The DNA Of My Heart

I remember when Keith died.  I remember the day his whole body died, but mostly I remember the day his brain died.  I remember what I was wearing.  I remember where I was exactly.  I remember the dog under my feet.  I remember the sound of the phone ringing, the smells in my house and the noises outside.  They are forever locked in my mind.  They aren't vivid and bright images.  More like that after image you get when you look at something and then close your eyes and can still see the negative for a fleeting moment.

That effect makes it seem surreal to me.  Almost like I saw the events unfold through someone else's eyes.

The days following that phone call have a buzz to them.  I have bits of memory.  Pieces of images that float up out of my heart.  Some memory.  Not alot.  I spent countless hours and what energy I could muster to focus on giving Keith a funeral that would make my boys proud.

We did, you know.  We sent him off in the best way we could.  There were no regrets.  We told stories of Keith.  We laughed about all the quirky habits he had.  We shared happiness and joy in the knowledge that he was ours and that we loved him.  The day of the funeral was a beautiful gathering.  The church was packed.  Standing room only.  It was filled with love.  I've always found funerals to be such a contradiction.  You are so sad at the passing of someone dear to your heart, but it's such a reunion to see so many friends and loved one's together sharing a common bond.  I remember Laurie calling me to check on me after the funeral was over.  I think she expected tears, but at that moment I was filled with such joy.  We had several kids here and we were watching a slideshow of pictures of Keith and we were laughing and sharing stories with each other.  It was a brief respite from the bone crushing pain that we had all experienced.

I loved that boy.  I loved him like my own.  Sometimes I drive down the street and I see someone walking with a ball cap on and I catch my breath - and then I remember. I still can't talk about it without crying.  I still can't listen to my kids tell stories of him.  It is still so hard. I miss him in the silences between every heart beat.

Keith wasn't my own.  It has been argued that I don't "really" know what it's like to lose a son.  Maybe those people are right. I haven't lost Tyson, Goose or Jaden.  I lost Keith.  I can testify that it's pain that takes hold and never, never goes away.  You just work around it.  And when it's too much to bear, well you bear it anyhow because there really isn't anyone who knows enough to share the agony with them.  The pain and the loss is so personal.

I have many, many, many kids that call me "Mom." I like to think that they view me with that kind of love, but regardless, I love with them with every inch of my being. I celebrate their victories and secretly cry at their pain.  Not many of them know this. I think I would freak them out.  Keith was most certainly one of those kids.  If you were to check the DNA from Tyson, Goose, Tanna, Shelby or Jaden you'll get a perfect match.  To match it with all my other kids...take the DNA from my heart.

Yeah...What She Said....

Shelby wrote on her blog last night.  shelbydeason.blogspot.com

I had an inkling it was for Tanna.  It was hard for me to read.  Bawled like a baby.  I'm babysitting Bill, I was crying so hard it upset him and we were both howling.  It was awful.  I'm mad at her for writing it. I'm mad that I have to feel what I'm feeling.  I'm mad that it hurts so much to love someone.  I'm mad that it's hard to mend wounds and heal the hurts that are in a family.  I'm mad that we hurt people that we love so very much.

I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm mad.  And...I miss her too, Shelby.