5 years.  I can’t say it’s any easier, it’s just different.  Isabella says she misses him although she was only 16 months when he passed away.  Jackson follows with “I miss him, too”, and he wasn’t born for another year and a half.  Crazy kid, but it’s that kind of stuff that just wrenches at me.

This ride really sucks.


Still Here…….

I’m still here, working on writing more, just really nothing new to report.


Mason is still gone.


We still miss him.

Out of Order

It’s not supposed to be like this.

Life.  It’s not supposed to be like this.  This is all out of order.

I pray for peace for all those whose lives are out of order.  I pray for peace for those whose lives aren’t supposed to be like this.


Sort of happy, anyway.

Almost 3 years down.  3 years since I’ve seen my sweet son.  God I miss him.

The anniversary of his death isn’t till April 7th, next Tuesday.

The year he died, 2012, April 7th was the Saturday of Easter weekend.  Easter will always have an extra special meaning for me, regardless of the date.

In my mind, now he has 2 anniversaries; Saturday before Easter and April 7th.  From my good friend Mr. Google, I don’t believe April 7th and Saturday before Easter line up again till 2091.

I probably won’t be around for that one.

I didn’ t know what I was asking for

It’s been a little more than 26 months since Mason left us. Of all the blogs I’ve read and people I have spoken to, they all say that the second year is the hardest. After the shock wears off and reality starts so settle back in, that’s when you really get started. Well, we survived the second year.

Another thing I have heard from others is that there is no time table on grief. The Compassionate Friends consider you “newly” bereaved if it’s been less than 5 years. I’m still “newly” bereaved. Sometimes, I’m still in shock. Sometimes it’s not real. Sometimes, I think that my alarm clock will wake me up from a horrendously long nightmare.

Being “newly” bereaved, I am still very early on in my healing progress. The pain is still very deep. Obviously, I haven’t had the time to let it heal, but I expect at some point that the pain will be more like a soreness, a bad ache. Right now, the knife is still in my heart and it’s twisting around and around. The wound is not able to start healing just yet.

As if all this wasn’t bad enough, there is the guilt. All of this pain, all of the heartache, all of the tears, all of the sadness and all of the helplessness, I wished on someone else.

Early in April of 2002, we found out Mason needed a heart transplant. The current route of treatment wasn’t going to be good enough and time was of the essence. I prayed every day for a heart to become available for Mason. Six months later, my prayers were answered. At that point, someone else started their life without their child. I spent six months wishing this curse on someone else. I didn’t care who, I just wanted my child to live. I wanted Mason to have a chance. And I got it.

I spent six months praying for all this to happen to someone else. Now I’ll spend forever praying for God to forgive me for asking this. I didn’t know what I was asking for. I just wanted the best for Mason.

Now I’m on the other side. I find myself telling people all the time that I hope you never have to deal with the loss of a child. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone”, I say. Yet, twelve years ago, that’s exactly what I was doing. Would I do it again, knowing what I know now? Yes. So I guess I’m lying when I say I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. If my child’s life is on the line, I would wish it on anyone.

So, what this boils down to is just another twist of the knife for me. On one hand, I don’t want anyone to experience this. I don’t want to have to ask God to take another one of his children so that my child could live. Yet, if it came down to it again, I’d make the same request. My child is more important than anyone else’s; just as your child is more important than mine.

In a Rut

(WARNING: There’s a lot of rambling and somewhat incoherent thoughts in here)

Seems like every day is the same. I feel like I’m stuck on high center. The wheels are turning, but we’re not going anywhere.

I still follow a lot of blogs written by grieving parents. Some have an amazing ability to write down what they feel, what is / was happening in their lives. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit envious of that. People that know me know that I am pretty quiet. I’m not very vocal about anything. Evidently, that trait bleeds over into my writing.

Some have quit writing for one reason or another. I can understand that. I can’t seem to find anything to write about either. So, I guess I’ll write about not writing.

I tend to either keep my thoughts in or deem them as not anything worth sharing. Nobody wants to read about my drive to work this morning. No one wants to read about me sitting at my desk all day trying to focus on the job at hand. Since Mason passed, I feel like I’ve got a sudden case of ADD, and focusing on even the simplest of tasks can be difficult. Putting my un-divided attention into something; yeah right, that’s not going to happen.

I don’t have a boring life. I mean, it’s pretty un-eventful, but not boring. I don’t sit around the house with nothing to do; there’s always something to do. I’ve got 2 gorgeous children at home whom I adore. They keep me plenty busy. It’s just the same thing, day in and day out. I know, I know. That’s the same thing everyone else does. Why should my life be any different from theirs? I’m just bitching about being normal.

I want to go back to the way things were before. We still had a less than glamorous life, but we had that life with Mason. Now, it’s the same life without him. His smile and laughter have been replaced with infinite sadness, anger & doubt. I know it was hard on him, but there’s not much I wouldn’t do to go back to the times of annual biopsies, occasional trips to the er and the fear of catching some types of viral infection that might send us to TCH for a few days.

I just can’t get out of this rut. I KNOW that I’ve got lots of things going for me. I’ve got a beautiful loving wife, 2 kids that mean the world to me, a great job, nice house and for the most part I’ve got a great life. But it’s incomplete. There is a huge part of my life that is missing. I was trying to explain this to someone the other day. It’s like having a brand new, one of a kind, sports car. I should be flying down the highway with the top down having the time of my life. But I can’t. Why? Because I’m missing a wheel. I can’t go anywhere. Everything on this car is immaculate. Perfect. But, missing a wheel makes this car useless. This wheel can’t be replaced. So, my car, my life, my family, sit on the side of the road with our hazard lights on. Battery is dying, the flashers are fading, it’s getting dark.


I sure miss you, Bubba.