroidered on the front from Jenny Martin.  (Henry's also known as "House Blend.")

Feb. 28 - Henry sleeps pretty regularly now at night, 10:30-2-6.  He loves his bath, and he loves the way his daddy bicycles his legs.  Weighs 9 lbs now.

Second Month, March 10-April 10

I'm almost sure Henry smiled at me, in the Humble Bagel shop in Eugene.
I don't think Henry is living up to his reputation as a mellow baby.  When he's awake he will be rocked and fussed with or ELSE.  However, thank goodness, he will take a bottle.

Two more presents have arrived for that lucky baby guy: a beautiful blue sweater from Sue two doors down, and a baby book from Aunt Eleanor (traded for this one).

March 29 - 11 lbs now, fat and happy.  He's been smiling a lot for the last couple of weeks, even an occasional laugh and coo.  Henry's been gallivanting a lot - he's ridden the city bus a few times to visit Daddy at the coffee store, and he's been on lots of walks with Myra and Saul.  The kids and I fight over whose turn it is to push the carriage or stroller. I even roller skated him around the block - we made a funny picture, I bet, with his 4 wheels and my 8.  We've had a few sunny days when we stayed outside, and the little sun worshipper got a red nose.

I told Henry about the volcano, but he didn't seem very excited.  He's really proud (it seems to me) of the way he can handle his head.  He swings it around any way he likes, making a point of turning it very fast and very far.  His little button eyes get so big when he stares at something, and he flails his arms all around trying to grab what he's looking at.  I love the way he holds my shirt and caresses me when he's nursing.

His hair really looks red in the sunshine.  Henry, you're an altogether sweet and adorable little baby.  So if you're spoiled when you read this, don't blame us.  We just couldn't help being crazy about you.

April 8 - what a talker!  "Oo - ah" is his very favorite sound, and I swear he imitates us sticking out his tongue and making a little "O" with his mouth.

We spent Easter with Grandma and Grandpa Case.  Dave, Beth, Circe, and Claire were there too.  The Easter Bunny brought Henry a basket with a little felt gentleman mouse and a blue egg that said "Happy Easter Henry."

Third Month, April 10-May10

Hankus Pankus received two more gifts this month: a hooded red sweater from Priscilla and David DeWolf and Perrault's Fairy Tales from Lou Ann Schreiber.

Let's see, what's new about Henry... he MUST sit up when anyone holds him.  Standing up is ok too, but lying down is OUT.   He can hold his head up perfectly well now.  He is so responsive to talking, it's really fun to have a conversation with him.  He loves his bath, and his mobile of birds and baby Christmas tree ornaments.  And he loves his teddy bear and talks to it.  He can grab things a little bit now.  He especially likes to go for my hair when I lean over his crib to talk to him.  He sleeps a nice long stretch in the evening now, 6-11, which lets me relax with Jim for a while.  Henry had his first sitter April 26th for 4 hours.  Sara seemed to feel it was an uneventful evening, so I guess he was ok.  He still likes his pacifier now and then.  It allows me to make him go 2 1/2 hours between feedings.  It's not always that bad, but he definitely is not on a bookish 4 hour schedule.  He is so funny at night when I get him up for his feeding.  He stops crying and starts smacking his lips really loud.

Fourth Month, May 10-June10

May 31st - Henry rolled over from tummy to back in his basket on Saturday morning at Grandma Case's.  He's done it twice since then (it's June 3rd now).  This morning he woke up happy in his crib.  I listened to him ooing and aahing and di-di di-ing for a while, then I went in to pick him up.  He was on his back with his feet hanging out the bars and his Pooh Bear on his face!

Henry has slept a few times from 11 p.m. - 5 a.m.

Spitting is IN.  He sticks his tongue out and erupts. Also, he loves the Johnny Jump Up.

Fifth Month, June 10-July10

Aug 2nd - yes, yes, I have neglected this book.  Lots of happy and sad things have happened since spitting was in (it's still in, particularly when Henry has decided feeding time is over).  Laughs out loud a lot (started early June) and especially when we tickle his tummy with our noses.  He's had a couple of bad colds and coughs, and an awfully bad rash that won't go away (currently).  I suspect he's allergic to Desitin, so we're trying out that theory now.  He started solid foods at 4 1/2 months - cereal, fruits, veggies, yogurt.  He really took to it.  Terribly messy eater, because he pushes the food in with his fingers.  He's been sleeping all night, from 8-6, for a week or two.  He can sit up quite well now, since about 2 weeks ago.  He babbles da-da, na-na, ma-ma, and lots of other un-writable stuff.  Henry's funniest, most ridiculous habit is going about with his mouth wide open.  Not just comfortably slack, but wide open.

Sixth Month, July 10-August 10

The rash is a yeast infection and he still has it. It itches so badly that it keeps him awake, so he's stopped sleeping all night.  But we've bought the most powerful medicine available, so hopefully it'll all  soon be over.  This infection has really changed Henry's life,  poor thing.  He has trouble relaxing, his baths have to be quick because he scratches so much, etc.  In spite of all that, he has learned a lot and generally keeps cheerful.  He can sit himself up so I put him on the rug and he sits there for quite a while playing with his toys and almost crawling away.  He loves peek-a-boo, jumping, standing up.  He seems to say "hi" and "dada" appropriately.  No teeth yet.

Seventh Month, August 10-September 10

Myra heard Henry say, "hi." She was quite relieved.  "Well finally!" she said.  "Now I know he's an English baby!"

Henry got a tooth at Grandma Case's.  Now he acts like he has a mouthful of them - eats his toast, chews it up and swallows it down.  He also crawled at Grandma's.

The rash is pretty much cleared up now.  Diaper off and a little sunshine on the butt helped a lot.

Both bottom teeth are through now.  Henry is a very happy fellow.  He can crawl and pat-a-cake and get into the fireplace and newspapers and plants.  He can stand up tentatively when he's holding onto the couch.  We were sitting on the couch together the other evening when he started hopping and leaping all over me.  Boy, he figured he was some kind of cool, grownup person, just shrieking and laughing and hopping, making so much noise we couldn't hear the TV.  Maybe that was the idea.

I guess I never wrote that Henry refuses bottles now. Ever since his bad cold in his 4th month, when I tried to force liquids, he cries when he sees a bottle.  But he loves drinking from a cup, so it doesn't matter.

One of Henry's unique habits is the way he holds his arms out, kind of like wings, and wiggles his fingers.  He does this usually in his high chair, when he sees the food coming.  It seems to mean he's happy, anticipating something good.

Eighth Month, September 10-October 10

Henry's been standing up the last few days.  I always find him standing in his crib after his nap (if he's not stuck in the bars some funny way).  He also waves bye-bye.

Ninth Month, October 10-November 10

Two top teeth nicely through.

All the kids have been babysat the last three Saturdays and I've gone back to work (just on Saturdays).  Henry's been surviving 10 hours without his tittymilk just fine.  He can eat crackers, pieces of banana, etc. without choking too much, but he doesn't like lumps in his food.  Knows the meaning of several words: bye-bye, hi, boom, drink, titty, no-no, Henry, dance, jump.  He likes to wave bye to his daddy more than anyone else.  Every night before he goes to bed he waves to him, but he often won't wave to Saul and Myra.  He shakes his head "no" in reply to every question.  And he's absolutely delighted with himself.

He's had a few hand slaps over the plants.  He knows he's not supposed to get into them, but so far this has not stopped him.

Henry's very attached to his bed.  It's difficult to get him to sleep anywhere else.  I take his teddy bear with us whenever we visit folks, and that helps.

He sleeps in the evening from 7-11, then gets a change and a feeding, then sleeps until 5:30 a.m.  I take him to bed with me then so that we make it till 6:30 sometimes.  He's turned me into an early riser.

His favorite sounds, other than "da-da," are "ada," "tit," and "th."  He likes cheek to cheek closeness, and he'll hold his ear to my mouth as long as I'll keep whispering to him.

He can stand alone for a couple of seconds before sitting down.  Walks when we hold his hands.

Tenth Month/Eleventh Month, November 10 - January 20
Henry, I've neglected your book again.  Today is January 20, 1981, and I'm a month behind in this journal.  Your Grandma Case died last week (Tuesday, Jan. 13th) so it's hard for me to think back to your 10th month, but I'll do my best.  Then I'll tell you about your last visit with your Grandma.

Let's see, for Christmas you received:
     From: Mom and Daddy - squeaky duck, see-through blown up pillow to roll on
               Grandma and Grandpa Case - shapes to put together & take apart
               Paula - soft blue hippopotamus
               Meg &; Lewis - plastic keys
               Tom &Liz - brown bean bag teddy bear
               Grandma & Grandad Roberts - train pull toy
               Sauly - slightly used black pick-up
               Mrs. Cook - crocheted rattle

Christmas was hard.  We drove to Newport Christmas Eve (the kids and I rode with Grandpa, and Jim came a few hours later).  Mom was feeling well enough to be downstairs that day, but Christmas Day she was very sick.  She forced herself to sit on the couch while the rest of us ate Christmas dinner, but the mood was strained and sad.  She didn't get to play with you, Henry, and that disappointed her.  We were glad that she was home at least, and that our family and Dave and Beth's family could be together with her and Dad and Paula.  We had to go home Christmas day, in the evening.  She went back in the hospital Sunday (Christmas was Thursday).  It was a hard season.  No one could really enjoy your cute little baby antics like they normally would have.

You've made a lot of progress with your walking.  The day after your grandma died you took three steps in Paula's apartment.  Walking is your favorite thing now.  You talk a lot too, in very definite patterns, very loudly and with plenty of gesturing.  You have such a sweet disposition - so huggable and lovable.  You almost seem to live for giving and getting love.  Mom says, I was just like you as a baby.  Thank goodness you're not cross-eyed like I was!

Henry, you've been such a comfort to me this past week.  Just to hold your cozy little innocent self has been soothing.

The last time you saw Grandma was Sunday, Jan 4.  She was in the hospital in Eugene.  She was unable to eat or drink, and was very weak.  We took you with us, Henry, even though "it was against the rule" because your Grandma wanted to see you so much. I thought it would be an ordeal, but it was wonderful.  She held your hands so you wouldn't scratch your bottom while I changed you, she played peek-a-boo through the bars of her bed, and she enjoyed watching all her visitors play with you. You were really sweet and obliging.  Grandpa carried you around and introduced you to all the nurses.  Everyone thought you were irresistible. Grandma was so proud.  She was especially glad to finally have a red headed grandchild, since her hair and her father's were both red.  She told me she was sorry that she'd not been able to be much of an influence in your life.  Did you know that I had you because Mother was dying?  I didn't know if she'd live to see you, but I had a strong strong wish to bring in a new life to balance the outgoing one.  So I reminded her that she was the reason you were here at all.

We had such a nice visit.  I told her that I felt awful seeing her come to this, in such suffering and loneliness in that hospital. She smiled and said that having a family that cared about her meant everything.  Some poor folks get forgotten; she told me she'd seen them there, lonely and dying and no one to care.

You got pretty tired about 4:30 p.m., so we said our fond goodbyes and went home.  That was the last time you and your Grandma saw each other.  It feels like the last time I saw her too, because the actual last time was after her surgery and she wasn't herself.  That was Wed, the 7th.  She died six days later.

You were with me when I visited her body at the funeral home, the evening of the 14th.  You were so jolly, crawling around on that soft carpet, just shrieking and being a real cut-up.  You cheered us all up, and Dad said Mom would have liked it that way.  When you saw her you actually grew solemn.  You held out your hand, palm up, arm straight, and wisely said, "ah."

Even though you won't remember her, you were very important to your Grandmother Case.  She loved you the last year of her 55 year long life, the first year of yours, and she loved you just as much as she did the other kids who can remember her.

I guess I'll record Mom's epitaph here.  She wrote this as a writing assignment in college ten years before her death:

Housewife's Epitaph

For many years with mop and broom
She battled dust in every room.
Now at last a'wearied she
Has forces joined with her enemy.

by Margaret Susan Roderick Case

February 12, 1981

Well, Henry, you are ONE.  And just as sweet as the day you were one minute.  Sweeter, if that's possible.  And now, a bit about The Party.

I made you a chocolate whipped cream torte, and I spelled "Henry!" on it with gumdrops.  The party didn't begin until 8 p.m. so I had to get you out of bed for it.  You were wearing your birthday "H" shirt that Liz Head batiked for you.  Your Aunt Meg and cousins Karl & Grant came, and so did Grandpa Case.  We served the grownups champagne and coffee, and the little ones punch.  Myra and Saul could hardly stand to wait because, you see, they each had a package too.  Myra got a Noah's Ark kit and Sauly got a play telephone.  You got a beautiful pull toy from us - bells on a car with a mallet to play a tune.  I like it a lot because it reminds me of a xylophone I had when I was little.  You liked it too, and you struck up a tune right away.  Julie gave you a cute red bathrobe, and Liz batiked two t-shirts for you.  Grandpa and Paula gave you a barking seal pull toy, Mrs. Cook gave you a wooden truck with 2 people (you love it!) and Grandparents Roberts sent you a shirt and pants and a lollipop.

Birthday card from us:

Printed on front,

Watch over thy child, O Lord, as his days increase; bless and guide him wherever he may be.

Inside,
"February 10th, 1981, Saul and Myra Loveydoo yoo too!"

Henry, our Sweet Baby Guy,

Oogeldy da
Tuckeldy wa
Humpety Dumpety rah.
Wee wee wee
Tee hee hee
Snorkel Horkel
Waa waa waa!

Happy First Birthday, Son
Love, Mom and Dad"

You're taking a few steps, but not full fledged walking yet. You like to imitate sounds a lot - you say "hi" and "dad" and a lot of other gobbledy gook.  S, B, D, H, F, M, N, Y, T - these are your clearest consonants.  You shake your head no to answer every question.  Poor kid - "Henry, do you want some ice cream?" No.  Your kind parents realize you love ice cream, especially chocolate, so we don't take you too seriously.

You take two naps a day, and you sleep through the night, 8-6.  At least, you stay in bed all night.  I refuse to pick you up when you holler, so you're not hollering much anymore.  You still like your titty, sometimes twice a day, sometimes 6.  I hope that when you're better at walking you'll be having such fun that I can wean you pretty easily.

You can hold your own glass and drink pretty well, and feed yourself (but not with a spoon, unfortunately). Baby food tastes yucky to you these days.  You much prefer leftovers.  You're a very good eater, as you have been from the start.  You're a cuddler and a lover.  When we pick you up you put your little arms around our necks and lay your head on our shoulders and just smile.

You're a blessing, little Henry, and I'll never regret having Baby Number Three.  That's Thee!

I love you,
Mommy (and Daddy and Myra and Sauly too!)

Note: age one, 21 lbs.  Weaned last week in February, very little trouble.  Walked 13 months.

The Day We Lost Henry, a dream 2/3/08 Patty Roberts

We lived in Finland, in a small village, safe from harm. Nothing marred our happiness, except that scattered about the town were signs that read, “Bomb the Americans.” The anti-American sentiment made us a little uneasy, but it didn’t seem to have much to do with us personally.

It was a warm spring day. I walked home from town where I had been on some fun errand, shopping or something. I was dressed in what I thought was a wonderful outfit: a white eyelet skirt and a turquoise blouse. These items were borrowed from Meg. Growing up, all my best outfits were borrowed from Meg. I wore what I thought were red shoes. (Later I was to discover I was wrong about the shoes.)

As I approached our house, the kids ran out to join me. We walked along the cobblestone street together. (Their ages were about the time of 1985, so Pack was about 2, Henry 5, Saul 9 or 10, Myra 10 or 11.) There was a storm cloud growing ahead of us. I pointed to it, and told the kids, “Look! I’ll bet there’s some thunder in that cloud!” We were all excited, because the cloud was thick, black and low in the sky, and it hovered over our house. (After I woke up I realized that the cloud was only outside our door. The rest of the neighborhood was bathed in sunshine.) The cloud was black and furry, like black dryer lint, with tendrils hanging down, extremely ominous.

We rushed through the wind and the rain and made it into the house safely. I took off my shoes, and was surprised to see that I was wearing white shoes, not red. Then I noticed that the family’s shoes were outside on the doorstep: Jim’s tall brown boots, and each child’s shoes were lined up in a row. I didn’t want them to get wet or blow away, so I opened the door to bring them inside. Henry squeezed past me and ran out into the storm.

“Where’s he going?” I cried out. Saul told me, “He forgot something in the shed.”

I looked out to see Henry struggling to walk in the strong wind. He was wearing his ET shirt and no pants, no shoes. He looked so small and vulnerable.

“Henry!” I screamed. “Come back! Come back!” He didn’t turn around, just called something over his shoulder that I couldn’t hear. He made it to the shed and disappeared inside.

I told the family that I had to go after Henry. He was not safe in the shed; it could blow over any minute. I ran out the door. The wind was so strong I could barely stand up, but I made it to the shed. I grabbed Henry and we fought our way back to the house. It seemed to take forever.

Once inside I hugged Henry so hard, and I cried and cried. “Henry, why did you do that? Don’t you understand, you could have been hurt or even killed? The wind is blowing things around so fast, you could have been hit!”

I took his face in my hands. He had terror in his eyes and he was crying uncontrollably. I held him and rocked him in my arms.

Then he disappeared. Instead of Henry, my arms held a thick, battered old paperback book with a torn cover. It looked like it had been left out in the rain.

I woke up.

I immediately recognized the book I was holding. It was The Last Enchantment by Mary Stewart. It is the story of King Arthur, and was a favorite of my mother’s.

For several days the dream haunted me. I couldn’t figure it out. I told my family about it, but kept feeling puzzled and uneasy. Finally, one evening I got up from my chair and went to the bookshelf to find that book. I knew right where it was, my hand went right to it, which is no small thing because we display hundreds and hundreds of books. I thought it was a silly thing to do, as though the book would be able to shed any light on my dream.

I opened the book and read the author’s dedication:

“To the one who was dead and is alive again, who was lost and is found.”

I was not puzzled by my dream any longer. The Prodigal Son was a central theme in our last days with Henry. He had come home to us a few weeks before he died, and set about to change his life for the better, to square his debts and make things right with Courtney. He returned from the far country. Because of that, we have hung the Rembrandt painting, "The Prodigal Son" over our fireplace.

And now, God is so kind to give us this message, in the language of that wonderful story.

Letters to Henry, Part 8, 12/01/07

Saturday, Dec. 1, 2007 5:15 a.m.

Hi Sweetheart,

I got up a little early, so I have a few minutes free to write to you.

They say it will snow today, melt tomorrow, and Sunday and Monday are supposed to be 50-60 mph winds. Hope the power doesn't go out at work. All that melting ice cream!

Thursday night I dreamed of you. I saw you standing across a divide of some kind, a road or stream or something. Our eyes met. You looked sad and pale. Then you were beside me, and I was asking things like, why? what the heck? why are you here now? why did you die? You told me sadly that it was a mistake, that I was mistaken, that you didn't die. I said, oh yes, you did. You patted me and put your arm around me. That's all I remember. I woke up sad.

Tonight Isaac will be here for his monthly visit.

I'd better get my shoes on and get out the door.

Henry, I'm not mad at you. I don't blame you in any way. I'm only sad about what you endured, and I miss you and I'm sad for all of us.

I love you always, Mama

Saturday 12/1/07 7:30 p.m.

Dear Henry,

Isaac just lost his first tooth! He is so excited. He says it's his lucky day. Here's what he looks like:

We took some photos too. I'll print one out for you after a bit. He is SO excited. I think the tooth fairy might come tonight, don't you?

Later baby,
Mama

Sunday 6:15 p.m. 12/2/07

Hen Ben,

Check it out - I got a great photo of Isaac in his toothless condition. The tooth fairy did come! Isaac knows how to perform for the camera.

He didn't talk about you this time, but he did seek and find the Dire Straits record I'd told him you liked, and he put it on while I was taking a shower. He took off the Emmylou Harris Christmas album and put that on instead.

The party was good today. Pack seemed to love his keyboard. Courtney came over to pick up Isaac with her roommate Amanda, and they stayed quite a while. I think she liked the baseball pinball game we gave her.

Saul came without Rabecca; he had good news about his parenting interview. He said he talked to the guy for 2 hours, and he was able to tell his whole side of things from start to finish. He thinks when all is complete, he'll have equal time with Phin. I know you're happy for him.

I'm going to call Meg tonight. From an email she sent yesterday, sounds like she's feeling overwhelmed. No surprise there.

This week will be really busy for me. No days off, and extra rehearsal Friday night, concerts Sat. night and Sunday. The following week I'll get a couple days off, and then Sunday at Jim and Patty's starts.

We're supposed to get a lot of wind tonight. I love a good storm, but if the power goes out and we lose all that ice cream, not to mention a day's sales: aye-yi-yi-yi-yi.

Speaking of that, I-Man watched The Gods Must Be Crazy last night. He laughed himself silly.

At the party today was Pack and Jessie, Myra, Sophie, James, Saul, Courtney, Isaac, Amanda. Thomas had to work. And there was no Henry. It always seems so weird when we all get together and you are not here. Missing. Beloved.

God has drenched us with blessings. At least we had you for a while, and we loved each other. And our family still has every ounce of love intact.

Bless your heart, Henry. Your Mama super duper loves you. Precious.
Love, Lady Mama

Friday 10:45 p.m. 12/7/07

Hi Sweetheart,

I just got home from rehearsal at St. Mary's. I actually drove there in the night, found it and got parked. Now I just have to do it again tomorrow night. I have trouble reading the street signs, and the dark just makes me nervous.

Rehearsal was fun. It's a very reverberant space, and there were some magic moments. I wish you would have gone to one of our concerts. By now we would have made you - all the other kids do it, so you'd have to. I'll just have to imagine you're out there.

Business has been slow - really slow, but it seems to be coming back around. I was really starting to freak. They hate us now! They hate the new store! Aaagh!! But I don't feel so panicky now.

I put Isaac's picture in the front of my folder, so I'll open it and see his toothless grin; sure to brighten up my face.

The wind didn't turn out to be a real big deal a few days ago, but there was a lot of rain. The freeway between Portland and Seattle was closed, with 10 feet of water on it! And at the coast the wind was pretty destructive. We never lost power here, nor at the shop.

I've been worried about your dad - he's been tired and dicey, numb foot, and his blood sugar has been over 300. The doctor raised his insulin dosage and it seems to be making a difference. It scares me to see him feel so bad.

I finally wrote a letter back to our old landlord. It's well written, if I do say so myself, and it's polite. I make some good points. I didn't mail it, though. I gave it to your dad; he's going to handle it for me. It made me feel better to write it out though. What a jerk!

I'm worn out. I'd better get the aprons in the wash and then get my bod to bed.

Henry, Henry Roberts. Babe of the wild frontier. Born on a mountain top in Tennessee....Goodnight my little Hen Ben. I love you.
Lady Mama

Wednesday 8:15 a.m. 12/12/07

Sweet Hen Ben,

Something truly wild has happened. I have managed 2 days off in a row! This is the morning of day two. Yesterday I cleaned, did laundry, did payroll and set up the tree. You would not be happy - I bought an artificial one. I know. Sorry. I just don't seem to have what it takes this year. It looks ok, honest. I'll get the ornaments on it today, maybe get some balsam or pine oil. You'll see, it won't be so bad.

Our concert went well. It was a very busy weekend! All the family came, and even Sophie. Meg tried to come, but she couldn't find parking in NW PDX. Cathy (of Brian and Cathy, double espresso macchiato and double 8 oz latte) came to the one in Camas on Sunday. The only bummer is that I left my folder in Camas. Poop. I left a message at the church, but they haven't called back.

I was going to go to DEQ today, but the dang engine light came back on. DARN. The internet is full of people with 1999 Proteges with similar problems.

We lost 10 grand last month. Yikes. Between high payroll, high cost of goods and high rent combined with low sales, we are in a pickle. I've cut back on staff and sales are creeping back up, so hopefully we'll pull out of the problem. I haven't told your dad yet.

Bede has been buying me lots of Christmas presents. He is so sweet to me lately. His blood sugar numbers have been high, and he's been feeling pretty rough. Dr. increased his dosage and he's been trying hard to watch his diet, so things hopefully will be turning around.

Have you noticed I haven't been out to the cemetery for a long time? I haven't felt the need as much. But I want to bring you some Christmas flowers. I do love that little spot dedicated to you, my precious, unique, delightful Henry boy. I'm going to keep trying to work in days off for myself so I don't get burned up, so maybe I can get out there. Not having Sundays is going to be tough. My faith is pretty weak these days, at least in terms of the church, so not going every week might have a bad effect. I need to be purposeful and design a healthy world for Jim and myself.

Sometimes I look out at the sea of the future and it feels like there is nothing to look forward to. But I must push back that thought, shrink my perspective; look forward to the good moments that happen each day.

Tonight Saul and Phin and Rabecca will be here for dinner. I always enjoy that. It's something to look forward to. And Bede will be home soon. And I get to shop for Christmas today. All things to look forward to.

I love thee, Henry. Henry. Henry. I love to write your name. It's a good name. I'm sorry I failed you, Sweetheart. I want to hold you tight.
Love, Mama

Thursday 12/13/07 9:15 p.m.

Dear Henry,

I've been sitting here staring at the tree, drinking a hot toddy, thinking about Christmas, and missing you. It's when I'm alone and the apartment is quiet that my sadness works its way to the surface. I miss you so much. I'm so full of regret.

Here are some things about myself that fill me with shame and dismay: I realize sometimes I am seeking, or wishing for, if not actively seeking, attention and pity because of you. That is hard to admit. Sometimes I want to convince myself of the depths of my sadness so that I actually cultivate the sad feelings. Boy. Maybe it's the toddy that has loosened me up so I can admit those things.

I went to the 4th and 5h grade program that Sophie was in tonight. It was GREAT: Shakespeare On Broadway. A young boy of about 10 recited the St. Crispin's Day speech. He was magnificent. I wept. I also cried over the song "One Heart," from West Side Story. Music unblocks my emotions. I love music.

It's 9:30. I should go to bed. But I don't want to. Sometimes I feel frightened of life, of the pain of it, and the emptiness. But then I remember that is foolish, and that I am blessed. I remember your sweetness...I try to bring you near. I love you, Hen Ben,
Lady Mama


Tuesday 12/18/07 8:30 a.m.

Dear Henry,

Last night I stayed up until one, knowing I didn't have to get up early and go to work. I was writing out Christmas cards to our employees. I wish I could have written one to you. I would have told you how capable you are, how everyone likes you so much, how your smile brightens up the whole room. I would probably beg you to quit your job at CFO and come back to us full time.

Well.

It occurred to me the other day that you must appear on Myra and Thomas's wedding video, so I watched it Sunday night. There you were, right among us, your almost 17 year old self. I watched us mill around you, basically ignoring you, and I wanted to shout, wake up! Pay attention to him! He'll be gone in less that 10 years! But we just keep wandering, oblivious. Heartache. Precious, we miss you so much.

Alright. Sunday. We were open for our first Sunday on the 16th, and it went pretty well, No advertising, just a new, neon "open" sign. We were pleased. The atmosphere was festive, everyone was jolly. And the money is essential. I did a quick and dirty cash flow analysis, and I think we'll be OK for another month. I've pared down the staff a little more, except for training the new people. We have so many people leaving! Some want to come back after Christmas, but if they're gone 2-3 weeks, what can I do? I have to replace them. And Patrick and L__ keep butting heads. If she quits, it will be quite hard. I cried on the way home Friday because they were fighting, and I felt that if you had been there you could have helped. You would have soothed Patrick and helped him to get control of his manly pride, and L__ would have trusted you. Well, she hasn't quit yet, and they worked together Sunday and seemed to do OK.

I haven't seen Ken and Theresa for a while. I need to find their address and send them a card. I think Theresa is near the end. They will have to learn to survive on their memories of her.

Today I will do some minor housework, make fudge for Christmas, wrap some stocking gifts, and generally chill out. I still can't go to DEQ because Ron still didn't get my car done. Sigh.

I have so many presents from your pop under the tree.. He is wildly sweet and tender with me these days. I love him.
And you,
Mama Pajama

Thursday 12/20/07 8:15 p.m.

Hi Punkin Pie,

Oy, today was stressful. Kinda short-handed, pretty dang busy, chaos of running out of stuff, like COFFEE. I think tomorrow may be the same, but at least we'll have coffee.

I was reviewing the stocking gifts tonight, and I'm bummed that Patrick's doesn't seem very special. I need to get him something else, but when? I work every day between now and Christmas.

Pack is having a hard time because J__ broke up with him. She says she can't "afford" the relationship emotionally because of school and her mom's health. That seems silly to me. God designed us to be in relationships to support each other. It's very hard to see him go through this. I want to fix it.

Your stocking is empty. I look at it and think about filling it, but there is nothing you can use now.

After your dad goes to bed I can feel my face change to a sad expression. People are at risk when they are alone a lot, it seems to me. People like Dave. I sent him a funny email tonight. I hope he laughs.

Maybe I can go shopping after work tomorrow...
Keep safe and warm, precious. I love you,
Mama

Sunday 12/23/07 7 a.m.

Hi Sugar Biscuit,

I have 1/2 hour before I have to leave. Not much time...yesterday was stressful and I'm kind of worn out today. Pack was feeling really awful over his breakup with J___. He told me he was having dark thoughts, and maybe thought he should see a therapist. Of course, this worries me. I don't really think he'd kill himself because he knows what that would do to our family. But then, I never thought you would for the same reason. Maybe I should call Dayspring. I want him to talk to a Christian, if he sees anyone. We could call and find out the cost, etc.

On the lighter side, Myra sent me a link to a hilarious thing on the web: a dramatic reading of a break-up letter. Pack thinks it sounds like something you'd do (the reading part, not the letter) and he thinks it might be the funniest thing he's ever seen on the web. It makes me laugh even when I'm not in a cheerful mood. I wish I could show it to you.

Well, I'd better get the aprons in the dryer and get myself dressed. I love you sweet Henry.

We saw a little red-headed boy at the shop yesterday - so much reminded us of you.
Love, Lady Mama

Thursday 12/27/07 9:15 p.m.

Dear Henry,

It took me a moment to figure out what day of the week and date it is. Kind of confusing this week.

We had a nice Christmas this year - much better than last year. Our pain just filled every nook and cranny of our beings last year, but this year is was a more settled pain. It's lower down and sort of stowed away. We could put it aside and just enjoy each others company.

Your sweet dad took me to Claim Jumper for our anniversary. That was so fun! And he gave me so many presents. Pearl earrings, pajamas, a sewing machine, and Planet Earth DVD, slippers, perfume, hair brush, cards....too much. And Packy gave me a guitar!! That was a huge surprise. My fingers are so sore now. It is HARD to play a guitar. I can't see how anyone does it.

Courtney brought Isaac over for a little while. She gave me and Jim a candle holder that has family photos in a collage. It's very sweet.

When this book is full, I don't know if I'll start another one. The need to write to you is getting less strong. It makes me kind of sad to say that. But I think I want to get to the place I am with my parents: that I carry you around inside me; you are always with me, so there's no need to write to tell you what's going on. When I write to you, I'm still trying to relate to you in the old way, like you are still alive. That's why it's sad to stop. It's hopeless, like giving up. But I really do believe you are still with us in some way, so I don't have to give up hope.

I'm sleepy and beginning to ramble.

Pack was happy and feeling good today. He's staying away from drinking and it's making him feel much better.

You know I love you. I've told you a million zillion times. I love you sweet precious Henry. Please don't hide from me.

Love, Mama Pajama (new ones!)

Sunday 12/30/07 8:45 p.m.

Dear Hen Ben,

We celebrated Saul's birthday today. He is 32. Your dad and I, Rabecca, Phin and Pack (and Saul, of course) went to Claim Jumper. It was fun, and the food was over the top. I got to go to church (early service) and didn't have to go to work. Saul seemed happy with our gift (one year membership to OMSI.) After we got home I set up my sewing machine, got it threaded and actually did some sewing. I hemmed a pair of trousers and mended an apron. Mom would be proud.

Meg called today to say that Steve is too sick to have the party at her house. She said he can't get out of bed to go to the bathroom and he's having suicidal thoughts. I feel awful for them. We're going to have the party at Myra's.

Tomorrow we're going to Lebanon for Adam's wedding. I'll take a picture for you. Grandad is going to do the ceremony.

You know, Henry, I was thinking today about what we've gone through in losing you the way we did. I was thinking that it is a contradiction, in that it is impossible to endure, and yet somehow, we are enduring it. It truly is impossible, you know. It cannot be borne. But I'm sitting here, dry-eyed, bearing it.

And I never forget that we aren't alone, and that many have endured far worse.

So. Happy Saul's birthday.
Love, Mama


Tuesday 1/1/08 9:15 p.m.

Dear Henry,

Here is Adam and Amanda's invitation and a photo from the wedding. It was a sweet little ceremony with Grandad officiating. Mr. and Mrs. Adam Foss are now at home with the 3 kids, Matthew, Boyd and Abby.

The annual Family Drawing Party was canceled. Steve has become too sick for Meg to leave him; the nurse says that he is "actively dying" and that he may not last a week. Meg said yesterday morning she had trouble waking him up. Today I visited her for a while, took her a turkey pot pie that Jim made her. Steve was awake the whole time, but he was talking nonsense. Meg is in the throes of a very rough time. I need to help her all that I can.

I saw Grant and Rebecca's kids today. They are very sweet. It is good to see the children, and to see how heir parents love them and to feel hope. Casey and Adam, for all the troubles they've had, still try to be good parents. You can see that they love their children.

I'm watching Planet Earth. It is remarkably beautiful. I'd like to give a copy to Grant.

Tomorrow I have another day off. Untold riches.

Love, hugs, kisses, big big hugs, and even bigger hugs...
Love, Mama Pajama


Sunday 1/6/08 7:30 a.m.

Dear Henry,

Today is my mom's birthday. She would be 82. In 1981 she was exactly one week away from her death on this day.

I went back to see Meg day before yesterday. They were waiting for a visit from a priest. Meg looked really tired.

Jerry Rushford is speaking at church today about church history and hymns. I'm going to go to class and 2nd service.

Everyone in our family except your dad is having faith struggles. The Problem of Hell is troublesome. I think Myra and Thomas are going to quit going altogether, as Saul has for quite a while. Patrick says he's only going for our sakes. Your death has been effective in pulling our faith down. How could God send you to hell? How could he send sweet, good-hearted people to hell? If I decide he can't and wouldn't, if I decide God lets most of us into heaven whether we acknowledge him or not, what's the point of evangelism? Why try so hard? Why not just live like the guy in Ecclesiastes who can't be bothered to think about such things because he's too busy just enjoying his life?

I talked these things over with your dad. He says he has no problem believing in hell, and never doubts God's right to decide each of our fates. He says it is beyond our understanding how God will settle matters, like our brains vs a dog's. And evangelizing is for bringing meaning to peoples lives. We can only be fulfilled when we are in relationship with our creator. A life lived in harmony with God is a beautiful life that blesses everyone around. You have only to think of Aldeen.

Well, I believe all this. I feel the truth of it in my bones. I have to trust God and I need to work hard at staying on track. And I need to speak to the kids about it.

I have to tell you a funny thing. We hired a guy who is so clueless. He dresses like a clown and he has no sense. I don't know what Pack and I were thinking. Anyway, yesterday we finally had a pretty busy Saturday. Around 2:30 C__ and I were cleaning out the pastry case, and I said "it's about time we had a busy day." C__ (who had arrived at work at noon vs my 6 a.m. arrival time) replied, "well, I guess it's pretty nice for you, but it's exhausting for the rest of us." Then he got this look, like, maybe I shouldn't have said that? I know, what were we thinking hiring this guy? You can't win them all.

Pack is so lonely for you. He didn't do anything New Year's Eve. He would have spent the time with you. Without J___, without you, he is alone.

I feel like I need to fight for my family. It feels like we are drifting, eaten away by sorrow. I need to DO something.

Gary Strealy is getting married in April and selling his house. Maybe we should see about buying it. Seems far-fetched, but you never know. We could really use more space for family gatherings.

Maybe I should make it a goal to go to 1/2 time to free myself up to get things done, not just at work but family events too. I need a vision.

I have jabbered a lot. I want to tell you everything. I love you, Punkin Pie.
Lady Mama

Wednesday 1/9/08 9:15 p.m.

Dear Henry,

I've been reading Yancey's book "Where Is God When It Hurts?" for the umpteenth time. It's helping me a lot. Suddenly I have a vision for what your dad and I could do as an outreach: we could start a suicide support group that meets at SW. My vision is that it would not shy away from spiritual questions but would welcome them. It could lead to studies, and be a community outreach. I really want to do something worthwhile, to redeem your suffering and ours by serving others. Maybe we could actually do this.

Dad and I have been talking about our family, how fragmented it feels, and we feel our faith (or at least, mine) and the kids' getting sucked away, dragged off by the dark forces in this world. We've been talking about the business too, how discouraging it is to feel like we're not getting anywhere after working so hard for 5 years. Maybe we should sell it before it crashes and dies. I finished the reconciliation for December last night, and surprisingly, we made money, but it was mostly due to gift certificate sales. I've cut payroll a lot (over $1000 less this time than last!) and we can cut it more. So, I don't know. But we can't let the business's appetite for work drag us down. If we work as smart as we can and still the numbers don't add up, we should get out.

But I don't think we're ready to throw in the towel. There is something going on in that place which is special.

Dad just got home. Better go see to him and to the giant quantity of housework that awaits me.

I love you so much, honey, and I miss you to the bone.
Lady Mama


Thursday 1/10/08 10 p.m.

Henry,

It is nearly 10. I should be in bed. I just prayed for our family. I haven't prayed for a long time.

I love you sweetheart. I love you so much. I miss you. My heart is broken. God keep you safe til I can hold you again. I'm desperate to hold you and bring you the comfort you needed.

This world is indeed a prison. Creation is groaning. Sorrow!
-Mama

Sunday 1/13/08 9:30 p.m.

Dear Henry,

As I write the date I remember that today is the 27th anniversary of Mother's death. That day was a Tuesday, sunny and cold. I remember taking you 3 kids for a walk, you in the carriage (or, no, it must have been only you and Saul, for Myra would have been in school.) I looked around at the neighborhood and the sky, and thought how odd, how empty everything seemed all of a sudden, with Mom snatched away from us. This, even though we knew her death was immanent.

I do miss her, but I've been able over the years to notice her true spirit, her self, nestled inside me. Not like a pregnancy, and not that I see some of her characteristics in myself, but her. She is my companion. I want that for you and I, but I don't know if it will ever happen. Maybe there's too much trauma, maybe that kind of companionship can't happen between a mother and her son. I don't know. I look up quickly sometimes from my book or whatever I'm doing, and I hope to see your face. You are never there.

W__ isn't coming to work today because of some cousin who's having a baby, so your dad and Pack won't be able to come to church. I'm taking him off the schedule. And, I think I'm going to fire C__ and J__. I'm tired of looking the other way and letting these guys walk all over me.

Don't be proud of me until I actually do it, Hen Ben.

I've been doing a lot of reading about faith and the old testament, looking for ways to help Myra (and myself). It is good; I feel stronger. Her questioning is a good thing, because it means she cares. The book of Job shows that God values our questioning. So, at least right now, I feel upbeat and hopeful. It's odd how quickly that can crash, though. Yesterday I woke up feeling the opposite. I longed to be obliterated into nothingness. I chafed against the fact that my suicide would cause perhaps (no, not perhaps) irreparable pain to my family. Why does it have to be that I am not free to do with my life what I will? I guess you taught me that. I am decidedly not free.

Pack says that although he often feels suicidal when he's alone, he would never kill himself. He says I can be assured of this. I am tempted to feel assured, but I used to feel that way about you. But the prozac, the prozac was the wild card. Still, I think getting help for Patrick would be wise.

Precious boy, sweet Henry. I would reach up and dry your tears. I would take that marker, that pen out of your hand, the one you used to write your suicide notes. I would crumple those papers and toss them into the sea. I would gather you into my arms and hold you tight. I would tell you NO. Your life is not hopeless. There is rest, there is forgiveness, there is love. HOPE.

I tell you that now. Is it too late? Can you hear me?
-Mama


Monday 1/14/08 4:15 a.m.

Hen Ben,

Rough day yesterday. Don't really want to talk about it. I pretty much lost it over nothing. It's ok now though.

A picture of J&P's and of your dad, plus a nice article was on the front page of the bidness section in the Oregonian yesterday. As a result, we were swamped, I'm told.

Time to gird up my loins and get to work.
I love you, Lady Mama


Friday 1/18/08 7 p.m.

Hi Sweetheart,

At this moment Sophie is in a play at her school (well, in 5 minutes) and I should be there. After 12 hours of work I'm just too bushed to make it. She has a matinee tomorrow at 1:00, but I'm pretty sure that won't work either. Oh well.

Honey, times are tough for me. When I'm alone I'm haunted by images of you in your last days and hours, and of your battered face and head in death. (They wouldn't let us see you, but I can imagine.) When I'm at work I'm ok, but I know those images are waiting for me. I'm just so sad. I feel hopeless.

But I'd like to shake it, at least so that I'm whole enough to be a good wife and mother. The precious ones I still have really need me. So I've been trying to beat back the sad thoughts when they show up. I need to change my habits. I've grown too comfortable being sad. It's familiar, it makes sense, it satisfies, in a way. But it is crippling me and putting me in danger. Henry, I've got to learn to live with this. Will you help me? Let's do it together. I want to substitute the sad images with the happy ones. Surely we had some??

Belle Voci is good. When I am singing with the girls, I am really happy. And your dad is the tenderest, sweetest, lovingest Bede there is. He is better to me than I deserve. There is light in my world.

I think I had a dream about that last night, about light in the world. I told someone that the world is a very dark place, but there are points of light all over that shine in the darkness, where good things are happening. Where love is.

Gosh, I'm so tired and sleepy.

Sweet Bridgie, I love you. This is Mama Pajama, signing off. :) smile

Sunday 1/20/08 8:20 p.m.

Dear Henry,

This was a nice Sunday. No freakouts, no fights, no tears. I stayed up til almost 2 a.m. (!) but still got up around 7:15. Did a lot of reading, then your dad came home and accompanied me to church. Pack was there. :) Jim did the communion talk and did a beautiful job, as he always does. Pack said to me, How does he do it every time?

After church we accomplished our UG and Costco errands, then came home and cooked hot dogs for lunch. Your dad watched the play-off game between the Packers and the Giants (Giants won in OT) while I read. So, it was a relaxing day.

Last night I dreamed of being out in a sudden thick snowfall. It felt like a blessing.

Pack said he told the story of your death today to a customer who'd been away for 3 years. He said it was very hard. I find talking about you increasingly hard because I'm reluctant to burden people with it. They don't know how to react, and I feel rude. It's isolating, lonely.

Your birthday is coming soon. You should be 28.

Bless your heart, precious son. I pray blessings on you.
Love, Lady Mama


Wednesday 1/23/08 10 p.m.

Dear Henry,

I just got home from BV practice - an odd night because Monday was MLK holiday. Now I'm in my pj's with a brandy toddy next to me. It's cold outside. They say it'll be in the teens again tonight. Maybe we'll get a real snow yet. The winter is a-passing.

Our music this season is so yummy and rich and beauteous. I do so wish you could hear it.

At practice I am happy. It's almost hard to admit that. I resist allowing myself to ever be happy. How could I be happy? Well, I think I'm going to have to be happy. There's no point in proceeding otherwise. That feeling of hopelessness may as well take me over and destroy me if I cannot be happy even in light of what happened to you.

So, Henry, I'm telling you now that I want happiness and I'm gonna try for it. I still love you and miss you, I still ache and grieve over you, I scream with grief inside me. But then I get on and do stuff and think about something else or someone else, and eat dinner and sleep and hope for snow. You know. Life. Just a life that is more tender and broken and scraggly.

I hope to see Isaac this weekend. I'll let you know.

Goodnight, Sweetheart.
Love, Lady Mama


Sunday 1/27/08 6:30 a.m.

Dear Henry,

I do enjoy Sunday mornings. I am a lucky girl to have the day off while Pack and your dad are slaving away. Especially Jim, still slaving away 7 mornings a week.

But I have my coffee, my zucchini muffin, Billie Holiday on the turntable, and you. Pretty nice. Plus, they say, it will snow tonight.

The Phillip Yancey audio books arrived. I gave one to Pack and started listening to the other one in my car. Reaching for the Invisible God. I'm enjoying it and I think it is helping me put to rest my worries about you and hell. I believe I must trust God with my beloved Henry. Some things are unknowable, but I believe in the goodness of God. I do doubt that sometimes, but when I look within me and without me, the goodness of God slaps me in the face. It is possible to see God's goodness by what is created, by the yearnings in our hearts, in spite of the fallen world we inhabit. In a way, it's too obvious. It's like the thing you can't find because it's right next to you.

I'm also reading The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis. It's terrific.

So, Hen Ben, I'm putting to rest some of my anxiety. I'll probably have to wrestle with it again, but for now it's tamed.

Today I'd really better do some housework, else we might drown in muck and junk mail. But such activity is oh so easy to postpone.

I began the project of typing up these letters. Talk about putting something off - I've really dragged my feet on this one. But once I got started I found it wasn't so bad. I'm not a very fast typist, only finished the first two entries. The pain is so raw and new there. It grew worse later as the shock began to wear off. I think I can see now that I actually have come a long way.

Gosh, I'm almost on the last page! I have to decide whether to keep going. I go back and forth. Maybe I should let you go, stop writing to you and simply keep a journal. I don't know. I don't have to decide right now.

Sugar Biscuit, Punkin Pie, Bridgie, Hen Ben-a-Rooney, Ben Bridge, Rah-Rah...Sweetheart. I love you. Our Sunday morning red-headed son delivered by Dr. Miracle. You are a blessing to us forever.

Kisses and hugs,
Mama Pajama


Tuesday 1/19/08 11:45 a.m.

Dear Hen Ben,

I find I am reluctant to write because I dread coming to the end of the book. Can't I even make it to your birthday? What should my last sentence be? I've been thinking again of keeping a journal of prayers. I would give you up to God's care and talk to him instead. I don't know...I think my faith has been rescued from the trash heap, but I sure have a long way to go.

Anyway, for now I still have a little room. I have to leave for my 1/2 day of work now. Your dad has just left to take Myra to Claim Jumper for lunch. She wants to talk to him about her faith crisis. Please, God, be with them.

I love you sweetheart! What big news!! :)
-Your mama with a new haircut (longer than you are used to seeing on me)


Wednesday 2/1/08 8:15 p.m.

Dear Henry,

This is hard, coming to the end of my letters to you. It is like another good-bye. But something tells me I need to give it up. I need to stop trying to relate to you as though you are still alive. I will write about you, though. I will never give you up. You are always my Hen Ben, my delight, my pride, my heartache, my blessing.

I had a wacky idea: wouldn't it be fun if everyone in the family ran the shop on your birthday? It's so dang frustrating that you wouldn't be there!! It is a wacky idea, and it probably won't happen, but it would be cool.

Oh sweetheart, let this bunch of letters tell you of our love and sorrow and hope forever. I'm unable to express all the heartache, but you know. I hope you know the love too.

Love, love, Lady Mama