A Man of Prose and Poems

The clouds have been looming overhead for the last few days gray, dark and stormy. Today the sun has come shining through, and memories of this day and this time of year five years ago are always swirling around in my mind. People who have had significate trauma through the loss of a person and, for me, the loss of a child remember details that at the time seem insignificant to most. I remember the weather and the lack of photos I took leading up to this day and the following days of waiting and watching. I was still learning photography, and taking pictures every day was part of the process of learning, so for me to look back on this time and seeing very few photos seemed strange for me.

I've heard that during the days, weeks, and months leading up to his accident, Evan had reached out to several folks that he had lost touch with or just had things that had been left unspoken. I often wonder if somehow the universe was making way for him to fill the holes he thought were there. I usually live in this space of contentment and regret when I look back on these days leading up to this time. Contentment as his parent that Evan was doing the thing he had worked so hard for and that he was working as a salesforce administrator, coming into his last semester at Sac State and finding his sense of purpose. When I think in those terms, my regret and sadness seem multiplied. He was finally finding the rhythm. So the regret for me is why???

I know I'm five years in, and shouldn't I feel less regret. Unfortunately, the answer to that for me is no. With every promotion, every child born, every announcement, and the significant moments of others, I wonder and ask why? I wondered why in the earlier days of my loss, but now it's become a painful part of the healing and angst of loss. I run into people even now who remember Evan and are quick to share the impact he made with them. Maybe it's their way of finding peace, or they are just being kind, but we're talking five years later, and they still remember and want to share that with me. Their words fill the empty place in my heart that misses Evan and yet it brings a great sadness and returns me to Why?

In all of this, the building of my Faith has been strengthened, and honestly it’s a mystery. In the mystery and depth of Christ, that question goes unanswered. It is not because of anything I can do but because I can't know all the answers. I don't have all the answers, and it keeps me dependent on a God who does. It keeps me open to the possibility that even in the most painful and misunderstood parts of me, He is there to walk with me...carrying me...hold me and to show me that I'm not alone. He brings me peace in the turmoil and if there is anything I can tell you about the last five years is that I know that Jesus has carried me. He brings those people who remember and have good things to say and encourages me to see the impact that Evan had, and with that comes peace, if just for a moment. It makes me smile through my tears as I can tell you I miss Evan, and I know that Alex and John do too.

So as I move into this time of reflection of this significant loss for me, I do so consistently with a clear understanding of the significance of faith and with the questions of my loss placed entirely on the shoulders of Jesus. He carries the load with the strength that I'm unable to maintain.

Mosaic of Seasons

"Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting, and autumn a mosaic of them all." Stanley Horowitz

I love this quote as it is a lovely word picture of the seasons and the different art mediums. Fall brings cooler weather, leaves changing, shorter days, and the smell of rain in the air. On the other hand, spring brings the brightest flowers, warmer weather, longer days, and the scent of new beginnings. Fall brings an end to the cycle that will begin again when spring returns. It's part of the journey, and yet we so look forward to spring, at least I do. Fall brings changes and those feelings of loss and grief for me.

This Saturday will mark the last birthday I spent with Evan here on this planet five years ago. It's one of the many birthday memories I have of us as a family, and as I begin this new year, it's a longing to be together that never leaves me. The internet isn't always kind when we see all the family's celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, and other special events, and I am ALWAYS repeating the same photos and feelings. This time of year is hard. I woke up the other day, and this overwhelming sense of grief came over and had me crying into my pillow until the sunrise. The days between tears have gotten longer. Softer. But they're still very hard. Sad. Painful. I read this article about Grief Math and had often wondered if these calculations I do on the future anniversaries and such are just a quirky thing that I do, but I've come to realize that it's a thing. That helped me feel ok about what I do.

So Saturday, I begin my next trip around the sun, and with that, I've come out on the other side one-year cancer-free. YAY! I've recovered from radiation and C*vid, and I've learned who can be trusted and who will see me through when the going gets tough. That has been the most painful and most challenging lesson for me. Just as in the earlier parts of grief, you come to realize who can be in it for the long haul, and you find that most of the time, when you go to lean back, the community has left you, and just a few are left to hold your heart. You also learn that the people who dare to stand with you are the people that have similar wounds that you do. Those people understand, and if your space is filled with a few of these precious souls, you are luckier than most.

So I walk into this birthday, feeling slightly anxious about what the future holds but more resolute to follow my path and with the feelings of grief and loss still right on the surface, ready to wake me in the early morning hours to have me watch for the sunrise.

John and Alex, thanks for always talking me off the edge. You both always find a way to carry my heart even though you, too, are walking out your grief.

The Bench

Graduation season is upon us with all of the excitement and anticipation that graduation brings. For me, it brings an element of melancholy. I love things that are consistent, the same, and yet with the excitement of the future, I grab hold of the past. This week many will end their high school and college careers and begin their futures — the taste of the bitter along with the sweet. Ten years ago this week Evan and his friends walked across the stage at Vacaville Christian Schools setting their sights on the future and what it holds.

A few weeks ago I came across Evan's senior photos. It was always my intention that my kids be able to express themselves within reason, and senior photos were no different. Even now, as a photographer, I so want people that I photograph to be there authentic self. Evan chose a friend, Looking Glass Photographs, to do his senior photo, and I love that she captured him so well.

While looking through the photo, I wanted to find the place where his photos were taken. As I looked through the pictures and as I drove around Vacaville looking for the place that had "The Bench" I realized that I'd lived in Vacaville 30 year and never really saw a bench like the one in the photos. The place that I was looking for had hills, trees, grassy areas, and a baseball diamond, the universal look of nearly every park in the US. But it had some unique things that I knew if I tried hard enough, I could find them.

Last week on my way home from Sacramento I drove through Davis which would have been a place that Evan would have wanted to do photos. He loved Davis, and so much of our time was spent there as a family. I stopped near the park that seemed the most likely, Slide Hill Park. After getting out and looking around, it became clear to me that was not the location. I continued to drive home and passed Community Park and thought maybe but I was hungry and cold, and I need to look again at the photos.

So today after work I picked up my camera and some items that mean something to me; art pieces, photographs, Evan's ashes, and his original draft of "Ley LInes" his first published poem and set out to find "The Bench." After doing some research, I realized that Community Park was probably my best choice, and as I carried my bags towards the skate park in the distance, I saw it...The Bench. Many things about the park have changed, but the overall layout has remained the same. The tree that was in the background of the photo of Evan on the bench has grown, and as I sat and looked around, I felt this genuine connection to this space that once was occupied by my son. It was surreal. I could see him hang on the fence, laying back in the grass, and thinking deeply about life. I set up my makeshift memorial, and I too pondered many things while sitting there.

So much of my grief journey has been about looking back to go forward. It seems to those watching that something is broken if the past is what you cling too. Well, I am broken, but in my brokenness, I see life through a different lens. Not a better lens just different. Ten years ago, Evan graduated from high school. If he had lived, he would have graduated from college Spring of 2017 and who knows what other things he would have accomplished. I say that because he does not have a future here on Earth. Evan’s future is now walking around in the lives of 5 other people who 931 days ago got the heart, lungs, and kidneys of our boy. Our other son, Alex, is raising awareness about organ donations through hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. I say this with all confidence that we (John and I) couldn't be prouder of our sons. Proud of their sacrifice and proud of their decisions.

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