A Cross Now Stands

     I was hoping to write another poem soon, but I was also hoping it would not be so bleak. However, the weather was cold and windy (as it has been so often this schizophrenic spring) when we implanted the unique cross we found to temporarily mark where we interred our son. Even the picture looks lonely and barren. Memorial Day is another of those painful firsts God seems in such a hurry to send our way.

 

 

 

A Cross Now Stands 

 

A cross now stands 

where you lie down

among the stones and sod.

 The quiet place your body rests

until raised up by God.

 

Your spirit soars

where you live now

and see your Savior's face.

With dread, I face the years ahead

when yours is in this place.

As I stand here

where other mothers

like myself are grieving,

You stand with Him who loved you first

and gave the cross it's meaning. 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Tracy--Two Months Later

Dear Tracy,

   We took the dogs to the dog wash today. That betrayal might dim their enthusiasm for the next car ride. Mykah is blowing her coat right on schedule. Every morning I come out of the bedroom and find hair piles where she spent the night, usually under the dining room table. We have been waiting for a day warm enough to wash them. Sunday started out as a warm spring day but, by the time we came home from church and lunch, spring was over. We didn't want to wash them after dinner since there's not as much time for them to dry, but we also didn't want to miss our chance. No telling when it will be warm again. Reed dried Mykah with my hair dryer to try to blow off as much hair as possible, but it will take a lot of brushing to get her undercoat out. Baldr is jealous that Mykah is getting so much attention.

    A letter came from the state this week about your taxes. They want a form filled out and a death certificate in order for us to collect your refund. Our tax gal told me we would need to fill one out but, since she didn't include it with your other form to send in, I assumed we should do it later. Also, I did not trust Montana Department of Revenue to keep the needed documents together. We left your Valley Bank account open in case the refund check comes in your name, but it would be much simpler if it was made out to Reed. 

     I found a cross on the Hobby Lobby website that looks like two wrenches tied together with rope. I ordered one online before Britten found several on clearance in the store. I bought three more there. They are actually made of resin and designed to hang on a wall. One of them is by your picture behind the fireplace, one is for Dianna, who seems to find such symbolism meaningful. On the remaining two crosses, Reed wrote your name and coated them with poly. One of those is for Amanda, if she wants it. I think she will, she loves the quilt Britten made for her from your old jeans. The remaining cross will go out to the cemetery for Memorial Day, so your Dad mounted it on a metal post that we can push into the sod. 

    This week we put up several pictures of you, the one behind the fireplace is a grayscale print of you on your Harley. I found a great distressed style frame for it, on clearance of course. I also printed a 5 x 7 of your wistful profile at Bryce's wedding. It's old, but it's also one of the few head shots of you in existence. That one is on granddaughter row, above our closets. If another grandchild comes along, we will bump your picture to above the doorway. Then I printed a couple pictures of you in airplanes. You can guess which room we put those in. I gave Amanda a copy of the page of your 2016 Rimrock journal where you said you loved her. On Mother's Day I reread the cards and notes you wrote me saying you loved me, the ones I've kept in my top drawer through the years. I wanted Amanda to have your loving words to cherish as I do mine. The same page also said you were turning, at least the addicted part of your life, over to God and I wanted her to know about that as well, the need to turn to God. 

     Britten is making us a quilt also from your old jeans. Amanda already has hers, as I mentioned. We have your picture in several places around the house. We recorded your voice mail message so we can always hear your voice. And I have some videos where you can be seen or, at least, heard in the background. But none of those things are enough. I need to hear from you. In a dream. A messenger like Ryan the angel. A miraculous mystery text. Any means by which you can convey "I'm okay Mom." We have never gone a week, much less months, without hearing from you and I don't know how long I can bear it. Maybe God's grace to us is not the supernatural sense of peace and calm I have heard others describe. Maybe His grace is just the ability to keep living day by day, doing the things we did before, in spite of the hole in our hearts.

     We came to visit you last fall because we wanted to see the places you lived, worked and went to school. Seeing where and how you lived made the separation easier to bear. So, at bedtime, your Dad and I are reading books about heaven to take in as much as possible about the place you live, work and learn now. Perhaps it will make this separation easier to bear, but that is a faint hope. We miss you too much.

                                                                               Love,

                                                                                      Mom

The Microwave in the Asylum

     In the spirit of the recent Cinco de Mayo, I decided to make the Mexican custard, flan, for our small group gathering that evening. Since flan is normally baked in a water bath, and I have a couple other recipes that turn out in the microwave without the water bath, I found a microwave flan recipe to try. Either the recipe submitter's microwave has low wattage or she herself does. For one thing, the 9 inch pie plate it was to cook in was too small for the filling. But since I had already poured the caramelized sugar topping into the pie plate, I put the excess filling in a separate bowl. Which did not matter because both the pie plate and the bowl spewed their filling using the cook times she suggested. Which figures because by the time the caramelized sugar bubbled around the edges of the pan, like in her recipe, the sugar underneath had overcooked and would not have loosened from the bottom of the pie plate with anything less than an atomic blast. But since most of the filling had already spewed all over my microwave turntable, there was little reason to try to keep the caramel and filling together.

    I scraped the far flung flan into a bowl. It looks like somebody already ate it once, but tastes pretty good. And I managed to get the caramelized sugar out of my pie plate by letting it soak with hot water and a fabric softener sheet.  Although if that had not worked, I was willing to declare it a casualty of the recipe. Fortunately, I had other desserts besides the floundered flan to serve our small group. And when I need a glucose fix, I slurp a swig of lumpy flan from its bowl in the refrigerator. Apparently, the microwave in the asylum where the submitter lives has lower wattage than mine.

Speed Healing

     I have told grieving friends that the firsts without their loved one--holidays, birthdays, anniversaries etc. are painful, but purposeful. They evoke memories that stir the sense of loss, but opening the wound is necessary for healing. The Lord must have speed healing in mind for me because Tracy's death was followed shortly by Easter, then his birthday, three days later his college graduation, two days after that, Mother's Day. We braved the sympathetic looks to start attending church again Easter Sunday. Having put so great an investment in the resurrection, it seemed only fitting to celebrate it. Either myself or my children have hosted dinners for the occasions listed above or just to get together as a family. We attended my niece's final college concert, as previously planned, just one month after Tracy died. After Easter, we returned to hosting our church small group every other Thursday, both for the sake of the group and because showing hospitality delights my heart. Except for the days spent making arrangements, I continued with Grandma days Monday, Wednesday and Friday as usual. 

     There is a certain stability in following traditions and routines, but I have not returned to BSF, which has been difficult this year with a leader who would rather push us to get what she did out of the lesson, than let us share what God wanted to teach us. But mostly I am afraid the sympathy and hugs would undo me. And I have not returned to my Monday prayer group because I no longer know how to pray for anybody. God has never been interested in my suggestions and no longer seems terribly concerned about my feelings. If I pray for someone's safety, will God take them to heaven as he did Tracy? I realize God will not change His eternal purposes based on my prayers, but I no longer know what to ask on behalf of others.

     There are still many things to sell and sort and settle on Tracy's behalf, but they are not distracting enough to keep me from feeling the gaping wound in my heart. I have prayed that, since I can't see Trace in person, God will help me see him in other ways. The picture Joe gave us at graduation was nice, so is the Snap On cookie jar, and I still have all the "top drawer" notes, the sweet things he wrote for Mother's Day and other occasions through the years, but they are not enough to fill the void his death created in my life. Everyone says to give it time and I expect to. God is the one who seems to be in a hurry, by stacking the weeks following his death full of firsts. Maybe someday I will look back and say all these things helped my heart heal sooner, but it feels more like probing a wound that even grace has not yet begun to cover.

Dear Tracy--Graduation

Dear Tracy,

   We went to Helena for your college graduation Friday. Everyone was so nice to us and grateful that we came. I could tell they wanted to do something special for you and we were the next best thing. Your diplomas were the first presented, three of them, and actual diplomas, not the empty cases everyone else gets. Airframe, Powerplant and Aviation Maintenance. The school had to appeal your case to the state to make that happen. Then, in the hokey system the U of M still requires because of Covid, each family comes in, watches their student graduate and then heads out the back and goes to their classroom or, for the aircraft students, the hangar. We got to stay for all your classmates and took pictures, even of Shane. The college said they would send us your student interview, but they haven't yet. We are hungry for every scrap of audio or video connected to you. Joe was chosen to give the online graduation speech and he mentioned you. He described graduation without you as bittersweet. It is a flavor I will have to get used to from now on.

    There was a table set up for you in the hangar with the sleeveless Hawaiian shirt you gave Joe when he forgot his, the two pictures I had sent of you with your Harley, and the one Joe took for your scholarship application. You thought it was ridiculous to have to send a picture, but I am so glad to have it. It is in the center of my photo cube now. For you, I was willing to displace the granddaughters' picture collage. I brought some chocolate revel bars for everyone. I know how much you liked those. Your Dad gave bolt gauges to your classmates. He had bought one for you and was going to give it to you when you graduated, so he just ordered more for your class, Jamar, and even Todd, who said he didn't have one that nice. The parents and staff wanted us in the class picture, which I'm sure will make people wonder in years to come, about the old couple in the graduating class. I noticed a guy by your table wearing his tassel on a cowboy hat. Todd told me it was Curtis, which meant nothing to me until he said aka, "Honky". Then the person and the hat made sense. I know God's plan is perfect, but I let myself imagine how graduation would have been if you were alive. You would have grumbled about the cap, gown and all the fuss, but you still would have cooperated and smiled for the pictures.

     Mother's Day was just two days later. Britten hosted a waffle brunch. Amanda couldn't make it because Kenzie was sick. Diane T. claimed to be sick also, but may have just been uncomfortable coming. Britten and Em presented me with the Snap On cookie jar you asked me if I wanted, but I didn't know you had already received and had in your RV. One last Mother's Day gift from you. Thanks, I will keep it forever. Later, I read all the sweet cards and notes you sent me, the ones I have kept in my top drawer through the years. I try to focus on what I still have, but I miss you so much, I would drag you back from heaven if I could. We are glad we went to your graduation. We expected there waiting for you when you graduated to heaven, but we know you will be at ours.

                                                                                   Love,

                                                                                          Mom

    

Dear Tracy--Birthday

Dear Tracy,

 

    Yesterday was your 35th birthday here on earth, your first one in heaven. I don't know if they celebrate earthly dates in heaven but, since God chose the exact time of your birth, as well as your death, it seems logical that they might. We spent the morning ordering a bench which will serve as a grave marker for the three of us. Don't worry, there was about enough money in your bank account to pay for it. Your Dad doesn't want to sit on the ground when he comes to visit you and a bench will actually cost less than two headstones. The part I like is that there will be a Corsair on your side of the pedestal base, and a lamb on mine. Jayson, the funeral director, suggested  a lamb lying down sedately--because he doesn't know me well. I told him I wanted a spunky lamb. So mine is, if not spunky, at least frolicking. Jayson said traditionally the father is buried in the outside plot, but I figured your Dad would rather be closer to the Corsair than the lamb, so he gets the middle spot. And they will inscribe the phrase I wanted for my tombstone, "To be continued . . . Ps. 23:6" Meanwhile, I stuck a birthday balloon in the sod over your grave. It's a good thing you're dead or the wind rattling it would drive you crazy.

    Will & Em invited everyone over for brisket. Em got up throughout the night to smoke it, the result was delicious. We were a little worried when Amanda didn't show up for dinner or answer our texts. At 8, she finally texted that she laid down to sleep for a few minutes and woke up hours later after lots of shaking from Mackenzie. She said employees aren't showing up at Cislo's and she is working non stop. She and Kenzie came out to the campfire for a while and took some food home. We plan to make her a part of our family and she hasn't run away screaming yet. Don't worry about Amanda, we'll take good care of her.

    I sure miss you Trace. I always felt safe with you. Not just because you could protect me, I felt safe to be myself. You saw me with all my faults and frailty and accepted me anyway. I think lots of people felt that way about you. It is a rare gift. I know you wouldn't have been home for this birthday, it's too close to graduation. We are going, you know, to graduation. We debated whether we should. Will we drive to Helena just to be sad in a new location? Will seeing us make your teachers and classmates sad? But since they are setting up a display in the classroom in your honor and we would have been happy to watch your graduation had you lived (and been willing to participate), we decided to come. Reed is giving bolt gauges as gifts for your classmates and Jamar. I am bringing cookies, of course. I don't think I will be too sad. On your birthday, my mind was filled with memories of you being born. Labor is a pretty potent memory and, once the baby is in your arms, a happy one. 

    We would have had a family gathering for your birthday and graduation after you moved back to Kalispell. Now we know that celebration will happen later than we planned, but in a much nicer setting. And that gathering will last forever.

                                                                                  Love,

                                                                                        Mom

 

Goliath Goes Down

     I am happy to post this sequel to my Unjust Towing Company blog. Since January, Evergreen State Towing has been billing my friend Diane for expenses on a car we sold on her behalf more than two years ago. I took on the task of Daviding her Goliath, but instead of slinging stones, I sent letters. My letters, however, were not making an impression on Goliath or the agencies I appealed to. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but the laptop, not so much. In desperation I contacted our Governor's office. Governor Gianforte's constituent representative, Mary Grant, had the stones we needed. I was discouraged when she asked Diane/me to file a complaint with the Washington bureau of licensing in charge of, among other things, tow truck operators because that agency was actually the second letter I wrote on Diane's behalf. Their response was--not in our jurisdiction, hire an attorney. 

     But this time our complaint was accompanied by a letter from the Governor's office requesting justice for Diane. And this time the bureau's response was to assign an investigator who went to work on the problem immediately. She referred to the same Washington regulations that Mary Grant had quoted in her letter. It turns out the law about contacting the owner of record that Evergreen repeatedly tried to club us with applies only to vehicles registered in the state of Washington. Thunk! A second law says they must accept proof of sale, which we had provided in our original letter. Thud! Evergreen told the investigator they would cease billing Diane for expenses. Wham! Although the license bureau did not fine Evergreen, the investigator promised to "educate" them regarding the law. We did not get to chop off Evergreen's head or loot their armor like David did to Goliath, but this still feels like victory. Persistence paid off. The unjust towing company gave justice in spite of themselves. At last, Goliath goes down!