My son, The Divine and The Ramones

             The iconic image on a tee , a first bonding memory with Michael in the flesh

It has been a typical winter day in Oregon, rain mixed with snow, in our little farming town its slate grey and quiet. For me it is my last day before I go back to work and I am comfy in my flannel pants and Joan Jett vintage shirt. It’s faded, a bit too big now (happy dance) with a few weird random bleach splotches. Its history will have me wear it to rags and then keep. Our pilgrimage to North Dakota included getting our son clothes that fit. In our mall trip, I found this shirt and kiddo was so enthralled that his mom not only knew who Joan Jett was wearing in the picture but his mom loved the group too. It was the first time I think he realized these people, his parents were real folks.

It has been a long 8 months. At times I can move to the bitter sweet, the thoughts and bubbles of joy when I think about or talk about my son Michael. Often though it’s still the rough broken sobs when the reality is no matter what he is not walking through that door. So now instead of sitting on his bed listening to him chatter, I have made a nest of his pillows in his room, where I sit and write. It’s not an easy write, it’s a start and stop process of me writing then sobbing, howling, until I can write again. Because I am flooded with so many memories, sounds, thoughts mementos, everything but Michael himself. But I am wearing the shirt he wanted me to get for myself since it  was “so cool mom” And I feel the chill in the room and know he is here still thinking it’s cool.

Grief takes a lot out of you, without perspective it can take you too and over the edge. It can suck your will to live away. This process started June10th at the mortuary when I was left alone with my son. It hard fighting the rational brain, accident happen, we cannot glue ourselves to our kids, I know that. But the fighting of failing to protect him still can haunt me. I read an article from a mom who had lost her 22 year old son and she summed it up so well. Your child being gone and you being here defies natural order. Your natural instinct as a mother to protect your child feels betrayed. For me every step of us being connected to Michael, how the adoption played out, how we bonded as a family and so many things that defy coincidence always had me believe the divine played a part in gifting us with our child. I struggle to hold onto how June 10^th was part of the plan. I put on this shirt and I am transported back to a dreary mall in North Dakota with my day old 16 year old son, blue eyes shining , chatting about which Ramones album was better with his mom who he had waited for 16 years to come get him. I try to understand why I get no more of these moments, why life is fleeting, and what a gift our kids our even when they drive us to the point of crazy. I would carve my heart out of my chest for one more time of Michael making us crazy, one more car trip of him and I singing I wanna be sedated or Sheena is a punk rocker. One more time to tell him I love him.

They say in grief you find your life’s purpose. When you lose your child at some point you do need to find purpose. Your child was your purpose and without them you need to find in yourself something to numb the void. A fire to melt that glacier in your heart for me looking at purpose is how to live the way I was supporting Michael, with love, fearlessness, seeking support but eschewing the toxic naysayers. I .am not sure the purpose but I know the path. I am still here, my son is not. To curl up, give up, die would be to disgrace the light and love that was my son. I am beginning to find that path and it my connection back to the divine. Without it, without God, I not only block the ultimate love but I block out my son. He is in now divinity, anger will keep him from me not closer to me. In the new year I through the sadness and through the pain have decided to embrace the life I wanted for my child, my connection to the divine and Joan Jett and the Ramones as the soundtrack