Thursday, February 18, 2010

Of Stone, Trees, and Other Things

The past few months have brought some very difficult milestones. We had our first Christmas without Josiah, we celebrated his birthday without him, and the calendar tells us it’s been six months since he died. It would be inaccurate for me to say that it feels like forever ago that we had Josiah with us; rather, it feels like a completely different life, a dream that only exists in videos, photos, and our memories. We all died that day, one way or another, and we are creating a new life in response.

It's hard to say what anniversary will be more difficult: Josiah's birthday or his death. I suppose time will tell.


There has been no inner urge for me to write publicly over the past few months. I have been filling my time trying to find my new self in this 'un-asked for' reality. I’ve been busying myself with work and there are days when I shock and scare myself by how little Josiah crosses my mind. And then there are the days that I can think of nothing else: debilitating and paralyzing, numbing, and crushing. My precious son Josiah, why did things have to be this way?


As thoughts and memories flash in my mind I jot them down, but the enthusiasm and interest in telling our story has waned. Like some many other aspects of my life, I know this is just a natural consequence of mourning – that in time the things that I enjoyed will again bring me satisfaction and no longer be a burden. But for this stretch of time, this online journal has gone silent. It obviously doesn’t hold the priority it had when Josiah was with us, and while I know it’s a meaningful form of communication and encouragement, I don’t know how consistently I will write here. Yet, here I am toiling over a very lengthy post! Time will tell.


For now, most of my energy and attention is being poured into Marie and work. Slowly I have recovered an "almost-back-to-what-it-used-to-be" rhythm of work, but of course it will never be exactly what it used to be: there are 'lapses' – or, in better terms – stretches of time when grief moves more to the forefont of my mind, heart, and soul. And again everything in life goes grey until bit by bit I can return to the patterns and habits of life that I aspire to. Besides, for two and half years (almost half of our marriage) our 'normal rhythm' was influenced, anchored, and determined by Josiah. And I miss that rhythm, every single part of it.


Post-Christmas was more difficult than we expected. We were caught off guard by the greyness of life, the sorrow, the emptiness of it all. It was very much a hollow time for us. We intentionally filled our days leading up to Christmas with family, people, and activities, but the lull of nothingness after Christmas was when our grief caught up to and overcame us.


Strange things we have noticed. At almost every turn we avoid taking pictures. Whereas with Josiah we took pictures ceaselessly, we pass through these seasons with no desire to record its images and memories. Christmas was a ritual, not a celebration, there was laughter and a smile, but only to get through the days faster. We couldn’t wait to have Christmas behind us: Boxing Day brought the decorations down and the tree through the season had never been so sparsely decorated.


Approaching Josiah's birthday brought similar experiences. For me, there was a lot more weeping than there had been in the days since Christmas, and it was a fight to complete even the simplest of tasks. The fog of it all – the ever-present grief, the tears ready to spill at a moment's notice, the cloud of grey that penetrates every second of the day – subsides slowly, but unpredictably. It comes when it comes, and it goes when it goes.


Josiah’s photo albums and videos are the most difficult things for me to go through. I have avoided them almost completely in the six months that Josiah has been gone. Video scares me the most: to see Josiah 'alive' before my eyes is so. extremely. painful. I haven't been able to watch a single video of Josiah straight through since his death. There are about a dozen photos that don't catch me off guard as quickly, images that I'm familiar with because they are on our walls or on my desktop. These pictures are comfortable and don't break my heart because I see them every day, but when I glace upon a fresh photo, or really pause to look into Josiah's eyes in the images that I’m surrounded by - I melt. I am nothing. I become the emptiness that I feel. Tears are released that I never knew I was holding back, composure disappears, and I'm grieving the loss of Josiah all over again.


I thought the coming spring would lift my spirits, and that the sun would be an antidote for the greyness in my heart. Instead, it only served to remind me how much Josiah loved to be outdoors: to go on walks, to see the trees, and to bask in the sunshine. It was a wonderful time of year with him, and I miss him everytime I look out a window. He would just stare out the window, asking in his own way to go outside and enjoy the weather ... I long for those days.


Another thing I discovered: Josiah's scent never remained. The smell of his presence left our home and my mind so fast. Rather, it is the smell of Josiah's absence that lingers all around this place. Plastic. Sterile. Clinical. To me, putrid and unbearable. For all his stench during his lifetime – his nauseating poohs, nasty farts, and frequent pukes – the odour of his disappearance is the worst.


And I crave his touch. The gentle fingers, the close snuggles, the warm grip, his arm wraping around mine. No infant or toddler can mimic how he touched.


Before I close, some noteworthy things. In November Josiah's gravemarker was laid and we were able to gather with his caregivers to remember (as we also did on his birthday this week). In that same month, we planted two Josiah trees at Mill Lake park near the pool. A Japanese maple was placed in the landscaping near the stairs that come down from the ball diamond parking lot, and a dwarf Albertan spruce was planted near the top of the service path by the pool. We are blessed and so encouraged that the City of Abbotsford was excited to use these trees and gave us this opportunity – Josiah loved his walks around the lake and playing on those playgrounds. I will put up pictures of his gravemarker and the trees sometime soon ('soon' being a relative term, I suppose).


In December we received the preliminary findings regarding Josiah’s genetic makeup. In spring '09 we had sent our bloodwork (mine, Josiah's, and Marie's) to the National Institute for Health where Pallister-Hall Syndrome is studied. Those test results have been confirmed at BC Children's this past month, and we are scheduled to meet with a geneticist in March to discuss the findings. As best as we can understand at this time, Josiah was literally a one-in-a-million kid. The test results show that Josiah was missing a chunk of a chromosome; that is, he had a few genes missing. Whereas syndromes are caused by genes present but mutated, Josiah's problem was that some genes were completely absent. It’s like having a ladder with a portion of a rung missing.


We'll learn some more about it next month, but the crazy thing is that Josiah didn't have Pallister-Hall Syndrome, because PHS is caused by certain genes being mutated. Josiah was in a class all his own, yet Pallister-Hall Syndrome is the most effective way to describe his challenges. It's unlike anything NIH has on record so his test results will be stored in their system to see if any matches ever come to pass.


Finally, Marie's grandmother passed away on February 3rd, almost exactly 6 months after Josiah. At 95 years old, she was ready to go to heaven but it still brings sorrow. Josiah was remembered in her obituary, a kind gesture that we weren’t expecting, and Marie was able to pay tribute to her grandmother at the memorial. As difficult as it was, we are glad that Josiah was able to meet his great-grandmother on this side of heaven. As well, it was good to be with the family last week as we knew they wouldn’t be able to with us to remember Josiah's birthday.


Thanks for all the prayers that continue to be said on our behalf. We have no words to express our gratitude.

- Andrew & Marie

9 comments:

Anonymous said...

what can I say?
but that I'm excited to see the trees you have planted in memory of your little guy!! :)

afterthoughtcomposer said...

Andrew,
(Your writing is wonderful and profound and healing to read).
It’s so interesting to hear you say that it’s been awhile since you’ve posted – and while it has been, I’m not sure I noticed the time passing in that way. Let me qualify that statement… every time I come here (and it’s more often than I realize, I think), it feels fresh to remember Josiah, my heart reads the words you wrote two months ago as if you just wrote them now, are writing them as I’m reading them, are still writing them after I’m done. In other words, Josiah stays as memorable and heart-touching as he always was, even in the silence. To remember him is an honour, and to be invited into your journey, at any point, is incredibly humbling. Thank you for writing when you do – but thank you also, for not writing when you do not have the strength. You and Marie are so loved! Know this – and know that there are many still who pray for you and hope only for God’s grace to be showered upon your lives.

Anonymous said...

Thanks for sharing Andrew. The tears are a flowin'
It was so incredibly beautiful what you wrote about Josiahs touch. I remeber him gently stroking Olive's hair. He was so mezmarized by it and did it so gently. We miss him.
Kari D

Anonymous said...

Thinking and Praying for you and Marie,

Ashlea

Anonymous said...

Thanks for sharing. I often check back to see if you've added anything. Sharing Josiah's journey with blog readers made us a part of his life, too, in a way.. praying and thinking of him. I hope your writing brings healing in time to you and your family.

Anonymous said...

I will not fear, for You are with me;
I will not be dismayed, for You are my God.
You will strengthen me and help me;
You will uphold me with Your righteous right hand. For You are the Lord my God, who takes hold of my right hand and says to me, "Do not fear; I will help you."

Isaiah 41:10, 13

Monika said...

You are in my minds so often. thanks for being so honest and raw in your writings

Jolene said...

Thanks for sharing that Andrew, it helps keep Josiahs memory alive! Tears are flowing down my face as I hear the pain in your heart through your words, I can't even begin to imagine! God Bless you both! I will have to check out the trees the next time I go to Mill Lake, we usually go a couple of times a year!

Bev J. said...

What a transparent and heart-stirring post! Thank you Andrew. Sorry to read about Marie's grandmother's passing but I am thankful along with you that the Lord has received her and she is rejoicing with Josiah and Jesus now.

I keep watching to see if the two Japanese maples I planted in our front garden following Josiah's memorial service are budding - so far not but when they do I will be so happy. They are my memory trees and when I see them I pray for you and remember the little boy who fought courageously and blessed so many people - including me.

God bless...prayers and hugs ~ Bev