Requiem for my Mother and Michael's Grandma

my last  picture of mom I have  I  see the grief from losing dad and still smile as she is wearing what see always called blind gypsy chic jammies

In two days, my mother will have been gone for a year. She passed away suddenly in her sleep, 89 days after we lost my father. Ironically our family had always prepared ourselves that if mom went first, dad was soon to follow. My dad, the wear your heart on your sleeve guy, made no bones he could not function without her. My mistake was my mom was more aloof but deep in her love but when he died, I really saw who she lived for. After my dad passed, mom lived with us for about 2 weeks while my brother got their place in California ready. I would hear her at night, after seeing her worn but still standing, talking to him .It was the most heartbreaking thing I ever heard and the most intimate pieces of their relationship, I was ever privy too. Her life was going on but not with him and she could not make sense of it. It was a frantic place for her trying to be strong but her heart just laid our flat for grief and God. It never in my wildest dreams occurred to me that 6 months later, I would be having the same conversations of loss, on my son’s bed willing him beyond hope to walk through the door. Even more devastating, my pleas to mom and dad, especially mom to help me live through this, were also conversations with ghosts and no answers. Most of the time , I am glad they are all together in the next life but sometimes so angry they left me to what at times feels like the wolves. I will not celebrate my parents 60th anniversary, dad getting a cancer free diagnosis, my son growing up, getting married. I will never be a mother or a grandmother to a child on earth. And the one person who knows me for my whole life, the good, the bad, the fucked up, the awesome, is now a conversation to nowhere in the still of the night. I lost my child and I want my mom to help me survive this.

Ironically though they did not spend a lot of time together, Mike and my mom were tight. Tight in that way that I was always like hmmm where is the pod with my mom? My mom did not cook, bake or be the “bestie” of her daughter. But she loved in a very straightforward way. She always said what was on her mind and she was always there for me, even when others gave up. Her love was whole and in some ways hurt me, she was so afraid of losing me that she did cave to various doctors who put me on large amounts of meds that we now know are bad for teens, damaged my liver and wreaked havoc on me. She taught me to keep it all a secret from folks, so they would not think badly of me. But hiding that secret, those meds, those effects, how they actually made me more insane than they helped, blew up my world, wiped out part of memories of childhood. We talked about it as I got older and it killed her knowing that drug after drug was causing me more and more violent reactions, but she trusted the doctors who were in fact wrong. I never blamed her because my mother with no medical background, she was trying to keep me safe. It was the wrong path but as I learned being Michael’s mom, sometimes you mess up out of love. In my mid 20’s she was terrified when I finally said no to the meds and terrified that she would lose me. She became more devastated when nothing happened, I became more level, more cognizant, and more Rachel than I had been in a decade.  She felt she had failed me and I spent years letting her know I was ok now and that’s all the mattered, When she came to Eugene and met with a top psychiatric doctor and me, she cried to learn that misdiagnosis back in my teen years was not uncommon and I showed no symptoms of bipolar disorder. The rapid cycling bipolar with stints of psychosis were in fact not organic to my brain chemistry  but the side effects of being on Lithium, Depakote, Trazadone, Paxil, Prozac and so many others when my body did not need them. They in fact caused the moods they feared and instead of stepping back the answer was always up the dosage. It took a long time for her to forgive herself, I was never mad at her. She did what moms bullied by doctors do, reacted to the threat and tried to keep her kid alive. I loved her more for helping me save myself. And I knew she always had my back.

So this very matter of fact, speak your mind kind of mom, became this gooey gooey mess with my son. I think she really saw his wounds deep in his heart and something about him brought our huggy grandma. My son in some ways was an open book, full of love. He sucked at lying or deception and while he thought at times he was getting over, he fooled very few. This led to a lot of very uncomfortable conversations at time about what was going on in his life, what he was doing. What he was not. It did make us stronger because we could get through those tough things to love. However my son was a child who grew up in no safety, no permanent love. He was as a small child abused and abandoned in horrific ways and as a teen left to rot in a system. He did not become bitter or a victim, yet there was a part of Michael that would always be his, his wounded little boy was never going to share that again. We talked about it once, ending in tears for both of us. I never felt cheated, I knew this was safety piece for him. But I always believed he would live long enough to figure out how to unlock it.

My mother came the closest to unlocking that piece even for a minute. Mike loved grandma’s no filter and no bs approach to life. My mother was always also the honey for gay men, they flocked to her mainly because she would care less about who they slept with and I think had some Bette Davis charm. But at times she would simply disarm him. In the most gentle voice ever, she would come up behind him and just say “Michael I just need to hug you, Love you so much , you are so much .” and she would just hold him and stroke his hair. My son’s eyes always gave him away. When my mom did that to him, every time I saw the eyes of a toddler. For those who have toddlers you know those eyes, full of wonder and joy in the moment. She for a minute could get into kiddos no fly zone. I loved her for that and that my mother just believed in finding happiness, sometimes she sacrificed it in her own life so she wanted it for me. If she ever had any qualms about her lesbian daughter and now trans gendered partner adopting a 16 year old gay male, she never shared it with us. Her only request was could Ty have his name Tim instead easier for her, of course. She said as a family we made sense and in her heart Michael was always supposed to be all of ours. She would tell me, I only have had him for 3 years but Rachel I love that child so much, my heart just melts around him. Mike was planning in February with her to go to California and spend just a weekend them together. He was saving money to take her to the beach.

I have seen Mike cry a few times in our life but the sobs when grandma passed, he was incoherent for about 2 hours. When I went in to say goodbye to mom at the funeral home, my child became a man and he held his mom up while I fell apart holding my mom for one last time. 6 months later when I fell apart holding my child in the mortuary, I had a distinct feeling they were both there physically keeping me standing and willing me to breathe.

My mom was a damn good mom, not perfect but mine. The things she did with me that mattered: open door communication even if it was sucks, unconditional love, unconditional support: I kept those pieces and used them to help my son blossom and find himself. The things that did not work I used as growth when I became a mom. I never took for granted what an “expert “told us about our son. We learned together what he needed, what worked and fought to find options and not make decisions out of fear.

I talk about missing Michael a lot and it’s not for lack of missing mom and dad. However I look at trauma from a new school of therapy which is essence illumination. Studies show that emotional trauma in the body really lasts for about 90 seconds. If you can allow that pain to pass through you, it helps you heal. When we fear the pain it gets trapped in our bodies and we replay it in detriment to ourselves. I do a lot of daily 90 second breakdowns about Michael, sometimes hourly. The release when the heartbreak and rage comes keeps me standing, keeps me functioning, keeps me keeping his love in me, and keeps me alive. Combining all 3 losses is something that is so physically painful that in working that out I have lost my voice for few hours or have dry heaved blood. My parents and child may now be celestial beings, but I am still human and the combined loss at this time does not flow throw but tears holes like bullet piercing armor. Like Mike, I am always ware of mom gone. No weekly phone calls, so 6 am I just want to vent to you calls. No hearing “how are you my love’ No mom. My son shares a lot in common with my mom, meet them once and you never forget them. I love you mom, I miss you mom and if you ever had any misgiving just like I was the mom Michael needed, you were the mom created for me. I love you and miss you so much, take care of kiddo for me , ok .

How you sleep in grief

Sleep is an inherent basic need, without it your health fails, you go buggy, and you decline. But in grief sleep becomes a weird cycle of pitfalls, solace, frustration and dreams. Since losing Michael my sleep has been at times all-consuming or nonexistent.

 The first week that my son was gone, I didn't sleep more than 2 hours at time. I know I would jerk and move in my sleep violently. The next week was undoing what to me was 3.5 years of muscle memory. My life with my son was my partner worked nights and Mike would either come home or text me where he was staying the night. My pattern had been get sleepy and then once the text or the kiddo came in, go to sleep. I still have a hard time sleeping in bed, my angle lets me see the hallway to his room and subconsciously I still wait for him or the text that is never coming. 

My dreams have been to this point nightmares that rattle me to the core and make the next day anxiety and fearful. The setting is always different but the outcome is the same. Ty and I looking for our son, never finding him. Its panic, where I wake up with chest pains, sweat and tears. Its longing that will never be resolved while you are alive in this world. I wake most nights 2-3 times in the process of vomiting or coughing up burning acid, inner pain erupting out. That is I think for parents who have talked to me about losing a child too, this deep burning searing inside you as you grieve. This memory of taking care of your child and no place to put that routine. If you have faith you know your child is now in supreme safety and joy, but as a mom you are parenting an empty hallway. Parenting an empty hallway fatigues you to the core. It makes you question why all this hate erupts in the world, all this violence, all this racism when at the end of the day, another human being is doing this mourning of a child.  How do we as children of God do this to each other no matter what the race, profession, sexuality or religion? How do we not wish this pain on anyone but create it and try to justify with so must careless excuse. 

The world is a scary place right now and sleep should be solace. Grieving parents grieving families get no respite at night, so how do we survive the day? 

I have many pictures of my son asleep, maybe because he came to us at 16, I was making up for the baby years. Maybe it was because my child lived in chaos for so long that once he came home sleep was peaceful for him. He could relax and let go. He trusted we would keep him safe. It’s hard for me to feel like I have failed him in that. I know kids drive, I know accidents happen, however I am the mom and my son was not in the moment of death safe. His room was also a place where we could talk, really talk. Many times I would say to him I was proud of him or loved him and would rub his head or hug him and you could see him shift and shuffle. Once in a while I would ask him if when I loved on him or told him he was awesome, I made him uncomfortable. He would always tell me know, he loved when I did but at times it overwhelmed him. After being without love for so long in his childhood that now to be loved so deeply he was "still amazed” by how much we loved him.

But when he struggled or was moody and did not want to talk, I would go in his room. He would be laying on the bed and roll over, face the wall and act like I was not there. I would prop myself up on pillows next to him and sit down and just talk. Talk about what I was seeing, what I though was going on, if I was concerned and that we were there when he needed us, he just needed to let us in. I would rub his back and eventually he would roll over and smile and start talking about what was truly going on with him. He would let me sit on his bed and chat nonstop to me while he "cleaned ' (aka moved piles about) his room. I go in his room now as sleep salvation. In great insomnia I can lay there and get at least an hour of dreamless sleep. That lets me survive the day.

My child had the knack of being a stubborn teen nudge right to the moment of pure frustration. And then he would pull back and let us in. The past 3 nights have been waking up choking on bile and burn and nightmares of deep fear and loss. Last night though gave me that moment of peace that once awake let me weep tears of love and loss not terror and emptiness. In the dream I walked through the house dark and feeling trepidation. And then there he was, my Michael in his favorite shirt lying in bed, listening to his iPod. Down to each strand I could see his hair, the clear blueness of his eyes which always meant he was peaceful. And I sat on the bed and stroked his hair and kissed his forehead until for a while my heart did not hurt. And I don't believe it to be a dream but a reminder that he is ok that I love him and even in death we as family still need that.

So if like me you are in a sleep hell cycle, remind yourself that dreams are fleeting. They can be painful and scary but fleeting. Memories are real, love is real and it is what will keep you connect to life.

There is nothing in our DNA to cope with burying our children

Humans are truly amazing creatures. We create and destroy, love and hate. We show great acts of mercy and compassion and in the next breathe moments of darkness and evil. We on some levels fear death but kill and justify killing as casually at times as ordering a coffee. But humans are resilient. There is something primal that turns on in us , that ancestral fight or flight that helps us cope either well or poorly but still cope with what life throws at you. But there is one instance where our DNA never pulls out a coping tool, never helps save us from ourselves or our pain. There is nothing in our DNA that allows us to comprehend burying our child before us. It is in fact an unnatural act and makes the participants part of a club that no one wants to join, ever. From mourning mothers of black men and women killed by the system of institutionalized racism , to a nightclub in Orlando , to June 10th 2016 , parents left standing without their children is hell. I now know that because 30 days ago, the love of our life left us in a fatal car accident . He was only 19. And there is nothing that changes that fact or pain.

It is ironic that I am blogging this because right now I barely jump on and off social media, however at this time I am all out of other coping skills. Screaming is wonderful and primal but at some point your voice abandons you like hope or nice concerned people pull over to check on you. Tears now literally burn because of the amount leaving my body , my eyes are essential rubbed raw. There is no solace in sleep , if it comes and there is no drug or alcohol strong enough to stop what washes over me. I cant break stuff because I am too fatigued to clean it up .I look for him everywhere and sometimes if you hear me say " hi baby" its because I sense a presence, his presence in small things and meanings that  he , Ty and I would get. 30 days without him does not seem possible, this nightmare only started yesterday, right? I rage against never seeing his car in front of the house, him bopping through the front door again , the texts , the hugs , my son.
These 30 days have been the most soul shredding event in my lie , part of what gave me lightness and purpose is gone , I do not know how to fill it and am in awe of parents who have lived with their loss for years .

As a parent, you create family and love by memories. In grief  it dawns on you , there will be no new memories with your child. My son will not walk me down the aisle, I will never see him have his first serious relationship, marry and like his parents adopt his children. I will never be the mother of the groom, grandma or the advice he calls when he gets older. That knowledge of that loss is what can drown you in despair , it shears you in half and if not careful with it can leave you a shell of a human. when you lose a child you already become the shell of who you were.

In the past 9 months I have lost my father , my mother and my only child.  I do not know who I am anymore , why I am anymore. This has caused me a huge crisis in faith , that I believe all things are interconnected and not for us to decide but when its your child its hard to embrace. People say God never gives you more than you can handle , but I am beginning to believe his assessment of my strength and mine are very different. I get angry , a lot. Angry when I see a kid driving like they are invincible, angry when someone asks me when I will adopt again like my son is replaceable or that because I did not birth him this hurt less. I get angry because no matter what I do my kid is never coming through that front door again and the well of pain that causes s too big to hold or contain.

So for those of you also in this horrible fraternity , I don't know what to say because I am in no way at the it gets easier to cope part of the grief cycle. What I do know is what honestly keeps me here is letting my clan, my  tribe and even strangers show me love and compassion. My son at 19 was joy, he held our hands in public, he hung out with grandma and grandpa, he loved his friends and family . He started life as a child in foster care but ended surrounded by people who saw his light, who he gave his joy to freely and all of us his forever family. We love him unconditionally and in he return he loved us the same way . His service was standing room only, as  person after person stood up and shared the impact , love and compassion that was our Michael. Family the one I created either through marriage or friendship have feed us , cared for us, drove us and distracted us when we  could not do for ourselves. They held us even as they mourned our child too. It can be a text with a heart or the nice tiny older woman who holds you as you weep in a church you stopped in randomly, who prays with you and gives you her rosary. It reminds you when you think there is no light left in the world that love and light can sneak through the cracks in the wall of grief. There are times when you lose your child that you yourself no longer wish to live , it is the simple act of people holding a space for you in life that keeps you going . Hold space for your spouse and respect that everyone grieves differently , including you both as parents. Losing a child can end a marriage. Ty and I have committed to working to support each other and we do , but it can be hard when you both need different things to heal. We thank our friends who understand at times we need it to just be the two of us , to wrap our heads around being Mikes parents without him here.

Tired is no even the word , yet the description fails me. Normal routine , part time office hours, emails, paying bills , grocery shopping all of this is like new information for me . I have washed my hands with moth wash . forgot literally how to close a front hook bra, driving terrifies me, names allude me. I spent 20 minutes at the DMV and needed to nap for an hour. Because right now acting and it is an act ,like part of routine life baffles me . Because all I want to do is lay down on his bed , surrounded by his things and stay there , everything else confounds me. I want to call my mom , which is not possible or my dad and that barely healed wound tears open bleeding into this new wound as well.

For those who love us grieving parents , thank you . we may never be able to articulate what it is you do for us, how you in fact keep us connected to the world. We know we are not ok and so do you but you allow that to just be.
an I will be without him , how that remains to be seen 

The greatest love is a mother's; then a dog's; then a sweetheart's

Three and a half years ago, the greatest event happened to me and my partner. I had my child. A healthy, sassy 16 year old child. In our adoption journey, we had found Mike and our world was never the same. From first photo to a devastating 300 page file of neglect,abuse and self destruction we loved him. There was a force pulling us to him. He was birthed by another woman, abandoned by her but he found his way to our world and I believe that God had a  hand in that. You would think adopting child stuck in foster care for years would have been easy, it was not. It was a journey of red tape, fear, heartache, joy and stamina.

I get and I am sure lots of us adopted moms get questions about his "real mother" Last time I checked I was not a unicorn nor a drug induced manifestation, I am real. Birthing a child does not make you real, raising and loving that child does.

One of the most painful conversations I have ever had was with a  family member when my partner began gender transition. Not because of the transition conversation but the arrow shot out at me as she lashed out wrestling with her own stuff. I was told that I was a great mom but because I did not carry Mike in me, I could never know the pain a real mother goes through. No I thought because you carried this child your love for them should be unconditional and you should be able to put their needs first. Bonding with my abused son made me put aside my own ego, become calmer to weather his fears and stand in the truth that my child was part of me but not me.

Look, I will shout out to moms who have birthed their kids! Seen many births and damn ladies, you rock. Its not something that is easy, the  pregnancy or the birth  You are awesome mamas. You do not however have anything more over adopted moms , the challenges and struggles are different but just as "real". But I guarantee you all adoptive moms  also go through fear, cravings, questions, nesting, nightmares and bodily distress in waiting for our kids. My child was not carried inside me but there were days my body was a punching bag from inside out waiting on red tape, trying to soothe my kid over Skype and trying to bring him home. Out labor is that fight for our children and our birth the day we put them in the car and take them from a foster home or hospital forever. Your club and mine are the same, the birth story just has different pages.

Moms are the ones who are there unconditionally, even when they do not understand their children. They support the good and healthy in them and they also RALLY  when their kid slides or fails in life. They help them heal. They worry more about what pain their child feels than what others might think or their own issues. I love my son more than my life and have empowered him to make healthy choices  and support him in learning its OK to fail and try something else as long as the long term goal is movement for your true self. If you did  not know me you would not know I did not birth my son because for me how he was birthed is inconsequential in my role of supporting his whole life and loving him through that.

I grew up with many folks who had moms in the word but not the actions. They birthed them but never protected or supported them. Some friends had step moms or aunts or sisters who filled that void either from necessity or death.Birth is an action. Being mom is a privileged not a right. Real moms are the ones who stay the duration and don't turn their back or regress to their own stuff when their child's life  gets tough. Real moms are born they just do not birth. So here is my shout out to all
REAL moms,  the bio moms, the adopted or foster mom, the step moms , the aunts , grams or siblings that may or may not have carried that child in their body but do in their heart. So this mother's day whether you are a REAL mother or love  a Real mother in whatever form they came to love you : know the memories we carry of love are not of DNA but actions and memories of love and safety. For all of us who have or give that, have a wonderful mothers day and may we love and pray that those lost without someday find that love.

For  moms or anyone looking to pull that light from within , a gift for spring or self  can be flower essences. For my heart right now Buttercup essence lights me up

Buttercup

Latin Name:Ranunculus occidentalis

Healing Purpose:

Buttercup flower essence allows "your essence" to radiate light from the inside out. Rather than being forced to "put on a happy face" you inner light will through naturally with help from this flower remedy. Buttercup is a wonderful healing essence that helps the individual become non-judgmental of the self. Diminishes any feelings of self doubt or failure.
Positive Qualities:

• radiance
• confidence
• self esteem
• happiness

The word priority was never meant to be plural !

I just was recently sent a tweet and re tweeted it about priority never meaning to be plural. In this day and age, ask many folks and there are multiple priorities in their live, their day, their goals. But until the 20th century people did not use priority with a plural  as it was meant to signify that one thing, that focus or value was placed on. Everything else was a task or subset of accomplishment to the priority. Much as we have become apathetic in  ourselves to violence, we have lost the focus of finding that one thing that takes value in our life. Your priority may change as you do, however if you only make one thing your sole focus, so much else falls in line naturally .

Like me you may have had that multiple prioritize list, but really looking at it how can you give 100% to 3 things, 4 things, 5 things at a time?  No matter how the intention, the math does not work. You become frazzled, stressed and the self talk deprecating. But what if we go old school, like the outline we learned to do in 3rd grade? How to highlight our topic and do it well? How to see that one thing, focused on as the end game will lead us to choices that serve us holistically and not compartmentalized.

But Rachel, you say, I have many facets of life. Each has its own priority, thus I have many. Follow me here and its cool, I tell you like a Valium for the brain. The shift is in focus, what you do, each day how does it serve or not serve  the one and only one priority in your life at that time.

After mulling this over: right now my biggest priority in life is my family. My partner and son and I how we navigate the world and the people who by blood or choice are threads in our family quilt. After losing both parents so close together, my greatest sadness beside the grief was knowing that I was jack of multiple priorities, master of none. That caused lost time and with them both gone that will never be made up and I have to feel that, mourn that and go on. When my partner began transition, we learned that some family could try, some family could not and some family was too concerned about what others thought to try. We are blessed by so many people that stepped in to support us and create that circle of love for us in our time of loss and transition. My family unit and extended family are where my time and energy need to go. I find myself coveting time and energy with family and if something does not align to support my focus of family, I get pissed and resistant.

How Rachel, though can you ignore other priorities of life? Well here is the beauty, one priority many tasks to achieve it and enjoy it. My inspiration for looking at that single priority and running with it comes from a childhood friend who I lost touch with but with social media have reconnected with. No one childhood is ever perfect but Jenn got dealt a lot of really unfair and shitty hands. With that as you age you go two ways: you either embrace that  garbage and have it stunt your spirituality or you rally from it and blossom into beauty. Jenn choose the blossom. She may think I am totally nuts or off base but to me, I see a singularity of focus that has created something wonderful. With her spouse they have created a large family where the priority is family first, not perfection but priority.
They have all the craziness just like everyone with ups and downs in life and the grueling pace of needs of a large, active family.But in all her posts and pictures and world views, it is for her one single purpose, one single idea: take care of the family and your place in the world falls into line. There is a genuine peace about her that was absent in her childhood and I love it. It reminds me that good people still can "win" if you will in a not so kind world.

So how do we remember priority was never meant to be plural? I say write it down in any form you like. But much like a 3rd grade outline of Stuart Little, I am looking at my BIG topic and finding my supportive arguments for it .

MY family is the key to my heart, my health, and my happiness. I choose to put them first in my life !

• Health: without it we cannot thrive. My commitment is to eat well, move more and provide healthy food and activities for my family so we stay well together. 
• Work: it provides us with income and for my passion for anti poverty work is a passion and mission we embrace together. My commitment is to be engaged at work to provide for my family but no longer be consumed by it.
• Money: we always have enough , we are lucky. We are not afraid of hard work if we need to be creative in our resources. Our best memories do not involve money. My commitment is to make it and save it for our families needs and future plans but not be side tracked by it.
• Community: once we lose a loved on through death or otherwise, time cannot be re bought until the next life. My family is my tribe that sustains me and I them. My commitment is to create opportunities to connect and remind them of the value we bring together.

So that dear readers is my list, Find your one true priority and embrace it. You are worth that focus!