Grey Day Musings

While I have not been posting frequently on this blog, I have been writing a little in privacy. I have a on-going file on my computer that I jot down my sentence-thoughts in as they pop into my head. I have a journal on my nightstand that allows me to write reflections to God on the nights that I have the motivation. Sometimes these notes make their way into a blog post, sometimes they are too raw and unfinished, and I'm not really interested in having to explain the how's and the why's of these too-real emotions and thoughts.

The mind and heart is a curious thing. Marie and I have commented a few times to others that right now it feels like our time with Josiah was just a dream. Why do we feel that way? We are sound of mind, we can reason with ourselves that Josiah was real. We see all around us the lasting impact, the physical signs that we had a son for 2 1/2 years. There are pictures, toys, and tokens all around us the point back to his real-ness, but it all has some 'out-there' quality to it, like a slight haze has formed around these memories causing us to legitimately ask, "did it really happen? Did we really have a son?"

So much of our life has gone back to what it was three years ago, as if we never had Josiah. I wonder if thinking about Josiah and recalling our time together has this 'dreamlikeness' to it because we are often keeping the memories at a distance. We're not trying to forget or ignore him, but we sometimes choose to not fully embrace and stare right into the face of these memories because it would completely incapaciate us. We wouldn't be able to get out of bed for days. And so we've come to subconsciously realize that to get anything accomplished in a day we have to put the memories and thoughts of Josiah just off to the side, still quite in view, still felt, but not front and centre, not that which we orbit around. And so we've created this 'at a distance' relationship with what remains of Josiah and it tricks our mind into giving us the same sensation as waking up from a dream.

The absolute worst sensation is waking up and for a fleeting second believing that Josiah is still with us. The split-second of half-awakeness where I'm coming out of sleep and being warmed with the anticipation of walking into Josiah's room and saying good morning. It cuts ... so ... deep. I'm crying even now as I stir up the memory of these occasions. It is such a slap in the face, and incalculable shock and for a few minutes I feel like I've lost Josiah all over again.

My mind still has echo's of what life was like 4+ months ago. It still has the faint memory of our daily routine. I'll be making coffee at 7:00 AM and I'll be hit with the echo of the past when I would be in quiet desperation wishing that Josiah would sleep for another 45 minutes so that I could wake up and be ready to take care of him. And he never would sleep those extra minutes. He would always wake up moments after the nurse left because he was so excited to play with mommy and daddy. Or it will be 8:00 AM and it would dawn on me that it is time for Josiah's meds. I'm supposed to be in his room right now, crushing pills and drawing up syringes while he plays with his mobile. And then comes the worst one-two punch: the first, that Josiah isn't in his bedroom and second, that I will never see him again this side of heaven. The pain is excruciating.

Our journey has brought me a lot of insight into the human experience. I'm amazed on how most days I can hold myself completetely together on the surface. That, as I spent time with strangers, no one would be able to guess or sense the deep pain and turmoil that I am carrying in their presence because it isn't registering on my face. And I ask myself, as I go out and interact with people, who else is having similar experiences where they appear to be fully functioning and pain-free on the surface, yet deep in their soul there is a tumultuous storm?

I also never realized how much 'death' shows up in our conversations and daily living. I've done a good job at ridding comments such as "that's so gay" and "don't be retarded" from my vocabulary because I understand the hurt those phrases can cause those who are gay, or close to someone with a handicap. But the frequency of even innocent comments like "dead end" or "the situation looks grave" or "don't die!" astounds me because I'm so sensitive to all right now. And I wonder if other people who have had loved ones die feel the same thing?

And there's a lot of dying on TV, which makes me wonder how a population can still tune into these shows. Not that I'm against these types of episodes; it's just that enough people have had their lives changed by the death of someone close to them that I would have thought there would be a less demand and interest in this stuff. If you've ever seen a death, every portrayal on the screen is uncomfortable. Sometimes when I watch a medical drama (Scrubs, etc) I have the morbid thought, "nope, it wasn't like that. If only it was that easy and peaceful." Other times the drama and the action hits a little closer and I have to flick the channel. I've been given new lenses to see the world through, and it's creating in me an empathy that I never had before. Death sucks.


With hope and promise.
- Andrew & Marie

Where We Are

Every week I begin with the desire to post another update into our lives, but with each good intention the week fills with work and weariness and - to a degree - the dread of facing my own thoughts and emotions. To look into the wound is to re-live the pain, and while life brings balm and time brings scars to close the wound, sometimes I look away from the wound so that I can attempt to re-enter a rhythmic life.

In my conversations yesterday it came up twice that there is no predictability in the journey of grief. There is no formula, no pattern, no firm way of gauging the process. Some days it's three steps forward and two steps back; some days it's three or four steps back; some days there is no stepping at all.

Marie has a job, a real gift from God. She's been working three weeks now at MEI Middle School as an EA (Educational Assistant). She's working alongside of 5-6 grade seven students who have learning disabilities, and it's been an answer to prayer. Marie wanted to avoid returning to lifeguarding - since it was a dream she wanted to pursue with Josiah - and she understandably was not going to teach First Aid. As a part of her employment, she is taking one night class at CBC and aims to complete her EA Certificate over a period of two years. Her time at MEI has been very rewarding and encouraging, and she's glad to be a part of the faculty and work one on one with students who struggle in school. It's exhausting work - just living right now is fairly draining - yet it takes her out of the house and allows her mind to pay attention to other things.

Fall has begun which means all my ministry involvements at Arnold Community Church have restarted for the season. The last three weeks I have pushed myself into full-time hours, but I am beginning to sense that my body is not quite ready for that as I have been battling a cold (or something) on and off for almost two weeks. Everything takes a little more time now, everything is more exhausting, and the ability to focus well hasn't completely returned, and I'm afraid that my expectations of my current self are they same that I would have held myself to 4 months ago, and course that just won't do for the moment. But I'm grateful for my job and absolutely stunned (in a good way!) for how our youth group has expanded for this year. God is good.

We have gone to Josiah's graveside often, but not for the last couple of weeks. Life has been too busy, but I'm getting the inward sense that Marie and I need to return soon. The graveside marker has not arrived yet, but it should be placed by the end of the month. I have posted pictures below of what we have placed there in memory of our son.

A close-up on the frame that my uncle Ron made for Josiah's collage ...
plus a "Cars" spinner that we would put on his stroller during walks

The tin was given to Josiah by his great-grandmother when he met her for the first time 2 weeks before he died. On the cover we had written messages for Josiah (already washed away mostly) and inside is a BCCH "Superhero" bracelet, a "Mommy's Little Monster" bib and a "Daddy's Little Helper" bib, a trach and a trach tie.

We miss Josiah terribly. It's our cry and whisper as we fall asleep at night, and it's our breaking heart through the day when a fond memory is triggered. Many things - it feels - are fading and being lost to time, even though it's been only two months. His touch, his scent, his sounds, the warmth of his closeness - they are slowly becoming only a memory of a memory.

In a way, it feels as though two and a half years of our lives have been erased. We no longer have our child, we no longer are "doctor and nurse", we no longer have our house filled everyday with 2-3 people who were a part of our caregiving family. Almost every day in those two and a half years revolved around our Josiah from morning to night and sometimes through, and it's been hard to find our footing in this new routine. CS Lewis had some good things to say about that in his Grief Observed, but I'll save that for another day.

A term I've been using a lot as I talk to people is "bittersweet". That is what our lives have become. Maybe over time we will experience more sweetness, but for the moment it's an even fifty-fifty. All our opportunities, all our time together, all our 'freedom' has come at a cost, being seperated for a time from our son. Marie and I find it near impossible to seperate our excursions or new livelihood from the bitterness that comes from be away from our son. We may enjoy the moments that we are given, but the experiences are always tainted by this undesired reality we find ourselves living in.

There is always more that could be said, but I'll call it evening for now. Thanks for your stories of Josiah, thanks for your condolences. Thanks again for all your continued prayers. That is the biggest gift and support you can give Marie and I on our journey.

Grace & Peace.
- Andrew & Marie

Readings - Mourning

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.
A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance.
~ Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4


Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
~ Matthew 5:4


Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep.
~ Romans 12:15

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth had disappeared.
I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, “Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”
~ Revelation 21:1, 3-4

--------------------------

As I was gathering passages of Scripture to guide my heart and steps, I stumbled upon an obscure passage in Amos which was affirming and gut-wrenching all at once. The prophet is telling of a coming day when all the joy in the lives of the Israelites will be replaced with great sorrow, and he uses the death of an only son as an example of how bitter their grief will be (Amos 8:9-10).

Sometimes it feels like our grief is bigger than me, bigger than I can handle, bigger than I can work through. And in the mind of the prophet Amos and the people he spoke to, losing a son is about as worst as it can get. Like a brief burst of sunlight through an overcast sky, some days you can find solace in the unlikeliest places.

Thank you for your prayers.
- Andrew & Marie

The Last Month (or so)

Marie and I were saying again last night that it has felt like forever since we last held our Josiah, played with his hair, saw his smile, or felt his fingers. It's been just over a month, but it feels like a year has past. I waited 25 years to finally meet our son. How long will it be until we see him again? Another 25 years? 50? I can't wait that long. It's just so long ...

After Josiah's memorial we were able to have a couple more days of being with family before they all dispersed for home. We had a somber but heartwarming gathering of respite workers and nurses at our home one afternoon, and Marie and I took a couple of days to go through Josiah's things, and organized what supplies needed to be sent back to their respective companies.

There has been a lot of "emptying" and "undoing", and it's all been with pain. It's amazing how conscious you become of the "lasts" along the way: the last bag of dirty diapers you throw in the garbage, the last load of his laundry, the last time you handle his equipment. His stroller has been taken apart and the wood carriage underneath that held all his supplies has been recylced. His carseat has been moved to the trunk. His bed will be taken a part some day - who knows when it will be put together again.

The shelves and corners of our home have been emptied of his medical equipment: oxygen tanks, suction machines, ventilators, cables, his chair, batteries, food cans, and boxes of unused medical supplies. Silly in a way, but this hurts more than folding his clothes in a box. All have been shipped off back to their companies or to other families who can use them. His medicine container has been emptied. His drawers have emptied of clothes we've borrowed from other families. And really, the house is empty - it's just a shadow and shell of what it was 6 weeks ago: a warm, welcoming, loud home has become cold, silent, and lonely, a mocking reminder of what was.

Marie and I took a few days to be by ourselves on Vancouver Island. We did what we could to distract ourselves by taking in sights, walking, and shopping, but most of the time it was just about wasting hours until the next day. Josiah would have loved the ocean and the walks, and it felt like we were taking a holiday without him, that he would be home when we returned. After the Island, we went out to the Okanagan for a few days to be with my parents and connect with close friends. The trip and the time was difficult because we had just been there with Josiah a month earlier and things had never been happier.

We haven't spent a night at our home yet, and so we've been enjoying the hospitality of my aunt and uncle. We go to our house for a few hours at a time to get things done, but the absence of Josiah and the memories of his death are too crippling for us to be there long. I returned to work about two weeks ago, trying to maintain a pace that is healthy and sustainable. It has been slow, exhausting, and difficult to focus, even the simplest of tasks can wear me out. But each week I'm able to accomplish a little bit more so I remain positive.

This past week had Marie's parents join us, and it was good to be around more people again, especially for Marie when I had to work. They were able to be here for Marie's birthday, but there was nothing happy about it. September 2 is now Marie's birthday and the month anniversary of Josiah's death, and while it was good to be around White Rock and be with family it was a day packed with sadness and tears.

We've been by Josiah's graveside three times now. On his plot we've put a small tin that holds a few memories: a tie, a trache, a nose, and 2 bibs: "daddy's little helper" and "mommy's little monster". We wanted to post the collage of pictures that I had made, so our uncle made a beautiful signboard for it and we placed it there last week on Marie's birthday. Last week we also made the final decisions with his tombstone and it should be completed within 4-6 weeks.

There are still a lot of tears. We weep without warning and most of the time it feels like we could never stop. Days are filled with lots of sighing and drooped shoulders, and often we catch ourselves staring into nothing with glazed over expressions as try to understand and come to grips with our loss. Grief is an expression of love, for if you love someone you will always grieve their absence. And for that reason, we've discovered, grief is never a burden nor does it end, but it becomes a part of your life's rhythm, as regular as breathing, eating, sleeping, and loving.

Thanks for the prayers, the notes, and the hugs along the way.
- Andrew & Marie

Welcome

Not much is needed by way of introduction since most of you would have been directed to this blog from Drew's View, the site where up to this week I posted about the life of my son Josiah. If you are new to this story, this blog tells the journey of my son Josiah, from his birth to his death, and the story that continues to unfold even though he is only with us in memory.

One small thing to note: to simplify the moving process, I have started afresh with the Vistor Cluster Map (see at the bottom of the sidebar). Seeing all the vistors from around in the world that tune into Josiah's story is such a novelty - and blessing to our heart - and so I have posted the latest map image as well as the two previous archived images (the map resets every year). The vistor counter (also at the bottom of the sidebar) has not been reset.



20 Apr 2009 to 26 Aug 2009: 9,049 visits shown above
Statistics updated 30 Aug 2009@04:48GMT: 9,567 visits
Total since 19 Apr 2007: 92,236.

Current Country Totals
(from 20 Apr 2009 to 26 Aug 2009 Count is updated every 24 hours, but map updates are deliberately different, as explained in Notes and FAQ.

)

Canada (CA)	7,427
United States (US)	1,461
Australia (AU)	33
United Kingdom (GB)	26
Germany (DE)	17
Panama (PA)	16
New Zealand (NZ)	9
Ireland (IE)	6
Netherlands (NL)	6
Italy (IT)	5
Philippines (PH)	4
Spain (ES)	4
France (FR)	4
Thailand (TH)	3
Korea, Republic of (KR)	3
Chile (CL)	3
Belgium (BE)	2
Sweden (SE)	2
Russian Federation (RU)	2
Japan (JP)	2
Singapore (SG)	1
India (IN)	1
Uganda (UG)	1
Indonesia (ID)	1
Norway (NO)	1
Peru (PE)	1
Czech Republic (CZ)	1
Guam (GU)	1
Mexico (MX)	1
Bermuda (BM)	1
Europe (EU)	1
Switzerland (CH)	1
Hong Kong (HK)	1
China (CN)	1

Gratefully.
- Andrew & Marie

Josiah's Memorial - Bulletin

Here is a scan of the bulletin that was printed for Josiah's Memorial.

(front and back cover, front page on the right)

(inside pages)

- Andrew & Marie

Josiah - Desktop Collage Wallpaper

I've been playing around with some photos and created a collage of Josiah pics which looks pretty good as a desktop background. You can download the image as well if you'd like: click the image to view it 'big' and then right-click it to save the file and/or set it as your desktop image. It lines up well on my laptop, but who knows how it looks on bigger screens ...



FYI, the tree clipart was a free image that I inverted (flipped the contrast, I think) and the background (at least that what you can see of it) I'm pretty sure is this guy's work but I can't remember the site I originally downloaded it from.

I'm a PC and I'm 28 ;)
- Andrew & Marie