Living: Life After the Death of a Child

Even after all these years…

 

Hugs,

~Becky

© 2018 Rebecca R. Carney

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Music

Some days I need to turn up the music loud, concentrate and breathe…just to turn down the sadness in my heart so I don’t fall apart. Today is one of those days.

Jason loved to brighten his family’s and friend’s day by surprising them with flowers, and his last Valentine’s Day was no exception. I had the privilege of going with Jason as he picked out the biggest and best bouquet of roses for the girl he took out on that last Valentine’s Day. His sister was going through a rough time, so he also picked out the biggest and best bouquet of roses for her to encourage her and let her know she was loved and valued. He was just so thoughtful like that.

Oh, my boy, how I miss you.

~Becky

Memory Quilt

When we lived in Oklahoma, I started making a memory quilt. I pulled it out last week to start working on it again. Even though I have lost so many things that meant something to me in our many moves, I somehow managed to keep pieces of leftover fabric from my family of sewers – from my grandma, my mom, my own sewing from jr. high on, my sister’s sewing (my wedding dress, Easter outfits for Jenna, etc.), Jenna’s sewing, etc.

I have pieces of fabric from one of the first dresses I ever sewed for myself, pajamas I made when the kids were little, shirts I made for the boys and dresses I made for Jenna. I have a piece of fabric from a robe I made and wore in the hospital when Eric was born. I have scrap pieces from shirts my grandma made for herself and from dresses and shirts my mom made for herself. In my mind, I can picture each and every article of clothing and the person who wore it. I am supplementing with fabric I’ve purchased that triggers a memory for me – a piece of fabric with pictures of chocolate chip cookies (because Jason loved to make chocolate chip cookies), video games the kids used to love, chess pieces (Jason’s favorite game), math quotes, etc.

One thing I terribly regret is not keeping more of Jason’s clothing. I’ve talked before about feeling pushed to go through his room before I was ready and how I would do things differently if I knew then what I know now. I kept a couple of shirts, his letterman jacket, a sweater and a sweatshirt he wore all the time. I have a Halloween costume I made when Jason was little, a white tee shirt and one with the Pillsbury dough boy that he loved. I’m not sure I actually have the courage to cut them up to put into my quilt. I also have a couple of Jason’s hats that he loved as a little boy.

Jason didn’t have a lot of clothes and, even though he was a tee shirt kind of guy, he always looked classy. He loved dressing up in three piece suits, white shirt and tie, dress slacks and a vest, a tux and his top hat, white gloves and cane for extra-special occasions. I have his hats and gloves, although the cane was lost somewhere along the way.

This week I sat hugging his letterman jacket and crying. It’s a tough time of year for me, this approach to March 3rd. Hugging a coat is a poor substitute for hugging my boy.

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Jason David Carney – 7/29/82 – 3/3/02

Missing you, Jason. I love you.

~Mom

© 2018 Rebecca R. Carney

 

I’ll Be Seeing You

As one year turns to another, it seems appropriate to post this song. It has been sung by many artists including Frank Sinatra, Kate Smith, Michael Buble’ and Billie Holiday. This one by Jimmy Durante is one of my favorites. It speaks to the wistful longing of missing someone who is no longer here.

Jason, I will never stop missing you…today and every day…You are in my heart and in my thoughts always. I love you, my precious boy.

~Mom

 

I’ll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through

In that small cafe
The park across the way
The children’s carousel
The chestnut trees, the wishin’ well

I’ll be seeing you
In every lovely summer’s day
In every thing that’s light and gay
I’ll always think of you that way

I’ll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon
But I’ll be seeing you

I’ll see you in that small cafe
The park across the way
The children’s carousel
The chestnut trees, the wishin’ well

I’ll be seeing you
In every lovely summer’s day
In every thing that’s light and gay
I’ll always think of you that way
I’ll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon
But I’ll be seeing you

I’ll be seeing you
I’ll be seeing you

https://genius.com/Jimmy-durante-ill-be-seeing-you-lyrics

 

© 2017 Rebecca R. Carney

“A Date Which Will Live in Infamy”

December 7, 1941 was the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the U.S. naval base at Oahu Island, Hawaii. Because of this action, the United States entered World War II. December 7th was designated as National Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day by the United States Congress in 1944, and today marks the anniversary of that day in the history of the United States. Every year, including this 76th anniversary of that “date which will live in infamy,” Pearl Harbor survivors, visitors, family and friends visit the World War II Valor in the Pacific National Monument to pause and remember those who died on that day.

There are few wars that don’t affect someone we know. Henry, my husband’s uncle by marriage, fought in the Pacific in World War II, and died when his ship was sunk. He had lived in the Philippines (originally from Colorado), and his wife (Joe’s aunt) had died in a car accident a year or so before the war started. Following Henry’s death, Joe’s grandmother went to the Philippines to bring home Henry’s (and her daughter’s) twin children, then barely aged 2. While she was there, the Japanese invaded the Philippines. Joe’s grandmother and the twins were sent to the Santo Tomas internment camp, where they spent the rest of the war until they were liberated in February, 1945.

As I was driving to work this morning, I thought about the meaning of “a date that will live in infamy.” Infamy means being known for something horrible. We, as parents whose children have died, have our own date that will live in infamy. My personal date that will live in infamy is March 3, 2002, the day Jason died.

Similar to survivors of war, we parents have endured a specific horrendous event on our personal date that will live in infamy, one that affects us and changes our lives in so many ways, more than we ever could have imaged. We are changed so much we, along with our family and friends, don’t even know who we are any more. Some of us end up with PTSD. Some lose friends because of a lack of understanding about the struggle we are having or the path we now are walking. Some have marriages that end. For some, it’s a lifelong struggle. Some never recover. It takes years to recover any semblance of normalcy (if there even is such a thing) and rebuild lives.

We are all changed by our personal date that will live in infamy, the day our children died.

~Becky

© 2017 Rebecca R. Carney

“Who You’d Be Today”

Who You’d Be Today

Sunny days seem to hurt the most
I wear the pain like a heavy coat
I feel you everywhere I go
I see your smile, I see your face
I hear you laughing in the rain
I still can’t believe you’re gone

It ain’t fair you died too young
Like a story that had just begun
But death tore the pages all away
God knows how I miss you
All the hell that I’ve been through
Just knowing no one could take your place
Sometimes I wonder who you’d be today

Would you see the world, would you chase your dreams
Settle down with a family
I wonder what would you name your babies
Some days the sky’s so blue
I feel like I can talk to you
I know it might sound crazy

It ain’t fair you died too young
Like a story that had just begun
But death tore the pages all away
God knows how I miss you
All the hell that I’ve been through
Just knowing no one could take your place
Sometimes I wonder who you’d be today

Today, today, today
Today, today, today

Sunny days seem to hurt the most
I wear the pain like a heavy coat
The only thing that gives me hope
Is I know I’ll see you again someday

Someday, someday

Written by Aimee Mayo, William Luther • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group, Words & Music A Div Of Big Deal Music LLC
I heard this song this weekend, and it just spoke the words that have been in my heart. A story just begun. I miss you, my boy. I love you. “The only thing that gives me hope is I know I’ll see you again someday.”
~Mom
© 2017 Rebecca R. Carney

Happy birthday, Jason

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“And can it be that in a world so full and busy the loss of one creature makes a void so wide and deep that nothing but the width and depth of eternity can fill it up!”– Charles Dickens (1812-1870)

July can be a tough month for me. I turn the calendar page and the marking of one more of Jason’s birthdays without him stares me in squarely in the face. For varying reasons, this July has had some additional very difficult, emotional challenges for me, which has made it a very difficult month. My emotions have been much closer to the surface than they normally would be. Jason would have been 35 years old today, and I can’t seem to quit crying this morning. That “deep, dark, hidden lake of grief inside of me” is not so hidden today.

I will always be so thankful Jason was born into our family. I celebrate his birthday today and rejoice that he is our son. I will always love him from the depths of my heart. I will always miss him beyond what words can every convey.

Happy birthday, my precious boy. I love you. I wish you were here. I miss you.

My precious Mr. Jay

Jason David Carney 7/29/82 – 3/3/02

© 2017 Rebecca R. Carney