Earlier this week, I blogged about how Henry’s Garden was starting to come back to life. Since then, both my sister Betsy, and my dear friend SK (who was best friends with Henry’s dad since preschool), snuck over to our house while everyone was at work/school and worked on the garden, so that it was even prettier when I came home.
They each added new plants, and SK mulched, plus he weeded our whole brick walkway next to the garden, and added sand to the grout-ey areas between the bricks, so it looks wonderful. And Betsy also added a little angel.
(Thanks guys. I love you. )
In the past few days, all I want to do is go out and sit next to or even in the middle of my son’s garden; it has some kind of magnetic pull for me. I just keep ending up there – first thing in the morning, and at night after everyone is asleep. I cry a lot, just staring at the flowers.
I’ve been crying more than usual lately. The tears seem bigger lately, too – much more dramatic splashes of salty water pouring out of my eyes. I used to try to hide it from Henry’s younger brother and sisters when the tears welled up. I cried in front of them sometimes, but I didn’t want them to feel like their mother was falling apart. But lately, I cry so much and so easily that hiding it just isn’t an option. I think they are mostly used to it. When I start crying, or I am obviously trying NOT to start crying, the big kids will give me a hug, and C always asks, “Mama are you thinking about Henry?”
Maybe it’s spring coming again that’s made me cry more, as much now as I did in the beginning. Maybe even more, because in the early months, I was sort of numb with shock. Maybe I am crying more because I feel so raw and exposed as a result of the incredibly painful and humiliating “going public” thing, which I had hoped with every fiber of my being to avoid. I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t stop crying lately.
Mostly, I think I just miss him. I miss Henry so much. And I hear him…I feel him…calling out for his mama during those hours he was trapped inside that house trailer, totally incapacitated and unable to breathe and totally at the mercy of two very mean people who had led him to believe they wanted to help him. I can’t even think about what else happened inside that place during those hours. But I know, I just know that he tried to figure out how to let me know he needed me, and he couldn’t, and I didn’t come. And he suffered and hurt.
So for now, I just keep sitting in his little garden whenever I am not at work, and when no one in my family will miss me. Sitting with the flowers and the little iron pigs and everything gives me more relief than anything else – at least for a few minutes. Later in the spring, I want to extend the garden to stretch across the whole front of our house, Maybe I’ll dig into that during the weekend of the anniversary of his death – May 31.
I miss my baby boy. So much. He was so precious to me. Having been his mother since I was just a bit older than he was when he died, I still have’t quite yet figured out how I am supposed to be in the world when he’s not in it too.
Here Are Some New Photos of Henry’s Garden That I Took Late This Afternoon
(If you can’t see the slideshow of my new photos from Henry’s Garden, you can click here to see the photos over at Flickr.)
There is a particular emotional insult to the passing of time in relation to losing someone. After a year it becomes clear that the world is going to continue to move forward. It's outrageous. I'm so sorry for your continuing unavoidable grief and pain.
Oh sweet Katie. I cried reading this. You don't have to explain why you are crying all the time. The loss was enough, but the sh*t you have had to deal with regarding the investigation (or lack there of) and being treated so horribly by people who were supposed to be helping you, it is enough to break anyone.
And you may be crying a lot, but you are still being a strong mama and fighting the good fight.
I wish you love and peace, and all the time in Henry's garden that you need.
I love you Kate (even though you deleted my spot on comment about the doughnut eating moron!!!)
Crying with you. And sending huge hugs from Chicago.
I am so sorry for your pain and infuriated by the needless pain placed upon you. No parent should ever have to go through what you are going though, but because you are there is a good chance other parents will not have to endure the added burden and heartache of seeking justice for their child in a similar situation.
Henry's garden is beautiful. I hope you will find some measure of peace in watching it come to life and grow.
Katie,
I am the baby in my family, born to a mama who had my 3 siblings when she was a teenager. She was then widowed at the tender age of 21, marrying my father years later. Some say my daddy is a saint for raising three kids like they were his own. I, too, was raised with her late husband's family as a bonus. She remained close to them for her 3 kids, always saying that she hoped to never experience the loss of a child. I know that my mother never got over the grief of losing the father of her children many years ago, yet she always felt that her late husband's parents suffered the greatest loss.
I can never begin to know how you feel. I want to protect my own little boy, but I always fear he'll be taken from me. I know it's no consolation, but please know that Henry continues to touch people and that so many of us are becoming more passionate, loving and caring because of him.
You remain in my thoughts and prayers,
Steph
I hope you will find some measure of peace in watching it come to life and grow
This. Most of the things I planted suffered a bit with dividing & transplanting, but in a month or so they'll look better. Love you too, Kate.
I'm crying with you, too. Grief ebbs and flows. I think that Henry knows and is helping you through.
I wish I had better words.
I love you. All I can say, baby.
LOBLERT – I decided you might later regret hurling donut-laden barbs at public officials.
Katie
I wish I could reach out and grab some of your pain – maybe I have because my heart is so heavy for you and the tears are streaming as I type. I do not miss a day – to find you and read your blogs. Spring is suppose to be a time of re-birth and yet for you it is a time to remember when you lost your dear boy.I truly pray that you can find peace and some joy in Henry's garden. It is beautiful. And you know that the how you are in this world has to do with J, E, C and G. In them you can find the joy of spring. (((Hugs)))
I do not think it is by chance you find peace in that garden. Not sure if you've ever mentioned it, but.. Henry strikes me as someone who appreciated the beauty of nature. Obviously, I didn't know him, but I picture him playing his guitar in the woods somewhere. His spirit of peace is with you amongst those flowers. I hope you run there and find solace as often as you need. Much love and prayers for all of you.
(((((Katie)))))
I think the statue of St. Frances is especially fitting in Henry's garden. I'm not sure if you know the prayer of St. Frances or if you sing the "prayer of St. Frances" song much in the Episcopalian church but being Catholic and going to Catholic school, we sung the song during Mass frequently. Now I catch myself singing it every time I see a St. Frances Statue. "Make me a channel of your peace. "
Pardon me, I have placenta brain. It's St. Francis, not St. Frances. http://www.catholic-forum.com/saints/pray0027.htm
Melissa- it took my breath away when you said that you pictured Henry in the woods playing his guitar. Hrnry loved the outdoors. Immediately after he died I had a very clear picture of him sitting in a huge field of beautiful, thick green grass playing his guitar while his cousin Ward(who died a few years before Henry) danced. He looks like he did when he was about 16 and he's wearing jeans and a tie dye. His body and face exude health and joy. It's so clear that it's like I'm there but behind a giant glass window so that I can't interact with them.
- Henry's Aunt Betsy
Katie- I love you too. It was very much for you but also for me. I sobbed while I worked and just wished that he could be sitting on the steps chatting with me.
Wow, Betsy – that sent waves of chills through me. What a beautiful, special image to have – with the both of them in perfect, joyful form. I wish with my whole heart you all could dance too.
You have all of my prayers and thoughts and love. For a family that doesn't know me. I know this time is hard, as much as someone who hasn't gone through as much as you have, and I wish you much peace.
Gardening is so wonderful. I hope it brings you a similar solace as it brings me.
A lovely poem about flowers, their role in life and death, from another mother of five: http://www.gaygardener.com/poems/gpoem035.phtml
xoxox
When my dad died, each new season brought a fresh wave of tears and sadness. It was as if I had to get used to his passing in each new setting. The same was true in the months after his death when I had to go on with life. When I went to the supermarket for the first time after he died, I cried because it was the first time I'd been to the market as a daughter who had lost her dad. The same thing happened on the train, at the mall… It just went on and on.
I'm sorry that Henry died. I'm glad you have such a loving supportive family to hold you when you need to be held. Your garden is beautiful.
I still have’t quite yet figured out how I am supposed to be in the world when he’s not in it too.
You know, I actually stopped by today to thank you. I have a good friend who's really suffering with infertility, and thanks to you it's really been brought home to me exactly how heart wrenching it must be to have issues relating to children. (I have the maternal instincts of a doorknob – it's not that I don't love children, far from it, I have fully eleven nieces and nephews I spoil rotten whenever I can….but I have a couple of personal issues that make me think I wouldn't be a great parent.) Anyway, I think I've been able to say a couple of things to my friend that – while nobody can take away the infertility pain completely – may have helped a little bit. So please know that you have directly helped someone else by taking the time to post these things (although I wish like anything, of course, that you had never been put through this and were posting about flowers for the love of it.)
Another bit of information….I lost my dad about ten years ago and for some reason, the grief really starts cropping up around the time he died. I notice his birthday and Christmas is always hard, but….he died in August and something about the weather getting really hot always brings it all back.
Maybe you'll feel a little better, if such a thing is even possible, after spring passes. I hope so. Hugs to you.
what a beautiful garden… just like your beautiful sweet Henry.
((((((((((hugs Katie)))))))))))
Nearing the 1st anniversary … it is understandably difficult for all of you. My two cents: Just ride the waves where they take you and always listen to what Henry is still telling you.
love to you all …
Elizabeth
(((Katie)))
I am so, so sorry.
I see it a different way. I get angry at a drug addict who put a good woman who did every single thing she could to help her son through so much pain. I get angry at the thought that you have to carry this burden all of your life…this phantom guilt that can never be given any sort of resolution or release. You just don't deserve any of this, and being intimately familiar with the mechanics of addiction myself, I am just plain angry with Henry. He didn't deserve to die, he didn't deserve to suffer, but he didn't have the right to visit such pain on people who loved him and cared about him, either. And he's still doing it, almost a year after his death. For that, I am angry…for you.
Oh Laura Linger – how is this helpful or even true? Might as well look at statistics for adolescent males and blame the whole dang bunch of them for having testosterone poisoning! Your version of guilt/life/redemption or lack of it is totally subjective and personal, not universal at all.
Sending warm thoughts for you all. I'm so sorry for your loss and all this pain.
this post was written so eloquently and honestly about what it is like to lose a beloved son. it touched me on so many levels, and it is like you had taken the words out of my head and heart, and written them down.
i am so so sorry that in addition to the huge pain of having him gone, you have the added pain of the way he died, visions of what his last hours must have been like, and the ongoing fight to get justice for him, which must feel like ripping the scab off the wound over and over again. my heart is with and your family, and my hope is a thorough investigation is done soon so at least that part of it can be resolved.
resolving how to live the rest of our lives without our boys is going to take alot of time, i think. i guess until there is some resolution and peace, all those of us who are living this can do is to just keep on walking, one day at a time. Listening to others who have gone before me, who tell me that although it never totally goes away, it does get easier and life is good again at some point, give me the strength and patience to keep on going.
I think the idea of digging up the rest of the gareden the week of his anniversary is a wonderful idea. I planted butterfly bushes given to me in memory of my parents, shortly after the loss of my Dad and it was sooo theraputic! Something about digging in the soil, putting all my anger and pent up feelings into the muslce work needed to remove big rocks from the ground and dig deep, planting new life, and watering it with the tears the fell. I love spending time out there in the summer when they are in bloom and seeing the butterflies that visit~ it is like a wink form my parents.
Hugs to you, Katie. Anniveraries are always hard but losing a child…..that is just not something you get over. I am sorry your pain is made worse because of insensitive comments and by having to fight to get him the justice he deserves.
I turned to gardening when Andy was killed back in 2007. I see now that it was a way of making life happen when it felt like I was just surrounded by death. Andy's garden still lives, albeit here in my house…Arizona summers are not conducive to growing much.
I didn't mean anything about my "angry" post before. I meant that, with my own personal experiences involving an addicted family member, I saw things in a different light. You're a fine person and it's painful to witness your anguish, and yes, that makes me angry.
There was a program on A&E tonight about "Hillbilly Heroin" and the epidemic of prescription drug abuse. I'll bet you can watch it on their website.
As I have since the day I learned about Henry's tragedy, I will remember you in my prayers.
Laura