Following the Map That Leads to You

I miss the taste of a sweeter life
I miss the conversation
I’m searching for a song tonight
I’m changing all of the stations
I like to think that we had it all
We drew a map to a better place
But on that road I took a fall
Oh baby why did you run away?
I was there for you
In your darkest times
I was there for you
In your darkest nights
But I wonder where were you?
When I was at my worst
Down on my knees
And you said you had my back
So I wonder where were you?
When all the roads you took came back to me
So I’m following the map that leads to you
"Maps" by Maroon 5

Lately I've had bits of that song replaying in my mind.

I know it's a romance gone bad. A struggle to find what happened and went wrong.

But in so many ways those broken hearted songs could also be from a mother missing a child, a true love that even those most committed of lovers can't quite understand.

I find I spend time in my head sorting my way back to Ethan, as though I could unravel what went wrong and make reality different somehow. It's a wasted exercise. It's a silent conversation with my son, "Why didn't you? Why didn't I? If I'd only? We should have...."

There are times that I feel as though I'm wasting all the mental energy I should be using for a million other things simply trying to change the past, to reconstruct something that will make the present different and I get so tired of it. In reality, I'm still struggling to grasp his death and the end of all our conversations and dreams, our shared existence.

It doesn't take much to bring that on, although certainly when this song actually plays on the radio that will do it.

A "Hiring" sign at a job he could have done makes me think of him and what could have been.

Someone talking about their college plans reminds me of all he wanted to do at one time.

Encountering a teenager that I want to grab and shake because he reminds me so much of Ethan in that 'life happens and eventually I'll sort it out because I have no plans way,' and in the meantime he's doing nothing and making bad choices.

The sometimes crushing realization that it's been two years since I saw my son and touched him and that that number will only grow as I get older, but I don't think I'll grow to miss him less. He'll forever be stuck in my mind as the overgrown kid who hugged me at E1's fourth birthday party, picking me up because he thought it was funny that he could, slumped in the back seat of my parents' car as they drove away. I didn't want him to go, ever, yet because of his drug use I couldn't let him stay and there was just never any way around that.

I wonder if he ever really knew how much I loved him, how precious he was to me, how badly I missed the real him that was so often lost in a narcotic haze, or even just the physical presence of him in my day to day life? Perhaps he felt the same way, but the drugs were always between us and we could never find the map that put us back together.

So I listen to broken hearted romance songs and sometimes I cry for the man I lost.

The man I gave birth to and watched grow up.

My son.

Life and Change is a Choice after Loss

Three weeks ago I had a modified abdominoplasty -- a mini tummy tuck for those unacquainted with plastic surgery lingo.

During the year since my son died, I've taken care of myself in ways I had never done before. Putting a period on his life reminded me that there will someday be an end to mine, and I don't want to have regrets for the things I could have done. Even if I don't have time for regrets, I want time to enjoy the things I want in life, whether it's weeks months or years.

So there's a convertible in the driveway, even though I haven't driven it in weeks due to cold weather. There's a hot tub in the back yard where I regularly relax with a glass of wine, looking up at the cold winter stars. I had my eyeliner tattooed on my eyes a few months ago. Last spring I spent four glorious days at the Outer Banks with my family. One to three times a week I splurge on a drive to town to workout for an hour or two. And now there's a long scar across my abdomen where I've said goodbye to a physical attribute that has bothered me for years.

I know we all handle grief and depression differently, and I've tried to think each decision through and separate a temporary feel better from something I really wanted.

There have been times when I've rushed into things myself, although I've since learned that big decisions shouldn't be made while dealing with grief or depression. Years ago I fell and broke my right wrist badly and wound up depressed, especially after the convertible I had at the time came back from the mechanic with cosmetic damage. Oh, and I couldn't drive it because it was a five-speed. Rather than waiting until I was well and taking the issue up with the mechanic and tow company that had caused the problem, I traded it for a loss for a car I drove only a few months and hated virtually the entire time. Don't, I've learned. Don't rush into something to make you feel better.

So I haven't.

But at the same time, if there's something I know I've wanted for a long time, I've decided to make it happen if possible. I've scrimped and saved and planned and things have fallen into place.

I knew from the time I sold my previous convertible that I would want another one when it became feasible. When I first read that it was possible to have permanent makeup tattooed on, I wanted eyeliner because I can make it and feel good if I'm wearing eyeliner. The Outer Banks has been my favorite vacation getaway since the first time I went, even though I had not made it back in a decade. The hot tub was the closest to a spur of the moment purchase I've made, having not had the opportunity to enjoy one very often, but I've used it enough to prove it was a good luxury choice.

The abdominoplasty was probably the hardest to embrace and thankfully most people, including my husband, would not have said I needed one.

After birthing two 9-pound babies, two abdominal surgeries with resulting scars and tucks, and losing 20-plus pounds in the last decade, I wasn't happy with the way my skin fit. It bothered me in yoga poses, in a bathing suit or jeans, or even when I simply encountered the unwelcome bulge. The more I exercised, the fitter I became, the more I hated it. It seemed, however, that I would carry my little roll to the grave because I couldn't entertain the idea of plastic surgery long enough to find a doctor or make an appointment.

As it turned out I didn't need to. A small skin cancer on my leg sent me to a plastic surgeon to arrange removal and while there I asked about the loose skin on my stomach. I quickly learned it wasn't as expensive as I thought for a mini procedure and that it could be performed without general anesthesia (a deal breaker). Before I left I had a quote for the costs and something to ponder. When things are meant to happen, I firmly believe they will.

I spent the next week doing research and considering the cost. I watched YouTube videos and read reviews. I talked to my husband. Then I called and scheduled the surgery and the presurgical visit and began making payments. I had my visit with a nurse who took measurements and talked with my about what to expect from surgery and recovery.

Then one Friday morning my husband took a vacation day and drove me to Winston where he waited while surgery was performed. It was as bad as YouTube made it look, although not so much painful as much as I knew what they were doing and liposuction (a small amount was included) is brutal at best.

The first two weeks of healing seemed to take forever. The last week has been wonderful. At no point have I regretted it and my only debate was whether to share it.

I decided this changing of my skin, so to speak, was part of the journey of losing Ethan. Had I not lost him, I would have continued to deny that I deserved it. I would have continued to be uncomfortable in my own skin, simply because there were other needs and wants.

Because I lost Ethan and made the decision to live, I want to live fully. I want to do so in a body that is aging, but aging well because I take care of it inside and out, and one that I feel fits me, however long I inhabit it. I want to exercise and dance and run and enjoy the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. I want to eat things I shouldn't, and things I should. I want to hand money to homeless people and shelter stray dogs. I want to listen to baby talk and feel the wonderful sensation of my grandchildren's arms embracing me. I want to watch them grow and try to be a person they can emulate. I want to say the right things, and sometimes the things no one wants to hear because they need to be said.

I want to reach out to other mothers, or fathers, who wake up to the same unimaginable loss I've endured and help them realize that they are not alone. I want them to understand it's OK to grieve and be sad and feel that life isn't what you expected it to be, but at the same time realize that living is a choice to make every day and that the rest of our lives doesn't have to be about grieving.

It can also be about moving forward and doing the things you've denied yourself. Because in my loss I've realized not to take tomorrow for granted, to seize the opportunities and take care of things today instead of tomorrow, and that the things that need taking care of aren't always someone or something else -- sometimes what needs care the most is me.

Raining, Rabbits, Dogs and Cows

I had been crying just moments earlier.

It's something I often do when I'm in the car alone, especially after dark. Don't ask me why.

I think grief gets into the back seat when everyone else gets out. It hides in the floorboard like a carjacker, waiting for the perfect song on the radio, the random memory of another trip down roads I've traveled for so many years, and then it launches itself at me, grabbing me and shaking me and making me wish sometimes that I could go ahead and join my son on his journey beyond life instead of continuing to grapple with the pain of his death.

That depth of pain subsides quickly. There is too much to live for. Three little girls and right now too many dogs who need me. Life is good and I haven't done all I mean to do yet.

But I'm left with the tears.

Then I rounded a curve on my homeward journey and happy happened.

I wound up sitting in my unmoving car at 10:30 p.m. on a rain soaked night, laughing.

There was a little bunny in the DOT mowed grass at the side of the road enjoying a quiet evening snack and my SUV completely ruined his meal. He was like a Mexican jumping bean hopping wildly in every direction. He jumped two hops one way and froze, then jumped the other. I couldn't drive without risking that he'd choose to run under the car and I didn't really want to go on any way.

I sat and laughed at him until he disappeared into the taller grass, then thanked God for sending me a happy moment and finished my drive home, the tears banished for the rest of the night.

My happy this week has been in many ways much like that bunny, something that has appeared unexpectedly out of the dark and banished the blues for a period of time. Much of it has also involved animals, not a shock since my life is largely animals and little girls, but all the same....

2. New lion cubs at the NC Zoo. We were just there a few weeks ago and the two lions were the most visible they've ever been. The lioness, Mekita, was on her back in the sunshine, one leg kicking in some random dream. On July 30 she gave birth to four cubs. The birth announcement came a few days later and seeing the picture of mom and babies stretched in the straw made me smile.

3. Deer, slipping quietly across a dusky road before me. Because of my schedule and the heat, dog walking comes at the tail end of the day. One evening, just as we stopped to turn around, I watched a doe silhouetted against the sunset as she slipped across the road at the top of the hill beyond us. When we neared the house, more deer seemed to float across the road. Only Willie and I saw them, the bigger dogs oblivious until we were close enough to catch their scent, but they were long gone by then.

4. A frightened little dog coming around to trust. Last week I was tending my best friend's dogs as she was gone to the beach and she had just brought home a new one who, for some reason, was prone to barking and growling although not actually snapping. Even though she is a mini-dachshund, I didn't want to be bit and she did put on a really good show of ferocity each time I had to handle her the first two days. By the last two, she was greeting me with a wag of her tail and no more defensive posturing.

5. Salon pas. Seriously, my carpal tunnel has been killing me this summer and my good friend said she'd heard salon pas patches recommended for other sufferers. I stopped and bought a box of the house brand at Walgreens and after two days of grooming this weekend, found relief that ibuprofen had not delivered. Sunday night with one on my wrist at bedtime, I slept far longer than normal without waking early to that arm on fire sensation I've become accustomed to dealing with.

6. Little girls and cows. Little Moo was a big hit earlier in the summer, but the girls were also able to enjoy feeding hay to Moo's herd last week. Well, the big Es anyway. Despite her fascination with toy cows, photos of cows and cows at a distance, E3 wanted nothing to do with the real, noisy, moving thing.

7. Rain. I'm tired of it already, but it is forcing me to dial back some of my expectations for myself and I think I need the break. Plus it sounds wonderful on the metal roof and I know that this area has been needing it. That it has brought cooler temperatures so that cropped sweat pants and long sleeves feel good, well, there's a certain bonus to that as well. I hated not doing the things I planned to do yesterday, but I loved snuggling in cool weather clothes and taking it easy on myself instead. The fact that the morning's downpour had ceased before little people arrived today, meaning we made our troops shuttling them indoors without anyone getting drenched, was a bonus.

Emotionally, I'm a little more stable after a few days of restful living thanks to the rain. I'm more prepared for the weekend and looking forward to a "Frozen" birthday party for E1.

What brought you joy last week? Can you remember? Make a mental note so that you can find a smile when you need it.