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.