Weaving a Blanket of Hope

Weaving a Blanket of Hope

It’s almost that time; November 1st. The fall leaves are turning and the jack o’ lanterns beam their shady faces in front of the Fred Meyer next to the fall mums.

I miss you.

This is my son. 13. A bright star that lit up everyone’s daily walk with his never-ending curiosity and inability to stay still.


jamisonlittleLast year about this time we sat on the bench together at his younger brother’s football game. He had just spent time at an early Halloween party and my ex’s brother and wife were dropping him back to me. He snuggled up to my side, in his usual way. His new haircut rounding out his boyish face showing so much the signs of his leaving boyhood and becoming a young man. I was proud. This child was the one for whom I prayed. He was the gift given. Joy for the mourning of losing my first born.

Jamison and I could always talk. I teased him about his girlfriend and asked him if he was going to kiss her. He said, “Mom, really. I’ve got to work up to that and we’re not even at holding hands yet.”

“How long do you estimate it will take?” I asked, giggling and poking him in the side.

“Not sure.” he said, “approximately 6-8 months.”

He threw his head back in his carefree way and smirked a half smile. I laughed, so very close to my own heart. It was like our souls were woven together through time. People used to tell me that this child though an adopted was very much similar to me. They were right and over time he had become a refuge and friend in the emptiness of my marriage.

“Jamison, can you help me carry this?”

“Jamison want to come to the store with me?”

Middle spent most of his time with his Dad. Two peas in a pod I would always say. Middle loved sports and Dad loved Middle. That’s how it is sometimes. You don’t mean to, and truly you love them all equally, but each parent always holds a little more dearly to one child over the other. We are strange creatures. Despite our attempts to control; to adhere to the rules we write on our hearts, we never really be how we want to be, do exactly as we desire or keep from becoming what hope most to avoid. Looking back, twinges of guilt over my unconscious favoritism ping me.

Loneliness the maker of broken people – I don’t understand why he felt like he had to go.

For a number of months, I felt personally slighted that Jamison dared to leave me. Angry, screaming through tears as I drove somewhere – anywhere trying to escape my grief. Escaping is impossible; grief pours over you like a brazen sea. The waves come when they do. You stand cemented in knee deep water waiting, watching the horizon. Occasionally, forgetting going about your day, talking with friends, doing your work – until without warning, a wave washes over you like a tsunami pulling you under into suffocating darkness again. You struggle for days to clamor to your feet again only to be plunged under.

When Jamie died, I felt a strange fire. I knew that his death would change the world. I knew it would be the catalyst that would make me write. I knew it would bring me to the end of myself. I knew that I could not letdauntattoo him pass through this dimension without allowing his soul to altering this world and through my release to alter yours. I have no idea what this means except that I am to open myself up to you; to share the depths of my heart with you – whatever may come.

Life finds us flayed open sometimes. Pain bursts from the depths of the universe of souls and we feel strangely connected to those who have suffered before and have suffering yet to come. We are a connection of strings; a blanket of bleeding hearts, knit together with common circumstances and tragedy. As pain our pain fades, our wounds scab over and healing takes hold we tighten to pull together and strengthen those still raw and oozing. Tragedy leaves us always as at the cross-road; dive into bitterness or release the weight and weave the blanket of hope.

I chose hope.  You too, ok? Everyday. Over and over again.  Don’t let your scars be for naught.

“….to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise  instead of a spirit of despair.”

Until next time.

All My Love,


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Stop Being So Strong – Mothers Day, 2016

Stop Being So Strong – Mothers Day, 2016

It’s 8:06pm. Breathe.

You really never know where life is going to take you. I spent a lot of today wishing I could drink myself into unfeeling grief. I wish I could tell you that I go through every day happy and joyful, with positive thoughts running through flocked meadows…but the reality is. I don’t. I work at it. I try to recognize when my head is going down. I spend a lot of time and money on therapy. I’ve walked through this past six months focusing on reframing and all that proven neuro-science brain reprogramming. This post isn’t to lessen the fact that what we believe creates our reality. This post is only to say that I am just like you and to be. Being me, flailing myself in front of you..tearing off all my exterior makes me feel known. That’s why I do it. It comforts me and I know sharing all my shit…comforts some of you.

I’ve spent a lot of time in conflicted thought over openly sharing who I am, all the good and the “bad” and balancing my business; part of which entails coaching entrepreneurs toward their life and business goals. I am a good coach. I am very good at what I do. My clients see great results, but the reality is, I am very human.

Sometimes all the positive thinking in the world can’t keep us from feeling the pain that’s part of being here.
Death affects us all.
Loss affects us all.
Depression affects us all.

So far since losing Jamison, I haven’t drowned myself in alcohol for days on end or looked for a tall tree (ok, not more than a couple times.)…by God’s grace. I share my life with you because I want you to know that you’re not alone. Actually, I want to know that I’m not alone. We all want to feel like we aren’t alone.

Losing a child hurts like hell. As a mother you feel like you failed. You feel like protecting and nurturing that child to adulthood…the only job you were entrusted with…you couldn’t do. When you couldn’t make your relationship work and you made choices you never thought you would; when things ended in a way you never expected. You feel alone. The reality though, is you’re not alone…and yeah, thank God, I’m not alone either.

It’s ok to depend on the people around us. We need them. Times in life like these teach us humility and dependence. Independence is a false sense of control. Codependence, no matter what our psychologists say, is necessary to our survival. Falling into someones arms is the best thing you can do sometimes. Let go. Stop being so strong. Don’t do alone.

All My Love,