My grandmother, Rubye Lee Mosier-Jordan, holding my mother, Rubye Naoma. This photo was taken in 1925.

My mother, Rubye Naoma Jordan-Zinck, and me Chirstmas of 1957

Andrew and I at his paternal Grandmother's (Adelina Romero - Grandma Nini) home. Summer of 1981.

Thanksgiving 2001 - West Plains, MO.

The last time Andrew went hunting...West Plains, Missouri

Sorry, I can't remember the year but it was at least 5 years ago. I was always a nervous wreck when he was hunting, so afraid he's get hurt.

When he got old enough to understand his father told him that when he got to be a big boy he could go hunting with him. After that every single morning when Andrew woke up he would run to our bedroom and climb in bed between his dad and I and say the same exact thing. "Tell me about hunting Daddy." And his Robert would tell him the exact things he had told him the day before. This went on for a very, very long time.

Once when he was a freshman in high school in Santa Rosa, NM he and his father went hunting. They shot a deer right off the bat and brought it home. Robert hung it by its neck in the out building we had. The deer's back feet were about 4 or 5 inches from the ground and its head was cocked to the side. I was gone and Robert came to get me to tell me they had their deer, leaving Andrew home alone.

When we returned to the house Robert insisted I come out and see the deer. To this day I kick myself for not taking a picture of what awaited us. Robert unlocked the door and flipped the light switch and there was this deer who although still hanging from the rafter now had a blue paisley bandanna tied Cholo headband style around his head, sunglasses on, a cigarette in his mouth and a skateboard that fit perfectly under his back feet.

That was Andrew right there....he was absolutely the funniest person I have ever known in my life....

Tuesday, October 23rd, will be the one year anniversary of my son’s death. I’m posting this today because I plan on being very still and quiet on Tuesday. I will scarcely move a muscle. I will barely breathe. I will sit and wait.

Wait as I have waited for the last 365 days for the earth to come to a screeching halt and stop turning. For gravity to finally let go. For the sun to stop rising and falling. For air to run out. How could it be that all of these things kept right on schedule when my world stopped?

No…that’s not true – my world didn’t stop, it reversed.

My world still turns but it goes backwards and gives me headaches and makes me have dizzy spells.

Gravity on my world is a hundred times heavier than it was one year ago. The act of opening my eyes takes monumental strength.

The sun rises and falls but everything stays a flat shade of gray.

….and there is never enough air to breath, never. And sometimes it feels like there is too much and I think my chest will explode.

My head aches because I think of him so much that there is little room for anything else and yet this life demands that I do. It crams little rubbery facts and trivia in where, if they only knew, there is no more room. Did you buy soap? The car needs gas, the light bill is over due…..what do you want for supper? One more syllable and my head will begin to rip at the seams.

I am screaming…I am screaming as loud as I can but no one hears it. I am screaming that I am gone. The very best of me is gone. I no longer exist but no one notices. I feel raw and exposed and yet those around me see nothing.

I was almost completely gone 365 days ago and what little was left has been lost to a quiet desperation. I am like twilight, slipping away at an undetectable rate until there’s only darkness.

My life has stalled. I sit and wait in the darkness. Listening, but I hear nothing but my own silent screams.

I think what hurts me the most is that my son didn't want to die.

I know that's an absurd statement. No one wants to die. I don't even believe that people who commit suicide "want" to die.

No one wants to stop being. Its true. Even if your life is terrible you don't want to stop being as much as you want to stop being in the state you're in.

Honestly, isn't the desire to believe in reincarnation not about getting to live more or longer but rather getting to live better.

I used to really stand on my soap box about how selfish people are who commit suicide and have no sympathy for them. I've decided to modify my beliefs. I still believe that about people who "threaten" to commit suicide whether they follow through or not.

But now I think there are those who quietly slip away and do what they think they must do. Not so much by choice as by lack of options. And there in lies the true flaw in the process. It is not the lack of options but rather the inability to recognize the options.

And this too is forgivable. If you care traveling down the road in the light of day and you come to an intersection you can survey your surroundings and choose the best path. But if is nightfall. If it is dark. If clouds cover the light of the moon and you can't see the stars and you honestly believe there is only one path are you in fact accountable?

I'll concede that it may or may not be your fault that your traveling in the dark, but you can't control the clouds that cover the stars and moon, your eyes are only human eyes and cannot make out the other paths. Seldom can we control all the factors in our quest for the best solution.

So what's the answer?

Sit down and wait. That's the only thing I can come up with. Wait for the clouds to drift on by and the light of the moon to help you find a safe place to ...wait. Then you wait patiently for the sun to come up and then reassess your options and try to make the best decision based on having all the information available. Then if you make your very best choice and you chose the wrong path and fall off a cliff...well then...you didn't do it - it was an accident.

And all this sitting and waiting in the dark...how long do I wait? I don't know, I can't see my watch in the dark. How do I know its not futile? How do I know that the sun will eventually come up? I don't. I have no guarantees, I only have faith.

One year ago today was the last day I spent in the company of my son.

The last day I heard his voice with my own ears, watched his eyes dance or listened to him laugh. Run my fingers through his thick, thick hair and suggest he get a hair cut, which he did, that very day. I remember telling how good he looked with his hair cut. I remember how proud he was of it.

It was the last day I put my arms around him and felt the warmth of his rough skin as I hugged him, felt him hug me back.

The last time I would say to him in person “Momma loves you” and hear his consistent response “I love you too, mom.”

In less than a month he would be gone.

Yes I had talked to him many times on the phone after that and we always told each other we loved each other. But September 27th was the very last time it would be done in person. I can still see him laughing and waving goodbye from the passenger seat as Jamie pulled the car out of the drive way.

I see that grin and wave every day of my life in my mind and heart. I want to badly to see it once again in reality, but I’ve not been favored with insanity so I know I won’t be seeing it again on this side of the river.

I have spent the last eleven months carrying on as if its okay – but you know its not. It can’t be, never will be. I pretend to be both brave and polite and tell myself and others that it will be different once a full year has passed.

I am a liar.

Andrew was a groomsman in his cousin Joel's wedding about two and a half years ago. While in New Mexico Joel hooked me up with photo's fromt he wedding. Many I had seen but some I hadn't. It is so odd to sit and stare at the pictures of my son. Andrew had times when he was in good health and times when he wasn't. This was one of the latter. The more I looked at the photo's the more I could see how sick he was on this occassions.

This weekend we went camping and I was walking two of the grandchildren (by marriage) down a path under the moonlight when we saw the most beautiful brilliant green shooting star. It traveled across the sky for a ver long time. Green is Andrew's favorite color. I talked about Andrew and my grandson, Zachary, who is four years old said he wanted Andrew to come down from the sky.

So do I Zachary, so do I...

Sunday is August 12th. Sunday, August 12th , is the date for the Perseids Meteor Shower. Sunday, August the 12th is the day my son was born.

There are several events that come along in your lifetime that change you forever. The birth of my son was one of two major events that permanently changed me.

What I learned when my son was born was that I could do anything. Anything!

I had been told this all of my life by my parents but their perception of reality was suspect. Then after several miscarriages I managed to carry and give birth to this perfect little boy. I did it. I did it all by myself.

For twenty six years I had the honor of caring for and knowing this remarkable person.

God must have loved me very much to give me this opportunity.

So this Sunday take time to do two things. One, remember Andrew on his birthday. Second, enjoy the Perseids Meteor Shower - think of them as fireworks for Andrew’s birthday.

THIS IS MY SON WHEN HE WAS A BABY - WHAT YOU CAN'T TELL VERY WELL IN THIS PICTURE WAS THAT HE ALWAYS SUCKED HIS LEFT THUMB.....ALWAYS.....

You could never tell what Andrew was going to look like from one time to the next. This was my favorite hair color and style on him.

HAPPY 4th of JULY!

*Check out that "Kid n Play" hair!

I always loved this picture. Very "James Dean" like...



Andrew would have been 16 years old in this photo. He had just gotten his driver's license in time for the homecoming dance and was all dressed up and ready to go.

I intended to have this up by Father's Day but didn't make it. This photo was taken in about 1983 or 84. We were out at my mother in laws farm in Los Lunas, NM. Andrew loved it there. Jump over to my art blog to see a painting I did of this photo a couple of years later.

Now I'm no photographer but every now and then I can take a pretty good picture. Of all the photo's I've taken this has to be my absolute favorite.
This was taken of Andrew when he was about four years old. We were at his grandmother's place in Los Lunas, New Mexico. By the way. the adobe wall you see in that background was made by Andrew's Grandma Nini - adobes and construction.

When Andrew lived in St. Louis he was a base guitarist for a wicked little punk rock band called "This Strange Device". They played a few local clubs and eventually had the opportunity to open for The Urge. This gave them the opportunity to play for a couple of thousand people. Things didn't go as well as they had expected and they weren't well received.

Now this isn't my generations music so whether it was good or bad, I couldn't say. But what I can tell you is that he had the time of his life. Prior to the performance the band had set up a website and the majority of hits to the website came from girlfriends and family members. Andrew called me the next day after the concert. He was so excited about all the hits to their website that came in after the concert. I laughed and laughed as he proudly read me each of the comments. Comments like "You guys suck" - "You guys ought to die" - "Worst band I ever heard" and on and on.

He was so happy and I said something about the negative feedback and he said it didn't matter to him. What mattered to him was that those people took the time to locate the website and leave a comment.

That was Andrew...that was Paco. It was all good. Even when it was bad it was all good.

This photo of Andrew and Jamie was taken in June of 2005.

Yesterday Jamie emailed me and said she was having a very hard time. She said that she couldn't understand why God gave her someone so perfect for her and then took him away.

Missing him does seem to get any easier. I wonder if it ever will.

I dreamt about Andrew last night.

When Andrew first passed away I would beg God every night to let me dream about him but I never did.

Then as a little time passed I would wake up with a feeling that he had been in a dream but I couldn’t remember. I would just wake up with a strange feeling that was heavy with his presence so I knew he was there I just couldn’t give you any details.

One time I did remember seeing him in the background moving equipment like an extra in a movie.

But it has never been in my nature to dream about people I know. When I first moved to my present home I would dream almost every night that my former husband had come and taken me home. These dreams were distressing and constant for about a month or so. But mostly I seldom dream about anyone I know.

Now I don’t mean to step on any toes here but I don’t believe in ghosts. Well I guess I need to clarify that. I specifically don’t believe that my dead uncle gets to come back from the other side and visit or play trick on me by moving my deodorant. I don’t think my dead grandma turns on lights and my dead dog doesn’t push the screen door open with his nose. Do those things sometimes happen, yes, is it anyone I know, no it isn’t. And trust me; I’m practically an expert on things that go bump in the night.

So I don’t believe my son will ever visit me in my dreams. But I do believe that my mind will visit him in my dreams and possibly on a very special and rare occasion God may send me a dream about my son.

Last night he showed up in a dream. Possibly because I have begun to work out a painting I want to do of him, but for what ever reason, he was there. And this time I asked him if he knew he had a bad asthma attack and he said yes. Then I asked him if he knew he had passed on and he looked so sad. He didn’t answer me. Then, in my dream, I told myself to gaze on his face because I knew I hadn’t seen it in a while and that this was a rare opportunity just to look at him again.

And that was that. The next thing I knew I was trying to catch a shuttle with too many packages and ended up losing my purse. Actually I had a purse but it wasn’t mine and my keys were in my purse which was apparently gone…..

Such are dreams…..

You remember that precious little baby boy I've been showing you pictures of? Well this is what happens when they grow up and leave home and you can't make them get a haircut.

Andrew was about 21 or 22 years old in this photo.

But that gorgeous smile was always the same.

My very first Mother's Day - 1981

This was my very first Mother's Day in which I was the mother. Andrew was nine months old and it was Dedication Sunday at our church, Del Norte Baptist Church in Albuquerque, NM.

For those of you unfamiliar with "Dedication Days" unlike Catholics who baptist infants we dedicate them to the Lord and make a promise to raise them with the knowledge of what God, through his son Jesus Christ, did for each one of us. Then when the child is old enough to make a decision on their own they can choose to be baptised.

I had made Andrew's outfit. Those who know me could tell you what a miracle that was because I don't sew. It was a precious powder blue with the sweetest Peter Rabbit buttons. I still have it....

I remember that Sunday service so well. His father had to work and could not attend but my grandmother, Nonnie, sat beaming from "her pew" (it's a Baptist thing) and I stood before the congregation and promised God that I would raise him in the love and fear of the Lord...and I did.

When Andrew was 10 years old he had his first seizure related to his asthma. We almost lost him that night. Shortly after that he came to me and asked to be Baptised. He made a very mature decision for such a little man based on his understanding of the seriousness of his illness and his comprehension of what it meant to believe...

On this Mother's Day some have tip-toed around me for fear of upsetting me. Yes, this is a tough day for me but...I am still his mother. That will never stop..ever.

And I am the most blessed woman in the world to be his mother for 26 years here on earth and for all eternity.

Bass Pro Museum in Springfield, Missouri 2000
Andrew being the joker he always was.

Here he is in his blue footie pajamas holding a rag doll I made. This would have been right before bedtime. There's that smile again....

It has been six months since Andrew passed away. Feels like it just happened six hours ago and at the same time it seems like 600 hundred years since I've seen him, heard his voice.

A friend of mine who lost her granddaughter recently asked me if it begins to get better. The answer is no.

The shock wears off but it never gets any better.

What does happen is that you become very skilled at incorporating it into your life. You become a master at holding back tears. You learn to lie without blinking when folks casually ask you how you are. You deliver an stellar performance worthy of an Oscar when people want to show you photos of their children. You can go to work and smile and do your job without any visible sign that for you the earth now rotates in the opposite direction and gravity is starting to disappear. You are the only one aware of the fact that at any moment you won't have the strength to keep the world from coming part at the seams.

How do you become so adept at all of this? Well, you have been practicing for 24 hours a day, seven days a week. And you trust, and you pray and most of all your ability to see beyond this world becomes amazingly clear. For the first time you realize how fleeting this life is and that nothing you do in this life, outside of getting ready for what comes next, matters.

I loved and raised a wonderful boy. His life was fleeting. I look forward to what comes next. My only job is to run the good race until then.

Andrew's incredible smile and dancing eyes - priceless.

Five years ago today Andrew and Jamie became a couple.

Just to let you all know. Andrew’s girlfriend Jamie had an emergency appendectomy last night but she is back home tonight and doing well.

Although this isn't the most flattering photo of Andrew I decided to post it because its a great picture of him with his Grandma Nini (Adelina Romero).

First Easter 1981
Second Easter at my Grandmother's house in Albuquerque, NM
Andrew's cousin Joel and Andrew
Andrew, my grandmother Nonnie, Joel and Joel's big brother Ted with his arm around Nonnie
Third Easter -
Wishing you all a blessed and happy Easter.

Below I have posted an exerpt from an email I sent my nephew Joel when asked how I was doing.

You asked me how I was and like I said, its a complicated answer. I laughingly answer when someone asks how I am, "I'm a hostile witness but that's okay." Folks who have the time to listen will stop to ask what in the world I mean. Then my story unfolds. I tell them that I have had the unpleasant privilege of knowing without any shadow of a doubt that I do in fact believe in Jesus and trust God. I tell them what happened and then I add that throughout my life I've always been a believer but its easy to have faith when it costs you nothing. Its easy to go to church, raise your hands, sing your hymns and drop your tarnished silver in the plate but it counts for little while things are going good. We can say we trust God and have faith and when he heals our loved ones or helps us out of a tough spot we can give him the credit but it means nothing without a standard by which to compare it to. Mercifully most of us never have to experience the standard of measurement. We get to keep going only imagining how devastating things could actually be. And I would never wish this reality on anyone I love but.... There is a rare blessing in having to turn over your greatest earthly treasure and still being able to say to God, I trust you. Joel, there is no way for me to explain this. I always knew I believed but it was never tested. Few people get the verification of their personal faith...it is a privilege, I didn't want it, but it is something of rare value. In addition there is a level of fellowship that I would have never experienced outside of this tragedy. The grace and blessings from family and friends have been amazing. People say all the time "Have you gotten mad at God yet for taking Andrew?" I say no, I trust his timing and his wisdom. Most people don't believe me and try to talk me into being mad but I'm not. The strangest thing I hadn't counted on has been God's silence. I have see him moving through others and the fact that I haven't jumped off a bridge is also due to him but I have to admit that I really expected something more direct. He remains quiet but loving and I accept that. I think for the most part what I want to talk about is probably none of my business right now. You know, things like "why?". I was feeling pretty sorry for myself about all this until I heard a preacher on the radio say that sometimes God is silent and we don't know why and he illustrated that by reminding us that even Jesus in his hour of need at the cross found his own father silent. The preacher said that this is one of the mysteries of God. I heard a preacher about 20 years ago talking about the error of "predestination". He used the example that God doesn't preordain that we will do this or that but he does know in advance what we will do. Then he explained it this way, for us time on earth moves horizontally. From beginning to end in a line. But for God sitting high on his throne time on earth moved vertically. He can see it all at once. Our birth, life and death is all able to be seen from his vantage point. Much like if we were on a hill that overlooks a town, we would be able to see a car leave is garage on one side and drive>west toward a washed out bridge. We don't make it go off the bridge but we know whats gonna happen (does that make sense?) Anyway, I kinda molded that notion to my own use. If there is anything to the theory that time moves vertically then the space between Andrews death and my own departure doesn't exist. I know, this isn't biblical but its interesting to ponder. Also, just for fun, one of my coworkers who was a math major in college helped me do a reverse calculation using the verse a day with the Lord is as a thousand years and a thousand years is as a day. Now keep in mind we took it completely out of context just for the sake of entertainment. He worked to fast for me to get it all but he figured that if the two time spans were interchangeable (and reversed) I could live another 30-40 years and it would be only about an hour in heaven. So sometimes when I'm really down I let myself think of it that way. I just keep telling myself, I'll be there in an hour.....

Oh well, you win some and you lose some.....

In the year 2000 Andrew's father worked in Kosovo for a year. At one point he arranged to take some time off and he had Andrew fly to Germany and meet him there for a vacation. This photo was taken in Germany and yes, Andrew had blond hair on this trip. You never knew what color hair he would have from one day to the next.

My sister Vicki had her son Joel 32 days before my son arrived. Joel and Andrew grew up more like brothers than cousins. That's me and Andrew on the right.

Here are a few pictures of Andrew with my grandmother Rubye Lee Jordan who everyone called Nonnie. She was the most wonderful woman in the world. Loved by everyone and greatly missed. When she died Andrew's father referred to her as the glue that held the family together. That was true but what she taught us has held us together still even though she's been gone for 14 years, and it always will.Our Nonnie was our example of what a good woman was. She loved Jesus and was a mighty prayer warrior. Gentle but uncompromising. She taught us all what it meant to be in a family both here on earth but more importantly, in the family of God. Her life was both a testimony and a witness.

She loved Andrew and he loved his Nonnie. Because Robert worked evenings Andrew and I went to her house every Friday night for supper and we had this little ritual we followed faithfully. We would set up our TV trays and fix our plates and settle in to watch TV. This was rare because for the most part my grandmother wouldn't watch much TV. But first it was Wheel of Fortune which we both loved to play along with. Then we watched Dukes of Hazzard which was Andrew's favorite and Dallas. She watched it carefully for any landmarks she might recognise. Gone from Dallas many, many years she could still pick out a few things that she recognised.

We'd return on Saturday to eat left overs and watch LoveBoat.

Those were precious years. I miss her so much. Sometimes it makes me smile thinking that Andrew is in Heaven with Nonnie, most times it just makes me cry.

Family Portrait 1999

This is the family Andrew grew up in. Well, at least its the first tier.

Andrew has a wonderful father and a mother who loves him more than anything. Robert's mother, Adelina Romero, is his Grandma Nini. She was a big part of our lives and Andrew was very close to her. I still call her and we talk and cry for hours. She understands so well, she has buried three adult children herself.

In addition Andrew has a half sister ,Nadene, and two nieces and two nephews.

My grandmother, "Nonnie" Jordan, was a strong influence and he knew my father, Archie (Big Daddy) Zinck.

His family was full with many aunts and uncles and quite a few cousins. Andrew was lucky enough to have the kind of family that loves each other and visits regularly. He experienced many family get togethers, holidays, weddings and a few funerals that were embroidered with love and laughter.

When we all got together there was tons of food, tons of laughter and tons of stories. Andrew loved the stories best . . . well, maybe he loved Grandma Nini's cooking best followed closely by the stories.

Hangin' Out

The Pain verses The Promise

Ron Morrison, whose watercolor paintings are to die for, recently left a comment on the previous posting. In it he mentioned that Andrew’s passing must have been hard on me.I can’t begin to describe how hard this thing is, but I can describe pieces of it…

It is human nature I suppose to want to have some level of control in your life. If you have a bad marriage you get a divorce. If you hate your boss you find a new job. If you’re too fat you can go on a diet. If your hair turns gray you can color it.But when something like this happens you realize that you have no control what so ever on the most important thing in your life. I can’t change this thing one bit. Your cellular vision crystallizes and you immediately understand that nothing…NOTHING… in your earthly life is in your ultimate control.

I have picked my words carefully because I see now that you think you have control but in reality you only have influence. Sometimes you have enough influence to change things but you have no control.

Another part of it is regret. Thank the Lord my son and I had the relationship that we had so there are none of those terminal regrets like needing to apologize for something or needing to tell him I loved him. He knew how much I loved him and I knew how much he loved me.

But I have small absurd regrets…I regret I never made him a custard pie. I regret I never read the books he valued. I regret I didn’t make the mints he loved for Christmas just because I thought we already had enough stuff. I regret I didn’t send him more “goody” packages. I regret I didn’t call every single day just to say hi and I love you. I regret the times I let myself get too tired to enjoy his company to the fullest. I regret the things I nagged him about because in the end they didn’t matter.

What I think I did do right is that I always told him how much I loved him. I always told him he was the most important thing in my life. I always told him he could achieve any dream he had. I always pointed out how talented he was. I always told him how proud I was of him. These are the only things that really matter.

Hard on me? Yes. The worst pain and blackness I have ever known. I would not have been able to continue to live myself if I didn’t know that I would see him again. The thought of him being free of the asthma that killed him for all eternity, to think of his beautiful young face never growing old, never frowning, never crying…never ever again gasping for breath. Well, that right there is what makes it all bearable.We have each have with in us the promise of Heaven, when all things will be made right. I love my Lord and I trust his timing and his ways. He knew something about this that I didn’t and I trust that. This lifetime is less than a blink of an eye in comparison to eternity. I’ll have all of eternity to be with my son.

I will learn to make custard pies then.

This is absolutely my favorite picture of Andrew and me. It epitomizes so many different aspects of his life and my place in it. He was first and foremost a character and loved dressing up for this picture. It was around this time that he focused on wanting to be an actor. I think he was somewhere around eleven years old when this photo was taken and we were at the New Mexico State Fair. His father, Robert, was on the Albuquerque Police Department SWAT team and that squad always worked the entire state fair so Andrew and I went by ourselves. But that was fairly normal. Due to Robert’s schedule in both the police department and the National Guard Andrew and I spent a lot of time together. We went on different outing almost every weekend. Andrew went through this “Billy the Kid” phase about this same time. He watched the movie “Young Guns” over and over and was always asking if there was any chance we were related to Billy the Kid. We had a great time that day..as we always did. Andrew was a great companion.

Today is Valentine’s Day so let me tell you about my son and his love, Jamie.

They had been constant companions for almost five years. They lived together, worked together and spent every waking moment together.

Andrew was a difficult person at times, and that is an understatement!

He was so passionate about his beliefs and would argue his point to the bitter end. Jamie was his balance. For the most part she seemed to support him unconditionally while ignoring his rants. She loved him and by his own admission she took excellent care of him.

I never had to worry while he was with Jamie. She watched his health, monitored his medicines, interceded on his behalf with doctors and kept him fed and watered and pruned him when nessacary.

But it was so much more than that. She loved him, she put up with him, she argued with him and she laughed with him. She made his family hers and made her family his. But most important to me was the fact that my son loved her. End of story – all the other aside, what mattered most is that my son loved her.

And I love her.