I love this picture so much - it shows how at a very young age Andrew was pure joy. Always ready to laugh and be merry. This is genuine Merry Christmas -

Hope all of your Christmas preparations are going well - take time to love each other and make the children laugh - that's what Christmas is all about.

P.S. I love you all very much - Cara

Andrew was four months old in this photo of his first visit to Santa Claus...I'm not real sure that Santa is much older....

Andrew's second Christmas. Notice the tree had to be moved up high? Guess why!

Andrew's first Christmas (1980) - The most precious gift under the tree!

I have this very dear friend named Louie. He's a treasured friend. The kind of guy who would do anything for anyone. And to date Louie has yet to give me his condolences.

About two weeks after Andrew died my best friend Jody spoke with Louie and asked him if he had talked to me. He said no and she asked why and Louie's
answer was that wonderful quirky pure "Louieism" that I know and love.

When Jody asked him why he hadn't called me he said "Because she will be sad."

The weekend ofter Thanksgiving Louie came up to visit and he and I spent a lot of time talking. Out of nowhere, after thirteen months, he mentions my son. Here's how the conversation went:

Louie: You know I remember the first time I met your son. It was when he and Jamie came to Willow Springs for John's party. I remember they drove up in their car and Andrew got out and he had a Mohawk.

Me: I remember. I was mortified. Here he was meeting my friends and he jumps out of the car with that haircut. I was so mad at him and I made him cover it up with a do-rag. And then later he took it off and Kevin had a fit over it and said it was cool and how he wanted one so then I lost that argument.

Louie: I gotta tell you, I didn't like him. I thought he was a freak. You know, based on the way he looked with his hair like that and his piercings and tattoos - I thought he was a freak.

Me: (smiling) ah...but that was Andrew.

Louie: ..but here's the thing...at first I didn't like him and then I heard them talking about how he had gone back to the nursing home where he used to work to visit all them old people and I thought, wow - I couldn't do that.

Me: Andrew was a really good CNA. He was good to those old people and took care of them but what I loved most was they way he made them laugh.

Louie: I know now that first impressions aren't always right because it takes someone special to do what he did.

.....this was worth waiting thirteen months for ......

Andrew took a class called Health Occupations his senior year and became a CNA. He went to work four days after graduation. He came home after his first night and I asked him how everything went and he said fine except for when he tried to remove this man's dentures in order to brush them. He pulled and pulled only to realize the man didn't have dentures.

Andrew loved to cut up and make people laugh - even his residents. He'd show up for work with his hair dyed green one week and blue the next. He'd run around wearing rubber gloves on his head so he looked like a rooster. He'd hide in the medicine cart and pretend to be a prisoner. He'd put a handful of denture cleanser tablets in his mouth so that he was foaming like a rabid dog and hide under the nurses station so he could scare the RN.

My all time favorite stunt was a running gag with one of his residents, Goldie. This little old lady was not really with us anymore. They would get her up and dress her and secure her into a wheel chair and wheel her out into the hallway. This little lady had a habit of yelling over and over what ever she heard last. For instance, if she heard some one say "Mary you have a phone call" she would yell that at the top of her lungs all day long. So Andrew would tell her riotous things that she would in turn yell all afternoon. One of the best was "I like malt liquor". So here's little tiny white haired Goldie, yelling at the top of her lungs

"I love malt liquor....I love malt liquor...."

Now before you think to yourself that this was mean, Andrew loved Goldie. He adored her and took care of her like she was his grandmother. After he moved to St. Louis he never failed to stop by and visit her when he came home for a visit. He took it hard when he went to visit and they told him she was gone...

Andrew hated his job but loved his residents. He was good at his job. He was loved in return.

I've often wondered how many of his residents he has run into since he left us...I hope he found Goldie in particular.

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.