Our similarity in circumstances, and in proximity, brought us together over a year ago. My friend, Paula Stephens, asked me to contribute a Healing Note for her blog. Thank you, Paula! And thank you for your friendship, energy, authenticity, and all the healing goodness you provide so many broken hearts through Crazy Good Grief.
Oh my, 23. Kade would be 23.
I had an unusually weepy build-up to his birthday the last two weeks.
I’m blaming Adele.
The soundtrack in my head this birthday season has been Adele’s “When we were Young.” It’s not only the words, which take me to the time of it being “Kade and me,” raising Kade when we were both young, but the haunting, wistful melody.
You look like a movie
You sound like a song
My God, this reminds me
Of when we were young
One morning after volunteering at Asher’s school, it was on the radio. I’m not a huge Adele fan but the lyrics sucked me in.
Let me photograph you in this light
In case it is the last time
That we might be exactly like we were
Before we realized…
Right after I got home, my mom called. I took deep breaths to answer and pretend I was OK. When my “Hello” was a little off, I knew she would know. She was calling because the lead-up to Kade’s birthday was hard for her, too.
We had a really great writer’s group meeting last week. We’re in an exciting phase of reviewing members’ completed manuscripts. It was an invigorating meeting.
Didn’t matter. On my way home, on came the song and the pain washed over me with the chorus:
When we were young
when we were young
when we were young
That was the second time I called Adele a bitch. But I can’t hate anything for long that brings me closer to Kade, even the hard stuff. And since I’m not generally a crier, I took a strange bit of comfort that my tears could be evoked like that. Does that even make any sense?
Volunteering at Dumb Friends League Buddy Center yesterday was nice. Beau and Dylan came. It was wonderful to get to catch up with those two great kids. Beau is Kade’s best friend. Their bond is as solid and bold as the “Brothers Forever” on Beau’s forearm. I loved his memories of camping. He had some great stories about Kade. And with some stories, I wanted to plug my ears and go Lalalalala!
And Dylan, he’s an all-around likable kid. I got some insight into his thoughtful world views when we talked a little politics and current events. And there were laughs to be had when some of our end results were shaped more like bonnets and diapers than blankets.
![imagejpeg_05[1]](https://heworeflannel.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/imagejpeg_051.jpg?w=430&h=529)
![VZM.IMG_20160124_211943[1]](https://heworeflannel.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/vzm-img_20160124_2119431.jpg?w=309&h=412)
![imagejpeg_02[1]](https://heworeflannel.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/imagejpeg_021.jpg?w=271&h=361)
Aaaand then the song came on in the car on my way home. I keep a regular box of tissue in my car—I scoff at travel size. I thought, Great. I get to take Asher to one of his classmate’s birthday party with puffy eyes now. Brian would have taken him and allowed me time to decompress or finish up errands for Kade’s party, but he was sick with a bad cold.
I really didn’t want to go to a little kid’s birthday party, nestled in between my two events honoring Kade. But I had to suck it up. I knew I could do it for Asher; he was so looking forward to his buddy’s Star Wars party.
The drive and walking in went fine. I can do this. Until one of the kind moms looked me in the (puffy) eyes and asked, “How are you doing?” Tears. Damn it, Adele!
I explained that it was Kade’s birthday weekend, and that it was a hard time of year. I told the small cluster of moms about Kade’s party the next day. They were so sweet. They asked to see a picture of him. They were amazed that his friends still come to his birthday parties. I didn’t feel quite as bruised. Support can come from the darndest places.
First thing I saw on my Facebook newsfeed this morning was, “Today is Kade Tyson Riefenberg’s birthday! Wish him a happy birthday!” with his profile picture surrounded with confetti. I wished that everything about his birthday was surrounded by confetti. And I wondered if moms whose kids’ birthdays are all confetti, know how lucky they are.
We had Kade’s party today. I like that our venue and menu have worked so well in previous years that we don’t have to make many decisions to put it together.
For gift bags I ended up going with:
Things I loved about this weekend:
Written November 15, 2015
I went shopping two days ago with Asher. It seems I’m on a never-ending quest for everyday jeans, since that’s my wardrobe…every day. Dropping Asher off at kindergarten? Jeans. Nannying? Jeans. Coffee with a friend? Errands? Writer’s group? Jeans jeans jeans. We were waiting for work to be finished on our car so we basically killed time running errands in the loaner, not wanting to go all the way home when we’d be called back any time. We went to Krispy Kreme for a special mid-afternoon treat. And then to Old Navy in hopes that the roof would hinge open, and a ray from the heavens would shine onto my perfect jeans that fit like a comfortable glove.
The jeans shopping went fine. There was a decent sale and selection, and I settled on a pair I like. Not heavens-parting-perfect, but good enough. Asher was reasonably cooperative to allow me to get my necessary item picked out and even tried on, so after that chore we had time to browse around the store.
Brian’s latest quest is casual-dressy shirts (is that a thing?) that he can wear out. Out for a date night, out to dinner with friends, out to a friends’ house, maybe even suitable for work. But being in the men’s section was also loaded. Loaded to the brim with memories of picking up things for Kade. Though I hadn’t been to Old Navy all that recently, it’s been a favorite place of mine in all his years of growing up.
We strolled our cart past boxers, socks, PJ bottoms, t-shirts. The basics, as well as the more fun stuff: shirts, flannels (twist a dagger in my heart, they had nice prints of soft and bright flannels! I would have totally looked for his size: Large, XL, or XXL, depending on which magnitude of over-sized he was in to at the time).
I was hit with an almost primitive urge to know what he needed and stock him up. Instantaneously I got a jolt of: Oh my gosh, why has it been so long since I’ve bought these necessities for Kade?! I need to find out what he’s low on! I wanted to call him. “Kade, there’s a great sale at Old Navy. Can you use any shirts? Flannels, or those thermal ones with a few buttons at the top? They have some nice colors right now. How are you doing on socks? Could you use a hoodie? Do you have something warm to wear outside?”
It was an old familiar maternal feeling being triggered that logic didn’t seem to turn off. Being sure he had enough. Socks? Boxers? T-shirts? I felt it. I knew he was gone, and had no need for clothing, and still I felt it. My brain kept going back to it. What does he need? What is he low on?
I could not cry and let loose in Old Navy, so I plastered on a smile, or at least a shopping face. I even played a short game of fast-walking tag because Asher asked me to, he’d been shopping for a long time, and no one else was in that section. But I was feeling sad, so sad. So tangibly, soft flannel, teal-blue thermal crew neck with flecks that would bring out his brown eyes, sad.
No, I couldn’t let loose and cry then, but I am now. Why some things are such triggers and others are not, I can’t figure out. Why some memories are so sensitive and others are not, is a mystery. I now feel less selfish about the clothes that I buy for myself vs. Brian, though. I didn’t put words or logic to it before, but the men’s section is a sad, longing place for me to be. Two days ago it was beyond a wistful place. It was a maternal, primal, compulsion-to-provide-for-my-son place. I knew he didn’t need the clothes, but the hard-wired memories of clothing him all of his life haven’t died. (What’s a word between memory and feeling? More than a memory, and entering into the realm of an emotional, and even physical, feeling. We need to find a word for that.)
Queue the angry part: I swear, I get sick of mourning every last piece of my life with Kade. It’s not a one-time thing. It’s a life-time thing, reliving each tiny piece as it presents itself. They all get re-examined, one by one, as I live my life: each bit that made up the mosaic of our lives together.
Queue the questioning part: The men’s department was another part of that mosaic. Will it ever be done? Will the last piece, one day be placed, and mosaic be finished? I doubt it, because then another will disclose itself in a slightly different way. Two days ago it was boxers and socks at Old Navy. Maybe another day it will be skate shoes at BC Surf and Sport. I sure get tired of the mourning and the remembering and even the honoring.
Queue the wishing part: I wish a trip to Old Navy could be a simple matter of stocking stuffing (Yay, penguin boxers!), or checking boxes off my Christmas list (Gee, Mom, thanks for my thousandth flannel!).
Kade’s 999th flannel
I can’t believe I’m sitting here about to post to my blog, after more than three months since my last posting, during NaNoWriMo. That’s National Novel Writing Month. I have pledged to write around 1,667 words per day (about four pages) throughout November. I’m not writing a novel, or story, but working on my Kade writing. Will it be a Kade memoir? Will it be a Jenny memoir? Will it be something else? That remains to be seen. I’m sitting down and doing the writing (the most important part I’m told) and hoping it will reveal itself.
I’m actually meeting my daily goals. Perhaps the idea of posting to my blog during NaNoWriMo is not so outlandish after all, as I’m already doing the writing. Here’s a piece from today, fitting for the Halloween season:
True Halloween Confessions
I’m afraid to delve into writing about the topic of Halloween, as I am about a lot of topics. I think I’m afraid I won’t be able to remember all the Halloweens past. What he dressed up as, at what age. That I won’t be able to summon all the memories. A good mom should be able to bring them to mind, right?
I’m also afraid of the pain. Which is why I haven’t written yet about the day Kade died. Writing about the day he was born conjured tears. The hopes, the dreams, the promises of protection, the absolute falling in love. The ignorance that he would only live to be a teenager. That each day was a ticking clock, and I didn’t know.
Alongside the pain, I’m afraid of the remorse. That I didn’t do more. That we didn’t do more fun activities. That I was a busy single mom. That I missed out. (But if I missed out, who really missed out?) “You want to go trick-or-treating with Grant? Sure, have fun!”
Now that I identified some of my fears and vulnerabilities around writing about Halloween, I’ll dive right in with probably the biggest of my True Halloween Confessions.
I grounded Kade from trick-or-treating WITH HIS BEST FRIEND, BEAU. I could just sink into a hole right now thinking of that most harsh repercussion.
Kade and Beau were…active…at their after-school daycare called Adventure Club. Oh boy, please take this as a lesson not to threaten a consequence that you might have a real problem following through with.
Halloween fell on a school night. Kade had had some trouble at Adventure Club that week. I can barely get my fingers to type the letters to formulate the words: I told him that if he misbehaved that afternoon, he would not be able to go trick-or-treating with Beau that night (I’m sorry Kade, I’m sorry Kade, I’m sorry Kade). I remember approaching the director and hoping with all my might that she had a good report for me.
Nope. There were some poor choices made, I don’t remember what they were, but I do remember that they were topped off with the boys belligerently telling staff, “You can’t tell us what to do. We’re trick-or-treating together no matter what we do here. You can’t do anything about it,” or something along those lines.
I seriously felt like I had no choice. Though it broke my heart (and his—the tears!), I felt that to be a good mom I had to be consistent. I had to follow through. It was awful. I remember the phone call to Beau’s mom. I remember feeling horrible to disappoint not only Kade but his friend.
He and I trick-or-treated at Cherry Hills Church. We tried to make the best of it, but when I look at pictures of Blue Ninja Kade sitting alone on the haystack, I feel nauseous. Those chubby cheeks. Those big light-brown eyes, behind which, the idea of holidays, trick-or-treating, candy, and best friends meant more than we hardened adults cared to understand.
The straight smile of Kade’s senior picture hanging across the kitchen table from me doesn’t look like he’s holding it against me. I only wish he was here, paying me a visit this afternoon, maybe to ransack our post-Halloween candy abundance, so I could say I’m sorry in person. So he could give me a hard time and tell me how emotionally scarred he and Beau remain to this day. And then play-punch me with a silly self-conscious sound effect to show me I was ridiculous for feeling sad about it after all these years. Kade, it’s Halloween-time. Asher is watching a Casper movie for goodness sake. Can’t you at least come and haunt me or something?
Halloween in Ft. Collins with his friend, Amber. I think he was four years old.
I found this a serene and peaceful read, as the name suggests.
I was a little afraid of grief reading before bed, but realized if I ever wanted chip away at my backlog, that’s the only time it seems I can set aside quiet time for it. It went better than expected. My sleepiness from reading overrode my sadness from the content, and I could fall asleep.
This book wasn’t a story, but rather a stream of consciousness. Several short almost journal entries. Rosenblatt writes about balance, writing, kayaking, the unique view from the water’s surface, and his love for his daughter.
It was fascinating to learn how it feels to be in a kayak. Kade liked to kayak, and I remember hearing from his dad, was good at it. I’d like to try it one day.
I marked passages I liked. There are a lot of sticky notes poking out of my book. There is quiet thoughtful wisdom in Rosenblatt’s choice of words. Both his own, and those he included from others who lost children, like William Wordsworth and Charles Darwin.
I recommend this book to bereaved parents; or anyone, really, who is interested in kayaking or feeling a part of the waterscape of the East Coast. I identified with his longing for his daughter, and appreciated his candid ruminations on difficult subjects like anger, isolating, and believing in a god who would allow this to happen. I’m not alone…and I got to take a ride on a stream that leads to the Atlantic to boot.
I give this book nine out of ten flannels.
Day 3: Going toward grief
Finger labyrinths we made after walking the labyrinth on day 2. Mine is the first on the left. On it is a purple lavender flower given to me by a mom who heard purple reminded me of Kade, and a sugar skull bead.
the view out my casita door as I left for morning meditation
6:20 a.m. meditation again. No tears this time. It was a guided meditation, similar to yesterday’s small group exercise. We were to acknowledge where in our bodies we carried our grief, what it looked like, talk to it, listen to it. My grief was in my stomach, because sometimes I feel sick to my stomach when I think of Kade being gone. It was a ball of molten lava, or fire. I tried to throw it away but it was too dense and heavy and wouldn’t go. But…I was able to press it down into a small ball. Compress and compact it.
I ate breakfast with my shuttle buddies.
Tami, Eileen, Claire and Jenny
Let me tell you about the meals, that I wistfully missed after I got home. We ate al fresco in perfect, breezy temps. The buffet was filled to the brim with colorful, mostly vegetarian options. My favorite was the coffee: cinnamon vanilla flavored. Now sometimes I sprinkle cinnamon in my morning coffee. Meal-times got a bit noisy, with other groups at the communal dining hall. There was a group of Japanese tourists, and a few of what I presumed to be yoga or wellness retreats. When these happy, vacationing people would merrily and loudly enter the dining area, someone in our group (her name might have started with a “Dr.”) joked, “Tone it down! Kids are dying over here!”
on the walk to Earth Hall
Our morning small group exercise was pretty excruciating. Dr. Joanne was our leader. We were to fill out a short form finishing the sentences:
Since you’ve been gone, physically I’ve felt _____________.
Emotionally I’ve felt ___________________.
Spiritually I’ve felt ____________________.
I wish ____________________.
We were then paired up. In front of the group we were to look our partner in the eye as if she was our child. And she was to hear and acknowledge what we had to say. Oh my goodness, the tears. It was super emotionally-charged.
The exercise was topped off with a natural segue discussion of tears. What happens biologically when they’re released. Which led to the topic of the “flight or flight” response. I learned there are a couple additions to fight or flight I didn’t know: fighting, flight, feeding and…reproduction. It was a fascinating and informative discussion!
After lunch we were to go off with the person we’d been paired with and spend the next couple hours learning each other’s child’s life story. This would lead to tomorrow’s topic: looking outside yourself to others. We were to create something for our partner in their child’s honor. An art project. A drawing. A poem. A song. Anything. To present on the last day in front of everybody.
Oh the pressure!
We headed to a waterfall oasis. For the next two hours, it was just Tami, me, the lizards skittering across the rocks, and Kade and Joel.
the waterfall oasis
Tami
Me
walking back from the oasis
That night was my least favorite part of the retreat. Singing, dancing, and working on our art projects without letting our partner see. The singing and dancing were cute at first, but went on a little too long. Then the art project. At that juncture of the retreat I was just too tired to give it the focus it deserved.
Poetry usually comes pretty easily for me. I can bust out funny songs or rhymes without much trouble. So a poem was the route I was heading for Tami. But that night I Could Not. Nothing came. I had material and stories and felt I knew a little about funny, sarcastic, and likeable Joel. My brain felt slippery. Evidently I’m not good at time-sensitive poetry.
Tami is one of my favorite people. I spent the most time with her, and I loved our opportunity to learn about each other’s boys. We have a bond and I have a feeling the retreat isn’t the last we’ll be seeing of each other. It gave me great joy to give her something from my heart to honor Joel. Had it been for her eyes only I think I would have felt more at peace with what was coming to me. Instead, I second-guessed and felt as if it wasn’t good, or grand, enough. If I encounter this type of project again I hope I leave the anxiety out of the creating and giving.
I finally got a picture of the evening light on the rocks the last night.
Stay tuned for day four–the last day!
Day 2—Being with Grief
The first full day focused on mindfulness. Hearing, feeling, smelling, experiencing. We mindlessly go through the motions of our day. We were to hear the crunch of gravel as we walked. Notice the breeze, and the sun, on our face. Acknowledge the thoughts that came into our head. And the emotions. That they are fleeting. Even the dark ones we think will consume us and never leave, and we are afraid to face. Tears give way to laughter, and so on and so on.
If you know me, you know that getting up at 5:30 in the morning for an optional meditation is a big deal. But I was only at the retreat four days, and was going to get the most of it, gosh darn it. And incorporating more meditation and mindfulness in my life is a personal goal of mine.
Earth Hall, pre-meditation
As soon as we settled for meditation, the gong strike signaled the start, and all was still…the tears came. I made it to the retreat. I walked the pink sunrise walk to Earth Hall. It was the start of the first full day. And why was I even there? Why had I made so many arrangements, and traveled across the country? Because Kade died. The gong sounded. And I wanted Kade there with me at Mago Retreat Center. Not to be there by myself because of his death.
Later in the morning, our small group’s facilitator, Karla, led our group of around 10 to a tiny island in a picturesque lake. In the middle was a huge weeping willow shading the entire island. There was a small waterfall that I can hear flowing now.
We were to close our eyes. Ground/root ourselves to the earth. Give our grief a form. An object, animal, anything. We were to talk to it. Bring it closer. Send it away.
Mine took the form of a big black rock with a jagged edge. I told my grief to stay away. I asked it why it had to pick me. Why it had to exist. Why there had to be this flip side to love. I wanted to kick it away, but knew that wouldn’t work. I cussed it out.
It was very interesting doing this exercise, and hearing others share the forms of their grief. I think this exercise was to illustrate that when you really stop and face your grief, it loses some of its power. And you gain some of yours when you can engage with it. What do you think?
In the afternoon the whole group walked a large labyrinth. We were to take our time and be mindful of each step, of what we saw, heard, and felt. You may get tired of me saying this, but it, too, was a powerful exercise. I saw teeny purple flowers peeking through the fine gravel. I was alone on the journey, taking it at my own pace—but yet surrounded by so many others. There were countless grief analogies on that labyrinth walk. And in that painting-like setting, it took on a mystical, sacred feel.
At dusk we circumambulated the lake. New term for me! It means to walk around something sacred together. We were to do this at our own pace in silence. It was recommended we go barefoot, to help us be ever-present and mindful. I didn’t, for a silly reason like I had lace-up hiking shoes and didn’t want to be bothered, or something like that. But I’d like to try it sometime.
The walk began with plenty of evening light, and ended with stars and a glowing moon in a blue-black sky. I remember looking up at the moon on my walk through the leaves of a tree. I went off the beaten path, like someone I know would have, and was rewarded with a huge owl gliding low and silent.
After that final group activity of the day, I had some priceless chance experiences that I hope to always remember. Three of us: Karla, Tami, and I, meandered back toward our casitas together in the dark. Karla led us to a higher part of the property that we hadn’t seen yet, to show us the pool and hot tub. Up there she told us about the Sedona vortexes, and that there was one on the premises at the site of an old gnarly twisted juniper tree. Atop the high plateau, the nearly full moon lit everything with blue light. Karla was thrilled to stumble upon two new labyrinths up there. She took off her shoes and immediately started walking them. Tami and I took a trail to find the nearby vortex tree. I think we spotted it, but couldn’t walk up to it at night with so many cacti around.
There was a large formation of puffy clouds and jet contrails encircling the moon. Not just a round-ish shape of clouds over it, but a ring encircling it. It took up half the sky. I wanted to lay on a rock and gaze at it, and at the stars. None of us wanted to leave that quiet wild desert and thrill and mystery of the vortex so close. But tomorrow was another early morning and full day. So back to the casitas the two of us made our way, while Karla finished her moonlit labyrinth walk. Barefoot.
Stay tuned for day three!
On the walk from casitas to Earth Hall
April 30 to May 3, 2015 I was lucky enough to attend Dr. Joanne Cacciatore’s MISS Foundation’s “Selah Contemplative Retreat for Traumatic Bereavement.” Say that five times fast.
I’ve loved everything Dr. Joanne has said on the topic of traumatic grief (child loss) since I stumbled upon her foundation’s website over two years ago. It was beyond my means to attend last April, and wasn’t even on my radar this year. That is…until I happened to see that there were two days left to apply for a scholarship. Scholarship, you say?! I whipped out my laptop. In just days I was informed I was a recipient!
The realization that I was ACTUALLY going to meet Dr. Joanne in person, or EXPERIENCE this amazing retreat, or SEE the red rocks of Sedona, didn’t hit me until a day or two before I left. But when it did I was excited!
Of course I won’t be sharing all of the experiences I had at Mago Retreat Center. I want to give you an idea of the surroundings, the exercises, the friends I made, and the tools I learned. But like my relationship with Kade, some things are just between us. Most of it I couldn’t describe if I tried. And some, I’m sure you’d appreciate me not trying.
Day 1—Lunch in Cottonwood with my cousin at a hot yoga studio
My Sedona adventure began with a very early flight. Cloudless and stunning. We flew over Colorado’s Great Sand Dunes. I’ve never been, but Kade has!
The van from PHX to Cottonwood shuttled four of us. It was nice to get to know some retreat mamas on the way, while admiring the rugged beauty of the desert. Big cacti!
I got to meet up with my cousin from Michigan, Aubrey, en route to Sedona! She lives in Prescott now, and was kind enough to drive 45 minutes to meet me at my shuttle transfer stop. Seeing Aubrey was definitely a highlight of my whole weekend.
Aubrey’s a sweetheart just months older than Kade. I remember they’re so close in age because of this memory: When I was pregnant with Kade, on a family trip to Lake Michigan, I laid on the beach…and felt him kick for the first time. (Maybe he was saying, Mom, get out of the sun! I’m hot!”) Nearby, in the shade of a tent, lay sleeping blonde baby Aubrey.
We had a fabulous hummus wrap at the local hot yoga studio. Sounds strange, but it came highly recommended. Then we strolled Cottonwood’s Old Town. What was the first item that greeted us inside an antique shop? An old Michigan Bell Retirees directory. We stopped and stared at each other for a second. We have two uncles and a cousin that worked and work for that company. Such a back home coincidence!
I’m glad I had those hours with Aubrey. She’s a kind, intriguing, strong young woman. She’s not afraid to talk about Kade with me. She was courageous enough to ask, “Is it better to bring up Kade, or should I not?” When I told her it’s better for me to talk about him, she recited a funny poem he taught her and the cousins:
One bright day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight.
Back to back they faced each other,
drew their swords and shot each other.
A deaf policeman heard the noise
and ran to save the two dead boys.
And if you don’t believe it’s true,
go ask the blind man, he saw it too.
A little macabre…as was Kade I guess you could say. She said she would teach it to Asher (when he’s older), and more about her relationship with his big brother. I appreciate that so much. And I just appreciate Aubrey.
The 11-mile road leading to Mago Retreat Center was long, slow, and bumpy. Surrounded by nothing but desert I got the feeling of being removed from the world. Which was perfect.
After arriving at the resort I unwound in my room and met my roommie, a nice lady from Pheonix. I made my way to the dining hall where I sat with her and shuttle buddies for dinner.
As we 40 participants and several facilitators gathered to walk to the bonfire that night for the first formal activity, I met HER. Dr. Joanne. She was a petite, approachable, likeable bundle of energy and true compassion. Who could drop precision f-bombs. I didn’t think it was possible to like her more than before but I did.
From what I could tell, over the course of the weekend she remembered EVERYBODY’S name and EVERYBODY’S child. Here’s an example of her personality: After the bonfire where we introduced ourselves, where we were from, and our children, there was a huge heavy bucket of water to douse the fire. I strained my neck, looking for one of the handful of guys in attendance to lift it. She said, “I got it!” and wobbled it to the fire.
It was hard to hear so many sad stories around that fire. It was going to be an intense weekend.
Stay tuned for day two!
As I go for a quick workout at the rec center; just another evening; I notice this time it’s light outside. I can see around me as I pull into the lot. It wasn’t the cold, dark, street-lit route to the gym, dimly-lit parking lot surrounded by darkness, and head-down-brisk-walk-to-the-front-door that it was all winter. It’s like my eyes are slowly opening to the world around me, for the first time in a long time.
Hooray for Daylight Saving Time.
Tonight there are pretty pink and white blooms on planned suburban rows of toddler trees. Tonight my blinders are off and I see the big park in back of the rec center, that was always there, when I look a little to the right.
It’s where I used to play softball on my work team for years. Kade came with me, of course, as he was only eight years old when I started my eight-year career at Archstone. On a lucky-for-him night he played with other kids who came with their parents. But most of the time he played catch with Mom, and tossed a football or wrestled around with the guys I worked with: sweet big boys at heart. I don’t remember him complaining about coming along in my single mom years to softball, volleyball, or even book club, when he was little, anyway.
And if I look out even farther, I see another diamond, where he played baseball. I see him taking a huge swing, flashing “RIEFENBERG” across his back. I see his little white baseball pants and dusty black cleats. Big round helmet on a small body. Me hoping to hear the tink of metal bat connecting with ball, and when I did, yelling wildly.
I remember this team picture day morning. Kade had been camping the night before. He was suffering from allergies so badly.
Hooray for Daylight Saving Time?
This is what happens when I look a little to the right. When the blinders come off. Sometimes it’s nice to journey and arrive in the dark. To just get the task done, whether it’s a drive, a workout, an errand, or whatever. Quick and painless. But tonight I can’t stop my eyes from looking a little to the right. And it’s neither quick nor painless.
I not only see the fields from the parking lot with the teeniest of glances to the right, but tonight, from inside the gym as well. It’s still light out. With each short lap, through the floor to ceiling windows, I see the park in the pink light of the setting sun. When I look a little to the right.
It’s about time I post to He Wore Flannel. But I feel pretty behind. So much time has gone by, I don’t know where to start.
A lot’s happened since my last posting just after the New Year. Namely January, February, and most of March. There was Kade’s 22nd birthday, a visit from my parents, Asher’s first Disneyland experience, attending GriefShare, receiving a scholarship to a grief retreat coming up in April, starting to train for a 5K, and the advent of spring.
OK, I decided. I’ll write about Kade’s 22nd birthday on January 24th—the third since he’s been gone.
They just keep rolling around without him. The years he was growing up went fast… and I guess still do. With his birthday and angel-versary evenly spaced out in the year I always have something super fun on the horizon to look forward to. Luckily what I planned for the first birthday without him worked so well that we put it on repeat. It’s nice not having to decide what to do.
The main event is a pizza party for family and friends. The first two years we had it at a neighborhood pizza joint. Last year we felt cramped in the private room, there was a lot of waiting around for pies and refills, and it was hard to mingle among packed booths.
This year we reserved a wide open room at the rec center and ordered pizza in. It suited us much better. We could spread out our tables of pizza, pop, cake, canvas pictures of Kade I made to take home, and sky lanterns to write messages on.
Asher
Marni, Jenny, Laura, Leah
making my decoupaged Kade canvases for party mementos
Finished party favor: 6×6″ canvas with Kade’s photo decoupaged on it. I copied from his Calvin and Hobbes books and cut strips for the sides, also decoupaged on.
After ordering 22 purple sky lanterns, opening, assembling, and writing messages on them (Asher too!)… it was too windy to launch. We were so bummed! I gathered them up for another time. Which reminds me, we still need to do that. Maybe on his angel-versary in June. Or I might pick a time before then to get the kids together.
All three years I’ve also arranged volunteering around Kade’s birthday. Let’s just say it’s not as popular as pizza and sky lanterns. The first year we helped at Denver Dumb Friends League and the library, honoring Kade’s love of animals and books. Dumb Friends was more popular but unfortunately hasn’t had anything for our group the last two years. So the library it’s been. I’m very appreciative of friends who signed up, Angela, Leah, Draven and Nick!
Jen & Angela
Nick and Draven. Love the purple!
I got to chat a little about volunteering with Kade’s friends. Planting a tree or picking up trash at a skate park seemed tolerable because they could bring their boards and have something fun to do after.
Although I look forward to celebrating my son on his birthday and can’t imagine not (in life or in death), I have to say I breathed a sigh of relief when it was over. I never had a CLUE of the impact of dates after losing someone close. Holidays, birthdays, angel-versaries, and a whole host of other times. Not a clue. Just the day before Kade died I reconnected with an old friend I used to work with. She said she couldn’t wait till June was over because that’s when her mom died. Never having an immediate member of my family like a son or mom suddenly gone, I didn’t have an inkling about what she was saying. I probably thought something like, “Why say a perfectly good month like June is ruined? Mind over matter,” or something along those lines.
Then, Bam!, boy did my life, and tune, change. I understand now. I don’t like it, but I get it. Like so much in the realm of grief, I hope the passage of time makes the dagger dates softer. The date itself is not only hard but sometimes even more so are the weeks and days leading up. I call them “crazy making.” I get a little nuts before
New Year’s
his birthday
St. Patrick’s Day (he loved Shamrock Shakes)
the coming of Spring (like now!)
Easter
Mother’s Day
my birthday
Father’s Day
his angel-versary
the Fourth of July
back-to-school time
Asher’s birthday
the coming of winter
Thanksgiving
and
the Dreaded Extended Christmas Madness Season
(why does it have to be so flashy and last so long?)
I can best describe the time leading up to dagger dates as PMS on steroids with gripping pain in my heart. Can I get a Grief Midol?
Back to Kade’s birthday. I took care of myself by taking time to journal the night before, which I think helped release the pressure valve to my crazy. My parents in MI were going to be here for the birthday festivities but had to postpone because my mom was sick. It was nice that they wanted to be here for the day. It felt good to volunteer in Kade’s name, doing something good in our own neighborhood where Kade grew up, sporting our Kade buttons.
And Kade’s friends showed for his party, again. I wish I would have gotten more pictures. Their love for their buddy warms my heart. I got to look into the faces Kade knew so well… and loved so much.
Kade’s best friend, Beau, and his girlfriend
Torri and Drew
Tyler, Asher, and Shay
Draven, Nick, and Kenzie
Shay, Chrissie, and Chrissie’s friend
Happy 22nd, Kade
he wore flannel 
