Dreamtime

I'm in a department store, looking for something but I'm not quite sure what, when I hear a familiar voice behind me say "hello Mother".  My heart skips a beat and  rises to my throat and I turn around to see my son, my handsome boy that I buried in the cold, hard ground nine years ago, standing in front of me.  Very much alive.

In that instant, I know the blood has drained from my face and my body is shaking.  I can feel the warmth of wet tears on my cheeks as I stare at his face, aged a few years, but yes, this is most definitely my son!  Instantly my mind tells me, this is not possible and I feel my legs giving out from under me.  I cannot find my voice...  I want to hug him, to hold him, to kiss his  face and hear his voice.

He grabs me before my body crumples to the earth and holds me up. 

And then, and then, I awaken from my dream and my heart cries out in agony.  NO!  NO!  I want to go back, I want to hear his voice again, I didn't get to hug him! 

My irrational heart will occasionally direct my brain to do what I cannot in reality do: see my son in my dreams when I miss him the most.  It almost feels cruel, this dream time because always, it feels as though he as been ripped from my life once again and the ache in my heart that I am usually able to ignore now comes back with a vengence. 

It was nine years ago, probably to the day, that I saw him last.  It was nine years ago that he left this world.   

There is a part of we humans that cannot accept the absolute and total finality of death.  It is so cruel, so heartbreaking to those of us left behind.  The day my son died a part of me died with him and I have not been able to recover that part of me.  It's just gone.  I am better, but I am by no means whole.  And still I cry for the life ended too soon and too young with so much living yet to do.  I wanted the world to stop as my world had, but it didn't.  The world kept spinning around the sun and humankind kept living.  I had to keep living, too, but sometimes I feel guilty about that.  It should have been me that died first, not my son. 

I am at peace now with his passing a great majority of the time.  It took awhile to get  to this place emotionally.  But now and then, on his birthday, on his deathday, I remember and I cry because I loved him so very, very much and was blessed to have had him in my life and to have been his mother.

I miss you, Bud. 

In loving memory of:
Sgt. Jeremy R. Smith, US Army Reserves
November 1981 - February 2004

Death Day

Today is  my son's death day.  There is no other way to describe what today is.  When we are born, we have a birth day, a day to be celebrated.  To say that today is the anniversary of the day he died makes it seems so meaningless when that day had a very highly profound impact on my family.  So I call it his death day.

There are two days that had the most profound impact on my life -- the day I became a mother through the birth of my son and the day he died. 

I don't want his death day to be filled with sadness and sorrow, although I am sad.  Time does not heal all wounds, it just covers them up and leaves scars.  I am blessed to have been Jeremy's mom and to have had him in my life, if even for a short time.  His sisters and I love him and miss him.  We remember the good times and the bad.  But mostly we just wish he was still here with us to share in our lives and living his own.





And so, today, I remember Jeremy's baby face when he was born, the joy of holding him and counting his fingers and toes for the first time, his baby smell and how he wouldn't go to sleep at night when he was a baby.  I remember him fighting with his younger sisters and protecting them at the same time.  I remember how he didn't like people to see him smile, so he hid it all the time.  He was both a pain in the ass and a sweetheart. 

Jeremy would have especially loved that Jaime married Mark.  He would have loved his nephews and nieces.  He would really love Dani's Misty and her family.

I would give everything I have to have my son back, but that will not happen.  I used to listen for his footsteps coming up the sidewalk rush to answer the phone hoping he would be on the other end and search for his face in crowds.  Now I see him in my dreams now and then.

Until we meet again the Summerlands, my beloved son...

Peace

Remembering Jeremy

There are some dates in our lives that will be forever marked "special". Tomorrow is one of those days.

Not just because it's Thanksgiving, but because it would have been my son's 27th birthday if he were still alive.

It's hard for me to believe that it's been five years since we spent Jeremy's 22nd birthday with him, which was also on Thanksgiving Day that year. It was on Saturday that my husband and I took Jeremy to report to his Army Reserves Unit to report for active duty. He was in the 961st Quartermasters.

One of Jeremy's friends from the 961st called me today. It made me feel so good to know that he still thinks about and misses his friend. Thank you, Mario, for your phone call. You cannot know how good you made me feel.

Yes, I am sad, but I think the sadness has been replaced by a sense of being grateful for the time I had to be Jeremy's Mom. I will always remember the moment of his birth and his big, beautiful eyes looking up at me. I will forever remember his first words and his adorable baby face. The sound of Jeremy's voice is burned into my heart -- especially the way he said "Hello, Mother" when he called me.

So, this Thanksgiving Day, I give thanks for Jeremy and his life.

I give thanks for my beautiful, amazing daughters that I get to spend the day with.

I give thanks for the gift of my grandson, Aiden, who is my joy.

And I give thanks for Maxx, my husband, partner, lover, best friend and confidant without whom I would not have been able to live through so much heartache and sorrow.

I am truly blessed.

Oh, and Jeremy, I feel you. I know you are looking over my shoulder. And I love you with all my heart, always and forever.

Peace,

Amy