Trying to Look Forward While I Look Backward, 20 Years Ago

As I write this, it's only 11pm on the evening of August 9th, 2010.  Sadly I know exactly where I was, to the minute, on this night 20 years ago.  I was standing in the family waiting room at San Bernardino County Medical Center, in San Bernardino, California waiting for news from the pediatric neuro surgeons who has just taken my  2 year old son, Joshua, into emergency surgery to stop the bleeding from his brain, just mere short hours after he was struck by a pick-up truck in the high desert town of Phelan, CA.

One of my childhood best friends, Kim, had suggested that she and I go walk around outside.  I remember feeling glad for the distraction.  I didn't know how much more I could handle of not knowing exactly what was going on with Joshua, and the constant ringing of the black and silver payphone in the waiting room was almost too much...it was always Joshua's paternal grandparents wanting to know how bad it was, did we know anything else, when would we know anything else...?  Once friends had heard what had happened, they seemed to have come from everywhere to be by our sides.  There were so many people milling around in the waiting room and I was beginning to feel suffocated.

It was a cool night, for August in southern California.  I was wearing a lavendar and white skirt, a lavendar blouse and beige sandals.  I took my shoes off as we walked and told Kim how I'd thrown my sandals into the sagebrush on the side of the road when we arrived the accident scene a few hours earlier, so that I could run as fast as I could toward all the emergency vehicles.  I knew my bare feet would grip the cooling asphalt and despite being 50lbs overweight, there was nothing that was going to stop me from getting to my son.

However there was...it was the Fire Department Captain that saw me running (and I later found out I was screaming and yelling and crying, but I don't remember that), and intercepted me.  I do remember his arms grabbing me and feeling his scratchy protective gear against my arms and his arms meeting my midsection and it feeling like I'd run into a linebacker.  He kept telling me over and over I didn't want to get too close to the men and women doing everything to save my son and that I'd need to stand clear because a MediVac flight was coming in to airlift Joshua to SBCMC.  No one had told me a single thing about how he even came to be in the middle of that road, on what was a pitch black night.  And now here was this man, holding me back with everything he had, and telling me that my son's injuries were so bad that he had to be airlifted to the nearest trauma center.

I continued to walk with Kim and looked down at my sandals in my hand and I told her I wasn't sure who found them but here they were.  I remember thinking it a very odd thing...that I couldn't remember who gave me my sandals or even putting them back on my feet, but I remembered so very vividly, making sure I kicked them off so that I could run as fast as possible to my little boy, who lay dying in the middle of that dark, high-desert road.

To this day I still don't know who was responsible for picking my sandals out of the dirt and sagebrush and tumbleweeds.  It's an odd thing isn't it...the things that stick out in our memories, years after such a painful loss?  Even odder still that twenty damned years later, I still sit here and replay this night in my head...over and over again. Every year.

Despite the fact that I took enough Benadryl to knock out a horse, and capped it off with a Melatonin, earlier this evening, I know that I'll lie awake in bed until 1:14AM strikes and I'll remember the two pediatric neurosurgeons walking into the family waiting room, beads of perspiration spotting their foreheads as they looked down at Joshua's father and me and told us that despite their very best efforts, there was nothing that could be done for Joshua...he died at 1:14AM.  For a moment I looked up at the lady who was seated at the information desk - who had been watching our family drama play out for more than two hours, and I saw the tears running down her face. I looked at my mom, who was standing to the side of the surgeons and I looked at her hands and saw her holding very tightly to her Bible.  Her kncukles were so white and her wedding ring seemed a stark contrast to her white knuckles and the black Bible.  And then I screamed and everything went black.

The tears are present now as they were then, but on this night I sit in my office at my desk and cry in the privacy of my own home.  Gaby and Gareth are asleep.  My friends and family are posting messages of love, support and prayer on my Facebook wall, via email and text messages, and I'm sitting here trying to see through the tears to my screen to make sure what I'm typing is legible.  However, there will be something different about this year...the year that marks 20 since my darling boy left this world and my arms.

Tomorrow morning (this morning, as you're reading this), I'll get out of bed, get dressed and buy twenty balloons; red, yellow and black, in the color of Joshua's favorite thing in the whole entire world, Mickey Mouse.  Then I'll take Gaby and together we'll go someplace high up and we'll send all of those shiny balloons up to Joshua and I'll smile and probably cry a bit as I celebrate his life...his 2 years, 3 months and 10 days.

For so long I have always felt that if I didn't spend this day in solemn, miserable, remembrance of his loss, that I was somehow not being mindful of the tragic and horrific way in which he was taken from me, and from those around him that loved him so very much.   It's not unlike the first time I laughed after his death.  I felt so guilty for actually laughing, that I didn't so much as smile again for weeks after that.   A very good and wise friend of mine, Kim (another one...I seem to find the most beautiful and wonderful "Kims" in the world and I'm so blessed to call them "friend."), suggested that maybe this year, because she knows I'm having a really hard time with the milestone of "20 years", that I celebrate his life rather than mourn the way in which he left this world.

Sometimes the grief and pain that encompasses a parent when their child dies is almost too much to bear and we focus on that pain because really,  It's the only thing we have left to hang onto.  Because the pain is so tangible and real to us, we are hesitant to let it go, if even for the briefest of moments.  We feel as if we are betraying the memory of our child by doing so.   Then when we do smile and remember something beautiful about our child, and maybe even laugh at that memory, the fresh pain that washes over us is just too much at times.

Today?  Today I'm going to try and drown out that pain with something different...I'm going to look back on his life and share with you the things that made him so special to me.  And then, I'm going to look forward and share with you some very exciting news in my own life.  A lot of people on Facebook already know what it is (no, it's not that other thing that I'm in the midst of trying to do! And even if it were, I can't tell you anything else about it! If I disappear from mid-October to January then you'll know it happened!) and I think that Joshua would be proud of me, and will be looking down at me and smiling, when I finally tell you guys about something I've been working on that I'm incredibly proud of! So please watch for a post later this afternoon.

In the meantime, if you're a family member or a friend that has some really special memories about Joshua that you'd like to share, please do.   I want to spend today reveling in the wonderfulness of the beautiful and amazing child he was.  I'd like to also reach out, in love and in the genuine spirit of healing, towards my former in-laws...if there is something special about Josh, a cherished memory or a funny aside that you'd like to share, please do.  He was not only special to me, but to you all as well.  I realize that - despite our many differences and the past 15 years spent in battles of heated words and angry retreats.  I know how much Joshua meant to you all and would hope we could set aside our differences for one day and let others know how deeply he touched all of our lives.

I miss you Joshy...but I love you so much more!

Mommy

Comments

[pgoodness]

Oh, Audrey, I am crying - not only for your loss, but for your perseverance and the fact that you are celebrating his life this year the way you are. You are amazing. xo

[Patrice]

I am crying, too! This is such a beautifully written post, and how amazing of you to over come your grief & celebrate his life. Sending lots of prayers & hugs your way. Joshua is lucky to have a mom that honors his memory so beautifully.

[Aunt Amanda]

I remember the red wagon...and the snow in Wrightwood...and how he loved the theme song for Twin Peaks...and Somewhere Over The Rainbow...and A Whole New World...how he would purposely "fall" so he could stand up and say, "Oh S@*T!"...his tender smile...and silky curls(of which I think of every morning while I comb out my own set of silky curls)...how Max would tug at his diaper if he went too far off into the backyard, as to say, "oh no you don't little boy"...how he loved Indiana as a puppy when we first brought him home...my Pink bunny he got me for my 10th birthday just 4 months before...how I was so excited for him to be here when you went into labor that Mom had to send me to school that morning with a, "please excuse my daughter and her behavior, as her sister has gone into labor this morning with her first nephew, and she's a little excited to see him" note...his love for Fruit Loops...And your love for him. We miss you Joshy. But Love You So Much More.

[Atomic Mom]

Bless you.

May peace be with you.

Rest in peace little man. My, what a great mommy you have.

[Diana]

I remember Joshers running around the backyard in his diaper and Max chasing him around nipping at his diaper. I remember falling asleep in my bathing suit on the couch and Josh falling asleep next to me. There are so many good memories. My eyes are full of tears and as I close my eyes all I can do is remember how perfect, loving and free spirited he was. I know Josh is looking down on you and he is so proud of you. I love you Joshua! I love you Auds!

[coffeejitters (Judy Haley)]

I almost couldn't read this through the tears. I'll be thinking of you - and I think the balloons are a lovely idea.

[Jill]

Oh my tears. What a beautifully written story. What a horrible night to ever have to remember.

Thinking of you on an anniversary you never wish on anyone...

[G]

I ♥ You
Always

[Nancy]

Hugs to you. You are truly a beautiful strong woman. What a lovely way to celebrate Joshua's life with releasing of the balloons. Your son is very proud of you and he is smiling down over you and watching his mommy grow into this amazing person that she is.

[Cheryl]

I woke up this morning at 4:30am and all I could do was pray "Please Lord, give her the strength to do something like the balloons, please let her have a happy moment or two when thinking about Josh today" over and over. And now I see you are already ten steps ahead of me. :) Will be thinking about you and your family lots today. <3

[KimberlyDi]

20 years is a long time to do penance. Please let everything negative float up and away with the balloons. Little boys always want their mommies to be happy.

[Barnmaven]

Thinking of you this day with love.

[Jessy]

Oh Auds. I wish there was something one of us could say to take your hurt away. You've hurt long enough. Celebrate the life you have and the time in your life that was blessed with the presence of this adorable little boy. He was too good for this earth - you know that. And you will meet him again one day. Things like this are not without purpose. Rest and know that there is a plan for you and there was a plan for Joshy. Let your sadness go with those balloons today and revel in the good times you had. xoxo

[Fairly Odd Mother]

Hugs to you Audrey. There is nothing I can say to make your pain any less, just know I'm thinking of you.

[Linda]

I have been reading your blog for sometime now and want you to know how deeply sorry I am for your loss even though it's been 20 years, I can't imagine the pain you must feel even now.

With that said...I appreciate all of your words and can feel your pain in regards to your weight struggles..I have had weight struggles all of my life and it is an never ending battle.

Keep inspiring me!

Linda from Texas

[Andi]

Like I said yesterday, if there was something to say to make it "all better" I think you have a lot of people that love you that would chant it over and over. Let your love for Josh outshine the pain, celebrate, he deserves it and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt he would much rather see you smile today as you look up at those balloons floating his way, than see you sit along and cry. let the sun shine on your face, and feel his love from above.
Hugs

[Mommily]

I lit the Yahrzeit candle last night and set it in the kitchen window and posted on Facebook the opening words of the Mourner's Kaddish: Yitgadal v'yitkadash sh'mei raba, praise to the greatness and holiness of the Great Name, of God. I used to think saying kaddish for those who have died was somewhat of a contradiction in terms until I realized that we praise and honor God for the time we had WITH our loved one, not for the loss. Remembering a yahrzeit is bitter sweet: you remember your sorrow while, essentially, saying thank you to God for God's greatness and the gift of the life, no matter how short.
The Mourner's Kaddish concludes with 'Oseh shalom...' May the One who made peace in the high places make peace for all of us....
That is what I wish this year for all of us who shared the short life of our Golden Boy, Shalom, my angel, Shalom.

[Colleen]

Words just can't express what i am feeling. Please know my thoughts and prayers are with you on this day where you celebrate the life of your amazing baby boy.

[deb@birdonawire]

no words can heal, know how very much we love you. Our balloons go up for Josh today as well! <3

[Marcy from The Glamorous Life Association]

crying.
can't say much more than that.
I am just crying.

you have a way of capturing a moment in time like no other.

I might send a balloon up for him too today.

[daysgoby]

This morning there was a pre-dawn thunderstorm, all pink lightning and growly thunder, a swift shower, then an unforgettably gorgeous sunrise.

So much beauty after the rain.

Hugs to you today, Audrey. I hope the balloons lift your love to your Josh and he can see his Mommy smiling.

[elenka]

I hope I can type this, I can't see very well.
Oh Audrey. I wish I could give you a hug, my fellow Mainer.
(((((((((Audrey))))))))))
<3

[Marlene]

Add me to the growing throngs of friends and family who are crying after reading this post.

Big hugs to you....and know that you are loved.

I didn't know your sweet boy - but I'll bet the short life he had while on this earth was filled with happiness and joy - and it's obvious he had a huge impact on so many in that short life.

[Melanie]

My best friend had her baby today. She's beautiful. Life is an amazing thing. Treasure the moments he had.

[Rachael]

I'm sitting here crying too and I wish I even knew what to say.

This is beautiful. What you are doing today to celebrate your son is beautiful. You are beautiful.

Honestly, Audrey, in the past year you have grown in amazing ways. Last year, can you even imagine being able to find this post inside yourself? To talk so openly and let us in to that horrible night? To have to strength to consider doing something different to celebrate your son? To invite people to share their memories of your sweet little boy here and share them with us (thank you for that)?

Even though we've never met, I think I love you. Your son was so lucky to have you for that 2 years, 3 months, and 10 days. If I was with you, I would give you the biggest hug ever.

[Ramona]

You have a very wise friend. Glad you are celebrating his life Audrey. He would want you to. That happy sweet face would not want his Mommy sad.

Hugs and more hugs from me,
Ramona

[Major Bedhead]

Nothing. Just lots and lots and lots of hugs.

[Megan]

xoxo

[bo whitley]

I remember you and I taking care of our little ones At the upstairs church in Wrightwood. I remember coming over to your house on the corner of Lone pine and ??? I remember the hand full the micky mouse king was.But most of all I remember how loved he was by you and his dad. That day is ever etched in my mind. Thanks for making this day feel like he lives on instead of he died. Because after all he does live on. We will see him again. I am sure he loved his balloons and his mommy and baby sister who sent them. Much love my wonderful long time friend.

[Jessica]

{{{HUGS}}}

[Meg]

I can't fathom the pain, Audrey. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

[Abby]

Miss Audrey-

The releasing of the balloons was a beautiful idea.

I thought of this poem after reading your most recent posts. I'm sure you've read it before, but I thought I'd share it anyways.

I am not there

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the snow on the mountain's rim,
I am the laughter in children's eyes,
I am the sand at the water's edge,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle Autumn rain,
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the star that shines at night,
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die."

-Author Unknown

Thinking of you,
<3 Abby

[Jenn J.]

I came across your blog after seeing your magazine interview. I too lost a son. It has only been 3 years for me, but I truly understand how hard anniversary dates are & how vividly those images stay in your mind. This is a beautiful tribute to your son & I wanted to thank you for sharing.

[C]

Sometimes you have to look back to move forward ... that is something I wrote about ten years ago, twenty years after my little son's death.

My best wishes to you. I hope you found comfort in your celebration of Joshua's life. Amazing how long it takes us to process these things, eh? Maybe for the rest of our lives, in different ways, at different times.

[Beth]

You honor him beautifully with your words!