PTSD, My son and the rise of the human heart

PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder, is a mental illness caused by an external traumatic event. There are many traumatic events that can trigger PTSD, including accidents, war, assault, violence and natural disasters.

Since my son passed, I have had some reactions in life that are somewhat confounding given my nature and temperament. I break into cold sweats at ambulances with lights flashing, I shake when I see cars that have their front ends smashed in. I panic anytime there is wind, rain, snow and people I love on the road. Every night around 10, I get violently nauseous. This was usually the time if not home, Michael would text me to tell me when he was coming home that night or if he was staying with friends or at his sisters. When we pass the exit for the road he was killed on I have anxiety attacks. I thought I was just bat shit crazy. Apparently in 15 months of breaking a leg in a violent fall, losing both parents, being at ends with your sibling and having your child die is an external traumatic event. I was shocked when 2 weeks ago I was given this diagnosis.

But this rambling is not about me or mine, this is about now more than ever being in awe of my son and all he was, is and will forever be. How people like my son are amazing reminders of the human spirit and how lucky and grateful we were to be gifted by God to see his journey through. This is going to be a hard read, and things are shared are things Mike was open about sharing in his life to help others.

Since June 10^th 2016, my skin has been alive, my gut and instincts always on alert, my sleep crap, my sense of logic sometimes failing. My son lived with this for over 10 years of his life, yet he found humor, grace and himself in the journey. To meet my son you would never have known he was diagnosed with PTSD and that at times it spun him into incredible places of loss, sadness, pain and fear. My child was taken away from his birth parents and put into a system that was designed to “protect him” and while he had many good folks along the way the journey like so many kiddos in care , eroded parts of him , some that came back , some still in hiding when he died. My son was physically, mentally, verbally, sexually, medically, and nutritionally abused. There was an attempt on his life that resulted in no care for his injuries. Many folks never believed him, but his untreated injuries and ramifications of that tell a different story. Here you are triggered in life with an illness caused by trauma, moved 24 times and expected to be on your best behavior, complaint and respectful. I liken this to emotional waterboarding of foster kids and us as a country must wake up and realize without a better system our system by its broken nature is emotionally torturing these kids. I have read my kids file, listened to him, walked the floors when he would not sleep because of flashbacks, and saw deep pain in a child whose spirit was really set on flying in love. The fact that we had Michael, really had him not just had a ghost or zombie or addict is a testament to him being able to tune into the love of himself and God. He never called it God but he would talk very openly of something pulling him to be better, to love harder, and to have hope.

As his parents we bared witness to our amazing peaceful warrior, our prancing glitter filled queen, or compassionate would be nurse, club dancer, grandmas baby and defender of the little guy and compassion in this world. We helped him navigate this world but some things were inherent: He knew to open doors, help folks with walkers, buy veterans and homeless coffee, give someone freezing a jacket.

As his parent who he knew loved him unconditionally and without hesitation or fear, we also carried the fall out of his PTSD. He knew he could rage and spin and spew and always, always we were still there. The 5 days of hell when his bio called him just to tell him she was getting married not asking about him at all that sent him into a tailspin about being ripped away from his sisters, The breakdown that took grandma intervention just to get him to speak because his fear of loss was so great, The 8 day insomnia and food binge set off about almost being murdered. The spinning out of control when fighting with friends because his fear of abandonment was over shadowing their arguments and the 2 weeks of death poetry, sad fb posts and tears because he over reacted and felt he had lost people he loved and did not know how to get them back. Being pushed  by well meaning others to talk to his bio dad while grieving my dad that brought up each and every old fear that conflicted with the natural desire to learn more about his birth family that set of his running away calling me a cunt telling me to fuck myself. And he with the help of friends and therapists coming back to us after that knowing my love for him was unchanging even when I was not happy with his behavior. All of this these behind the scenes places where Ty and I had to evaluate whether he was being a typical teen or was his PTSD triggered and brewing . And as passionately as we love him, we fought with him to help this PTSD just be a part of his life not a controlling factor. We supported, found the therapist who helped open parts of him to love and healing and kiddo himself determined to do the work. My awe for him know no bounds, to love my child and watch him be in the depths of such pain, there was no words. He had to live it and each time, each time he came back from an episode and could talk through it, a part of him healed, he grew stronger and to witness that triumph in anyone is amazing to see it be your kid, divine and glorious. He was not perfect none of are, he was stubborn beyond belief and his tantrums were of epic proportions, but he never let this cast him as a victim, it never propelled him into the mire of non movement. He fought because he was loved and safe and knew that life no matter how tough was worth living. Michael’s grace was that he had every right to be a hard, cynical, cold person, his soul choose love. He choose the light in him not the fear. He rose above his diagnosis. He not the past, not the PTSD , he defined himself. He was one of the most strong and emotional pure humans I ever have met and there are no adequate words of thanks to God for letting him be ours, for making this wonder my son , for gifting us with the child so strong in spirit .

There is a lot of fear as the driving force in this world, fear of selves, others, loss real or perceived. It makes us look at the picture right in front but not delve into human condition because that is hard work with complicated answers. Foster kids, veterans , refugees all groups with high levels of PTSD, droves and droves of human who all have in common that through no fault of their own have lived through and now must process how to go day to day. It’s so easy to take this to money, resources, time. But I think of my peaceful warrior and believe in the big questions: how do we globally connect so soldiers are not thrust into war, how do we keep people safe so they can stay in their homes and not flee , how can we start caring for all children like they are their own? And if in our humanity we are not at or cannot get to that point of minimization of harm , how then do we all believe there is room , there is enough, love is not a limited resource where we have to choose? Enough love, compassion, understanding, prayer, hope given to those so wounded. To lift the human spirit, be witness others pain without our own prejudices derailing us. I don’t know  what the answer is, it’s a process for me but commitment to the dead, a deal with my deceased son. I fought for him to be in a place within himself to see the beauty in the world and hold hope, I must continue that path.  I may be this traumatized PTSD mom with hippy ideals and rose colored glasses and that is ok in my heart and with my God I am right in my place in life is to support the world I wanted for my son.

Michael we all kept our promises the first day we met, we never give up on you, and you never give up on us. Your presence in this world was glory and love and lightness. You awed me kiddo, I love you.

Forever mom

as you always said kiddo, mom is getting older

Hello My Love
Another year approaching and the birthday sweep as you call it coming into term. Micah no longer squirt is 5 , then me 45 , you get to celebrate grandmas 74th in heaven with her this year , then dad turns 46. And mom learns the lesson that time does keep going.

I don't mind aging , its natural progression and my anthropological mind is OK with that. MY heart however rallies against one more milestone without you here.  Its rallies against you not coming through the door with your boyfriend, spouse, children. It cry's because there will be no card in the mail from far off places as you took on the world in nursing in places other would have ran from. Its not getting a call from grandpa tomorrow , "how you doing , you cant be 45 I am only 40 myself."
Its keeping my answers to myself so I don't sound self pitying but what I want for my birthday , I cannot have. One more day , one more hour, minute second to hug you , to hear you. To have the last time you walked through the door saying I love you see you later to have not been the last time. What I want is peace to reconcile with God why after years of being abused and unloved , this family came into being , that we rallied together for you, for us and for unconditional love , why was that so short?
I look at your art the blackboard with your writing "love is always love no matter how it looks" and try to remember this is love. It is unconditional love and with that you run the risk of loss. And even in this mourning I love you as much as the day I first set eyes on you.

45 , not sure how many years still for this earth but I think I will never stop looking for you everywhere I go , that each new birthday moves me less away from bitter and more to the sweet of your memories. Dad and I will celebrate , we will have fun and love and laugh but now there is always this underlying piece. The thing we both feel that needs no words or conversation.

While I never minded aging , I did fear death. Losing you has stopped that fear. In our loss there were profound and undsiputable incidents that allowed God to show us there is life after this.That you are safe and with us each day . Like grandpa crossing you over , I know you will be there for me .

In my early 20s I somehow did one of those tests that said I would die at 45, now 45 I would lie if I said it was not coming back in my mind. But for me it is different , I don't see 45 as the year of my death but instead the death of my old way of being . To love and to live for me and for you and for dad,, I am dismantling all I ever was and moving to an era of betterment and love. I don't want the old me but the new one better and moving towards progress and embracment, making up for lost time. Losing you taught me that.

So this weekend I  will play on the favorite family beach, I will have cake , I will laugh and love and appreciate my life ,just know you are in my heart

love mom

In praise of the crockpot( with recipe) #restanddigest

Its winter and right now our homemade applesauce ( lovely spices no sugar) is doing its magic in the crock pot. My son either deeply inhaled when the crock pot was in his favor ( black beans and rice, paprikash, applesauce,) or sniffed disdainfully on things not his favorite ( my bone broth , pulled pork) He loved that I cooked because in his childhood in foster care  food made with love was never around or food was institutional , bland or criminally non existent or withheld. At 19 he would still let me make his lunches, telling me coyly" they just taste better when you do it".

When kiddo came home to us , years of stress from foster care and abuse had his gut jacked up . In his case file folks often claimed he faked feeling ill as an avoidance technique. If you knew Mike that was a crock of crap, he never avoided anything even if it meant going dead weight for 3 group home staff to carry him off. We knew he was not faking and took him to a specialist, years of stress coupled with being fed bleach had wore some starting ulcers into kiddo. I am proud to say in one year we healed them all .

Part of that was using the concept of parasympathetic nervous system function to rest and digest, In fight or flight or daily stress we wolf down food , and our body simply does not digest it well. Digestion is not part of fight or flight. Its not just my kiddo we all are guilty of it time to time and for some of us its chronic and reeking havoc on our health. Folks often read this as weight but I am talking health. Not matter what size we have more and more folks with GERD, heartburn, IBS, etc . Digestive breakdown because we wire our brains to believe traffic is just as stressful as running from a lion. Rest and digest means that , taking our body to a place of no stress to eat, digest and process without cortisol pumping through.We slowed down kiddos eating ,ate together and discussed issues not at the table.

That is great Rachel , you may say but what in the heck does this all have to do with crock pots?  Well its about us all slowing the heck down and chilling the heck out. It s about engaging our sense to relax, enjoy food, each other and process it better. To not walk way from the table bloated, busting or burning. Crock pots are the original slow food movement. In the 70's as most families transitioned in to two income households , the crock pot became a way to have dinner without being home all day to prepare it . We have evolved from just soups and stews into a whole way to cook with them.

Now it is trendy to use an instant pot or pressure cooker, I have shied away . I know there are a time and place for them on certain foods but they miss the point. Time to develop flavors , a warm rich aroma when you open the front door. Smells, sights they help get us into rest and digest . Instead of hurry hurry lets make the time to let the crock do its magic. Dinners bubbling away have the family help you make the salad, spend 5 extra minutes sitting and chatting , and eat slow because you are not pissed and stressed that you had to run home and cook .  You do not even have to buy a cook book, pintrest alone not to mention recipe sites can have a crock meal for your every mood.


so for kiddo  sharing his favorite crock pot meal of mine  Grandma Marys Chicken paprikash

4 chicken thighs skin removed ( frozen)
4 drumsticks skin removed ( frozen)
1 hungarain pepper( wax pepper medium ) small( 3 tps)
3 tsps ghee or 3 tsps duck fat ( duck fat preferred)
1 small yellow onion minced
salt pepper to taste
3 tsps parika smoked
3 parsnips rough cut
2 turnips rough cut
2 cups poultry bone broth or chicken stock
2 tsp tomato paste
1/2 cup water plus 2 tsp


for reserve
2 tsps flour
sour cream for topping 

In the morning heat ghee or fat and saute minced onion in a deep pan
once sauteed add in paprika and 2 tsp of water mix low 2 minutes for a light paste
In crock pot place chopped root vegartables, tomato paste, pepper
add stock and water to paprika paste , whisk to mix one minute low flame
Pour over chicken
cook 5 hours on high and 1 hour on warm or 7 hours on low 1 hour on warm.
Before serving take some of the sauce and mix in flour , whisk in to thicken slightly
serve veggies, sauce and chicken with dollop of sour cream
enjoy 

Yeah it is not getting easier

Dear Michael
Dad and I made it through the holidays and your birthday , by the skin of our teeth but we did it . Interesting I never knew my body could cry daily but it has , some days less , some days on the floor holding your ashes, someday violently in the shower. But every day the tears leave me as at some point  the fact that I had to give you back to God becomes unbearable.

There are traces , glitter embedded in your bathroom wall , your clothes still in the closet that smell like candy , your cologne and young male testosterone.  Cold spots on my arm , warm spots and pressure over my heart, all subtle signs you have not left me completely.Left us completely.But your physical tangible preference  at times I am so desperate to find it , find you . You defied a lot kiddo: convention, victimization , bitterness. You rose up against that all . But here we are defying natural order , my son you should not have gone before us and no matter what any parent who has joined this hell of loss knows , that upset of natural order shakes us as mothers to our core. The natural and man made world no longer makes sense and its  struggle to find up again, to make sense again.

I have seen other moms lose their children while you have been gone and without having to see their face, I see their soul . Its shredded , lost , wanting in a swarm of pain , sadness and at times cross road of faith. I don't know at times what to say because the it gets easier part has not yet happened for me. I put on my game face , I do appreciate and take in those who I love and are around me , but at some point, some mile-second, that portal of loss sucks me back into the vortex. I know why we tell grieving parents  it gets easier,  it keeps us from going under from drowning. Its not easier, I am not accepting this more, figuring it out better, adapting or adjusting. I just put on the mask of competent and connected and give my healing over to God . To be blunt you being with him and dad loving me is the only reason I have not yet blown my brains out , becoming an addict , threw it all away . You safe , so my job now is my own safety, its tough.

I thank God for friends who I connect with on deep levels and can be silly or sad or both without judgement. I thank God that he took you quickly , that the pain of death is for dad and I to bear, you never had to , you crossed instantly.I am getting use to the stares when I am asked if I have children and I say I used to. I am ok with crying at coffee commercials with happy families, knowing your wedding , my grandchildren are off the table for me. I am accepting that muscle memory is powerful and i will automatically buy your favorite foods at the store, try to send you a pic in text when it is something I think you would find funny. I am figuring out how to argue with myself on who will win Drag Race( ps this last season , mom actually called it, not you ) I have a therapist, a life coach , a natropath and great people all around. Everyone but you .

I miss you honey. It is my honor to be your mom, to have been there for your journey , to love you without condition forever.

I love you Michael Wyatt
.

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

The birthday still in my heart

My three fave pictures of kiddo on his birthday!!!

Because  I know tomorrow will be hard and sorting through my emotions with a concussion even more, I sit in the quiet today and try to just let the wonder of my son and his excitement for life flow. Last night we saw a falling star, clear , steady in course. I am sure it was kiddo , giving us the reminder he is still with us.

Tomorrow December 27th , our baby should be turning 20. More than any holiday or lost night wandering the house searching for him, this day hurts the most. Birthdays the celebration of life and creation. And here it is my crisis of faith again : knowing my son is eternally safe and loved and knowing him , having himself one big glitter dance party, and yet I want my son here, I want to see my son become the man he was destined to be.

Michael more than anything loved his birthday. We talked about it once: after years of being in care where you were never celebrated , never felt wanted anywhere, to have family and friends be there because he existed was pretty cool to him .His birthdays were a validation to his heart  that he did the right thing by never giving up and holding hope his tribe was out there .

In some ways with birthdays we did go overboard, they were in our way the way of making up for years of crappy foster care birthdays. .We made it about him for several days. His first party started the tradition. It was in some ways magical. we had a to be 17 year old acting in some ways like 6. His self and inner Michael running in joy . Much like a toddler going "i want a batman cake, no a dinosaur cake, no a minion cake, the picking out of the cake could have made any bridezilla jealous. What other kids took for granted, picking out your own cake, he had never had. When he could not decide , we bought both .You would have thought we just handed him a million dollars. I remember him saying but mom my cakes are not you or dads favorite. Baby we told him, that is  fine , its about you today, what you like. His beaming could have lit up a small village.

Getting ready for his first party was epic proportions. Since we had so many people coming we rented out a room at a local pizza place.. No one would ever know but he fretted so hard before the party.The kid whose 16th birthday was cake with a foster parent thats it, did not really believe folks were going to show . He changed outfits about 6 times and paced until we got in the car and picked up Brandon and Arik.It was a great night , about 30 people, pizza, cake , laser tag and then his buddies sleeping over.Each time we had these milestones you could see the parts of my sons heart that had gone dark form lack of nurturing light up, each time it created a better part of him he shared with all of us .

The next year , still epic. And we began what he told us was his birthday tradition. Family and friends party , then him off to cerebrate with his buddies. but always mom he said  first with you and dad and grandma and everyone.We spent 3 hours before his party getting his tattoo and him then finding a shirt to hide said tattoo from grandma at the party. Still pizza , still laser tag but the next day out dancing with friends.

This past year not so great , we had just came home from losing my mom and experiencing family freeze . Mike did not want to have a party , he loved my mom  his grandma in a way I do not think he understood and he just wanted low key.We kept the tradition low key: dinner with dad and I then he went and hung with friends. His sadness over mom was that he had not known my mom for long but was enamored with her as much she to him. But we kept our tradition time with us then time with friends. Next year mom he would say , we are whooping it  up. I think after my pizza party and friends we should all go to Seattle for a day and dad and I can take pics.Next year it will be amazing.

If you take nothing else away form our life with Michael please take this : no matter how blessed you feel , life is not guaranteed. Good people die before you are ready . Dont take these days for granted We thought we had this year, we were wrong.

I know with Leonard Cohen, Prince and George Michael gone, kiddo is having one heck of a party tomorrow.,  Dad and I maybe not so much. For me the loss on his birthday is the loss of time with me son. I do not get to hold him, hug him, hear him, smell his cologne , watch him dig for outfits. I do  not see him achieve his goal of being a trauma nurse, graduate college. i never get to be mother of the groom, grandma, the mother in law. Selfish I know but they all stem from watching my son have milestones I wanted so badly for him .

So today let me introduce you to what Michael achieved this year , what gifts he had before he turned 20. Some  he shared some he just did.

• He aced organic chem 
• He decided that because of his moves in care he did not have an internal structure needed to compete in nursing school. He researched, applied and was accepted into a medical tech program in WA to get a leg up before he went into his nursing programs.He would have been 6 months in this month.
• He gave blood twice this year
• He volunteered at 2 homeless youth events 
• He began not to just listen to opera but study it 
• Just in what I knew with him he has bought lunch for folks on the street 15 times.
• He was actively addressing his PTSD from childhood abuse
• He was steadfast in his promise that if he was unable to drive he would text me and tell me he was staying the night
• He kept a friend from committing suicide
• He jumped into the dating pool
• He began perform drag and went dancing every chance he got 
• He found a job he enjoyed with people he enjoyed 
• He learned to change his tire, his oil and his headlight
• He began not to just reconnect with his sisters but know them on a deeper relationship
• He no longer feared his bio sperm donor
• He created a recipe for salt and vinegar fish tacos which is freaking awesome
• He had more than one of his moms friends wrapped around his finger enough to get them to make him pozole anytime he smiled and begged
• He was learning to sew
• Apparently he rocked a pair of camo ledderhosen 
• He saw Rocky Horror 2 times
• He still held Ty or my hand out in public
• He still hugged us both 
• He taught OZ to sit and wait for his food.
• He saw grandma and papa wayne at least once a week 
• He was starting to run again
• He had began to edit alot of his pictures in Photoshop and created some amazing art, he would just take off with his camera and capture what captured him
• I know he had at least 2 but probably more nights him and friends slept in the car at the beach , just to hear the ocean and see a sunrise.
• He and I healed the biggest fight we ever had. He admitted to me that at times he did not know what to do with how much I loved him , dad loved him. He said if his bio threw him aside , why did I stay. He told me I was his real mother point blank and he was testing me to see if I really would always stay. I passed.
• He became Ty's biggest supporter telling him not to cave in and be happy and be himself or Mike would be mad at him .
• A friend told us after he passed that he did not move out like he planned. he told us the deal fell through, the friend he was renting from told us  he told her he changed his mind. he was not ready he wanted to stay with his parents longer, he still wanted to be with us . 
• He lived a life that had challenges and sadness, he liked at times the drama but in the end his desire to be present in life always trumped the crap .
• He is amazing, he is our baby 

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 .