History

Tuesday, November 16, 2010 8:08 PM CST

I stood at recess the other day amidst the chaos of children running all around me- they were playing, squealing, screaming and laughing...I felt my hair grazing my shoulders as the wind blew by...I stood there, in perfect peace, completely happy-content...I realized Death taught me how to do this.

I then began to think of other things I have learned from Death...
I have learned~
~to laugh out loud, mostly at myself
~living may not be easy, but the alternative is not an option
~my 3 other children needed me more than my 1 dead child
~I cannot return or exchange a casket, its forever
~Death has no visitors and no there is no recovering from it
~to turn my face toward the sunshine that is beaming down and bask in it just a bit
~to remain calm in the midst of CHAOS
~yelling at the top of my lungs doesn't make those around me hear me any better
~never turn down a hug, a kiss, a smile or even a nod (alas, there are some exceptions to this never)
~letting the tears fall all the way down my cheeks is so good
~when your worst nightmare comes true, you can survive it
~living well IS the best revenge
~that I really like the way my hair feels as it blows in the wind
~to be able to run and have a healthy body is truly a miraculous thing to be grateful for
~in Death there can be peace, hope, love and even life-all the things it tries to rob you of
~that when Robert died, I didn't have to die with him
~how to come to life!

I have learned that I am NOT dead yet!

Not a single day goes by that I do not miss my son Robert. Just last week I stood out in front of the house, I looked up at the moon and pointed it out to the person standing next to me...it was amazing, full and looming-I always MoonGaze-my friend turned and we looked at the moon. In that moment, Robert washed over me and the flood gates of pain and longing swept over me trying to pull me out to sea with them--my eyes filled up with tears and I could not speak. I took a deep breath, thought of my sweet boy--shook my head and went into the house to see my family...this flood did not drown me, even though it caught me off guard.

I have said it many times, Robert in your short 11 years, you taught us how to live and how to live well...your time here will never be enough, but it has to be enough...

Thank you my son, always your Mom...

Saturday, August 14, 2010 2:08 PM CDT

Robert...Kyle Pacheco is there with you now...you loved Kyle. You two were the kinds of guys that had that infectious sense of humor that made everyone around you feel better about themselves! I loved that about you, I loved that about Kyle. Kyle had a smile that lit up a room...I can almost hear you two laughing together. No doubt you guys are lighting up the room where you are now.

Robert, explain to Kyle how important it is that he stay close to his Mom, Dad and sister now. Explain to him that though he is in perfect health and completely healed, those who remain here without him are not...show him some of your tricks to staying close without actually being here. How he can learn to slip things through the veil that separates us so that we sense your presence.

Robert, you have witnessed what happens to the people you love when you die-some push forward never looking back, some get so lost in something else that they try to dull the pain of your absence...some fail at first and rise above the grief and shine like lights in the darkness...

Kyle, look at the world you left behind and know you are finally perfect. Look at the world behind you and help your family and friends remember your courage and spirit of love and laughter so they can live without you now...

Boys, you are everywhere now-missed every single day-and you are loved even now...

Robert you know how much your family loved Kyle-we will carry on. Kyle you too taught us well...

Peace, Kathy

Wednesday, April 28, 2010 6:01 AM CDT

Hello Son.
I'm standing in the kitchen on this glorious day, listening to the birds chirp outside, looking out in to the yard where you used to be "hose boy" playing with your dog...I do that a lot, look out into the backyard and see you there, see your young boyish image playing-hitting baseballs over the fence way into the neighbor's yard; I still hear you calling "Mom!" whenever you would catch your fishing line on the tree because you were practicing your casting! So many amazing memories you gave me Robert-so, today, this day that would have been your 19th birthday, will be a get out of jail free day for me...I have decided to dwell on thoughts of you, in honor of you.

By this time of the day that you were born 19 years ago-you were already 3 hours old. They had untied the tightly wound umbilical cord that was around your neck and delivered you here to us to start filling us with Robert-Joy! You were golden from the minute you were born, of course, not nearly the handsome boy that would later go on to stop women in their tracks, you looked like Mr. Magoo to me, but you were here to take the by storm!

Take the world by storm you did-moment by moment, you would charm us, enlighten us, teach us, make us laugh and fill us with warmth and in the end, ultimately teach us how to live. Robert you taught us how to be a friend, a son, a grandson, a brother and a really cool person!

I often imagine that your float right over us. I imagine that you hover about us in our midst listening, laughing, watching-maybe crying a bit as you cannot really be here...but seeing all of it, seeing how we have changed and grown and evolved into a wonderful family that you would love to be a part of and call your own.

Your siblings would make you most proud I daresay. They are amazing. They have become their own forces to be reckoned with in many ways....but mostly, the way they love each other and cling to one another through good times and bad is most impressive. We all chose to continue the journey of this family with laughter and courage-and LOVE. I suppose we could have chosen other ways to live--but, we chose what our hearts would not let us escape-the goodness of this life that we have been given.

There, it just happened again-I just saw you in my mind, a glimpse of you at your last birthday party wearing that blue and red striped shirt-your favorite slip on AndOne basketball shoes, your baseball cap and your lucky watch your cousin gave you! You were walking toward me, and smiling the biggest grin, so happy, so pleased to be surrounded by people you love and who love you...

Robert, on this day, your birthday, I want you to know that though I do not dwell on thoughts of you as much as I used to; and the dull sharp pain that once permeated my being is gone-I have not forgotten you at all. I have simply embraced the fact that for me to continue you to live a life of joy, I cannot dwell in the sorrow of your absence from my life. I will never forget the moment you were born. I will never forget your beautiful big brown eyes and your laughter and hugs and dirty little boy feet! All of you is encased within me just as if you are still growing inside me...yet, now, you will never grow into life-you will only remain a memory that fuels my soul as food that makes me strong, happy, sad and full of love!

Happy Birthday Robert Mitchel Charlton, born on April 28th, 1991, your due date! Watch us closely as we live, love, laugh and continue to grow...we miss you, and we will never forget you, we can't-you are part of who we are...

I love you, Robert.
Mom

Wednesday, January 13, 2010 9:51 AM CST

It’s a new year, a time for new beginnings. Someone said to me the other day, “Isn’t it funny how the day and date change and suddenly we are in a whole new year-and it’s like we flip a switch and decide everything is new…”I chuckled at her observation. She was right…why is that our way of thinking? Why is it that we wait until the clock strikes midnight after the eleventh hour to flip a switch and begin again?

I have been waiting more than seven years to feel ready to flip certain switches. The process of grief is like a series of flipping switches that no one can predict when to flip them or if ever to flip them…just like anything in life. We live in a state of constant change; we are either embracing it or rebelling against it. Death and grief are just part of life’s changes. There is absolutely no need for me to even begin bothering to compare the degree of how things change-Death by far is the deepest cut and creates the most insane rippling affect that permeates everything. Death is a continuous echo that resonates through our mind, heart, and spirit. I have been listening to the echo of Robert’s death since, November 17, 2002. The howl of Robert’s death reached far and wide through the canyon of many lives and continues to echo even now…

I have been reckoning with it ever since; maybe even at times wrestling with it. I have written about how Death doesn’t exactly ask us our opinion. It does not ring us up on the phone, send us an invitation in the mail, a text, or an email-it just shows up as life’s most unwelcome, uninvited, unanticipated of guests…and it never leaves. Just the other night, someone said, “Death, well, Death is final, after Death there is nothing left…” I probably finished their statement for them.

I have decided after all this time, after much reckoning, that I AM KEEPING Robert. I have decided that my son, Robert, is staying with me. I believe that in many ways, he is everywhere now. It has taken me many, many years to find the Courage to embrace this notion and ADMIT it. There, I said it: I have not moved on from my son, nor have I laid his memory to rest or forgotten him. I have carried him with me every step of the way as I have learned to live without his smiling face to brighten my days. I think of him all the time, I miss him, laugh with him, cry over him, wish I could touch him, and even talk to him. At times, I even feel as if he is right next to me. Furthermore, I have no intention of changing this part of my life. It has taken me a long time to find the courage to admit that I cannot leave him and I am finally doing it. It is a new year. A year of new beginnings, more honesty, more sincerity, more laughter, more tears, and more joy; more of everything that life has to offer. And, he is coming with me. He, Robert - my son, is in me and will remain there until I am dead. My son came from my body, he lived in me, breathed my breath, ate my food. I sustained him until the time was right for him to sustain himself. His spirit was blessed to take form in me, and his spirit continues to live in me now.

We live in a world of many opinions and little respect. There are plenty of big mouths blabbing away with few ears listening, and even fewer hearts loving…We pass judgment on each other so readily, that many of us are paralyzed to ever take a moment to come to terms with what we are reckoning with. Well now. All while I have been dutifully and joyfully living, I have been reckoning; coming to terms with the nonsense of my son dying at the age of 11 years old from leukemia. Seriously, give me a break! What child should have to have such a disease and die from it? Ugh! Yet, it happened. Nothing can change that fact. So, I chose the path of life for myself, chose to pour what was left of my soul into my beloved 3 remaining children and into myself. It was what I had to do. Robert taught me to value myself. If my son could see something valuable in me, surely the least I could do is take care of myself. I have tried my best. I fail miserably at many things. We all do. Such is life. Yet to choose to live is to choose to reckon yourself with your failures and keep going. I did not even realize that I had been waffling about the realm of grief not really knowing what or how to navigate the thick gooey syrup of it, but I was. Sure there are plenty of books, but my stubborn tenacious spirit had to figure it out for itself.

This New Year represents my coming out of the Closet of Grief. I am openly admitting to the world that I have not and will not leave my son in the dirt. He is with me. I’m smiling right now as I type those words and think about it. My eyes are welling up with tears just a bit, and my nose is giving me that familiar tickling feeling it gets right before the tears trickle down my cheeks and I am smiling - like I remember Robert smiling.

When my middle child said to me, “Mom, if I were gone I would never want you to forget me…” I realized: Death, living and moving-on have nothing to do with forgetting. Yet our society squelches our souls so much that our grief gets confused with others’ opinions and we hardly have time to reckon with it and live freely as we should. Maybe one of the Mom’s reading this is nodding her head right now; maybe tears are streaming down her cheeks as she realizes that I am a Mom who is NOT letting go by choice…Maybe the fact that I have somehow managed to piece my shattered life back together and begin anew time and again since my son died, and not “moved on” from him, will free her up to breathe a little deeper and fuller and know that her child is only a breath away.

In birth we come to life in a breath. In death we leave life in a breath. In the case of my son Robert, I was blessed to be there for both breaths. I forced air into my son’s lungs by pushing him out into the world. In the end, believe me, if I could have forced air into his lungs to keep him alive I would have…Instead, I took away his air-oxygen- unhooked his i.v. lines, massaged his cold hard feet and legs, held his weak bruised hands and listened as his shallow breathing stopped and then finally, I felt his chest as his heart stopped beating. I delivered him from where I believe he came -heaven- and I escorted him back there…

It is a New Year, so many new beginnings. I am excited to unwrap the gift of this New Year. I am excited and ready to flip whatever switches need to be flipped, to light up the dark corners that have been overlapped and dim as I hid them from the opinions of others and myself. I am ready for anything.

I wonder, are you willing to be ready for anything? Willing to sift through that which needs to be reckoned with, keep that which should be kept and cast off the anything else? Damn the torpedos-its the New Year, flip some switches, light up those dark places and remember-Robert's favortie song..."Shine".

My adventure will be full of the laughter and love of my 3 remaining children...My adventure will be full of the laughter and love of my Robert too.

Peace, Kathy

Friday, December 25, 2009 8:58 PM CST

This morning the children took off to go pick up a boy that I used to tutor and is now counted as part of the family. They get so excited that they drive over to get him still wearing Christmas pajamas! I stay home to finish getting ready for the arrival of everyone. When the day is over, I drive him home.

This boy and I have spent a lot of time getting to know each other. He is a cancer survivor and came into my life when I became his tutor. He loves to talk. As I drove him home he relived the days events and how he had interacted with the different family members, "Jessica, she holds me so tight and its like she is never gonna let go...Christina, she didn't have my back so much today cause she was not feeling well..." We usually talk about all other things in his life as well, school, his Mom, his sister and how she is sick now. He just talks and talks...I just listen and laugh, I love his matter of fact way of putting things out there.

My sweet friend asked me, "Do you remember that lady-you know the one that looked like ... ?" I reply that I remembered her. He shares with me, "well, she was looking at me kind of funny. It made me feel uncomfortable so I sort of stayed away and did something else...remember?" I told him that I remembered and that I wished he would have told me at the time because I would have put his mind at ease that she is just a little different. He continues, "well, she looked like one of those people that hide in the bushes and run out and scare you and then run back into the bushes!" (He was right too-that is exactly how she looked!) He continues, "I really wanted to talk to her. She looked depressed. I wanted to sit down with her and ask her why she looked so depressed. You see, I Iike to talk to people. I am like a therapist and I wanted to know why she looked depressed!" I laughed at his honesty and when he described her face saying she looked like someone from the bushes! I laughed as I realized this 12 year sweet boy has a better handle on life than many adults I know. I laughed as I kept picturing the woman he was talking about running in and out of bushes scaring people! Smart kid!

We got to his home. His neighborhood is much different than mine. He was so glad his Mom was home. I had helped him put together a gift for his Mom and for his older sister. He was so excited to give them to them. He ran in to get his Mom. She came out to see me and we hugged and kissed hello. She and I stood there talking for a few minutes. She was in her bathrobe as they were heading to church. His older sister came out (I had not met her before) she hugged and kissed my cheek and thanked me for the gifts...Mom and I continued talking. She shared with me how good her son is doing in school. She said, "He is so good. He loves being a safety patrol, he is like the Sheriff there!" She said, "he stays after school with a teacher every day-doing his homework and helping her. He loves school. He is so good. He is so healthy!" We talked about his upcoming safety patrol trip. I told her not to buy him any clothes as Matthew probably had whatever he needed and he could use it...

As I began to leave, we hugged each other very tight-it seemed that we stood in her doorway for so long. I could hear her voice saying, "he is so good" in my head...There we stood, two Moms holding on to each other knowing how precious life is, knowing how cancer took my son and tried to snatch hers...one last kiss on the cheek and I walked away.

I sat in my car for just a second. Taking the scene in...no Christmas decorations adorning their home; no tree, no presents...but so much love, so much goodness. I began to cry as I pulled away, so thankful that her son is alive; so thankful that he is living and "so good." I never, not ever, ever, want another mother to have to live without her son growing up in her home...my son didn't get to live, but her son does LIVE. I rejoice in his living...

Now I am home. Home alone. All I hear is the a.c. humming, the dog breathing and my fingers typing. I am in my home where today we gathered together to rejoice. The remnants of today remain. Remnants of the fabric of lives that have been torn apart by cancer, divorce, hatred, resentment, addiction and financial struggles...lives that have been shattered ~ but gently woven back together stronger and tighter because now they are woven together with Love, Respect, and Humility.

It is Christmas and Robert is not here, but we are. We remain...together. As we say goodbye to another year and ring in a new one, may we continue to weave the fabric of our lives together by being "so good" and using only the threads of Love, Respect and Humility.

Peace,
Kathy

Monday, November 16, 2009 9:22 PM CST

Sunday, November 15, 2009. Matthew hollers down the hall, "Mom, was Robert born in 1994?" Christina hollers back, "No, he was born in 1991!" I'm standing in the kitchen, I start to cry. Quiet, heavy tears trickle down my face, I can't put another bite of food in my mouth. At least I don't throw up what I've already attempted to eat. Christina and I just stare at each other, she waits patiently because she knows I will tell her why tears are streaming down my face...she is used to my random tears-she knows why they are there. I say to her, "It really is just so unfair that Robert is not here. I mean we are all here, all of us are still here, he's just gone-just like that, he's gone. He was here long enough to take up this huge space in our family-he was so important to our family, and he is just gone and we are all still here, living in this place without him, its just not fair." Its just not normal to hear your one son holler down the hall to ask what year his now deceased brother was born!

In 7 years since Robert died I do not think I have ever said those words: its just not fair. I am firm believer that life is not fair, that life is not about what is fair or not. To me life is just what it is, as it comes to you, and our job is to stare it down and live. I have realized that after 7 years Robert still affects so many lives all the time. He affects mine all the time. I cannot lie, rarely does a day or a moment go by that he is not on my mind. I never dream about my son, sometimes when something really silly or funny happens to me I tell him I know he is laughing at me, but I do not talk to him. I do not visit his grave...but I also can hardly walk down the hallway to his and Matthew's old bedroom. He is there-but gone. It is very painful to see all that was him in our home all the time. A constant reminder of a life born for a purpose that was cut so short.

I woke up the other morning with this thought, "How is it that Robert, just a boy, affected so many..." At school a few of the teachers that knew him will say to me how often they think of him; I see a couple of his classmates every day and they often tell me how they remember him; another sweet friend from his elementary days visits his grave...I was his mother. I was Robert's mother. I live with this eeryday of my life.

It has taken me 7 years to come to terms with living with this vacancy in my life. I have come to terms with the fact that it is a vacancy that is impossible to fill, I have not even bothered trying. I have come to terms with the words of others telling me to let it go-and the fact that maybe some feel as if I am trapped in my grief. It took 7 years and my daughter Christina's words to help me come to terms with the fact that I miss my son all the time.

Just this past Halloween, Christina and I were driving around the neighborhood-there was an energy in the air-the neighbors were setting up for the festivities of the night. It felt so good. As we pulled in the driveway tears started streaming down my cheeks for no apparent reason. Christina inquires, "Mom, what is it?" I tell her its stupid, don't worry. She insists on knowing (Christina is
very nosy). I explain to her how I was rummaging about in Matthew's closet looking for something and at the bottom ofthe chest of his junk I saw the basketball mask that Robert wore on his last Halloween. I continue, "I know it's so stupid, and I know I'm supposed to be over all of this, its just so hard and I miss him all the time...I'm sorry!" We get out of the car and I'm wiping away my tears. Christina stops me and looks me right in the eyes. She says, "No Mom, stop it. It is not stupid. I don't care what anybody says. Don't say that." She hugs me tight. She continues,"Mom, you're his mother. Do you think about us all the time?" I say, "Yes, of course, all the time, everyday!" My daughter's next words were some of the wisest I have ever heard in my life-"Mom, you think about us all the time because we are your children; well, Robert is your child too, and just because he is not here doesn't mean you shouldn't think about him. He's still your child. Would you think about me if I were not here? Well, you better-because if I die, you better never forget me and think about me all the time!" She held me so tight and hugged me...I breathed in my teenage daughter's energy as if it would transcend all my pain. We stood there for just a moment. It is really something to outlive your own child, but it is also really something to live long enough to have your child out-grow you in wisdom and in stature. My daughter saved me that day.

It has taken 7 years and the wise words of one of my own children to help me realize what it is to really grieve. In grieving I think we spend a great deal of time hiding our pain, instead of facing it and staring it down and letting it flatten us if necessary. Well, anyone who knows me, I am all about being steamrolled. I must get emotionally steamrolled at least once a year! Once I get flattened out I can finally sift through the rubble and rebuild. It would also seem to me that we all know how uncomfortable we are with someone else's pain. It is not easy meeting a woman whose child has died an untimely death.Heck, we all know that we women can be tricky emotional messes on a good day-throw in the death of a child and BAM you have the potential for an emotional basket case on your hands. Risky business at best opening that can of worms.

It takes tenacity and trust to grieve. For me, being tenacious gave me just enough of an edge to not let grief consume me and turn me into this huge mass (okay so I am not even close being called huge) of helpless hopelessness. The tenacity created a fire in me, a determination to live. It is as if grief has challenged me to live. At times it is like it mocks me and taunts me; almost teasing me about hurting and missing my son. My tenacity gets me out of bed some days and gives me my "hutzpa". I found this definition of tenacity: The quality or state of being tenacious; as retentiveness, of memory; or persistency of purpose; That quality of bodies which keeps them from parting without considerable force; cohesiveness; the effect of attraction;-- as distinguished from brittleness, fragility...Grief begs us to become brittle; it can cripple us and make us so fragile we snap. Yet, the very essence of grief is its fragilility. Without allowing yourself to be fragile, can you really grieve and feel pain? When I drive in blinding rain I find myself slowing down a bit, gripping the wheel with both hands, staring so focused as if I am threading a needle that I cannot clearly see. I know I am very fragile at that point, yet, I take charge and force myself to drive on...I have to have trust in my vehicle and my ability to control it. I have come to appreciate that in grief, one can really only share their grief with someone they trust.

The other day I was feeling the loss of Robert so heavily. I had just left my tutoring session with a student recovering from a liver transplant (go figure). His swollen face from steroids and the way he walked reminded me of how I watched my own son and other patients recover from transplant. I met my friend for lunch. She is one of my most trusted friends. I tried to eat, but realized I had no appetite. I am not even sure how it started but within moments I was sharing with her the story of the morning Robert died. We sat there, eyes locked tears falling down my face. She listened to every word. Her eyes did not leave mine the entire time I talked. As I spoke and she listened it dawned on me how much I trusted her with not only my son's story, but my own weakness. I have shared so much of Robert's story with the world it is easy for me. I rarely share the barenaked pain of my heart with anyone. Afterward, I began reflecting on how crucial it is for a person grieving the loss of a child, or the loss of any significant person in their life, to have someone they can trust and expose their heart to. Baring ourselves if hard enough in this day and age; baring your brokenheart in a world that tells you to move on and get over it is close to impossible. A person can feel as if they are in this constant holding
pattern swirling around looking for a safe place to land all while they navigate the darkest storm of their life.

Sure death comes to all of us at some point. It is inevitable. As a mother, the death of my son tore apart every morself of my being. It challenged my faith, shredded my soul, shattered my heart, and affected the essence of who I am as a woman, mother, friend and human being. I know I could go on and on about why I might have been affected as I have. But the truth is, I have come to the point in my life, unless you have buried your child exactly as I have really, please keep your opinions about my grief to yourself. Grief is an individual experience. As different as each of us are, our experience with grief is. For me, at times I choose to wear it out in the open just enough so that others might see it and realize it is there. Part of me wants to hug ever single mother that misses her dead child and let her rest there for a bit and feel okay about feeling so empty and lousy about everything, the other part of
me wants to bury my grief down deep as a dark secret.

Recently I was asked, "Okay, Kath-help? How do I get through this time of year? How am I going to live Life while Death has taken someone I love from me?" I pondered the answer to this question for 3 days. I finally answered in the most basic of ways that I could. I told this person, "First, cry only in front of those whom you can trust, even if its your children. Try to find someone you can trust who will listen to you-someone who will not blink, comment, interject insight or opinion-just listen...Secondly, talk about your loved one to anyone who will listen even if its painful, but do it just so you can feel human. Finally, learn to know the signs of being sabotaged by grief (grief is sneaky that way, it likes to nail you when you least expect it) For me, its when my eyes well up with tears and my nose starts to tickle- I start fanning my eyes before they fill up too much or I can't stop...breathe-deep breaths almost as if you are fending off bodily pain...and if you must, duck and run-or put on your sunglasses-that is if you are not in a safe place to cry."

Seven years is a very long time to live without someone you love. It is not as if I can replace or duplicate Robert. If he were an ex-love of my life, I might stand a chance...but the loss of a child truly is unimaginable. Sorry kids, but I hope I die before the rest of you do.

"Robert, it has been quite a journey these 7 years navigating life after you died...I watch each of your family members and how they remember you and how you etched yourself into their lives. I watch your siblings as they grow and become so fine tuned with each other weaving themselves together tightly almost as if they are trying to strengthen against the gap your death left. Yet, never do they ever forget you. Your sisters and brother miss you every single day.
Your Dad, well-Robert, what can I say. You were his mirror image. Your Dad is
one of the most physically strong men I have ever known, your death almost
crumbled him forever...it seems, son, that the way you woke up each and every day for the soul purpose of living has left an imprint on us. You rarely were sick and wanted to stay in bed, even when you were close to death. The last night of your life you made me sit you upright in bed so that you could show me something. You were always ready to live. Your days were for living; it was not in you to face a day and not live it to the fullest.

The final morning of your life you never woke up. You did not even open your eyes to face the day. It was if you could see past all that was here. You must have felt the pain and knew your body was failing-you waited until your Dad and I were by your side. You listened as we held you and unhooked your lines and your oxygen mask. You waited until we said your purpose was to go ahead as always and live while we stayed behind. Even in death, it was as if you knew your purpose and
listened to our words and taught us something. The morning you left it was
almost as if some sort of magic was in the air-I say magic only because as
heartwrenching as it was there was so much peace that even in your death it felt like there was hope...

The blaze of glory with which you purposefully lived each day, came to an end ever so peacefully on November 17, 2002."

Someone recently sat me down, took my hands and said, "I have something I need to say to you..." In my experience, usually when someone does this, what is about to be said are not words I want to hear...she proceeded to say, "Kath, I do not live with regrets in my life. No matter what I have done, I have very few regrets. But, I do regret that I did not get to know Robert while he was alive..." As this amazing person held my hands and said those words to me, my heart melted. Here was a person who has traveled the world over, someone I consider to be a conquerer of many things...and to hear them tell me they regretted not knowing Robert made my heart skip a beat...

Go easy on each other in this life.
It is way too short for all the nonsense that we add to it. Stick to the basics and if you would have known Robert, you would have known one of the coolest kids you would ever meet in your life.

Robert Mitchel Charlton, The Golden Boy
Peace,
Kathy

Monday, November 16, 2009 1:52 PM CST

Sunday,November 15, 2009. Matthew hollers down the hall,"Mom, was Robert born in 1994?" Christina hollers back,"No, he was born in 1991." I'm standing in the kitchen and start to cry. Gentle, quiet, heavy tears trickle down my face and I cannot put another bite of food in my mouth. At least I don't throw up what I've already attempted to eat. Christina and I just stare at each other, she waits patiently because she knows I will tell her why tears are quietly streaming down my face...she is used to my random tears-she always knows why they are there. I say to her,"It really is just so unfair that Robert is not here. I mean we are all here, all of us are still here, he's just gone-just like that, he's just gone. He was here long enough to take up this huge space in our family-he was so important to our family, and he is just gone and we are all still here, living in this place without him,its just not fair." Its just not normal to hear your one son holler down the hall to ask what year his now deceased brother was born!

In 7 years since Robert died I do not think I have ever said those words: its just not fair. I am firm believer that life is not fair, that life is not about what is fair or not. To me life is just what it is as it comes to you and our job is to stare it down and live. I have realized that after 7 years Robert still affects so many lives all the time. He affects mine all the time. I cannot lie, rarely does a day or a moment go by that he is not on my mind. I never dream about my son, sometimes when something really silly or funny happens to me I tell him I know he is laughing at me, but I do not talk to him. I do not visit his grave...but I also can hardly walk down the hallway to his and Matthew's bedroom. He is there-but gone. It is very painful to see all that was him in our home all the time. A constant reminder of a life born for a purpose
that was cut so short.

I woke up the other morning with this thought, "How is it that Robert, just a boy, affected so many..." At school a few of the teachers that knew him will say to me how often they think of him; I see a couple of his classmates every day and they often tell me how they remember him; another sweet friend from his elementary days visits his grave...I was his mother. I was Robert's mother. I live with this everyday of my life.

It has taken me 7 years to come to terms with living with this vacancy in my life. I have come to terms with the fact that it is a vacancy that is impossible to fill,I have not even bothered trying. I have come to terms with the words of others telling me to let it go-and the fact that maybe some feel as if I am trapped in my grief. It took 7 years and my daughter Christina's words to help me come to terms with the fact that I miss my son all the time. It was Halloween. Christina and I were driving around the neighborhood -there was an energy in the air- the neighbors were setting up for the festivities of the night. It felt so good. As we pulled in the driveway tears started streaming down my cheeks for no apparent reason. Christina says, "oh Mom, what is it?" I tell her its stupid, don't worry. She insists on knowing (Christina is very nosy). I explain to her how I was rummaging about in Matthew's closet looking for something and at the bottom of his chest of junk I saw the basketball mask that Robert wore on his last Halloween. I continue, "I know it's so stupid, and I know I'm supposed to be over all of this, its just so hard and I miss him all the time...I'm sorry!" We get out of the car, I'm wiping away my tears. Christina stops me and looks me right in the eyes. She says, "No Mom, stop it. It is not stupid. I don't care what anybody says. Don't say that." She hugs me tight. She continues, "Mom, you're his mother.Do you think about us all the time?"I say, "Yes, of course, all the time, everyday!" My daughter's next words were some of the wisest I have ever heard in my life-"Mom, you think about us all the time because we are your children; well, Robert is your child too, and just because he is not here doesn't mean you shouldn't think about him. He's still your child. Would you think about me if I were not here? Well, you better-because if I die, you better never forget me and think about me all the time!" She held me so tight and hugged me...I breathed in my teenage daughter's energy as if it would transcend all my pain. We stood there for just a moment. It is really something to outlive your own child, but it is also really something to live long enough to have your child out grow you in wisdom and in stature. My daughter saved me that day.

It has taken 7 years and the wise words of one of my own children to help me realize what it is to really grieve. In grieving I think we spend a great deal of time hiding our pain, instead of facing it and staring it down and letting it flatten us if necessary. Well, anyone who knows me, I am all about being steamrolled. I must get emotionally steamrolled at least once a year! Once I get flattened out I can finally sift through the rubble and rebuild. It would also seem to me that we all know how uncomfortable we are with someone else's pain. It is not easy meeting a woman whose child has died an untimely death. Heck, we all know that we women can be tricky emotional messes on a good day-throw in the death of a child and BAM you have the potential for an emotional basket case on your hands. Risky business at best opening that can of worms.

It takes tenacity and trust to grieve. For me,being tenacious gave me just enough of an edge to not let grief consume me and turn me into this huge mass(okay so I am not even close being called huge) of helpless hopelessness. The tenacity created a fire in me, a determination to live. It is as if grief has challenged me to live. At times it is like it mocks me and taunts me; almost teasing me about hurting and missing my son. My tenacity gets me out of bed some days and gives me my "hutzpa". I found this definition of tenacity: The quality or state of being tenacious; as, tenacity, or retentiveness, of memory; tenacity, or persistency, of purpose; That quality of bodies which keeps them from parting without considerable force; cohesiveness; the effect of attraction;as distinguished from brittleness, fragility ...Grief begs us to become brittle,it can cripple us and make us so fragile we snap. Yet, the very essence of grief is its fragilility. Without allowing yourself to be fragile, can you really grief and feel pain? When I drive in blinding rain I find myself slowing down a bit, gripping the wheel with both hands, staring so focused as if I am threading a needle that I cannot clearly see. I know I am very fragile at that point, yet, I take charge and force myself to drive on...I have to have trust in my vehicle and my ability to control it. I have come to appreciate that in grief, one can really only share their grief with someone they trust.

The other day I was feeling the loss of Robert so heavily. I had just left my tutoring session with a student recovering from a liver transplant (go figure). His swollen face from steroids and the way he walked reminded me of how I watched my own son and other patients recover from transplant. I met my friend for lunch. She is one of my most trusted friends. I tried to eat,but realized I had no appetite. I am not even sure how it started but within moments I was sharing with her the story of the morning Robert died. We sat there, eyes locked tears falling down my face. She listened to every word. Her eyes did not leave mine the entire time I talked. As I spoke and she listened it dawned on me how much I trusted her with not only my son's story, but my own weakness. I have shared so much of Robert's story with the world it is easy for me. I rarely share the barenaked pain of my heart with anyone. Afterward,I began reflecting on how crucial it is for a person grieving the loss of a child, or the loss of any significant person in their life,to have someone they can trust and expose their heart to. Baring ourselves if hard enough in this day and age; baring your brokenheart in a world that tells you to move on and get over it is close to impossible. A person can feel as if they are in this constant holding pattern swirling around looking for a safe place to land all while they navigate the darkest storm of their life.

Sure death comes to all of us at some point. It is inevitable. As a mother, the death of my son tore apart every morself of my being. It challenged my faith, shredded my soul, shattered my heart,and affected the essence of who I am as a woman, mother, friend and human being. I know I could go on and on about why I might have been affected as I have. But the truth is, I have come to the point in my life, unless you have buried your child exactly as I have really, please keep your opinions about my grief to yourself. Grief is an individual experience. As different as each of us are, our experience with grief is. For me, at times I choose to wear it out in the open just enough so that others might see it and realize it is there. Part of me wants to hug every single mother that misses her dead child and let her rest there for a bit and feel okay about feeling so empty and lousy about everything, the other part of me wants to bury my grief down deep as a dark secret.

Recently I was asked,"Okay, Kath-help? How do I get through this time of year? How am I going to live Life while Death has taken someone I love from me?" I pondered the answer to this question for 3 days. I finally answered in the most basic of ways that I could. I told this person, "First, cry only in front of those whom you can trust, even if its your children. Try to find someone you can trust who will listen to you-someone who will not blink, comment, interject insight or opinion-just listen...Secondly, talk about your loved one to anyone who will listen even if its painful, but do it just so you can feel human. Finally, learn to know the signs of being sabotaged by grief (grief is sneaky that way, it likes to nail you when you least expect it) For me, its when my eyes well up with tears and my nose starts to tickle- I start fanning my eyes before they fill up too much or I can't stop...breathe-deep breaths almost as if you are fending off bodily pain...and if you must, duck and run-or put on your sunglasses-that is if you are not in a safe place to cry."

Seven years is a very long time to live without someone you love. It is not as if I can replace or duplicate Robert. If he were an ex-love of my life, I might stand a chance...but the loss of a child truly is unimaginable. Sorry kids, but I hope I die before the rest of you do.

"It has been quite a journey these 7 years navigating life after you died Robert. I watch each of your family members and how they remember you and how you etched yourself into their lives. I watch your siblings as they grow and become so fine tuned with each other weaving themselves together tightly almost as if they are trying to strengthen against the gap your death left. Yet, never do they ever forget you. Your sisters and brother miss you every single day. Your Dad, well-Robert, what can I say. You were his mirror image. Your Dad is one of the most physically strong men I have ever known, your death almost crumbled him forever...it seems, son, that the way you woke up each and every day for the soul purpose of living has left an imprint on us. You rarely were sick and wanted to stay in bed, even when you were close to death. The last night of your life you made me sit you upright in bed so that you could show me something. You were always ready to live. Your days were for living; it was not in you to not face a day and live it to the fullest.

The final morning of your life you never woke up. You did not even open your eyes to face the day, you could see past all that was here must have felt the pain and known your body was failing-you waited until your Dad and I were by your side. You listened as we held you and unhooked your lines and your oxygen mask. You waited until we said your purpose was to go ahead as always and live while we stayed behind. Even in death, it was as if you knew your purpose and listened to our words and taught us something. The morning you left it was almost as if some sort of magic was in the air-I say magic only because as heartwrenching as it was there was so much peace even in your death it felt like there was hope...

The blaze of glory with which you purposefully lived each day, came to an end ever so peacefully on November 17, 2002."

Someone recently sat me down, took my hands and said, "I have something I need to say to you..." Usually when someone does this in my experience what is about to follow are not words I like to hear...she proceeded to say, "Kath, I do not live with regrets in my life. No matter what I have done, I have very few regrets. But, I do regret that I did not get to know Robert while he was alive..." As this amazing person held my hands and said those words to me, my heart melted. Here was a person who has traveled the world over, someone I consider to be a conquerer of many things...and to hear them tell me they regretted not knowing Robert made my heart skip a beat...

Go easy on each other in this life. It is way too short for all the nonsense that we add to it. Stick to the basics and if you would have known Robert, you would have known one of the coolest kids you would ever meet in your life.

Thursday, October 8, 2009 2:39 PM CDT

In some ways I am amazed at how grief still manages to creep in and surprise me. One would expect after 7 years of learning to live with grief as a constant companion, there would be no more surprises…Grief in many ways has become a companion of my life I suppose I could not live without. Maybe in a way, it, like any relationship that ebbs, flows and constantly changes it evolves over time. Grief is still a mystery, both comforting and disconcerting at the same time.
The mysterious part would be that I can say it is comforting. That must seem a bit odd for a mother to say with regards to grieving the death of her son. Yet, my grief is a comfort of sorts. I suppose only because as long as grief continues to affect my life, Robert still affects my life. Grief sneaking up and surprising me has taken the place of what Robert might be doing if he were actually here alive with me. It is the very grief that I have learned to live with that actually is the only connection I have with my son after all this time. Queer at best, wouldn’t you say? What can I say? I have never been one to follow the norm with regards to life’s perspectives. I can thank my Mother for that.
I was once again surprised as the thought of the approaching month of October was upon me. A strange chain of events occurred over the final days of September. These sort of events normally leave me feeling confused and hurt; not this time. I was prepared for them. They sort of came and went like the wind. The sobering part was the realization it was October 1st . Now THAT stopped me dead in my tracks – Surprise! At first I was grateful for a new month, ready to bid summer farewell and move into the season ahead. As grateful as I was for the new month, the full moon, I realized “damn, these are the tumultuous tragic months coming my way…” From here on out I relive each of Robert’s final days moment by moment. These days are the beginning of the end of his days alive. What a shocking reality to have to live with now. It’s my version of the Fall Blues-the leaves change colors and fill some parts of the world with blissful rich colors; for me it is just like the seasons this time of year…fall than winter…relapse than death… UGH!
We knew they told us Robert would not live long once he relapsed, yet, we refused to actually believe them. You know one of my favorite songs says: “when you love someone you will believe a lie…” I wonder was it a lie for me to believe that Robert could have lived and survived his final relapse? Was it a lie? Was my hope a lie I held on to believing in for my son’s life? In a way I suppose it was. I read a quote the other day about someone who’s a pessimist, an optimist, and a realist—I realized I am an optimistic realist! That is how I lived those final days of Robert’s life.
My optimism had me fighting tooth and nail; I begged, borrowed, pleaded, robbed Peter to pay Paul, wished, looked for shooting stars, PRAYED, anointed with oil…every morsel of hope and faith and lie I could try to believe in I would have believed to keep him alive; every stone had been unturned…you name it, I did it. I was his mother for God’s sake—nothing would be left for chance, no word unspoken… Robert would not die because I missed something or anything that might have saved him. I chose to believe the unbelievable, I chose to be optimistic…
I chose optimism while the horrible reality faced me every single moment of every single day. From the moment the doctor sat next to me in that tiny room and told me Robert had relapsed, I began to live the cold horrible reality of watching my child die from cancer. It was October 6th, 2002-a Saturday morning when I was told that he had about 6 weeks to live. It was the beginning of my journey into the harshest of realities that I was desperately trying to salvage my son from with all of my optimistic faith and love! I physically tried to heal my son every time I touched him, every time he cradled his head on my shoulder, every time I kissed him, hugged him and held his hand. I truly believed that the touch of my mother’s hand could eradicate any disease in his body. I became a vessel of everything and anything he needed to survive- I became a vessel to help us all to survive. I wanted to will all of the family to a place of complete healing and well-being. I believed I could do anything.
Every day his body itched as his liver filled with disease; every day his bladder bled; every day his lungs became more polluted with cancer; every day his fevers climbed higher and higher; he cried, winced, moaned, and groaned… Every day he was in more pain; every day his body grew more and more bruised and battered. His body began failing bit by bit…part of me wants to piece together every moment of Robert’s pain so the world can know exactly how brave that young man was. I want the world to feel how heavy his body was each time his Dad and I had to lift him up to change his clothes and the pads that lined his bed because of the deterioration of his bladder…it is still remarkable to me how even in his deteriorated state Robert managed to be kind to others, managed to laugh, and share his kisses, share his room with friends…even want to trick or treat one last time with his best friend. The memory of his determination to get out of the house and trick or treat with Ryan is one of the most amazing moments of my life. When the front door of my house burst open that night 7 years ago and two 11 yr. old boys pushed a wheelchair out the front door together so they could trick or treat, my heart was forever changed. Robert plopped in the chair, Ryan pushed…Ryan’s mom and I followed-tears filled our eyes, we hugged each other. Every single crack in the sidewalk and bump along the way made Robert wince in pain. The marrow in his spine by this time was completely full of cancer-his hips, every joint in his body, full of disease…yet, he refused to miss this time with his best friend.
Robert didn’t get far that night. The pain was too much for him. Ryan didn’t come back to see his friend again after that night either…the pain was too much for him too. Ryan used to leave notes and pictures on the doorstep in the morning on his way to school…I think Robert understood more than any of us why his best friend couldn’t come over…it was just as hard for him to see him knowing he was not himself. Robert tried to live every moment as best as he could right up to the end of his days…he never thought his days would end. To him, nothing was empty…for him, even if in pain, it was all worth it for him. Trick or treating with his best friend was not about the candy! Robert, at the end of his days of the 11 yrs. of his life, knew that what mattered was not being cooped up in his house on a special night-HE KNEW THAT LIFE WAS OUT THERE WAITING FOR HIM TO LIVE IT ONE MORE TIME…
As disconcerting as it is for me to relive the final weeks of Robert’s life, I cherish those moments as much as I cherish the moments I live today. Tonight I cherished the time I shared with my daughters talking, laughing and living. I cherish all the new moments that I am blessed to have in my life…yet, I cherish the grief that is my constant companion too. There are definitely moments I hope to forget in my lifetime-not one of them is from when Robert’s final days were here. Those days were realistically horrifying- yet, the optimism with which my own dying son lived those days changed me forever. He was the original Optimistic Realist!
Robert knew all too well what it meant the day I told him his cancer had returned and his bone marrow transplant had failed. As Robert, Jessica and I laid on the bed in our apartment in St. Jude, and I told him his cancer was back, he very calmly asked if he was going to die…we had told him countless times that his transplant was the last hope to rid his body of leukemia-he was serious about defeating his disease-old enough to understand the risks and stakes…he knew what his relapse meant.
It was the most surreal, unimaginable moment of my life telling Robert that all had failed. Robert was not a quitter; he knew he was a golden boy and knew that everything he ever tried he mastered…he just laid there with his sister and I and very calmly, he softly cried…I can still see his 11 yr. old form in my mind’s eye lying next to me as the sad tears rolled down his cheeks. He was the bravest, strongest, kindest, most loving boy who touched many lives with his spirit and ways. He was contagious, in a good way.
They say time heals everything-interesting. I was not the one with cancer, not the one optimistically waiting to be healed…yet, I’m the one who has gotten to live long enough to see if time does heals all things. I didn’t need to be healed-but I did need time. I needed time to realize that grief has become my constant companion. It comforts and scares me to death with its sneak attacks from the memories that fill my heart with laughter while making me want to puke! Go figure, who knew? Who knew that time would afford me to appreciate the grief I live with every single day? Who knew that in time, grief would become a tool for growth and wisdom and maybe healing…? Death so often not only takes its victim, but a plethora of innocent bystanders with it…not so in this case. Death took Robert and Grief has become my constant companion. Time has moved us all along so that Death could not destroy anything else in the midst of the tragedy of losing Robert.
Robert’s optimistic realistic approach to life infected not just me as his mother, but countless others. Even in death, Robert infects us with his spirit, tenacity, laughter and desire to live life to the fullest. Grief may be the umbilical cord that attaches me to my son these days, and my words may be the only vessel of infecting the world with his spirit…yet, we have all learned so much from that 11 year old boy!
Robert, you remain-“The Golden Boy!”
Peace,
Kathy

"When you love someone you'll do anything - you'll do all the crazy things that you can't explain...you'll shoot the moon, put out the sun, when you love someone...you'll deny the truth, believe a lie..." Robert, thank you for letting me hold your hand and sing this song to you countless times, thank you for letting me teach you about love...in turn it was really me who learned about love.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009 4:36 AM CDT

Recently the subject of what to say to someone like me came up. I love it, I am in a category-I am actually in several categories many of which I certainly never expected to be in..."divorced, single mom, mother who's child has died, 40 something, school teacher..." (wow, with stats like that no wonder I can't get a date!) Anyway, the only category I usually have ever publicly chosen to address is the one that labels me as "the mother of a child who has died" category (make no mistake, I have plenty to say about the other categories). I am often asked "what does someone say to someone like you?" I shared some of what not to say to someone like "me", but what I realized today is what it is that people usually say to me...and that is this: "I can't imagine..."

The statement "I can't imagine...." is written with the continuation marks on purpose. Because the words are rarely spoken in such a way that the thought is complete, and sometimes I do not let the person speaking complete the sentence. It usually goes like this-a person says, "I can't i-m-a-g-i-n-e..." they stretch out the word imagine-then they sort of stutter off into a bit of a daze, lost in a thought that shakes them to their core...they don't really pause, because their thought doesn't stop-it just continues on in their own mind. I can tell this by the look on their face. I say by the look on their face, because believe me, most people never look at me when they say this. I find that a person can't even bring themselves to say what they are thinking out loud, they don't even want to finish their own thought. Sometimes they muster: "...losing one of my children." But they never say: "I can't imagine one of my children getting cancer, being tortured by illness and meds, suffering tremendous pain, dying in my arms, not breathing and feeling their heart stop beating..." Nah, I don't ever get that-but guess what, I know that's exactly what they are thinking! I have also come to accept that very few, if any, can look me in the eyes when they say this. Not many have ever tried to look at me when they say this. They are not sure what they're more afraid of, their own imagination or my reality.

I suppose I would not want to look at me either. I suppose its pretty scary looking at someone like me-looking into my eyes and seeing what you might see there. I know how much I carry within me, it has become my constant companion. Can I just say that when someone shows me that they are not afraid to look at me face to face willing to see my pain, it means so much to me, because I know how hard it is.

So, my reply to just about anyone who says to me: "I can't imagine..." is: "THEN DON'T!" I gently stop them; sometimes I put my hand on their arm, interrupt the thoughts that are starting to freak them out, and tell them..."then don't, don't even imagine it-just enjoy your children, live."

I realized today that what I never have imagined was what Robert's dying would teach me...how Robert's dying would change me...how Robert's dying would lead me on a journey more intense than his birth did...So, here goes-the what I NEVER IMAGINED Robert's death would teach me list:

I never would have imagined that I could...
-get out of bed and face the day ahead
-feel INVINCIBLE, instead of INVISIBLE!
-believe that if I jumped off a cliff I could do a swan dive into the water below
-laugh like my son used to until I SNORTED!
-keep running even though my tears were blinding me
-want to stay in my bathing suit all day long!
-teach
-dream again
-have faith-again
-want to dance all the time
-want to fall in love again
-want to live at all...
-realize the importance of breathing and having breath in my body
-be grateful for every morsel of hope that I muster up
-be happy about who I am
-not feel like a failure

We as adults work every day and "fight" for what we want. We have lived long enough to understand the reason we want more, what hard work gets us, how to have better things in life...We choose to love again after our hearts are broken because we know what it feels like to love in the first place; we kiss because we loved the way it felt to be kissed in the first place...Chidren like Robert fight to live even though they have never experienced any of these things. Robert fought for the CHANCE to experience life in the first place!

I think that is why I told my best friend today: "I feel steadfast and desperate at the same time!" Steadfast in the day to day living that faces me each day-yet, almost desperate to feel like I'm conquering the world! So, the next time someone says to me: "I can't imagine..." in my heart, I will smile and realize it is I who can't imagine...I could not have imagined what I was going to learn from Robert's death...

Um, yeah-I ahve a bucket list-only it's called a "Kathy List!"

Thank you son, you had no idea what you were teaching me, did you?
Peace,
Kathy

Sunday, September 13, 2009 7:18 PM CDT

The mind is a beautiful two edge sword, is it not? Mine is, for sure. I have long since come to terms with the fact that I have the memory of an elephant. The things I remember sort of freak people out-because my memory recalls things as I saw them, smelled them, felt them, and heard them. Moments play over in my mind like a movie as clear as day. People who never remember meeting me, but I remember meeting them and recount the time I met them, often get freaked out at the details I can recall. I hate to minimize the encounter, but the truth is, that’s just how my mind works it doesn’t have to be something special per say (it’s the special moments I like to cherish by choice).

Mowing my lawn always reminds me of my Dad. As I mow, I wander back to the days when he would mow the yard. I see him in his shorts and t-shirt; watch him as he meticulously worked on his yard. This memory of my Dad goes back to when I was so young. So, as I mowed the lawn today I thought of how much of my Dad I have in me; and how much of my Dad I hope I have in me. I started to think about how, as far as I was concerned, my Dad had this amazing ability to make me feel as if no matter what-everything was going to be alright. I know my Dad worried about the same things every father worried about-I know there were many years of my father’s life that were not easy. But from where I stood watching, my Dad could do no wrong-and gave me exactly what I needed. I longed for balance and peace of mind. My Dad gave me that. He showed me that no matter what, everything was going to be alright.

This morning as I recalled an incident the other day at school, I realized that in many ways I have had to become this sort of person. The kind of person that makes others feel like no matter what-everything is going to be alright. I have not always been able to live in this confidence. I spent many years fearful of many things. I also spent many years with someone who never made me feel this way. As strange as it may seem, it was my own tragedy that made me realize that no matter what, everything can be alright-even when it is all wrong!
It was dismissal time at school the other day. It’s a very chaotic time of day, especially on the kindergarten-first grade wing. Imagine a couple hundred children confused and excited and ready to go home. Every day the children who stay at our school for childcare get picked up and moved down the hall. On this day, we were running late. I have 4 children that stay after school. I sent them down the hall through the mass of children to the young lady who picks them up. She turned and looked down the hall back at me. I watched closely as she turned her head and her long ponytail swirled in the air-she smiled her beautiful smile and looked back at me giving me the thumbs up to signal she had my children and all were with her…in that moment-my mind melted into a swarm of memories. You see this young lady was one of Robert’s best friends at this very school where we all now work. In that moment, in her beautiful smile and face I remembered my son, her old friend. I saw them as children laughing and living…in that moment as I stood there in the midst of organized chaos my eyes welled up with hot tears that burned my eyes. I wanted to stand there and stare at her as she walked down the hall and just spend a moment remembering her and Robert as young friends. I realized I was holding my breath and I had children all around me. I wanted to hide in a corner, just for a moment and cry…but I couldn’t. In that moment I realized I had the responsibility of many children who counted on me to make them believe that no matter what everything was alright. Ms. Charlton could not be standing in the hall with tears streaming down her face. I fanned my face, wiped tears and remembered-my sunglasses! I put them on and in an instant I spun around and we headed out the doors to greet the parents that waited for us...

At the beach yesterday, the waves rolled in like massive walls of water. I watched as the kids jumped into them and got smashed like they were hitting a wall. We all hit walls of water that smash us like a wave when we have to face certain painful memories. No we all don’t have to face the memories of our child dying in our arms…but, we all have pain and loss that brings us to our knees. Somehow I doubt my Dad ever would have imagined that he was teaching me what he was while he was alive. I am sure he never would have thought his daughter would have to face what I have had to face in life. I know it would have broken his heart- and maybe, just maybe, it would have been the thing that made him not so sure that everything would be alright. He did not live long enough to have to worry about that part. He lived long enough to teach me what he did. He lived long enough to teach me to be strong no matter what and to never cut and run, no matter what.

So to my sweet friend who said to me this morning: “I swear, I don’t know how you do it? I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t get out of bed… I would just want to die…” she could not finish that the thought. I say: I believe you could do it-if you had to. We have enough in ourselves to do many things we never thought we were capable of. I never would have thought that I would become like my Dad.
I never thought I would be one of those people that somehow make us feel that everything is going to be alright…

Peace, Kathy

Monday, August 24, 2009 7:08 PM CDT

I am convinced school started back just in the nick of time. In the nick of time to shake me back into reality that is…

I dawned on me a couple of weekends ago that I was suffering from serious empty nest syndrome. After spending almost the entire summer home alone, it hit me. My nest felt empty. In a way, an empty nest is a beautiful thing-it means that as a parent you have done your job, raised your children and they have flown away…well, my two youngest children have not actually flown the coop-but they sure have the drill down to a science. It warms my cold heart to know that my children are so independent and can live in whatever moment they are in and are happy. They float flawlessly between their Dad’s house and our home…they spend many nights camped out with their Grandmother. For this I am very grateful and proud. I am extremely proud of how my oldest child has adjusted to her life away from home and is content, independent and brilliant. It is amazing to know that in spite of everything one’s child can thrive! And yet, me-the original independent strong-willed unstoppable woman has been stopped in her tracks lately feeling empty and … so many things.

Our school’s Open House brought with it the usual eager anticipation and anxiety as I readied myself to meet 18 new students and their families. Almost all of my students were in attendance-except for the one that is in the hospital recovering from a liver transplant. Interesting isn’t it? As I greeted each parent and student I felt my heart warm at the thought of the year ahead of me. I was excited with the newness and exuberance of my new students. Their fresh faces made me feel alive and eager to come back and teach them. Their parents were equally excited. The apprehension they felt as they sent their children to school for the first time in kindergarten was gone, and they all seemed very comfortable with me and equally excited about the school year.

As the evening began to wind down and the parents filed out-one parent pulled me aside. She needed to talk to me. As her young son played around us she began to speak. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She needed to tell me something important and there were a few parents left in the room. She began to tell me that the child in my class had a sick sibling. Her younger child has leukemia, relapsed leukemia. She spoke these words quietly, methodically as if delivering a list of allergies. She explained that her younger child spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital and that she would do everything necessary to watch how it affected her older child’s school experience. She wanted me to know so that if I saw any sort of behavior that was not typical to please tell her or her husband. I stood there looking at this brave woman. I stood there gazing into her eyes as she had this sort of pleading look on her face that revealed the anguish; yet she did not blink or even tear up…her strength was profound. I understood her strength in that moment more than she could even begin to fathom-she had no idea who she was talking to. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and hold her so tight that all the tears and fear in her poured out so that she could be renewed to face another moment of life.

I did not scoop her up in my feeble arms. Instead I gently touched her arm and began to ask her a few questions. She shared with me about her child’s treatment and diagnosis. I looked her right in the eyes and told her I had a child with leukemia-I know her doctors, I know her treatment protocol…we locked eyes, and she knew I understood her strength and fear all at the same time. She asked if my son had leukemia-she asked if he was a survivor. She did not even blink when I told her no-he had not survived. She said, “I’m so sorry…” I asked her to please call me when we could really talk. I gave her my number and told her I wanted to be able to listen to everything. There were more parents coming in to the room…her sense of urgency to share with me about her two boys I understood.

I was speechless.

I had no words, yet knew exactly what to say. I stood in my classroom and greeted the next wave of children and parents with as much exuberance as I had the others before our conversation. I sucked it up and took a deep breath. I hugged and shook hands-I smiled and found words to say to each child that came through the door. I sent the mom with the cancer child on her way home to her world that is out of control-out of normalcy.

I thought of that mom all weekend awaiting her phone call. I thought of the grace and dignity she exhibited as she boldly shared her story feeling it pertinent to her child’s school experience and realizing she had a sense of urgency in telling her child’s teacher because she did not know when she might be able to have that chance to speak to me face to face again. She was so full of grace. Her voice was gentle and soft and thoughtful. There was no impatience, no anger –she was so present in that moment she could probably remember what I was wearing. I understood all of this about her. When I was in her shoes, I remember taking in every word that was spoken, every moment as if I was trying to freeze time and rearrange it into some sort of normalcy that made sense. Yet, when your child has cancer and relapses and you are faced with the decisions that go with such a scenario, there is nothing normal and nothing makes sense. She had the kind of courage that made you feel brave-the kind of courage that you realize is making you feel better when you’re the one who should be making her feel better! Her strength and dignity formed a grace that covered all of it…covered all the chaos, the pain, the helplessness-the despair. I do not know much about this woman-but I do know that she has a heart of faith that passes understanding. I saw it. Maybe that is what I wanted to squeeze out of her. Maybe I wanted to squeeze out of her that bit of whatever it was she had that I once had before Robert died-when I still had hope; when I believed beyond anything that anything was possible. Maybe I wanted to impart to her some of the strength that I now wear as armor to get through my days…

This meeting led me to recount the moments when I have to share my story with others. When I have to make the decision, “Do I tell them or not?” The truth is, I don’t tell everyone Robert’s story. I take a moment when I meet someone and decide-“Is this person gonna be around long enough to need to know my story?” Is it worth telling them my story to face that awkward silence that goes along with them standing there with their mouth gaping open as they try to decipher what I just said and figure out what they should say to me…? If I take the time to tell you, if I ever take the time to talk about Robert to you, know this-you are important to me and I just shared my most important feeling with you. If I share with you about my son-it means I plan on keeping you as my friend…it also means that I am feeling particularly brave -and believe me, you never know what you are going to hear from someone when you tell them that you had a child with cancer who died…

I recently asked a few other mothers what they have heard over the years…their responses were along these lines:
-only the good die young (please do not quote Billy Joel to a grieving mother)
-at least you got to say goodbye…my personal favorite-NOT
-how long are you gonna be so sad
-at least you have other children-that’s a good one!
-was your child saved?
-God must have needed him more than you
-its about time you got yourself together
-saying NOTHING-ignoring it…
I could write pages about each of these responses and get really sassy with my comments in rebuttal to them, but I will not. I know it is not easy when you are face to face with one of us-a mother whose child has died-or even whose child has cancer. I, we, understand…but for goodness sake, if you do not know what to say, try something like: “I’m so sorry-is there anything I can do?” or I get this one a lot: “I can’t imagine!” I also get: “I can’t even begin to think about it…I’m sorry.” For me, at least admitting your inability to comprehend or verbalize how you feel does not diminish my pain or loss-it almost makes me feel a little more human. Hell-I’m living it and do not know what to say most of the time! We feel so numb and almost inhuman from the loss that realizing other humans feel helpless helps just a bit. You can’t fix it, undo it, or change anything…if we’ll let you, hug us-shed a tear with us for just a moment and let us feel and show our pain; and please do not be afraid of us and our pain-that only makes us feel further away from the normalcy of the human race. We have to learn to live with it, not you.

One day I may have the privilege of falling in love again. I may have the privilege of having someone who shares life with me and loves me more than anything…and guess what-even they cannot erase the pain that I will carry with me all the days of my life. The loved ones around me have grown somewhat accustomed to my unpredictable tears-the soft-sided parts of me that overcome my confident unstoppable personality. They hug me, or get me a tissue-they watch the tears fall down my face in silence and hold my hand…they know there are no words-they know that it is okay that there are no words.
So, even as I faced a woman whose shoes I had stood in before-I knew that though I may be well-versed in the subject of her pain-my words would only be a feeble attempt at reaching her. Even though each day in class when this student talks about his sibling’s leukemia and the hospital and doctors and it hurts my heart so much, I find the words-or no words-and just listen.

I will end this page with a story-a story of a moment that saved my life. It was Wednesday morning Feb. 7, 2001-it was 8:15 a.m. I was getting Matthew ready for preschool-had just dropped the older children off at school. The phone rang and it was the doctor I had never met calling to tell me Robert had leukemia…yes, that is true-over the phone. As I paced in circles around my house saying: “oh my God, oh dear God…” over and over again calling Jeff, calling my Mom, calling the neighbor whose child I was supposed to take to school-calling Robert’s school…my front door burst open! In ran my friend whose child I was supposed to take to preschool-I was on the phone-she ran to me, she scooped me up in her arms and held me so tight I don’t think my feet were on the ground…she cried a bit, her strength and courage to reach out to me and grab hold of me in that moment, saved my life. Her touch kept me alive for a long time…I have never, ever forgotten that moment. Do you hear what I am saying-her touch kept me alive.

I hope to never have to face my fears alone like that again-I hope that if I ever do, someone is close by to scoop me up and keep me alive for that moment. I hope that if someone I know ever faces that kind of fear, I am there to scoop them up and keep them alive-even if only for a moment. I hope that even if it is in my look- in my words-or in my touch…I hope they know that they are loved.

Peace, Kathy
My friend who saved me that day, her name is Angel.

Sunday, July 12, 2009 11:34 AM CDT

Who knew the plain old ordinary month in the middle of the year could be so serpentine? I am fully aware that I can only speak for myself. This month presented itself in the usual manner. July brings the usual hot, humid, rainy weather-it is hurricane season, going to the beach, family vacations, barbecues, sunsets…I realized, my soul began to feel as if it was in its own sort of hurricane season last week. I was a little perplexed. I did my typical assessment of what could be bringing about the wave of emotional heaviness that I was feeling: Let’s see- 1. I am a girl-check; 2. The kids, nah-the kids are all home and safe-not the kids; 3. My finances-well, they are exactly as they should be, null and void-check; 3. It is July, not Christmas, not Robert’s birthday or deathday. Wait a just a cotton pickin’ minute, now we’re talking…July is the beginning of the end of many things in my world. I had forgotten. This month is so conveniently woven into the middle of the year with no major holidays in it…right?

Wrong! July in my world is a landmark month.Who cares right? Well, no one really, except me-and Robert if he were still alive. July is chocked full of signifant dates for me. Let’s see…Um, well I was married in July, subsequently divorced in July-and my oldest son had a bone marrow transplant in July! Gee, I get it now—ding, ding, ding-the light bulb just lit up in my head! I was cruising along just fine this month happily singing and dancing my way through summer - actually having a summer. My days were full of choices like: shall I go to the beach, or pull weeds, put on my ipod and dance around while I clean the house or do the laundry, play on the computer or watch t.v. and be a slug all day long-decisions, decisions.Then it happened. I watched something that triggered so many memories of Robert I cried for 2 hours! The kids just sort of looked at me and Christina tried to talk to me, but really-there are no words when a mother smashes into that wall of pain. You have to just let it flow…and flow… and flood the room if necessary. It is a sort of train wreck with no brakes. Then I read an email from an old friend-it happened again-I sobbed and sobbed as I read the words on the page before me. The pain and anguish of many people in my life washed over me as if I was trying wash away their pain with my own tears. I wanted to take on all the burdens of anything or anyone I knew that was hurting because I felt since I had survived losing Robert than I can take on their pain too.

Somehow the images of Robert at St. Jude are still so vivid in my mind it's as if I am still there with him. Dwelling on these images was my first mistake. They were his final days and his final hope. I etched them in my mind even though my heart was so torn during that time I do not know how I remembered anything. Jeff and I were struggling so much. He and I co-existed with a distance between us it was palpable. Make no mistake about it, Jeff and I were a force to be reckoned with. We were sort of like a power couple that owned a kingdom-our kingdom was our children and our mission was to save Robert. I struggled with all the struggles of my other 3 children. We had been torn from our family cocoon- it was so hard on all of us. We did the best we could. It burdened me day and night. During those months leading up to Robert’s death, most days I felt as if the skin on my back was being peeled off…in our own way Jeff and I were in survival mode. Jeff was in his world; I was in mine… that was a tragedy in itself. We celebrated our anniversary in the hospital that year. Jeff made me a paper cut out of a cake and a big sign that he plastered on the door on the bone marrow floor. He did his best, we both did. We were so empty and distant from each other…

Another mistake I made to trigger the dam opening was watching a movie. Have you seen “Seven Pounds?” Well, unless you have a very strong heart and mind, do not watch it. I was muddling through it sort of half paying attention, than right before my eyes I see a beautiful bald little boy. I had not seen the scenes prior, but in that moment I knew what was coming. I knew that boy had cancer and was in need of a bone marrow transplant. You know when you are looking at something that you should not be looking at, but you can’t turn away? Well, that was me…staring at the t.v. Watching Will Smith’s character begin to wince…I realize he is having bone marrow drawn from his hip…the doctor makes a comment about how painful it is, I recognize the large syringe full of his marrow…I freak out! I mean I completely lose it once again for the 3rd time in 2 days! I begin to remember that a young man went through the very same procedure to try to save my young son’s life. I began to remember how that same young man had already agreed to donate more marrow if necessary when they thought Robert’s marrow had not engrafted…some young man out there had the life sucked out of his hip for my son…seven years later the movie “Seven Pounds” was reminding me of this fact.

Does that young man know Robert died? I asked them if I could have his name to tell him thank you…they said that was “never gonna happen.” They do not give out that information, understandably so…they said that if Robert lived they would tell the donor. I remembered how they were so excited with the match they had found for Robert. The match was a young man in his early 20’s. He had the same blood type and was a close cross match to Robert…I wonder if he knows. I wonder if that young man knows that 7 years later there is a mother thinking about him and trusting that he is flourishing. He may have a son of his own by now. I hope he does not know that Robert died. I would not want him to know. He knew that he was donating marrow for an 11 year old boy to have a chance to live-that is all he needs to know… Can you imagine?

“Why all the rambling today, Kath?” “What is your point?” you ask. I am not really sure what my point is. Maybe that is the point. Maybe I just wanted to be reminded about how none of us knows what an ordinary month crammed in the middle of the year could mean to someone. We all get so caught up in our lives and losses and rightfully so. In a weird way I am grateful I had the meltdown I have had the past few days. I am grateful that my heart is still soft and mushy and melts at the sight of a loved one, and cries when the anguish of another is revealed.

Maybe in some strange way I just wanted to show “someone” that might look at my life and think I have it all together, that really I don’t have it together- I am a train wreck in the month of July! Do any of us have it all together? Do any of us really ever want to have it all together? For me, IF having it all together means not crying when someone I love is suffering, than kill me now. I do not have my life together that is for sure; and I most certainly do not have all the answers-please don’t tell my children! The only thing I do have is my secret weapon-Robert’s death and surviving it makes me realize that I will live. Maybe you are being flooded right now by something. Maybe you are living with pain that overwhelms you so much you cannot breathe or see straight. For what it is worth, if I can survive, believe me you can too. Somehow the only way through the dog days of life when they are painful, is to just keep moving forward…before you know it, you would have managed to make it through. Dig deep, there might be a secret weapon in your world that you have not tapped into yet. Find it, dig deep, breathe and then LIVE!

Peace, Kathy

**Please look at the picture of Robert on the photo page.

Thursday, June 25, 2009 10:34 AM CDT

Have I ever mentioned the family business? My family is in the Salvage business. It is the kind of business that gets in a person’s blood. Once infected you cannot escape its grasp. It dawned on me recently that I am in the family business too.

I have been thinking a lot about demolition. I know demolition is not the same thing as salvage. I am well versed in the area of demolition, utter destruction-complete annihilation. I have been thinking about this aspect of my life for some time now. As a kid growing up, I watched my grandfather tear apart a building bit by bit scraping, digging, ripping, and tearing at the core of a structure to salvage any morsel of worthiness from it. At the onset, a salvage job can be pretty straight forward. What you see in front of you is what you pay for and hope to make your money back reselling it. I learned very early on, that when my family bought a job, they not only bought the obvious things in the scenario, but all that was hidden deep within. I visited many job sites-I even worked on a few. My brother would give me the tools I needed and set me to a certain task-I would work until the entire section I was to strip was complete. It was very cool.

In salvage work you never know what you are going to unearth. That is what makes it so exciting. It is what is supposed to happen in life. In life, you are supposed to build a structure that is so sound you can tear at it, rip it apart piece by piece and the shell that is left should still be able to stand alone. Every single day bits and pieces of us are taken away, sometimes shredded and we are left feeling so hollow that we are near destruction. Just like those buildings when my family was finished with them.

I realized that I have suffered the reverse of this process twice. Robert’s cancer was a complete destruction of a human body. We fought hard to salvage his body-he fought hard to salvage his body. In the end, the cancer demolished my son. Death was the ultimate annihilator-it was the ultimate destroyer. Death left no remains to sift through. Or so I thought. Or so it would seem…

I have come to realize that though my son’s body was demolished by cancer-I , as his mother, have learned to salvage the life that was my son’s. I made a decision a long time ago not to let his demolished life lie in a pile of rubble and forget the sheer magnitude of his short life. That boy lived-he loved-he laughed…to sift through and learn from the rubble of his death(life) has been the most worthwhile mission of my life.

I felt demolished again from divorce. Another “D” word. Do you see a theme here? Demolition, Death, Divorce-dare I say-Damn! What an equation-Death=demolition; Divorce=demolition. Man, a double whammy. The death of a relationship can definitely destroy a person-any person. It is true, no matter how you cut it; divorce is the complete destruction of a significant part of a person’s life. It can leave one with nothing but rubble to sift through. Many choose not to even sift through the rubble. They ignore the ruins of their life and move on. I believe when you have children choosing this path can lead to true destruction. Obviously, with divorce, if there are children involved they are the most important part to be salvaged. As an adult I had to make a choice to put myself to the side and salvage my children’s lives first. That was my choice - that was what was obvious to me.

After Robert died, I sort of took the whole terminator mode I was in and realized my failing marriage was dead too. I figured it was the time to completely let it all be destroyed…I did not anticipate how much work it would be to salvage. I realized that in one way or another, everything in life gets buried-either literally buried in the dirt like Robert’s body-or buried in our souls. I took all that was buried within me and allowed it to be demolished. It was as if I let all the grass in my life die with Robert.

Now you know when all of these thoughts started-last spring. Each day I watched my yard drying and shriveling up into nothing salvageable. It was so bizarre for me to watch as my once beautifully landscaped yard shriveled up into weeds demolished by the sun. I just let it go. I had to. I had no choice. I am glad I let it all die. I am also glad that I let everything in my own life die as well. I had to let it all die, or be demolished, to find anything worth salvaging.

One very hot, dry day when I was in my backyard, I found a piece of building material. I stood there looking at the dead grass and the piece of metal. It was a piece of something that had been buried for over 7 years; a piece of something that would never have been found unless everything was dead. I grabbed hold of that piece and pulled it up until I found the end of it and realized all this time it had been buried there covered in the grass…never to be seen until my yard was completely demolished. I stared at that piece of crap. I realized that no matter what we do, how we cover it up or how destroyed we may be or feel-there is something alive buried inside. At that moment I looked at my house. I looked at the very room that was built for my son, the very room he died in…I realized that I have spent the past 7 years salvaging a family from destruction. We were demolished…we were demolished as individuals and collectively.

Somehow we have managed to take a house that was destroyed by death and divorce and the heat of life-and turn it into a home. We have home that does not give off the stench of bitterness, and anger, and sadness; we have a home full of love, kindness, laughter, generosity and peace.

I never wanted to grow up and be in the family business. I always wanted to blaze my own trail into life. Who knew, the family business would save my family-who knew? Who knew that after cancer destroyed our family and demolish one of us, there would be such goodness to be unearthed in the rubble? It took some time, it took a lot of tears, and a heck of a lot of courage for each of us to unearth the goodness that we now share. I hope my children never have to face the destruction that their mother has faced in life. But, this I know-it is in them to salvage their lives. They too are in the family business.

We are all facing being demolished in one way or another. Everywhere we turn there is so much pain, and loss…loss of income, divorce, death-the three greatest destroyers in life. I wonder: Will you try to salvage what you can? Or will the goodness remain buried in the rubble forever…? I am not sure how much goodness there is within me, but I now know that it was in the demolition of my life I found myself.

Ah.I wonder?

Peace. Kathy

Friday, May 8, 2009 2:23 PM CDT

Mother’s Day approaches…

For a woman in my position, this holiday tends to offer the same sort of potential disaster as say-Valentine’s Day. Both holidays are meant to melt a woman’s heart-right? Well, let the melting, or rather the meltdown begin…

I do ask myself, “Does the world really care after all this time, that I live with a gaping hole in my heart that hurts all the time?” I can answer that question almost as quickly as I ask it, the answer is: “No.”; and that is okay with me. Most of the time, I don’t even want to be reminded of it!

The other day a co-worker/friend looked at me and said, “I’ll tell you this: I don’t know how you do it? I don’t know how you live…you make it all look so EASY-you make living life look so easy that I forget what has happened…” She went on to say, “I think I would have shot myself!” I was a bit stunned at her declaration. It was a strange sort of compliment or flattery. Her honesty really touched my heart. The fact that she spoke so freely in a room full of our colleagues (we were in the lunchroom) also touched my heart. She knew Robert pretty well when he was here-she knows all the Charlton children. Her observation made my heart ache and smile all at the same time. I realized after listening to my co-worker, I had achieved a goal I never thought I would have to even consider in life-surviving my worst nightmare and the most unimaginable loss a mother can endure.

As a woman, and a mother, navigating life these past several years has been a challenge. I can honestly say I NEVER expected to be a divorcee; and I NEVER expected to bury my child. The first challenge is one that way too many people face, and is so common, many can relate to it. The second challenge-well, who really wants to ever have to be in the position to understand this one? The truth is I have a secret weapon. I suppose I should say it is my faith, or the fact that I have 3 amazing children that keep me going every single day of my life…but my secret weapon comes in the form of the very thing which challenged me the most-Robert’s illness and death.

Each of my children know how their births changed my life so profoundly-Robert has no idea how he changed my life so profoundly-he did not live long enough to be mature enough to hear the stories of his birth and such…when he was born I was scared - a little stunned - and not ready to be his mother. Jessica, well, she was my first born-for the first 14 months of her life the sun and moon rose over the two of us encapsulating us in a world of pure bliss as mother and child…Christina, well, I tell her that she saved my heart and soul and her birth created a rebirth of my own. Matthew, ah-he was a light in a dark tunnel and continues to brighten my world every single day. Robert never knew of my fear of him. He was so much larger in life than any fear that could have been looming in my heart.

It was Robert’s diagnosis and ultimate demise that created a Mother out of me. The twinkle in his eye when I would come to see him at school; the way he needed me like he needed no other while he was sick; comforting him as he fought for his life and walking him to death’s door, gave me courage that I NEVER could have known existed deep within me otherwise. This is the well from which I draw daily to live now. I have become one those great mysteries in life-a mother who lives day to day with a smile on her face freely loving, hugging and trying to make a dent in this world. I want to live as I watched Robert live during his life. I want to hold a hand without shame, never refuse a hug and a kiss, laugh out loud so that others want to know what you are laughing about…I want to make others feel accepted and glad to be alive. I want to not moan and groan about the adversities that bog me down-I want to push through whatever sort of pain I am facing with such determination that the pain vanishes into the night…

I have come to the realization that as mothers we are like an egg. We have these shells that are really pretty darn tough on the exterior, but we are complete mush and goobly gop on the inside. It takes a really good whack or just the right tap to crack us open. We are lined with a membrane that holds it all together. I have wondered about this shell that surrounds me many, many times. I feel as if the membrane that binds all of me together is ripping at times…I also realized that since Robert died and my family shattered-my insides were contemplating becoming hard boiled!

This year, as my heart aches for so many mothers who now live in this realm that I dwell in, I am hoping that these mothers find their secret weapon. I hope that they find a way to dig deep and be brave enough to allow the memory of their dead children inspire them to live each day with the same tenacity that they fought their disease with. As tragic as it is, we mothers who lost children to a disease such as cancer had one benefit that a mother who lost their child to an accident might not have had-we saw how they fought to live. I may have watched as Robert's body decayed - swelling, hardening, breaking - being destroyed piece by piece from cancer... But in some twisted way, for me, this has become a source of courage from which I draw strength… It is my hope for my friends who are facing their first Mother’s Day without their children that they will in time be able to find a way to balance how and when they can remember their child. Remembering how they lived and fought for their life…I am hoping that they are not becoming hard boiled on the inside and fight hard to not give in to the ever-tempting comfort of bitterness and anger.

My school day ended in tears for me today. I managed to make it to the end of my day with hardly a tear…even when I pulled out my old Mother’s Day cards to show my class as an example and found the last one from Robert, I hardly cried…just a tear came to my eye as I read: “Happy Mother’s Day Mom.” The front of the card had a picture of Robert glued there, he had folded it and hidden underneath the picture was a big red heart with a winking eye. On the inside he had drawn a rainbow and clouds and wrote…”One day when I was dyianosed with cancer my mom was there for me. When I was scared she was there, most of all when I miss her I see her in my heart.” Little did he know that this very card would become a collection, or rather part of an arsenal, that would give his mother courage beyond measure to make living life look easy…But, by the end of car duty I was done. I was melting fast. The tears were coming on fast and furiously. I whispered to my friend and co-worker, “I have to go inside…” One more, “Happy Mother’s Day!” or hug from a brown eyed-boy and I was going down fast-the melt down was in full throttle and I needed some time to chill out…the sunglasses did not come off until I reached my room! Funny, I think that the custodian who empties my trash is getting used to me sitting at my computer with tears streaming down my face!

So, there you have it. It seems that I have become like the mother I stared at in Sears so many years ago. The mother who I had heard about her daughter dying in a car accident…the mother that I watched wondering how she got out of bed in the morning, let alone work a job that required her to be nice to people…it seems I have become one of them. A mother living out her worst nightmare all while she tries to desperately cling to the present and see the dreams of life come to fruition as well.

God it sucks at times.

I have been thinking a lot about the dream where Robert told me, “It’s all empty Mom-isn’t it? There are no more days…?” I am convinced Robert understood his attempts to beat his cancer were empty-he knew all that he had done had failed…he knew there were no more days. But, in that dream his quiet tears streaming down his cheeks gave me courage to live out my days to the fullest just as he would have.

Moms, fight hard not to become hard boiled on the inside. I know it is not easy-remember our children taught us well.

Peace,
Kathy

Happy Mother’s Day!

Monday, April 27, 2009 3:03 PM CDT

One of my favorite parts of being a Mom is remembering the births of each of my children. I always marvel at how whenever I find myself in a setting getting to know other Moms we all begin to share the stories of our labors and deliveries. It sort of cracks me up how this happens. Each story is unique and interesting. I know in my own family, my children love to hear the story of their arrival into this world. They will sit and listen to it every year on their birthday as if I am telling them the story “Twas the Night Before Christmas…”

Today is the “Twas the Night before What Would Have Been Robert’s 18th Birthday!” I was just telling his birth story to Christina yesterday. His story has come up a couple of times in the past week for one reason or another…how he was born on his due date-how he was the smallest of my babies at 8lbs. 6 oz; how the umbilical cord was wrapped twice around his neck so tight that I knew if he had grown a few more ounces he would have suffocated…how he looked like a little old man-Mr. Magoo in fact.

Robert, from the moment you were born to the moment you died, you took me on the most amazing of journeys. It was as if you sensed my trepidation and fear about having my second child so soon after my first, as if you knew I was not ready for a son and wanted only to have more time alone with my baby girl…you would not stand for this. Robert your older sister being born was the beginning of my cold heart warming up, but your arrival into this world was the beginning of me becoming a woman of fortitude and courage.

Son, I have thought many, many times this past year what life would be like in our household if you were here. You would be a senior in high school. God only knows that my nights would be spent watching your games and doing your laundry—I would be feeding a plethora of hungry teenage boys and probably some girls as there is not doubt that you would be surrounded by both! Your younger siblings would watch as you would dazzle the world with your simple easy-going way and marvel at your charm. You would be center stage. You always managed to be center stage, but you know what Robert, though you brought home all the trophies and were loved by so many, you were not the least bit proud. You manner was so smooth and matter of fact that it warmed others and made them feel good about themselves instead of alienating them.

Your laughter and smile were infections. I know it warmed the emptiest heart I ever knew-my own.

I wonder have you noticed the collection I have been keeping this past year. Apparently, there are those who think you are still alive. Have you heard, the Marines want you, The National Guard wants you, there are several technical schools waiting for you to enroll…and yes, even a collection agency is trying to collect money from you! I have to say, the tux company who sent you the offer of a free tux for Prom was one of my favorites. At least once a week you get mail.

The tracking you down started last summer. I remember the day the collection agency called. I was really angry at first, the woman was so rude and when she read me the dates of the lab work that she was trying to collect on it pierced my heart straight through. Soon after that the mail started arriving for you. At first it seemed so bizarre. I mean you have not received any mail at our home in years, than all of a sudden you came back to life as your would-be senior year arrived. Did I mention the request to add you to the “Who’s Who in America’s High Schools”? Now that one was crazy…I started saving these fliers.

At first, I kept your mail my little secret. Then one day I showed your older sister your mail. I told her I had been collecting it for some time. She said, “Mom that is just creepy and weird. Why would you keep it…?” I told her it may be creepy, but in some strange way even a computer generated mailing keeping you alive was better than nothing! She rolled her eyes and again commented on it being creepy. I have not kept every piece of mail. Just the ones that were particularly interesting to me. I was even tempted to phone up the Marines and the National Guard and ask them how they thought they should handle the interview! Now that might actually have been amusing—can’t you just hear the phone conversation: “Um hello, I am calling on behalf of my son Robert Charlton. You sent him a request to join your group. I would like to schedule an interview for him but he is a little indisposed at this time!”

At least I do not have to worry about you going off to war. I would have loved watching all of your sporting events and watching you fall in love for the first time…I would have loved it as you grew and towered over me, no doubt you would have loved teasing your little ol’ Mom relentlessly as you plunged into manhood…

You came to life again most recently when your younger brother shaved his hair. I stood looking out the front window staring at your brother sitting with your old friends from the neighborhood. He laughed and put his head back in a way that you would have. He looked so much like you that I let myself for just that minute stop and pretend it was you. I stood there in our home, peering out the window gazing at you as you were when you left.

So today, on the night before your birthday I will allow myself to indulge a bit more. Today I have chosen to imagine you as a young man. In my heart and mind you are frozen in that medium sized body of the 11 year old boy…but, for just this moment I will dream a little. I will imagine you at 6 ft. tall. I will see your much larger frame and your manly hands. I will try to hear what you might sound like, I will see your eyes sparkle and watch you smile and laugh. I will imagine what might be your favorite sport and if you are still drawing and in love with our oceans. I will imagine you whole and strong; smart and witty; loving and friendly. I will picture you going to prom all dressed up and so proud.

I have dreaded this day in many ways for some time. Eighteen and senior year mark such a milestone in our community. It is as if the thread that has tied you to this world-a sort of invisible umbilical cord-will be severed. The mail for you will no longer arrive at our house. The milestones that this year represents will pass and life will go on. Your sweet friends that have indulged me and let me hug them a little longer and gaze at them reflecting on your life will grow up and move away. Their lives will continue and just as time stopped your life almost 7 years ago; it will stop what little indulgences of living I have left of you…

On your birthday we will gather together. Robert, many of the people who knew you so well and loved you dearly will gather as we honor your favorite teacher. Mr. McMahon is to be honored. It is a very special thing for me as your mother to know that your teacher who meant so much to you will be honored on your birthday. This brings a unique honor to your memory. I know you would be proud of him and I know you would have always been so proud of your days here at our little school.

Happy Birthday Son! On this day I will imagine you larger than life as I knew you would have become had you lived. I will think of you as a handsome, strong young man with a twinkle in your eye. Maybe chocolate cupcakes with vanilla icing are in order…just for you.

I love and miss you Robert.

Always-“Robert’s Mom”

Thursday, January 15, 2009 4:34 PM CST

Yesterday afternoon I tried to tackle a beast of my own-running the Lake Worth bridge. It was cool and drizzling, but I was determined...I needed to beat something down.

As I trudged over the last leg of my run-the rain began to pour down on me; it grew colder...my eyes filled with tears as I ran and thought of Zachary. I began to pray for him, I decided to plead his case one more time-praying that he would be completely healed and free is his disease. I began to remember how I lived those last days with Robert-tracing the shapes of his hand and his head to remember all the details of his form...I began to remember details about Zachary. My heart was pounding and my legs burning but I fought hard against that hill and rain as if in some way I could outrun death for Zachary...

My efforts did not work on young Zachary's behalf. There is no outrunning death when it comes for you. That is what my faith has taught me.

Zachary left this earth today, January 15th at 2:45 p.m. His parents call it their "Final Miracle". It was peaceful, lovely and they were all there by his side as he left.

It dawned on me a couple of minutes ago that Robert must have been waiting for him to arrive. Robert would have greeted his old (young) friend with a warm hug, loving smile and I am sure made Zachary feel welcomed...

Zachary, we will miss you dearly. Your parents are beginning the most difficult journey they will face, because this journey they must face without you here...You taught us well. In your lifetime you taught so many of us how to live...

Your smiling face that adorns the cherished wall of kid pictures on the refrigerator will always be there to remind us of how you lived-the bracelet you gave me as a gift after Robert died is now even more of a treasure-the note you wrote to Robert telling him you were going to beat cancer for him, will become as priceless to us as a Rembrandt is to the art world.

Zachary Finestone-we loved you dearly.

Peace,
Kathy

P.S.
Please visit the Finestone's page:
www.caringbridge.org/fl/zacharyfinestone

Wednesday, January 7, 2009 1:43 PM CST

Hello.

A new day, a new year.

As you know, I am close friends with the Finestones. It has been my privelege to watch Zachary grow and live these past 8+ years.

Before I headed home from school for the day yesterday, I checked to read if Scott had posted an update to his page. I read each word and took in all the moments that Scott was putting on that page. In school this year we are teaching our primary aged students a new writing program. The main focus is to teach them how to zoom in on a "Small Moment" and write about it. I teach them every day how to zoom in and bring that moment to life so that we can feel as if we are experiencing it with them.

After reading Scott's writing of the moments he shared with his son, I realized that is exactly what he was doing with his words. He takes us right there with them. He leads us to Zach's bedside and allows us into that realm that is rarely visited in real life by the masses. As Scott talks about his conversations and feelings and Zach's hopes and dreams and fight to live-we are right there with him.

We are so priviledged to be allowed into that realm. It is a gift.

I thought about how strange it is for me on this side of that reality-to be reading the account of my friends' journey. A journey that I myself went on with my own son. It really hit me that I too tried to paint a picture and bring so many into the realm of my son's illness and death that most would never experience in life. For me it was an honor to share the journey-it was an honor that anyone would want to dive into that realm and so many truly appreciated it, got to know perfect strangers (my family and my son) and joined us in the fight for his life.

Now I am on the outside looking in taking in the moments that are painted on a page that will become an accounting of a person's life that seems to be ending way before it should. Even though I have "been where they are", I still read with an aching heart and with such hope that in a moment Zach will be completely healed and his "good" days will become his new life.

As I walked home I called Scott and left him a message. I told him how much I appreciated that he took the time to bring us to Zach's bedside and shared the small moments of intimate conversations that he shared with his son. That is a great priveledge and I wanted him to know that I realized it and appreciated that he was sharing that with the world.

Everywhere these days we are slammed with harsh cold horrible realities. Some created for entertainment, others are tragedies that unfold and literally explode in our faces. The reality of what the Finestones are going through is truly a tragic horrible reality. Yet, as we read this account, or at least as I read this account, I am becoming more compassionate, quiet and still...I am trying to understand a little bit more about peace and love and patience...their reality is changing me.

Change is painful, change is inevitable, change is good.

My oldest child moved away from home this past weekend. Packing up the room that was built for Robert and cleaning out the life of another child from that space was a little eerie. Her vacancy from my world has definitely brought up some buried emotions and pain. I have had to remind myself more than once that she is only a short distance away and will come back again...

Peace,
Kathy

P.S.
Sunday there will be a fundraiser held to help the Finestones with their journey. It will be held in Stuart at a local restaurant. Please go to ConnorMoran.org for all the information. It is $25 per person donation-all money will raised will be for the family-you will receive brunch and can go to the Stuart Boat Show as well. Hope to see you there!

Wednesday, December 31, 2008 6:52 AM CST

I hate to sound negative, but I am very happy to bid 2008 farewell. I have been up sleeplessly thinking of all the events of this past year. Many, many wonderful things have happened…that is for sure. I suppose I should focus on the positive-maybe that is a good place for me to start this page this morning.

Let’s see-there were 2 beautiful babies added to my family in 2008-a healthy baby boy and a healthy baby girl-a truly wonderful blessing. My oldest child graduated high school and started college. I started a new school year and my youngest child started middle school. I have much to be thankful I know.

However, this morning I could not sleep as I laid in bed feeling the weight of the pain of so many families that are suffering and knowing that 2008 has been their worst nightmare.

I watch as we as humans continue to desperately search for happiness and peace. Most of us managed to muster some “Christmas Spirit” and are truly in a “good place.” Yet, I cannot help to focus on the pain that seems to be drowning so many…so many are broken-financially broke, broken in spirit and even in thought. My heart aches, my head aches---I am beginning to feel that the burdens of the world are even more than God can stand. I cannot imagine how He knows where to begin these days…which fire to put out or which broken heart to mend first. I am so glad I am not God…I can barely handle being a Mom!

As I pondered the state of affairs for a very dear family who is suffering right this moment, I decided to “blame it on MTV.” My sweet friends, the Finestones, have been struggling and fighting cancer for so long. Their son Zachary has been fighting cancer for 9 years. It is apparent that his fight is at the end of the journey. His cancer has been relentless. Scott, Zach’s Dad, has faithfully led all of us into the dark and sometimes very dreary journey for many years now. Of course all of Zach’s journey has not been dark and dreary, unfortunately it seems to me that some folks choose to focus on that part of the journey.

I read Scott’s last posting on Zach’s page. I went to add an entry into their guestbook, as I know how wonderful it is to hear from people who are kind enough to read, and I stopped. I read something a little disturbing. A parent who would not even sign their name was imploring my sweet friends to change what they are doing for their son and let him die in peace! Well, my blood boiled. At that moment in time it was actually a good thing that person had not included their name…they would have gotten an ear full from me!

I feel as if SOME people read these pages like they watch reality t.v.! I have news for those who do not know the difference between reality t.v. and reality---you do not get to vote or judge a parent who is brave enough to share their story with the world! I am appalled that anyone who reads these pages thinks that because they read here and this is a public forum, they have a say in a child’s care or treatment!

I rarely give advice. I just ramble. Well, read my rambling—please spread the gentle nudge of Kathy—um, even as a mother who has watched her child die from cancer, I do not and cannot tell anyone how to bury a loved one. My best friend’s mother just died, I have known her my entire life and we have lived through so much tragedy and even knowing all that I know, it is not my place to tell her how to deal with the death of her mother. I can support her, listen to her, love her unconditionally and I can be her friend.

As the new year approaches, I hope that we can remember that reality t.v. is not reality-our realities are much more raw and painful and remember the Finestones are not being paid for their public display of their heartache—Scott writes for his own sanity, and because he is brave enough to open up his story to the world. I have to tell you, I am not as trusting anymore. I have learned to carefully choose my words that go into the public domain.

The reality of my sweet friends plight is that their son is waning fast. They are struggling financially and they are suffering a deep pain that few can even begin to comprehend. I came up with this imagery to give you a glimpse into their world. Ready? Okay, here goes---take your present circumstance-I am referring to your financial state of affairs. I do not know anyone who is not struggling right now-even my “rich” friends are hurting—now, go out to the garage, choose the biggest hammer you can find-have someone take that hammer and smash your “good hand” with it-you know that hand that does everything for you…okay, now that you are writhing in pain and your hand that you rely on for everything is smashed to smithereens-that horrible pain you are feeling-well that is a taste of what the Finestones are feeling. Their pending financial gloomy situation has not changed, but the intense level of intense pain has exponentially increased! Got it? I hope so…

So, if you ever feel the need to dole out advice to a family in such a crisis as my sweet friends the Finestones, do this humble mother a favor-send them a check instead!!! Send them some cash-send them something tangible that might actually help their life and not cause them more pain!

I have high hopes for the new year. I am grateful to our Heavenly Father for Zachary doing as well as he is and for the joy he is experiencing. He continues to live-our prayers have been answered. I pray that each new day brings the hope of a new year, a new feeling, a new or renewed love…hope springs eternal.

My rambling this morning may seem a bit out of character-and I hope the spirit with which I wrote my words shines through. Thank you for reading along-and thank you for supporting families in the world of cancer by reading and loving us as perfect strangers. Happy New Year!

Peace,
Kathy
**Please visit:
www.caringbridge.org/fl/zacharyfinestone

Friday, December 26, 2008 9:19 PM CST

“There are some things in life that still amaze me, but nothing in life that surprises me.”
--me

When I said this to my ex-mother-in-law a couple of days before Christmas, I was thinking about how amazed I was with certain things in life. I still believe that miracles happen and how there are many times that I am amazed at life’s comings and goings…as I said those words I was reflecting about how amazed I was at the recovery of my best friend’s mother as she battled the treacherous treatment for lymphoma.

My sweet friend’s mother had been recently diagnosed with lymphoma; she had a tumor in the center of her chest. She was so frail and weak from the battle that she was going in and out of the CCU of the hospital; the hospital staff had come to call her the “Miracle”. They could not believe her stamina…

I continue to be amazed with Zachary Finestone. I amazed at his graciousness when we come to visit; yet his tenacity and determination do not surprise me, as Zman is a master at fighting for his life.

I am grateful to God that Zachary continues here with us. I am saddened to say that yesterday my sweet friend’s “Miracle” Mom died.

Life is peppered with things that amaze us; and sadly enough I daresay full of things that are not a surprise. Maybe in my world the things that are considered good surprises are what amazes me; and the things that are bad do not surprise me…

I headed into this holiday season with such a strange feeling of gloom. I am usually so upbeat and excited in anticipation of the joy of the season. I walked around in a bit of a daze as if I was carrying the weight of the heaviness of the entire world. Every day in the news there was so much dismay and so many things discouraging us-no surprises; little that is amazing. It was as if our entire world was under one big dark cloud. I realized that in my little part of the world there was much gloominess. Zachary’s relapse has hit us hard; the children are at a bit of a loss and scared for their friend and reminded of the horror of cancer all over again…and to know that a woman whom I have known my entire life as my best friend’s mother was so ill really wore me down…please remember, these were only dark clouds in my small world-our entire nation is suffering; the world is suffering…so many are suffering in very real, serious ways.

It is as if there is almost a state of panic surrounding us. As I muddled through my days, I sensed the impatience of others and the short fuses that so many people have. I wanted to go home and hide under the covers.

Amazingly enough, it was my own sweet children that managed to shake me out of the coma I was ready to slip into. It started with Matthew’s sheer delight over his birthday, and then when my oldest child insisted on keeping up all the family traditions, I knew I needed to stay in the game. After that, I realized that once again it was time to fight for life and I began focusing on Zachary and my friend’s mother. They too needed me not to check out. I realized that my energies and prayers and offerings on their behalf were needed…at least that is what I chose to believe. I chose to watch for amazing things to happen from our God. I chose to have faith once again in God to hear my prayers and to listen to them…and maybe, just maybe this time the answer would be life for Zachary and my friend’s Mom.

Here we are at the end of a long arduous year. I cannot believe the events that occurred in this one year. My retina detached-yuck; my oldest daughter turned 18 and graduated high school and begun college; my middle daughter began preparation for high school-in some good ways and in some not so good ways; my young son out-lived my older son and is almost bigger than me; my daughter blew the motor out of 2 vehicles; I had cataract eye surgery which came as a result of the detached retina surgery…my best friend’s mother died…all of that and then some happened this past year.

The Christmas spirit finally settled on my heart when this past Tuesday I was able to pick up a new bicycle and ipod for a young boy that we have sort of adopted. This young man is a boy I tutor through a program with a local children’s cancer foundation. I have known him a little over a year. He spent Thanksgiving with our family and called and asked if was still coming for Christmas. He told me what was on his Christmas list and my heart sank a bit as I realized I did not know how he would get what he asked for…I knew I could get him a few gifts; but not a bike or ipod. At the very last minute, one phone call, and his wish was granted. We picked him up early Christmas morning. The girls drove to his house in their cheetah pajamas that I gave them on Christmas Eve not wanting to change out of them. Matthew and I readied the house; we put a big bow on his bike and I began to cook for everyone that was coming over. He could not believe that the bike was for him. He could not believe that he got an ipod. He spent the entire day and the night with us. Christina spent time loading his ipod up with music; he and Matthew played video games and when he was too scared to sleep in the room on the couch because of the windows-Matthew let him sleep in his room…

All is quiet now in the Charlton home. I did not even visit Robert’s grave this year. I cannot bring myself to even drive down the street where the cemetery is. I turned on that road by mistake the other day and I burst into tears and realized that I could not drive that way right now. The absence of him in our life continues to ache within my heart and I cannot think about it. The children have become accustomed to the sudden stream of tears and my silence. They patiently observe my pain, sometimes they say, “ah, Mom…” usually they just let my tears flow and know that I will come right back to them…they always know my tears are for Robert.

I pray that something in your life amazes you. Being amazed is a good thing-savor the moment - no matter what it is that amazes you – savor it.

Peace to you all-peace in the New Year. May your lives be blessed and may you be amazed!
Kathy
P.S. Thank you for Zach’s days here with us—Lord hear our prayer.

Monday, December 15, 2008 10:02 PM CST

Heavenly Father,

Hello. It’s me, remember me, Robert’s Mom? I have always believed in starting out prayer with gratitude…thank you for the life you have given me. Thank you for my 3 healthy, amazing children. Thank you that I have a home and a job and my own health. Thank you that each day I feel loved, not just by you, but by other people…thank you for every moment of every day of life that I have.

I come to you with a very heavy heart-you see, it has been said that Zachary Finestone is dying. It has been said that his cancer is back with a vengeance and that he will die-soon.

I will not bother you with the usual sort of contemplative, confused, scared questions that usually come to one’s mind during times such as these. I will get straight to the point.

Please allow Zachary to live. I say "please" because I am begging you to give him more time. His body is so weak and getting weaker and more frail by the day.

I believe, I believe, I BELIEVE—even now after all this time, after everything…even though my begging (praying) for my own son to have more time and be healed was not answered in the way I (we) asked—I still believe that all things are possible for you.

So much is happening. You see it all-I know that you are right in the midst of everything. I know that you are as appalled by the care that he is receiving right now as I am upon hearing it…Zach wants to live-no doubt about it. He has fought his disease for 9 years-he is not going to quit.

Help him to not have to quit-help him to live.

Please give Zach more time, give him more of the life that he wants to live…heal him.

Yours with a humble heart,
Kathy

Monday, December 15, 2008 10:01 PM CST

Heavenly Father,

Hello. It’s me, remember me, Robert’s Mom? I have always believed in starting out prayer with gratitude…thank you for the life you have given me. Thank you for my 3 healthy, amazing children. Thank you that I have a home and a job and my own health. Thank you that each day I feel loved, not just by you, but by other people…thank you for every moment of every day of life that I have.

I come to you with a very heavy heart-you see, it has been said that Zachary Finestone is dying. It has been said that his cancer is back with a vengeance and that he will die-soon.

I will not bother you with the usual sort of contemplative confused scared questions that usually come to one’s mind during times such as these. I will get straight to the point.

Please allow Zachary to live. I say please because I am begging you to give him more time. His body is so weak and getting weake,r and more frail by the day.

I believe, I believe, I BELIEVE—even now after all this time, after everything…even though my begging (praying) for my own son to have more time and be healed was not answered in the way I (we) asked—I still believe that all things are possible for you.

So much is happening. You see it all-I know that you are right in the midst of everything. I know that you are as appalled by the care that he is receiving right now as I am upon hearing it…Zach wants to live-no doubt about it. He has fought his disease for 9 years-he is not going to quit.

Help him not have to quit-help him to live.

Please give Zach more time, give him more of the life that he wants to live…heal him.

Yours with a humble heart,
Kathy

www.caringbridge.org/fl/zacharyfinestone

Sunday, November 16, 2008 9:29 PM CST

As I was lying in bed last night, after giving my youngest son a big hug, I realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I hugged Robert. I mean, obviously I have not hugged him since he died; but I cannot remember when I hugged him before he left me…

I can remember his voice; his last words-I can remember the shape of his hands and his feet. I remember how it felt when he rested his head on my left shoulder when he asked me to lie down with him…I remember how the shape of his head felt in the palm of my hand and how the texture of his hair felt when I stroked his hair…

I cannot however, remember the last time I hugged him, and now I realize I cannot remember the last time I kissed him…

As I hugged Matthew last night, I held on real tight. I thought about how he is the age his brother was when he died…Matthew will be 12 years old on November 24th. Robert died a few months before he would turn 12. In one week, Matthew will be older than his older brother ever was…

Matthew is so wonderful to me. He knows how much he can remind me of Robert. Sometimes Matthew will laugh and act a fool just like Robert would. He must know that when I hug him at times I am remembering his brother…Matthew is very special in that way. He lets me hold on just a little bit longer sometimes knowing that I am remembering his brother.

It is a little fascinating to me how my soul and memory conjoin and begin the same journey every year at this time. They begin to merge - and the crevices of my mind and heart rekindle the memories of Robert as soon as October arrives. It is a bit of a journey that I hate and adore all at the same time. As the month of October rolls into town the memories of the past and the emptiness of the present collide and reveal the depth of the pain I feel knowing Robert is dead.

I finally recognized the pattern this year. Each year I relive the moments of Robert’s last few weeks. With the triggers of present day life setting off memories and feelings, I always end up in tears and heartbroken all over again. It could be something as simple as the time of day that I wake up, or the way the sunshine feels on my face or the way the moon rises in the sky…I don’t have to even go to Robert’s grave, or dig up old photos of him-he just comes back to me in my memory and I love it and hate it all at once.

The other day an ambulance came barreling down the street. Immediately I was reminded of the only time I have ever been in an ambulance-the night I rode home with Robert from the hospital on a Sunday night at around 8 p.m. I will never forget the look on the young man’s face as he came to pick up my son from the PICU at St. Mary’s. He said to me, “Wow, this is who we are picking up? He looks so good…” I remember how Robert insisted on putting on clean clothes and walking out of the unit and getting on the gurney himself. I remember hearing my son say hello to the attendees and thanking them for coming to get him. The two men stood there stunned as Robert shuffled out of the unit and got laid down. The nurses and doctors watching cried a little as they knew what it meant for Robert to be leaving…they knew he was dying. The whole way home Robert whinced in pain as his back hurt so badly. The young attendant was so kind and did his best to comfort Robert. He was limited in the amount of care he was allowed to administer to Robert and could not give him anything for the pain. Every bump on the highway shot pain through Robert’s back…I sat next to my son wanting to die myself. I wanted to get out of that ambulance and carry my son home if it would ease his pain. I once again felt so completely helpless…as the memory of this time consumed my thoughts in the present I felt completely helpless all over again. I stood there and cried and as the hot tears rolled down my cheeks I knew I had to shake myself out of the past and live in the present.

So to live in the present is easy…simply forget the past and bury the memories. I would rather suffer through the pain of the recollection of the memories of Robert’s final weeks than forget them…his life was so short- I cannot afford to forget any of it.

Robert has been gone 6 years now. I feared this day all month. I feared the feelings I would feel as the eve of Robert’s passing approached. I thought about how awful that night was. It was freakish and the memory of it scares me to revisit knowing that it always has the same ending. I relive each day of Robert’s last week of his life just as someone might count down the days until Christmas. It is as if my soul has a sort of built in calendar that counts down the days. I remember what happened the Wednesday before he died-I remember the people who visited, the movies we watched, the talks that we had…

This process of memories welling up and coming to life has no name. There is not a word for the ritual of reliving the eve of the death of someone you love over and over again each year in your mind (at least that I know of). I don’t mark my calendar with the dates and I do not plan anything special or do anything different. I simply live my life status quo and carry the memories around with me as my heart and soul conjoin and ache for my son to come back to life.

Time does surprise me. I have survived long enough without Robert to realize that just when I anticipate that the pain will consume me if I allow myself to remember or really miss him-the trigger of the memory is gone and life beckons me to stay in the present.

I daresay my sweet son, not a day goes by that every person in your immediate family misses you and wishes you had lived. I think that most of us are still stunned that you ever got cancer to begin with; forget that cancer took you from us.

Robert, I know you sent that beautiful bright full moon the other night to remind of us you…I felt as if you were on the other side of it illuminating it and smiling as you did…

November 17, 2002 – November 17, 2008---you lived almost 12 years, now you have been gone half as long as you lived. All of the major milestones of your youth would be almost over this year…you had to leave us way too soon. I still want you back and I miss you every single day—please don’t tell anyone my secret—no one really wants to know how much I miss you and how much your mother hates what happened to you and how your life ended…so shh-let it be our little secret.

Robert, thank you for leaving your laughter and the twinkle in your eye behind with us so that we can shine just a little brighter because we had you. I think now if you visited me in my dreams I would be fine…so, I will look for you there and I will always carry you in my heart and soul son.

Peace,
Robert’s Mom

Wednesday, September 10, 2008 8:11 PM CDT

I had the most unusual dream the other night. Funny thing is, I have been thinking about how I have only dreamt of Robert 3 times since he died. I mean I seem to dream about him all the time during my “awake” hours, so one would think that he would creep into my asleep time as well. The few dreams I have had he is literally alive in them speaking to me…not so in the one I had the other night. Actually he was not in it at all, I only spoke about him in my dream.

In my dream I ran into an old friend. My old friend used to be Robert’s teacher when he was in preschool (one of his teachers). She of course adored him when he was a small boy, as did all of his teachers. The long eyelashes that surrounded his big brown eyes complimented his thick girlish curls and created a sweetness that all of his teachers loved…even if he was all boy! So there she was, Robert’s preschool teacher, in my dream. In my dream I realized I had not seen her since Robert’s funeral. I hugged her and told her how I had been thinking about how sad I always was for her loss…you see her son had died as well. He was murdered. (this is true) In my dream I told her how deeply sad I was that her son had died as he did, how I had a glimmer of understanding of how a mother’s guilt bears down on a woman’s being like a vice grip on a piece of wood. We talked about how people would feel more sorry for her because of how her son died. His death was so awful and senseless…than this warm-hearted, wise woman looked at me and said, “What do they know? Both of our sons are dead no matter how they got that way…” I replied, “You are right in the end they are just dead and anyone whose child has died understands this. No matter how they get that way, they are still gone and we are left to live without them.” We hugged and smiled a sort of strange comforting smile that only 2 mothers whose beautiful sons were both dead could…

It was strange how I found such comfort hearing her words in my dream. Maybe I wanted them to negate the words that another mother once said to me, “at least you got to say goodbye…” Those words are so bizarre to me. Those words make me want to scream: “Hey YOU, have you ever watched someone you gave birth to stop breathing right in your arms and know that you cannot beat on their chest and bring them back to life, or call 911 to save them!!??” or “Hey YOU, have you ever sat by your child’s deathbed and waited and told God ‘okay, now would be a good time for that miracle,’ ‘anytime now God…” I think I admired Robert’s Dad the most when he angrily confessed to me (some time after Robert’s death and we were recounting his passing), “Well, I LIED, I did not want to let him go—it was NOT OKAY!” Even though it was “just a dream”, I know this friend and fellow mother would have said exactly what she said to me in real life as she said in my dream. I need to find her. Her face has not left my mind since that night…

I just read the most beautiful story. I cried and cried as I read it. A father and son were drifting off the coast of Florida after being swept away by the current. As they drifted the father would say to the son, “To infinity” and the son would shout back, “And Beyond!” The son was not able to verbalize many things he was autistic. So, the only way they communicated was through catch phrases that the boy could remember. They called out to each other as long as they could…night fell upon them and the father could no longer see or hear his son. He feared his son was lost forever…my heart was filled with joy as I read that the boy was saved and very well. I am grateful that for this father and son, infinity and beyond did not come to them.

There is something in the air around here. I believe it is Robert’s spirit. I suppose he always comes to life during this time of year…right before the anniversary of his death. Sometimes his absence is so palpable that all of a sudden we are talking about him saying the exact things that I am thinking in my head and not sharing with anyone. Maybe the something in the air is found in the amazing life of his little brother. Us girls are so impressed with the youngest one of the family. He shines. He is outliving his older brother…uncharted territory in this family. You see when Miss Christina headed into her teen years and middle school; her sister had blazed a trail for her to follow. Matthew, he blazes his own trail. I watched him from the kitchen window the other day. He stood there with his head cocked just so staring off into space. He looked exactly like his brother with the exception of his blonde mop of hair at the top of his head. It was truly a spectacle for me to behold.

It won’t be long now when all of Matthew will have outgrown any memory or expression of Robert’s that we have to remember him by…we will watch Matthew and instead of seeing a resemblance, we will wonder if that is what Robert would have been like or looked like…

Precious Charlton children, continue to blaze a trail into “Infinity and Beyond!”

Peace,
Kathy

P.S.
Hey YOU, yeah, YOU-all the “YOU’s” out there…good, bad, or indifferent-you read here, and I thank you.

Sunday, August 24, 2008 2:17 PM CDT

I have started to try running again. My eye has recovered quite well considering how severe the detachment in the retina was—every single person that sees my chart, looks at my eye and reads what happened cannot believe that I have any vision at all! Nice huh?

Did I ever tell you why I ever decided to start running in the first place? During Robert’s final days here with us, right before we brought him home for the last time, he was a patient in the PICU at St. Mary’s hospital. I cannot even allow myself after almost 6 years to re-visit those last days at St. Mary’s, especially those he spent in PICU—it was truly a nightmare come to life. However, this recollection I will bravely recall. It was Saturday night and Robert was stable and in good spirits. Jeff’s Mom had offered to come sit with him and keep him company while we went to church. You all recall how amazing our church Christ Fellowship was to our family…so Jeff and I left Robert to go to church. As we stood in church singing, I clutched my cell phone in my hand practically shaking for fear of leaving Robert without one of us there. My phone flashed in my hand, I looked down to see that it was Jeff’s mom calling. I scooted out into the aisle to answer. All I remember hearing her say was get back here fast, Robert was having seizures.

I feverishly waved for Jeff and we darted out the door. Jeff and I began to run for his truck. He ran out in front of me, his long legs and quickstep were too much for me to keep pace with. I remember watching him run ahead of me calling for me to hurry up. I remember I was running as fast as I could through the thick damp grass and I felt as if I were running in quick sand. The thick grass came up to my knees and I wanted to scream because I could not move any faster. I trudged and trudged along feeling as if I were the one seizing and dying in my own footsteps. It was one of the most awful feelings knowing that my son was suffering and I could not get there fast enough…I remember thinking that I would never allow myself to feel so weak physically again. I wanted to become as strong as my young son used to be when he would run home from school every afternoon without even breaking a sweat.

We made it back to Robert that night. Jeff drove like a bat out of hell down the highway, he veered off into the emergency lane and drove as if he were in a Nascar racecar…there was no way that Robert would suffer any longer or maybe die without us being there…

When Robert died, I decided to fight my own fight and become strong and maybe even fast. I realized the other night as I walked back to my car past the high school where Robert would be a senior this year, that I still feel like I am walking in thick deep grass going no where fast. Death has a way of making a person feel as if they are not moving anywhere, only sinking deeper into the ground…

I love to run on the beach for many obvious reasons…Robert is always there. His spirit is always cheering me on saying “Mom, you can do it, don’t quit, just a little bit farther Mom…” Six years is a long time to live without your son. Six years is a long time to relive the moments of his life and his death, knowing that it will never change. Six years is a long time to learn to walk in thick wet grass trudging along at times feeling so burdened by your own weight.

I felt this way again as I faced this new school year. Getting ready for all the changes this year that work and home would bring, made me feel as if I were standing in thick grass and could not move. I was gripped with anxiety at the challenge before me. I feel as if everything in my life is always so new and so vastly different and changing that I cannot find a comfort zone anywhere…except when I run. When I escape into that world for those few minutes I can think about whatever I want.

I am no Olympian that is for sure, but I know that I could run the distance home from school just like Robert used to…I have also learned the art of walking through the deep valleys of life and death without hardly breaking a sweat. The daily burdens of life may take my breath away, but I have trained myself to live anyway.

Happy Back to School! All is well...

Peace,
Kathy

Thursday, July 31, 2008 10:51 AM CDT

I often think about what I might say to the people I love if I get a chance to tell them certain things before I die. I often think about what I want said about me at my funeral, what kind of music I want played and what sort of parting thoughts I would impart to anyone listening…At times I feel that I have gained a sort of respect from others simply based on the fact that I am a mother who has buried a child-and lived to tell about it.

Robert remains in our midst—the child that was born to me and meant to be mine forever continues to leave an imprint on my heart and mind. His memory and death continue to teach me daily.

The summer has been filled with much love. I told my friend it is the “Summer of Love.” For me the love started the day I took my youngest child to sleep-away camp at church. This would be his last trip to “Kids Camp” as he will now be in middle school. I was acutely aware of this fact as we navigated through the neighboring streets of the city. These are the same streets I have driven countless times and followed throughout my entire adult life. This city has a small town feeling for me-I have gone to college, lived as a married woman, birthed my babies, gone to church, work and spent time with friends here-I have really lived within a 5 mile radius for over 20 years…And as fate would have it, Robert died within this area and is buried within this circle of my life.

Matthew and I headed to church early one Monday morning. I made a turn down the street across from the church. A turn that I have made a thousand times- at that moment, I saw a place that haunts me before my eyes…I said out loud, “This is always the worst part for me, I hate this part—“ Matthew reached over and put his hand on my shoulder and said, “it’s okay Mom, I’ll only be gone for 5 days and then be home again…” I started to cry more as his words reminded me that what I was seeing before me reminded me that Robert would never be coming home. I said, “Oh, Matthew- I will miss you, but that is not what I am talking about hating…” I hate driving up behind the funeral home where Robert’s body was taken after he died. I hate seeing the large garage doors where the cars pull into to unload the dead bodies that they would prepare for a viewing…I hate seeing that place where Robert would spend his final night in the world before he was buried in the ground.

My eyes welled up with tears and the instant imagery that was bearing down on me made me want to scream. I did not scream and in a moment I was parking the car getting ready to unload Matthew’s stuff. He kindly said to me, “Mom, you can stay in the car, I will get my stuff.” I told him I was fine and there was no way that I would let him get his stuff out by himself.

When I left the church an hour later, I realized the advantage of not living near where you bury someone you love. I began to realize why it is that so many people die after they lose someone they love. Living with the loss is hard enough, but being surrounded by the images of their death is wicked bad. I decided the next time someone I love dies I will either die with them, soon after them, or move to another planet!

The love we have shared this summer has not only come to me in the form of remembering my Robert, but in cherishing those who are right in front of me. I am happy to report that my oldest child has decided to stay home for college for a term or two. We are quite glad with her decision as I said this has been a summer of love and I am not sure that we are ready to part from each other. Her decision was based on many things, but I know that her younger siblings are delighted that she will be here. One of the young ones did confess to me that they were hoping to take over her room after she moved out, but is still happy to have her home.

I was talking with one of my children the other day about how much it has become important to me to allow those I love to feel free to be themselves in our home. I thought about Robert this morning as I ran along and realized that he had the gift of being himself wherever he went. He was a master at being who he was and he had no idea how cool he was. Robert’s personality was the type that did not take over a room and dominate, but one that brightened with lightness and ease. He was funny, and caring. Anyone who knew him felt that he really cared about him or her, and made them feel good about who they were.

How many of us have spent years trying to figure who we are, how to act around certain people and in certain situations? How many of us really know how and when we can be just who we really are and be accepted and loved no matter what? It has taken me almost my entire lifetime to learn how to be me…to let love coexist with my fears, tears, and happiness. I am hoping that my sweet children learn this priceless lesson long before I did.

Robert’s death has given us a gift. His death and remembering his life has helped me, and many others, understand a little more about living. Death can teach us how to LIVE. So, that might be what I would want to impart to anyone who wants a word from me after I am dead-and that would be to LIVE. I believe that in our living, no matter how difficult or painful we can have all the love we want and need, we can be happy and experience joy. We can feel complete even if we are empty.

Death can be a gift. It can be a gift of life-of living.

Peace,
Kathy

P.S. I never said it would be easy, just do-able.

On Friday morning, I will attend the funeral of a sweet boy named Darian Lester. I met Darian this past year as I was assigned to tutor him. He died last week from cancer. He touched my heart deeply during our brief encounter-he was so pure and such a beautiful boy full of life. Now his family must learn to live each day without him...

Tuesday, May 20, 2008 8:17 PM CDT

When our babies our born, we watch them grow moment by moment. We notice every nook and cranny. We count their moments by ounces gained and eventually, we begin to count their steps.

My oldest daughter took her first steps at 10 months old. She was walking across the room by 12 months old. Jessica was the kind of baby and child that seemed grown up way before her time. Well, the time has come-she has really grown up. In many ways, she is only now just catching up to where she has been for a long time.

I recall a dear friend of mine coming in to the kitchen one afternoon while she was over visiting. She said, "Kathy I was just talking to Jessica and I had to remind myself that I was speaking to a 10 year old!" At age 5 it was common for her to use words such as "acceptable." In elementary school most of her afternoons were spent curled up on the couch reading a new book every day. I could not keep enough books in the house for her.

In 2 short days my oldest daughter will cross another milestone in life-she will graduate high school. I am proud beyond reason and words--so proud of my sweet Jessica. Her vocabulary has expanded the horizons of my mind, and her dreams are vast. I am impressed that through it all, my girl has found the courage to dream and plan her life out. She will go far away from home for college...yet, she will never be far from our hearts.

Think of all the years that you have been following along with the life of this family, the sorrow of this mom; and know that in the midst of all of it, a young girl grew into an accomplished young woman.

Jessica Noel, Congratulations on your accomplishment-be proud of yourself-you are amazing!

I will always love you, no matter what may come.
Mom

*Feel free to send your wishes to Jessica in Robert's guestbook-he loved her dearly and would be so proud to celebrate her life during this time...

Peace,
Kathy

Sunday, April 27, 2008 6:45 PM CDT

Robert, the “Birthday Boy!” Wait, I’m sorry, did I say, “Birthday Boy?” I mean, “Birthday Young Man!”

Happy Birthday Robert! I have repeated it to myself countless times, you would be 17 years old, if…

Robert, you may not have gotten to know your mother well enough to know this, but I am pretty much the kind of person who does not have regrets, or sit around and say, “if only, or what if…” At least I was not that kind of person until now…It has been 7 long years since we had that wonderful birthday party for you and your Dad at the park by our house. Remember? You were turning 10. You had been undergoing treatment for your cancer for a little over 2 months and were doing so well. You were so healthy, so strong. You really enjoyed that day. I don’t know who glowed more, you, your proud father, or me? I beamed as I watched you celebrate your birthday. I believed that birthday to be the first of many more to follow.

I now always think of what day I would change if I could. I always think that I would change February 7, 2001. The day they told me you had cancer. I realized this morning as I raced along, trying to chase away the sadness, that I would no longer want to change that day. I decided, that day, the day the “Golden Boy” became tarnished and human, was a not the day I would change. That day shook us all up Robert. You were larger than life for so many of us, indestructible. That day your humanness shook us to our core. It shook me to my core. I became alive again that day. When faced with your destiny, something inside me ignited and I realized there was no time to wallow and lolly-gag around. I began a quest to save your life, to save our family, to save myself from a dark place that so many can be consumed by when faced with insurmountable obstacles. I needed to be jarred awake-that day taught me to have hope and faith.

Having hope is a good thing. Having faith is a good thing. Robert, your trial brought me hope. Your strength during that trial gave me faith, hope and courage. Your weakness became strength for your mother.

Son, if I could change any day it would be the day the following year when they told me your cancer had come back. I would go back to that day if only I could. I am sorry that I had to tell you that your cancer had come back, and I am sorry that I had to tell you your bone marrow transplant failed. Robert, I am so sorry that you had to suffer and die…I am sorry that the only way I get to know you on your 17th birthday is in my imagination.

I had the strangest dream the other night. I was in this store trying to check out and pay. The woman ringing up the sale was very slow and confused. I was very patient; I helped her as much as I could. I showed her how to use her machine. I was being so nice and kind and patient. I was very frustrated, but I did not want to be “mean” to her. I finally had to walk off. As I climbed out of line, these people pulled me aside that worked at the store, they took me into a room and showed me how they were videoing everything that happened. I stood there and watched the surveillance of the moments before. They had piled my stuff up and were going to give me $3.00 for the inconvenience. Here is the strange part of the dream. As I stood there watching myself on the tape, I saw myself being so kind and smiling and being helpful…I stood there watching the tape, listening to the people apologizing to me-they handed me the money. In that moment I saw myself and I realized how good I had become at going through the motions of life trying to be normal, when inside all I cared about was that you were gone. I looked up at the screen again, I saw my image there looking so normal, being kind and smiling…I set the money down on my pile of stuff as the tears just quietly trickled down my face and I walked out. I was so sad, so tired of acting as if you were not on my mind…so tired of missing you, but not wanting to stop missing you. I just let the tears stream down my face. With my head hung down and my shoulders drooping, I quietly solemnly wandered off…no one knew of my deep sadness.

When I awoke during my dream, I realized this is how I have come to live. I miss you every single day. The silence of death is worse than the silence of the non-reply from a long lost love. I will never hear your voice again, and I will never see you again…not while I live here. This is a deep sadness that I carry with me, always.

I thought the other night of how so many of us walk around carrying this deep sadness. How we walk around as a shell of a human being, lonely, empty--missing someone, something. I am humble enough to not think I am alone in these feelings, maybe it is wisdom that gives me that knowledge. Nevertheless, of my losses, the empty spot that comes from your absence son is the worst. Your death created a silence that is deafening, mind boggling and neverending...

You would have liked being here right now. Jessica is getting ready to graduate from high school. She went to prom last night. Matthew has been accepted into the middle school for the arts, just like his big brother and sisters. True to his nature, he will be in a different art area-Communications. You would have been so quick to take care of me while my eye has been healing. Matthew and Christina have been good to lead me around when we walked in a crowd so that I do not bump into anyone or trip. They have made plenty of fun of me not being able to see and Jess helps me drive! You always used to let me hold your hand, now, you would have been happy to hold my hand and lead me along.

Maybe I have been missing you more these days because I have been faced with my own vulnerability. It’s interesting, you used to run home from school everyday. When you lost that strength during your illness, you fought so hard to regain it. All I have wanted to do during this trial of mine is become strong again. I want to run, but cannot. So, I walk really fast and really far. It is strange when your body takes control and it does not matter what your mind wants to do, it’s like your body puts you in your place. I remember watching you want to have control and get your life back to normal. Sometimes I could sense the frustration you felt, you rarely complained.

Oh Robert, I miss you my sweet son. Your brother will outgrow your clothes soon. I have to admit, now when he wears them, I no longer see you…he is outgrowing the memory I have of you…now as he continues to grow, I will be able to imagine how you might have been. Matthew has given everything his big brother left behind a new life. You would be so proud of your little brother. You would have loved him very much. Ah, and Christina, she is not the pesky little sister any longer. You would actually like your 2 sisters; they are funny, smart and beautiful. You would be proud to be associated with them. They would crack you up and the challenge of them would delight you. (Your crazy little sister just came in here telling me she tried to pierce her ear!)

Some of my “Ifs”: If…you were here, you would probably be almost 6 feet tall; you would eat me out of house and home; you would pester your big sister until she wanted to kill you and then laugh because getting her riled up was your favorite thing; I would have to tell you to go wash your feet; I would hear you laughing at some dumb commercial on t.v.; you would be at Ryan’s house every weekend and probably be dating sisters-if you both agreed to date at the same time, the girls would have to know about fishing; Mrs. Maloy would have fattened you up with her milkshakes and good cooking; you would probably go to your Mimi Bunny’s house every Sunday and read the newspaper out in her yard with her; you and your Dad (and now Matthew) would watch dumb guy movies and laugh like fools; and finally, the truth is, Robert if you were here-everything would be different…

My son, you taught us well. We all laugh a little louder and, hug a little tighter; we are kinder, more sincere, and love more freely because you taught us well.

Happy Birthday Robert! Love, Mom

“When you’re dreaming with a broken heart, the hardest part is the waking up…”

Peace,
Kathy

Friday, April 4, 2008 12:33 AM CDT

I have always said that life comes at you fast so you better be ready for it one way or another. I can honestly say, I was not prepared to be sitting in a doctor’s office and hearing that I needed emergency eye surgery to repair my retina immediately! I had no plan, no back-up, but I did have some resources…I had experience, I was ready. Ready to drop everything and do whatever I had to do to keep my vision in my left eye.

After a few phone calls and many tears I drove myself home, alone…I had to tell the kids what was going on. They were not totally surprised only because they knew that my eye had been doing some funky things since my 41st birthday-nice present from my body! I had no time to grocery shop, no time to do laundry, make lesson-plans for school…no time to cook meals and stockpile food for the days ahead. I did not even get to explain to my class at school why I would not be there for a while…

Just like that, in a few short moments my normal life changed. I am well versed with this sort of life experience. As I sat in the doctor’s office I of course recalled all the times I sat with Robert, waiting and hoping. I recalled the 3 times I was told his fate and heard the news while I was all alone and had to face the instantaneous change that was coming-I remembered making the phone calls, trying to figure out how to plan for an unexpected life event.

This time, fortunately, it was happening to me, not my child. Fortunately, this time it was not life threatening…worse case scenario I would lose my eyesight, not my life. I felt secure in my job, my bills were paid…in some ways I was prepared for this little turn of events.

We were in no way prepared to face the turn of events that life threw our way when Robert was diagnosed, relapsed, and then relapsed again…

I suppose in the end, the only way that we can be prepared for the events that life springs on us is in the way we live every single day. I have been realizing that even now, once again, it is all about choices. We can choose to handle anything that life throws at us any way that we want to! I am not handling having to sleep face down, and lie face down as much as possible, very well…but I am handling it. I am not happy that I have missed so many days of work and do not have enough sick time in my account to cover my days off…I am not happy that I will be without sight for the next 2 months.

I am happy that I have had time to be home and be with my children just like the old days. I am happy that my forced time off has caused me to realize that we really do not have control over anything. I am happy that even though my retina was detached and torn the worse that it possibly could have been, that the doctors feel it is doing good. I am happy that even though they have no idea what caused this, or how it happened-they say I will have vision again…even in this bizarre situation that I have been forced to face, I can say that I am “lucky”, “blessed”…even now.

Robert may have not liked what life sent his way, but to my knowledge, he never took it personally or felt unlucky or unblessed. Even in the midst of the awful hand that he was dealt, he was funny, sweet, thoughtful and kind…

My ordeal should be a blink in my eye by the end of summer…just a blip on the radar of my life that I can say, “oh that happened to me!” It dawned on me, how scared my son must have been when he was plunged into the world of cancer. He must have been confused, scared, and deeply hurt. He suffered and faced at least 2 ½ years of treatment and suffering at the hands of life’s destiny.

Robert taught me how to live; he helped me to realize what to do when the unexpected comes into my normal world…

Peace,
Kathy

Tuesday, March 25, 2008 4:24 PM CDT

Isn't interesting how you just can be going about your life, minding your own business and then...

You fill in the blank. Life has been very busy here since my last posting. Jessica has managed to turn 18. She was not very happy with me when I did not post here one of my traditiional walks down memory lane as a tribute to her. I felt pretty bad about that...unfortunately, since my own birthday in early February, I have been having some problems with my eye.

Spring is here. The children are growing. Jess turned 18 and I have a detached retina! Yuck. Surgery does not sound like my idea of how I wanted to spend my Spring Break...but as we all know, one cannot pick and choose the trials that life will bring to you. So, I am going to do my best to choose to muddle through, not worry about my job and my class for the next few weeks, and hope that I have vision in my left eye again!

All is well.

Matthew went with me to the cemetary the other day. I wanted to plant a new plant for Spring at Robert's grave. Matthew always agrees to go with me no matter what. He has not been there in some time. He noticed that many new "neighbors" had moved into the area where Robert is laid to rest. It used to be a straight shot to the back of the area, now you have to weave carefully through the area as to not disturb any graves. We had a lovely time. After we got in the car and began to drive off, I noticed that Matthew had forgotten one of the keepsakes that I wanted to leave there in the car. I told him he needed to go put it in the plant. I watched him as he dashed back to Robert's grave. He darted back and forth on his tiptoes very carefully and methodically as if he were playing a game or running an obstacle course. I watched and noticed how big he has grown...I realized that for almost half of life he has been coming here to his brother's grave with me.

I continued to watch him as he carefully and thoughtfully came back to the car, mission accomplished. I thought of how proud of him I was, how much I loved him and was so saddened to know that he misses his brother so much.

How is it that a boy of 11 years would be so well versed in the rituals of visiting a boy of 11 years' grave? Such is life for my son. Remember we never get to choose what trials life is going to bring our way...

We only get to choose how we are going to handle those trials.

Happy Spring! I am looking for bluebirds, well sort of looking, maybe if they fly by my good eye I will see them!

Peace,
Kathy

Friday, February 1, 2008 10:32 PM CST

“Are you there God, it’s me, Kathy?”
“Remember me, Robert’s Mom? Of course you do. I know, you knew me long before I was Robert’s Mom…It is just that since Robert left me, I have realized that my magnum opus, was Robert…actually, Robert was the catalyst in my reality check. The ‘reality check’ of how my greatest accomplishment was right before my eyes, living and breathing-my greatest accomplishment, my magnum opus, was, and is, my 4 children. I wonder do you listen to me more now that Robert is there with you? I often wonder, if when I call upon you, does Robert come running to remind you that I am his mother? I can just hear him now:‘Um, excuse me, your Majesty, King of Kings, but that is my Mom calling on you. Please listen extra carefully to her, she has to live without me now as you know…”

This was what I thought about today as I ran on the seawall. I was listening to a song I have not heard in a long time. The song that says, “Who can say for certain, maybe you’re still here…” As I ran and dreamt of Robert, I watched a large Heron on a rock below. He took off as I approached. He flew a few feet ahead of me for my entire run. Even when I turned to head back, he was right in front of me. I felt for certain that Robert was still here.

I thought of many things as I ran along today. I always, always think of Robert. I watch the waves roll in and the boats go by as I remember all the moments of his life. Today I wondered if Robert wasn’t a little closer to my heart because it is the time of year that I remember the beginning of what would be his end. As I listened intently, with my heart full of sadness, to a song that reminded me how he is only a breath away from me, I realized that the day that I was told my son had cancer was Feb.7th, 2 days after my birthday.

Strangely enough, as I began to recall the painful memories of that day, it is as if the world wanted to remind me it was coming. It is so strange how you go about living your life as normally as you can after your child dies. I have perfected this new normal, it even creeps me out at times. Yet, my soul began to sense something, something in the air…then the other day as I talked with Matthew about a very important event for him being on Thursday, Feb. 7th, it hit me.

I have realized that Feb. 7th, not my birthday, is the day I dread the most. What I hate are the haunting memories that surround my birthday. Memories which remind me of the great loss I live with daily. I told Matthew that I am glad his big day is that day. I told him it is time to make that day, and the days around my birthday, better. I want them to be filled with new, wonderful, hopeful memories!

I imagined Robert in his place now. I imagined him reminding me that my prayers are heard and answered. He reminds me that though my greatest prayer, for him to be cured of his cancer, did not get answered the way I wanted; God still knows that I am here. I pray now with fearlessness that has a strong sense of humility. I am not afraid to ask for anything (fearlessness), yet I know that in the end, I have no control of the outcome (humility).

As I said, it seems as if the world is reminding of Robert the past couple of days. The something that is in the air is the energy of his life that remains here in our midst even now - 5 1/2 years after his death. Just today I shared the story of how I learned about Robert’s disease. Matthew has started wearing Robert’s basketball clothes all the time now. He finally grew into them. He is so much like Robert at times-he definitely is like his big brother. He evens wears Robert’s last pair of basketball shoes now too!

I told Matthew that it is so cool for me to see him in his brother’s clothes. For me, it is also so very sad and hard to see Matthew in Robert’s clothes. It reminds me of the fact that Robert will never outgrow his clothes; what Matthew wears now is the final installment of the days of Robert’s life. From here on out, after Matthew outgrows these clothes and surpasses his big brother in age, I will have no other memories of Robert to equate our life with. Very soon, all of my children will have outlived him…

I hate that Robert died. I hate that his baby brother is growing up without him, that all of our memories are now being made without him being a part of our family.

I love that we are making new memories. I love that Matthew plays like his brother, but is so much his own man. I love that Jessica is fiercely taking on her approach to college. Her grades are really good this year. She is so proud of herself…I say this because everyone knows how proud I am of my daughter, but to be able to be proud of yourself is a wonderful thing. She has applied to several colleges. She did very well on her SAT’s. I cannot believe she is a senior! I love that Christina continues to do very, very well in school. She is very happy at her school. She like her sister, and her older brother, has attended the local arts school for middle school. Matthew will be trying out for his spot there next week. He is trying out in a different area than his siblings. The older Charlton children all made it in for the area of Visual Art (painting, drawing, etc.) Matthew will try out for the area of Communications (writing, video, etc.) Leave it to him to blaze his own trail!

I hate that Robert died, yet I love that I can love at all.

There you have it, in a nutshell and I feel like a nut living in a shell!

“Are you there God, it’s me, Kathy?”

Peace,
Kathy

"Who can say for certain
Maybe you’re still here
I feel you all around me
Your memories so clear

Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You’re still an inspiration
Can it be (? )
That you are mine
Forever love
And you are watching over me from up above" To Where You Are by Josh Groban

Monday, December 31, 2007 9:39 PM CST

It appears that we have managed to survive another year. I was thinking today how the 4 people that live in our home are the same 4 people that lived here last year, but truly each of us has changed in so many ways that we are very different than we were at this time last year.

I am happy to report that we have sailed through the holidays quite gleefully. I remember how last year as the holidays approached I felt so completely empty and helpless. We were all so sad, and in some way lost…I vowed at that time to never allow the black cloud that loomed over us to remain there. Our holidays were spent very low key and with only family. Amazingly enough, there was no drama, no black cloud, we had the best time ever together.

If you take a minute to look at the latest family picture that I will add to the photo page, you will see how we have changed. The children have grown so much. We have matured and really found out niche with our new face as a family.

It is amazing to me that now we can all be going about our business and each of us begin to think of Robert and how he is missing…the amazing part is that now, we can talk about him, how much we miss him and what about the situation we are in reminds us of him. Take for instance tonight. Tonight Matthew was playing a Dragon Ball Z game on the PS2. I was sitting with him as he played. We began to talk about the different characters and all of a sudden I realized I was asking him the same questions I used to ask Robert about Dragon Ball Z. I told Matthew that my life had come full circle…I said I clocked so many hours watching that show with Robert and now I was watching Matthew and having the same conversation about the same characters that Robert and I had.

I told Matthew how I came to love Dragon Ball Z those long days in the hospital. I also loved how Robert loved it because I realized that none of the characters ever really die. Matthew said, “Mom, they die, they just use Dragon Balls to wish them back to life.” I quickly replied, “man Matt, that is what we need…Dragon Balls to wish back life!” He said, “yeah, we sure could use them…” I said, “ gee son, and we thought faith was enough and what we needed…when all we needed were some Dragon Balls!”

Yes, we all still wish Robert could come back to life. Five Christmases without him, five Thanksgivings…5 New Years’ without the Boy Wonder. I suppose that is why when I ever hear of anyone’s child very near to death I hold on a little tighter…no matter how the odds may be stacked against you, you must remember the only thing that cannot be changed is death. I suppose if you ask just about any parent they would do anything to have their child back…even if it meant life support or more long-term fighting.

Now that life has woken me up to the reality and finality of death quite frequently I remind myself and others—“well, you’re not dead yet!”

It is a New Year. Everyone in my house is new, improved and ready to live…how about your house? Granted, my house is still falling apart, slowly but surely, but we are not. Thanks be to God. Happy New Year to all and to all a good night!

Peace,
Kathy

Friday, November 16, 2007 6:25 AM CST

I must admit, I have dreaded writing this page today. The past couple of weeks have been very difficult for me.

The cold hard reality that Robert has been gone from this place for 5 long years- that have gone by very quickly-is killing me. The further I move on and away from the time that Robert was here with us is very painful for me. Leaving him behind further and further in the past is horrible. He has been frozen in time as the amazing 11 year old boy that he was; everything about him has been frozen in time…yet, when I run into his classmates and friends, as wonderful as it is to see them growing up and full of life, it pains my heart and reminds me that Robert is the only one frozen in time…I realized the other night as I mopped the floors and wept, I want my son back. I want to talk to him, hug him, and hear his voice. I want to know how tall he would be, how big he would be-I want him here where he belongs with our family.

I also realize that in some ways the further I move away from his time of death and life I am moving toward the end of mine and a time when I will be with him again…yet, that is not an acceptable way of living for me. As unbearable as it is to live without my son, the thought is equally unbearable when I think of leaving this place and those I adore as much as I adored him…so, it is a constant struggle and quandary that I live with. Every step I take forward leaves Robert far behind-yet, brings me closer to the time I would “see” him again…death-it is the only thing in this world we cannot change, alter, or escape. Please remember that every moment of every single day you have a choice-please choose to live and be happy.

Many of you so eloquently responded to my request of shared thoughts about Robert. Below this page will contain them…your words warm this tired old girl’s heart. Your memories of Robert and your ability to bring him to life for a moment in my memory makes me smile, cry, remember and cherish him a little more. Robert’s death broke all of our hearts in one way or another. His memory continues to heal and warm our souls to this day.

Kathy
I am one of those people who never met Robert but i feel such a connection to him. I do not remember how I found his caringbridge site but I was instantly drawn to your journaling. My own mom died in 1995 of Breast cancer and Robert's site is such a comfort to me. I always have that picture of him holding the fishing pole embedded in my mind. Your family is such an inspiration to me. There were days I could barely get out of bed and I would log into Robert's site praying that you posted a memory of him so i could get to know that amazing boy better. You always helped me get through the day. When my sister was diagnosed with ALS, your family got me up in the morning. I even encouraged my sister to start her own caringbridge site. I hope that you continue to post pictures and memories of Robert for a long time. He is a special part of my life now.
Love,
Haley

Hi Kathy,
What I remember best about Robert was his beautiful smile and how he absolutely loved to tease and joke with Karen. Take care,Michelle

Dear Kathy,
As you know we met because of Brandon being tutored by you. Although Brandon and Robert were not close, our family always thought about him as he fought the good fight. What I remember about him is that he was compassionate about fishing. When he would come over to our house the first place he went was our backyard with his rod in hand. Like others have said, he is surely fishing in heaven. We pray Kathy that through all the letters you receive you will know that he did impact us. He touched our hearts.
Shalom, Liz and family

I had the wonderful opportunity to know Robert & the Charlton Family very well. I was lucky enough to feel like I was part of their loving family for a long time. I have so many memories, thoughts, and moments of Robert that I can not just pick one. But there are two things in this world that always bring Robert into my thoughts & they are bluejays & fishing. I will never forget the strength Robert showed & the love he had. I am lucky to have known him & his family.Love,Becky

I am one of those unfortunate people who never had the chance to meet your wonderful boy. But I am grateful to Robert as he managed to bring our friendship back together. It was with his sickness & passing that we reconnected and I will be forever grateful to your son, Robert, for that.
I am now blessed to have you, Kathy, back into my life & family as well as having Jessica, Christina and Matthew there as well.
It is for this that I will ALWAYS keep Robert very close to me in my heart!
Love Always, Jenny

Good Morning Kathy,
I remember best our times in Boca Grande when Robert was always the first one up in the morning to go fishing. When he was little he would try to get Michael and Anthony to go out there with him, but as they grew into teenagers and wouldn’t jump right out of bed, he finally gave up on them and ventured out there by himself. I remember one of the last times that you came to spend with us in Braden Woods, he did the same thing. We all got up around 9:00 and wondered where Robert was. He was outside on our dock trying to catch the infamous “grandpa” of our pond. I remember that something did hook his line and he came in all excited, even though it got away. To hear Robert tell it the fish was three feet long and at least twenty pounds. None of us really believed him, but about six months later one of the boys did catch “Grandpa”. He really was the biggest Bass fish I have ever seen. Robert wasn’t too far off in his estimation. I will never forget the enthusiasm that Robert had for fishing and other simple pleasures of life. I will never forget those beautiful brown eyes, wide with excitement, or just gazing into the distance. I always wondered what he was dreaming about…..
I love you and your children, all four of them. Aunt Bambi

Hi Kathy,
Here is where my thoughts are leading me at this moment.
One memory of Robert is from the time we went fishing. We spent the morning trying different spots in Lake Clarke Shores without much luck. It was a beautiful, cool February morning and it didn’t matter too much that we weren’t catching much, we were just enjoying being out on the water.

We did manage to find a nice shady spot in a side canal off of Summit Boulevard. The fish didn’t seem to want the artificial worms we were using so Robert tried using some bread. Before long the fish were going after his bread, while I continued to have no luck with the worms. Robert caught a couple of fish and seeing that I had caught none, offered to switch poles so I could fish with the bread and maybe catch something other than weeds. That action exemplified Robert, he could have continued fishing and catching fish while I caught nothing, but he didn’t. He thought of others when most kids would only be concerned about themselves.

Robert was a courageous intelligent, humorous young man that enjoyed including others in whatever fun he was having. He had an impact on the people that he came in contact with both young and old, and continues to have an impact on people today through the lives of the people he touched.

Thank you Robert for the opportunity to be your teacher and the memories that I continue to share with my students every year. Mr. McMahon

Dear Katherine,
...I didn't have Robert as a student very long, just a short period of time when teaching inclusion writing in Mr McMahon class. Just from that experience, seeing him around campas and being the little brother of my daughter's friend, it was obvious that he was a natural born leader. He seemed more mature than his peers, well-adjusted and bright. I remember the car wash sponsored for him. He attended even though he felt
miserable. He had a great, positive attitude and he showed much appreciation. I don't know what it is like to lose a child but I had a taste of it last Oct. when we nearly lost Adam. I weep for your lose even as I write. Love,Marie Capi

Dear Kathy --- I remember knowing that his last few days were coming but still on that November 17th when I was in New York and logged on, I cried.
Robert was 'great' on the news with me ---- He was so mature, and responsible, and took direction well. After sitting with me as co-anchor for awhile, he was able to report the news with clarity and expression. After his diagnosis and therapy began, Robert once again sat with me at the newsdesk. This time he explained his condition and the therapy he had to go through to the students and staff. For a little boy he showed his character and dignity. I will always remember Robert and smile. Mrs. Marmer

Robert’s Excursion with Mimi Bunny
Robert was a funny guy. In all that he did, there was humor. Pair that together with an Oddball Mimi like me and it was a recipe for some fun and sometimes disaster.
While Robert was waiting to go for one of his hospital rounds, Kathy let him have a day trip to Miami with me. We planned on going to my store, visiting friends and relatives, eating junk food and having fun.
Our first stop was to his Uncle Terry’s townhouse on beautiful Biscayne Bay. Of course, Robert wanted to see the fish which hang out by his dock all day. Immediately, Robert went straight out back to the dock and saw what can only be described as the mother lode of tropical fish. There were four of the largest Angel Fish I have ever seen and they swam in pairs, as if they were mates. Then we had these 5 or 6 parrot fish, which are beautiful in color, but have funny looking faces. Throw in a few needle fish or two and you had a dream date for a fisherman. I had to scurry around and find Robert a pole. “Please Mimi, I just want to catch one fish.” Well, I never would deny anybody one fish. Robert climbed under the deck, got the pole out and we found bait in the kitchen. All within the space of two minutes. Boy, was Robert excited. All those fish just hanging out, ready to share in our enthusiasm about their beauty.
Robert drops the pole into the bay, within seconds, he got a bite. “Mimi, I got a bite!” Up he pulls this ugly fish, full of spiny scales, which is bellowing and blowing up into a Puffer Fish right before our eyes. I had never seen anything so ugly or frightening. (By now, you should have guessed, I am not a fisher person.) Well, the thing had a hook in his mouth and now I was on a mission to get that fish off of that hook so that Robert might catch a good fish. I could not let Robert touch that fish, risk getting cut on one of his spines. Maybe when he blew himself up, he emitted poison, I did not know. I tried holding the fish in a towel, while I twisted and turned and did all that Robert instructed me to do to unhook him. Finally, I did it!
Wow, that was close! Robert got more bait and dropped his pole into the water again---another bite---another puffer fish! Oh no! By the fourth time, I was getting mad. “Robert, can’t you catch anything but these Puffers?” I said. “Sorry, Mimi, but they like my bait.” His “bait” was white bread, which he chewed up to make it doughy and stick in a ball on his hook.” Guess when you are that ugly of a fish, you would eat just about anything. Now, I tried distracting all the ugly fish with bread while Robert went after the Mother lode of Tropicals. He got so close, but then, you guessed it, another Puffer fish. This was the largest ball of spines I had ever seen and his hook was embedded in his mouth, right up to his eye. This fishing expedition was not going as I had planned. No way could I get the fish released. We could not cut the line, cause that was the only hook and Robert was not ready to give up yet. Finally, Robert took over, he had found some pliers, used the towel and with astonishing ability, laid the fish on the dock, put his foot on it and twisted and pulled until at last, the hook was free. I never knew fishing could be such a life and death struggle. I think that Robert was not the one to let a fish die just because he could not release the hook. Robert liked fishing and as a true fisherman, he adhered to the catch & release code. That day, we settled for a needlefish. After all the commotion the Angel fish and the Parrot fish had swam away. We had done what we came for. We had caught fish, seen beauty and had lots of excitement doing it. I had fish smell on me for the rest of the day. We had a ball!

"I remember Robert had the brownest eyes I had ever seen. When I saw him at Publix with your mother many years ago, I remember thinking there was something special about this boy, he could change lives. I guess I was right, he has changed many lives."-Andy

I had the great privilege of knowing Robert Charlton, I don’t know which story to share, I remember quite a few, Robert was such a great person, if someone ever said something unkind about someone he would tell you the good which he saw in that person, what a wonderful way to be, its like he didn’t see the bad. Robert was great at complimenting you, and making you feel special, I know I’ve told this story before but Robert spend the night at my house quite often and I remember one night in particular he wasn’t feeling that great and I heard him get up really early and I went to check on him and he said he would love to go fishing, so Him and I lit a few Torches and sat on the sea wall around 3 or 4 in the morning, and as he fished and we talked I was telling him about one fellow student and how he was really cute and really attracting the girls and he stopped fishing and looked at me and said “I’m pretty cute my self, I think I’m even cuter then him, I laughed so hard and he looked at me and said I’m not kidding I’m pretty cute, I agreed with him he was pretty cute and not only cute but he had a great personality and he had a great since of humor, He would hear me cooking in the kitchen and he would come in and tell me how great it smelled and then he would ask if he could help me in anyway and also let me know if I wanted to invite him over for dinner he was sure he would be allowed. I miss Robert and I wish he was still here with us and I know in my heart that he would be a wonderful young man today. He loved his family so much, he loved fishing, he loved making people happy he loved life, and he fought so hard and strong, I admire him and always will. Love you Robert. (This was Robert's other Mother-his best friend Ryan's Mom)

Robert will always live with me in my thoughts and within my heart. He was a student that I could always count to show enthusiasm and interest in every activity, discussion or learning experience. He was the "student catalyst" that every teacher aspires to have in their class.
"Life is not the amounts of breath you take. It's the moments that take your breath away." Robert made this statement believable. I miss sharing conversations and laughter with Robert. In my heart...I still do. Warmly, Ms. Ogletree K/2nd Gr.Teacher

He hated the school clinic! I loved that about him! :) Nurse Kim

From Uncle "It":
Being an Uncle of Robert Mitchel, I have had a very close relationship with him, and his family. I know that he was the engine that drove us. He was the light that shone upon our paths. Always, "a kid" he was more of a kidder. He was able to make you laugh at his antics, and stop to think about our own. Robert was a special young man, of four very special children. He was, and I despise using that word "was", as in in many ways he still IS. I know that I would look forward to our family trips to Boca Grande, just to be around my nieces & nephews. Our time spent as a family unit, seems so meager now, but back then, they were so fulfilling.
Often it is said that the departed have left us for a better place, I will leave that debate to philosiphers, or theologins. I do know, that when they have left us, as part of us has gone also. Are we in a better place? Not really. Are they? Shouldn't a childs place, be amongst his family. We tell ourselves that they have left to a better place, because we have to believe that the loss was for a reason. A reason unclear to anyone. Even those closest to him.
I say that to say this. I have been trying to think of a special memory to write about, but keep coming up with the same thought.
Every single memory was special, no IS special. In my minds eye, there wasn't enough of them. But, looking back, they are to numerous to quantify.
The one I like to recite, is the time he woke up before everyone else (he always did that) but he woke up, walked down the beach, and met some people fishing, well, somehow, he talked his way onto their boat, and went out into the Gulf of Mexico with these "strangers" ( although, in Boca Grande, there really are no strangers) Anyway, we all woke up, and spent about three hours looking for him. Eventually he came home, Punishments were meted out, thanks were offfered, and apologies accepted. Then our day went on. Robert Mitchel, was back, safe amongst us. Where he was supposed to be all along.
We are left here to remember the totality of these moments, in brief, fleeting memories. the wholeness of Robert Mitchel, as reflected in a neighbors son, playing streetball, or a friends child, getting his drivers license. Wouldn't that have been what Robert Mitchell was supposed to have done. As time goes on, we will mark the milestones of his life, with the passing of others accomplishments. They are all just as special. They are all just as fleeting.
Absolutely!
Five years is a long time. It will get longer. It is incumbent upon us, to never try to speed up our lives, to reach farther ahead, at the expense of looking back, to remember those whom we have unwillingly left behind.
Every moment is special. Every memory is Precious.
I also wish to Thank my sister, Katherine, for having the courage to allow us, this space to come together. It is a task that I am not sure I could tackle. Yet, she always does. Just as Her son Robert Mitchell would have.
I have to go now, reclaim my position in our race, to reach a goal, that is ever distant.

I will continue to add your words as you email them to me...thank you for checking in and please be sure to enjoy the full view of the slide show Mimi Bunny made for Robert's page...

Peace,
Kathy

Thursday, October 18, 2007 6:12 AM CDT

Someone told me I was a lousy mother the other day. This person went so far as to tell me that I was probably a lousy mother to Robert…and that while he was sick and dying he deserved someone better to be his mother…

Before you go and get your feathers all ruffled hear me out on this one. The sad part about what this person said to me was not that they had the audacity to say, but that I did not have it in me to disagree. I have to admit, I have been a lousy mother at times. I have had my moments of failure that is for sure. I also have to admit, there have been many times that I feel that my kids deserve a better mother…even Robert. Every single day of my life at some point within that day, I have a thought or two swirling around in my mind that takes me back to my time with Robert.

Sometimes I go back to the beginning, back to when he was born. I can go back to the time he was a baby and relive moments where I felt like a failure as a Mom. Moments that I could have handled better, been a little more conscientious, patient, loving, disciplined or available. Truth is I can do that with every one of my children’s lives. My mind is not one that lets me off the hook…certain memories never leave me, especially those regarding my children. I am most haunted by choices I had to make and face regarding Robert’s life while he was sick. Often I would feel so torn into two and left feeling as if I was failing every one of my children—forget how I failed my husband and myself as a person…but to fail my children was the most damning off all failures.

I recall the day they told me Robert would die. I remember being all alone in St. Jude on that Saturday morning in October. The doctor asking me, “is there anyone we can call to come be with you, any friends…?” I said no. I remember how I went outside and sat on the bench to call my husband and family and tell them of Robert’s fate. I remember how after I did that I left the hospital for a bit and went to change clothes and shower…just before I left him, I remember watching him through the window of the room while he tried to eat chicken noodle soup with crackers-he was watching Saturday morning cartoons. I wanted to run in and wrap myself around him and somehow heal his body. My son was dying and I was leaving to shower and do things that were normal. I hated that I had to drive to the airport that night…mostly I remember how I left Robert alone in his hospital room that day. He had no idea that we had just been handed his death sentence. I can still see him sitting there. He looked pretty good. The nurses assured me that he was okay and he said he did not mind me leaving for a bit…the only problem is, 5 years later I wish I would never have left his side, not for one moment.

When your child is sick and requires constant monitoring and care, and you are responsible for administering countless medications into their body, it can really take a toll on you. For me, in the end, because Robert died, I have often been left wondering if I could have been more diligent, dedicated, and devoted…If I could have been a better mother. I have come to accept that these feelings will never leave me.

Robert was the child of mine that gave me such courage. He encouraged me in ways that made me realize how much he loved me and how proud he was of me. Robert wore me like a badge of honor. I used to think how lucky some girl would be one day when he loved her. He had a magical way of making you feel good about yourself. I loved the way he would walk through the halls at school holding my hand and announcing me to everyone that I was his mother! Robert began a process within me that helped me to understand how important it is for those we love to know just how much we love them. He was fearless in his friendship and love-if he loved you, you knew it, believed it, and knew you were on the receiving end of a special gift from someone special.

When Robert died, much of the courage and affirmation that I felt as a mother died with him. So much of me that had begun to come to life died that Sunday morning. Everything that once was alive with Robert was now dead.

It was not long that my heart strings were pulled again. At first I was amazed that I had any feeling left within me, let alone heart strings that could be pulled. Of course, the hearts strings were attached to my other children…to the other magical people in my life. I began to choose to be brave for them-only them. Those murky, tumultuous waters were so difficult to navigate during that time. I really felt like a failure many, many times.

It has always been easy to feel like a lousy mother. I hate grocery shopping now, I hardly ever cook…Family meals are a thing of the past. The dining room table where we once ate regularly as a family, each of us in our spots at the table, sits full of bills to be paid and papers that always need to be filed. I no longer have the privilege of being a Mom at my children’s school; being a face that teacher’s recognize and a Mom that they can count on to help in the classroom…these were all my normal routine for being a Mom.

In re-inventing myself as a Mom I have had to dig deep to replace my old self with something new and different. Change is never easy, almost always painful-very painful. I try to be a good listener, butI know that I fail at times---I try to be all that I can be, but I know that I am not perfect…

I realize that none of us are perfect. I realize that many who read here will see themselves within the lines of this page. Unfortunately, it is probably only the Moms whose child has died who can really relate to the feelings of ultimate failure, and feelings of being a “lousy Mom.”

Well, if I am a lousy Mom-so be it. I cannot change the past. I can change myself that is for sure. I cannot undo that which has been done. I cannot resurrect my champion to bring him back to complete his lessons in Mom teaching with me…I cannot raise the dead and finish what I started with my Robert…

I can however, choose to move forward. I can choose to fight those thoughts of doubt and let the angels carry me along when I feel as if I cannot move another step. I can choose to listen and stay up a little later at night for those few extra minutes of listening that my child needs-I can carry my tired old body down the hall to tuck my children into bed. I can choose to continue to fight to keep a roof over my children’s heads and keep them safe and sound…

I may be a lousy Mom, but I am still a Mom with choices. Robert I know that you see me. I hope you see how much you taught me. How you transformed me. How spending those countless moments with you in the last days of your life gave me the courage to learn how to be a Mom to your brother and sisters…Son, let’s just imagine that the person who called me a “lousy Mom” was kidding. You would never stand for such talk about your mother, no matter what! Robert, thank you.

The day here is just beginning. I am proud to report that Jessica, Christina, and Matthew continue to thrive. My 3 champions have grown in leaps and bounds and I hope know how much their mother loves them and tries every single day to make their world a little brighter. I wear them like a badge of honor! They are my pride and my joy.

I need to go now. The three of them are looming in the distance, growing up fast…getting ready to face this world. A world full of people who just might tell them they are lousy at something some day. Who better to teach them how to counteract such attacks on their person, but me, their lousy mother…?

Peace to you all-may this day leave you feeling good about yourself, proud of who you are and who you will be…
Kathy

Tuesday, September 4, 2007 7:01 AM CDT

The life and times of the Charlton Family continue on...

Strangely enough, it has become apparent to me that as a Mom the way to move on and live life after your child dies is to simply not dwell on the memory of your child. It is the ultimate sacrifice of a mother.

Our family is thriving. For me there is such tremendous joy and satisfaction in watching the growth and development of my children. I know that I am not an objective party, yet, I cannot help but think them exceptional as I have personally witnessed the day in and day out struggles of our family.

I had this thought the other day. I imagined our family standing in line waiting to ride a ride at a theme park. In my mind's eye I could see us all there together...Robert was in the front of the line, he was in a wheelchair; Jeff behind him, pushing him in front of the family. I was there, gathering the other children around us keeping a watchful eye on all of us. We stood there, waiting for our turn. The sign in front of us clearly stated: "Do not get on this ride if you are not this tall; do not ride this ride if you are pregnant, have a weak heart, or any other fears that may cause your ride to be unbearable!" In other words, the ride at the park required a sign in front of it causing those about to ride it to stop, make a choice, and run for their lives if necessary.

There is no such sign when the real ride of your life comes to you...when death beckons you aboard. There is no sign-no warning...no way to run for your life...there is no proctection from it.

Matthew is so big now. My heart ached as the recalled images of his small frame watching as his brother died and he boarded a ride like no other; a ride that only few children have to board in life...he misses his brother daily.

It seems to me that the only choice you have with the ride that death takes you on, is to get off. In getting off the ride, you either indulge in other activities to create such a distraction that you forget or you drown yourself in some substance...basically, you trade one ride for another. My point is, you can really never get off the ride and the the ride is really never over...

Remember when you rode a roller coaster or a ride that scared you to death. I do. I remember how I psyched myself out of it by telling myself it will all be over in a few seconds; what seemed like an eternity would end shortly and I would walk away. That is how I handle physical pain in my life. I tell myself it will end soon, shake it off and suck it up.

I don't know how to tell you this, but there is no end to the ride of death...once you board that ride, you never really get off it. Even if you fill your life with other things, even if time dulls you and moves you along you always have the sinking feeling that you cannot escape what death has begun. In death there is no turning back, no way of psyching yourself out of it, no waking up and realizing it was only a dream...

I have mastered living on this ride- this death trap...I have learned to live within this shell of a body covered with different exteriors. There are days when I feel sugar-coated with a hard sweet exterior. There are days when I feel like I am wearing frustration and stress. Sometimes, when I feel really lucky, my exteriour shell glows and shines...But, always, deep within me I know: death has come to me, taken my most precious of life-giving forces and left me with a gaping hole in my heart.

I will never be able to choose a different path for Robert. I will never see him again, hear him laugh, hold him, hug him, feed him, watch him walk into a room and give me that look...

As our family stood there waiting for the ride of our lives - death came along. There we were, standing, waiting our turn. Jeff behind Robert, me right there with the other children--we placed Robert on the ride first-death zoomed him away...we jumped on board and held on for our dear lives...never to be the same again. Never together again as a family.

We thrive. We shine each in our own way. Yet, collectively we thrive as well...collectively, we cherish the life we had with Robert. The children and I laugh together a lot. We cherish the memories of a life that we used to live.

Our life is good. We are new. We still ride the ride even after these 5 years of getting on board-we have no choice, Robert can't come back to us.

No matter how you get on the ride of death, once you are on it, you cannot get off-you cannot change it or alter it in any way...Think about this: Just like those of us who do ride the roller coasters at the parks-some of us scream our heads off, some of us hold on for dear life never even opening our eyes, some of us wave our hands in the air and ride the ride with all of our might...even in death- the ride of death- there is a choice...a choice to live.

Peace,
Kathy

Wednesday, August 8, 2007 6:32 PM CDT

Boy, I have to admit-2 months is a long time even for me not to update! How much I appreciate that some of you noticed...wink, wink.

How are the Charltons you ask? We are well, I am to report. In this case, as they say-"no news is good news."

We have been very busy this summer. We have soaked in the sun, played at the beached, worked in the yard, painted the house, cleaned out rooms, re-arranged furniture...nothing to out of the ordinary. Jess has been working all summer-she did manage to have some fun. Christina has continued to be her charming sweet self keeping us all amused. Matthew went to church camp-he was "Camper of the Week" again this year for his team-so proud of him. Unfortunately, he was sick when he got home and had a fever at the ceremony so he did not get to enjoy the honor too much. He also went to basketball camp-he loves basketball...just like his Dad and big brother! Me, I worked at camp for my old place of employment. Remember the lighthouse? The sponsor a summer History Camp each year-I worked for 3 of the sessions. I really enjoyed it. Matthew and Christina get to tag along with me so that makes it much better.

School is right around the corner for all of us. Jessica will be a Senior this year. Wow-I cannot believe it! Matthew will be "graduating" out of Elementary school--I am sure that Christina will make her mark on the school year as to make it a memorable, special one in her life.

I am going to stop right here for now...I started this and got side-tracked. I will be back, but thought that for those of you inquiring minds I would at least send up a flare! ;)

Peace...KC

Wednesday, June 6, 2007 7:17 PM CDT

I wonder-have you ever been struck by lightning? I realized the other night, I have…

I was at dinner, standing on the sidewalk waiting for the car…sounds exciting eh? Well, as I stood there I looked around a bit and noticed this very dead tree’s branches sticking up in the air above the high bush I was standing next to. I stepped over to look at this huge twig and pondered how it might ignite very easily because of the very dry conditions of our environment. Then I looked at this tree, I believe it was an oak. I noticed that it was completely dead; more like fried. I stood there staring at that sad tree. I realized it had probably been struck by lightning. It stood so tall, fried and barren-or at least I thought barren.

I gazed at this tree, dead from a lightning strike, and I realized I felt I was just like that tree. It hit me; like that lightning hit that tree-in that moment I knew I had figured out how I felt when Robert died. I felt like I had been struck by lightning! Fried, left for dead, barren-electrocuted to my core…Not only did the lightning strike me, but just as it is in nature when lightning strikes-it permeates the spot it strikes and ricochets off them and shocks anyone or anything nearby-burning them too. I daresay the day I was struck by lightning many of you may have felt its affects when you logged on and read that Robert had died…the lightning burned many of us.

What I have realized is that I have truly been just like that dead tree-fried…struggling to stand in the elements of life feeling naked and bare with nothing to protect me from those elements. I admired that tree-I admired its ability to still stand tall-I was grateful that though it was obviously dead no one had dug it up and chipped it into mulch. I even noticed as I looked at this tree, it had new growth. I saw at the base of it a few new branches coming up. Maybe those new branches were using that old dead tree to measure up to and grow up next to...

It must not be easy to spring forth with new growth after you have been struck by lightning. Did I say, “it must not be easy”? What I meant to say was IT IS NOT EASY to spring forth new growth after you have been struck by lightning. Somehow in my own life, it seems that new growth has happened in spite of my being struck by lightning almost 5 years ago. It appears that I am still standing and hopefully flourishing in some way.

Last night I went to be with some very dear friends who had just watched the father of their family die before their eyes. I listened intently as they so bravely shared the final moments of his life. I listened carefully as they talked about watching his heart beat until it stopped. I wanted to relive every second with them. I recognized that strange gaze on their faces as they recounted the moments from just that morning. I am intrigued by my instinctual desire to be with someone I love when I learn that they have lost someone they love…I have a need to hear the accounting of the final moments of life. A couple of months ago when I went to be with my friends’ after their son died, I felt so honored listening to them tell the story of his final moments. It does not pain me at all; it is a strange sense of the familiar that I am comforted by. I want to cherish those moments because I realize they are the very last moments they will ever have with that person. Somewhere in the midst of this recollecting, all of the happy memories come out to. It is a beautiful, but double edged sword, recounting all of the good moments of a dead person’s life. It is fabulous how we remember those we love after they are dead.

As I left my friends’ home very late last night, I realized that they had just been struck by lightning. They were so shocked and numb from the jolt I know that it will take time for them to even realize what has happened to them. It is obvious when you get struck by lightning. It is not so obvious to live after such a shock comes to your life…

That is why I loved that tree that night; why I admired it…it was trying to grow new life. Sometimes when lightning strikes it blows the object to smithereens! It always annihilates whatever it strikes in some way or another…but the mystery about being struck by lightning is not in the strike itself, but in the aftermath and if the object struck survives and lives to tell about it.

That has been one of my soul’s greatest desires and dreams since Robert died - living to tell about it…to tell his story over and over again; to recount the moments of his life up to the very last breath that he drew. I know it must seem like a cruel form of torture for a mother to want to recount the final moments of her child’s life-the moments as his body grew cold and his breaths stopped. But those moments are so precious, they were his last moments and as important as his first moments. Those moments were just as important as the moments I deemed worthy to write down in his baby book-his first steps, first laugh, first friend…last breath.

I wonder: Have you been struck by lightning? Do you think if you were struck by lightning, you would want to live again? I suppose in many ways the day they told me Robert had cancer was the first time I felt a jolt of lightning…then again when he relapsed the first time, and then again the final time he relapsed. Finally, it seemed the final and fatal blow for any mother would be when her child died right before her very eyes…BAM-lightning, right?!

I am trying, what can I say? I am a barren wasteland of emotions-at times I feel devoid of anything worthy and worth keeping around. I realized that I felt like an emotional wasteland that night as I looked at that pathetic tree. I am a mother desperately trying to impart hope and courage to her 3 remaining children; I am a woman trying to reconcile the death of her son in her mind, heart and soul; a woman trying to grow and come to terms with life in general…being struck by lightning has made me dig really deep and find the roots buried deep in the soil of my soul. It seems that must be the answer. My roots must have been deep and full of life and I did not even know it. What else could be the reason for me to be surviving such a jolt to my existence?

I realize that lightning may have struck me because I was touching my son as he left this world; just as I was the last one he touched as he entered this world-but the shockwaves of that bolt were felt by many. Many were burned as much as I was; I know of at least one who was left barren and completely devastated by the strike…

Dig deep; find those roots that must be there-it is in those roots that I know the strength for new growth exists.

The song I used to sing to Robert in the car as we drove to the doctor’s office together just began to play:
“When You Love Someone” by Brian Adams.
“When you love someone, you’ll do anything…you’ll do all the crazy things that you can’t explain. You’ll shoot the moon, put out the sun, when you love someone…You’ll deny the truth, believe a lie, there will be times that you believe that you can really fly…”

I want to add: “when you love someone, you’ll even live after being struck by lightning…”

Peace,
Kathy

Sunday, May 13, 2007 12:14 AM CDT

Happy Mother's Day!

How blessed I feel to have received a glimpse of my Robert yesterday...yesterday was a particular difficult day. I am not sure how or why, but the day got out of hand fast and escalated into a full assault on my psyche-I had a massive headache to prove it.

After running around town trying to undo the damage and delivering my young son to and from birthday parties I was finally home. I stood in my kitchen glad that the pain in my head seemed to be subsiding, and staring out my kitchen window at the dead, dry grass in the backyard. Everything is so dry and dying it is sad; this drought we are in is awful.

Suddenly I realized that right before my eyes I was staring at a bloom. A single bloom on the very yellowed and brown fading Gardenia tree that was planted in honor of Robert. There before my eyes was a single bloom. I became elated. The sight of this white flower made me so happy. I realized that though I wanted to not think about how sad I was because Robert would not be here for me on Mother's Day-he was close by. I believe that bloom was a flower from him for me on Mother's Day!

I stared at it, so happy-feeling warmth from his love. I instinctively began to look for a bluejay-our favorite bird-that reminds of Robert. I could almost feel that a bluejay was nearby; in my heart I believe I willed one to myself. In a matter of moments one appeared. He landed right on that Gardenia tree next to the bloom. He was the most beautiful rich blue and was delightful to behold. I knew he would come. I knew my son was reaching out toward me...I needed that, right then at that moment. I needed to remember that I am mother to 4 children...

The jay lingered for a bit. He is the only one that I have seen this Spring...he was the most beautiful one I have ever seen.

I have not seen my children yet today. Strange that I am without them again so far on this Mother's Day. Yet, I know that they are near in my heart and love me dearly. I cannot wait to see them later...

Peace to you this day. Keep your hearts saturated with love and be at peace.

Kathy

Sunday, April 22, 2007 7:47 AM CDT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR ROBERT, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU..." We love and miss you Robert!

“Another day, just believe…Another day, just breathe…hmm, hmm, another day, just believe, another day, just breathe…I’m used to it by now.” Those are the words from a song I am listening to. Those words are repeated over and over again throughout the entire song. That’s it-ten words make up an entire song. Who knew a silly techno-dance song I have listened to a gazillion times would contain ten simple words to live by? Who knew that my life would ever be summed up by 10 words- “another day, just believe, another day, just breathe – I’m used to it by now”? Who knew?

In some ways it is easy for me to accept that my entire mission in life is to just get through days. Of course I try to get through these days with grace, integrity and feeling as if I succeeded in something. Most would be surprised to realize that in truth, the fact that I just get through a day is success in and of itself.

Apparently Robert is still gone; apparently he is not coming back.

He won’t be here for his Dad’s birthday today. He won’t be here for his own birthday next weekend. This would have been a special year for them both-they would have definitely had a big blowout for this year together. Jeff is 40; Robert would have been 16. Maybe we could have convinced MTV to do a special Sweet 16 party for them sharing such special milestones so close together…Can you picture it? Imagine the headline: “Boy who beats cancer celebrates 16th birthday alongside of his Dad who is celebrating his 40th birthday!” Robert did love a good party- food, people, music and laughter…that was all he wanted.

As it is, there will be no party planning. No choices to be made about when, where and how for Robert’s “Sweet 16.” Apparently, according to Death I have no more choices. Apparently, everything has been decided for me. Every dream, hope, plan, desire and need has already been decided…there is nothing more. With death, you get nothing. No shared custody, no visitation, no phone calls, no release for good behavior, no reprieve…NOTHING! WITH DEATH YOU GET NOTHING…

Robert is frozen in time. That is something I get with Death, I get a memory of my son frozen in time. I suppose I do have some choices with Death. I do get choices with death. I get to choose over and over again to accept that my son is dead. I get to choose to suck it up every moment of every day when I realize that I have not seen him in years. I get to suck it up when I realize that even the dog is out-living my son. I get to choose to not think about how big Robert would be now whenever I see one of his friends and see how they have grown up…I get to ask all the questions I would normally ask as my child grows up into an adult. I also get to wonder just like any other mother…I get to wonder what kind of teenager my son would be, what kind of car he might drive someday, who he might go on a date with…where he would be planning on going to college…I get to wonder all the same things every other mother gets to wonder about…I can wonder all I want, Death gives me that much at least. Wonder, imagination, I can still dream about Robert and his future…I just have to realize it will cost me. Every dream, vision and moment of wonder I have now, costs me dearly-it hurts so badly. It is extremely painful to wonder about something that can NEVER be- there is no hope for any of the dreams for my son to come to fruition.

Death brought something else, a life for this mother full of pain and always some emptiness that can NEVER be satisfied…never taken away…an emptiness that has become a sort of companion to me; that companion is called Sorrow. Sorrow becomes a sort of character in your life. Sorrow comes to you when someone dies; that is what you get-you get to live with Sorrow. With Sorrow, Death gives you a choice. “Hey lady, Death asked me to introduce myself-I am ‘Sorrow’. Death says that you need to realize that I will be with you for the rest of your life-everyday, all the time. I know you want your son back. Well, he is dead. He is gone, you get me…don’t worry lady, I will take good care of you if you let me…” Gee did I forget to say “thank you…”

I want to schedule a meeting, a meeting with God, Death, Sorrow, and Robert-Jeff can come if he wants to…but I want this meeting. A sort of meeting of the minds I suppose. Don’t you think that is the least “they” can do? I mean shouldn’t someone be checking with me to see if I have received satisfactory service since the single most significant event of my life has happened and I had no choice in the matter…seems the least that should be done for a mother. Oh yeah, I’m sorry, I forgot for a second, with death you get NOTHING; Nada, Zilch-NEGATORY, NOTHING!

I suppose I should not even bother asking God for a glimpse of Robert…you do not even get that, a glimpse after death…Death apparently supersedes everything. It is one of life’s greatest mysteries: Death. All we know about it is what we have imagined. Death requires a lot of imagination; a lot of faith to believe in it. Ah, something else I get from Death, I get to choose to have faith…

I realized last week that Robert is frozen in time in my mind. I realized that everyone is surpassing him in age, height, and stature. That is when I realized that he is frozen in time in my mind, and that the memory I have of him needs to grow…I have decided to start envisioning what he would be like now. All of this time, I was able to keep him frozen in time exactly as he was. It was okay, it fit. He could stay just as he was; he still fit in that place. Not any longer. We have all outgrown him. Life has moved us far away from the 11 year old boy that he was. He would be heading into manhood. It does not seem fair to keep remembering him as the 11 year old that he was. I have to begin to imagine him as a young man. This is really necessary I feel because everyone else has grown up. When I see his friends and how they have grown I need to be careful to not stand there with my mouth gaping open, it is a little disarming. I know they would not appreciate to know that they were frozen in time with Robert. They have all grown up; they have kept living.

So, Sorrow has convinced me to let Robert grow up in my mind as well. I am being beseeched to envision what he would be like today, where he might be going tomorrow and all of that wonderful stuff. I do have a choice. Of course I have a choice, Death cannot take all of my choices, not while I am living – I am not dead yet. I can choose to face the fact that my youngest son is surpassing his older brother in age, height, and stature…Matthew will soon out live his big brother. I have to choose to face the fact that there will no longer be hand me down clothes for Matthew from his big brother- he will have outgrown everything I saved for him from his brother…then I get to choose all over again what to do with Robert’s clothes…save them for my grandchildren? Give them away? Ah, decisions, decisions…what to do? Imagine that, Death has given me something-I do still have some choices…

I just do not have Robert. He is gone. Robert is no longer here and he is not coming back. Just in case you forgot, I wanted to remind you. I was going through all of Robert’s baby pictures the other day…he was a beautiful healthy baby. I looked at all of those pictures. They were typical cute snapshots of life. Just like any mother would have in her collection of photos to have as keepsakes of life’s moments…I stare at them now and look for a sign, something in the photo in Robert’s eyes, or smile, that shows me a sign of what was going to happen to him…I see no sign, all I see is a snapshot of boy living a moment in time. I see life, I see hope, dreams, I see everything…

Robert, I am still here- fighting every day for air- just to remember to breathe at times son…I miss you. You know. Ask the powers that be if I could just get a glimpse of you…just a glimpse, maybe a wisp of your breath, anything…it is your birthday after all…

Who knew that Death could beat out a mother’s love and take her child?

Robert Mitchel Charlton - Happy 16th Birthday Son!

I would like to send a card, a birthday package, but you see I do not have an address to send it to; I hope that you understand…Death did not leave a forwarding address.

Just know this: Robert, you are loved, missed and remembered every single day…

Peace,
Kathy

Tuesday, March 27, 2007 1:51 PM CDT

Good day. All is well. Spring is here. I can tell. In our neck of the woods the birds are chirping so loudly that they wake me up on the weekend mornings. It is amazing; I do not recall them being so loud before…my cats are terrified!

I am proud to report that Jessica accomplished her task. She managed to raise $2,000 for the St. Baldricks Foundation. The outpouring of support for her touched her very much. Jessica had thought long and hard about what she was doing, and why she was doing it. As she proudly told one of her teachers, “I know that if my brother Robert were here today he would be proud of me for doing this!” Robert probably would have told her it was not necessary for her to shave her hair for him, but he would have really appreciated it and been right by her side all the way. Jessica gave a very heartfelt and moving speech that day as well. So moving in fact, that her school principal told me that she wants Jess to write her Graduation speech for her…and a board member from the St. Baldricks Foundation gave me his card for Jess to send her speech and her story to him to put on their national webpage. He said, “This is exactly what we are all about…children with cancer and how it affects them…”

Life is so full - full to the point of overflowing. So full in fact that for the most part, my mind is occupied and not allowed to dwell on thoughts of Robert. I have to admit, at least to myself, the grief monster has not left me. I suppose it may never leave-I suppose as life continues to move along the grief will take on many shapes and forms. I suppose that is the way it should be. As long as one keeps living, that is the point.

My life is more together now than it has been in years, okay, probably more together than it ever has been! The bills get paid, the kids are happy, the animals are not driving me crazy, my job is good, the IRS is gone, my life is full and satisfying…So this past weekend, when I suddenly began to feel this unhappiness creep in, I was pretty perplexed. I began to wonder why I felt so unhappy-why my face did not reflect the joy I felt in my heart…

So, I began to ponder this notion of happiness and joy. Matthew and I were lying in bed watching a soul gospel group sing and dance at a church program. They sang over and over “I still have joy!” They sang, “…After all that I have been through, I still have joy!” This really struck a nerve with me…I asked myself, “Do I have joy? Am I expecting the temporary feelings of happiness to carry me through life or do I live with joy?” There is a big difference between joy and happiness, at least I think there is…happiness is so temporary-so wavering and only for a moment that I cannot rely on it to sustain me. Joy comes from deep within and brings with it a sense of peace and can be sustained no matter what the circumstance.

I believe that grief needs joy, not happiness, to counteract its effects. Happiness is not nearly strong enough to sustain a grieving mother through grief. I think the highs of life that are sought after and felt through happiness can leave us feeling more shattered and empty when they are gone-at times I feel so happy and on a high that when I crash down from that lofty place the pain is unbearable…the pain always come from the fact that my heart constantly misses and mourns my son.

Grief is a process. We all know that. It becomes a lifelong companion that you can choose to accept or ignore. Ignoring it, and filling up with temporary forms of happiness only leaves us on a higher place from which to fall.

Today would be my Dad’s 71st birthday. It was 10 years ago that I last spoke with him. It was so sweet this morning when I was “wetting down” Matthew’s unruly hair, I began to talk about my Dad. I began to tell Matt the same story I tell him every time I wet down his hair. I tell him how my Dad used to say to my younger brothers “come here and let me put some spit on that hair!” I remember my Dad wetting down my younger brothers’ hair on Sunday mornings, as we got ready for church. This morning as I reminisced about my Dad, I realized it was his birthday. My eyes immediately welled up with tears and my heart cramped up inside me as I looked at my son and realized that he was just a baby when my Dad died.

I spent many years missing my Dad. I spent my entire childhood missing him and wanting to be with him. Then after he died, though I was conditioned to miss him, I knew he was really gone…I think that is why I can live now. Years of practice in missing someone I love. Years of feeling as if a piece was missing and that it was somewhere, just not with me. All those years that I spent missing my Dad as a child, I never learned how to live in the moments of happiness and recognize that joy dwelled deep within me. I always longed for something more…

Now I realize that what I long for I can never have-not in my lifetime at least. The grief I carry can never be taken away, never be traded and erased by moments of happiness. The only way I can combat that feeling I carry within me is to recognize that I have joy! There are days that I need to tell my face that…some days I need to remind myself of this: that no matter what, I have joy.

I realize that for some of those around me in my life, I have not “gotten over” or “moved on” or “grieved” fast enough, or the way that they thought I should but…these things take time. I am a deep thinker, full of deep emotions. My simple, easy-going Dad understood that about me. My simple, fun-loving son understood that about me; okay, maybe they did not understand that about me, but they accepted me and loved me just the same! If my Dad were here, he would never tell me to hurry up and get over the loss of Robert…he would listen to me, as painful as it might be for him to face the death of his grandson, my son, my Dad would have listened to me…and you know what, he probably would have told me to “go get ‘em tiger!”

I think that Dad may have had many unhappy times in his life – who doesn’t? I also think that my Dad understood that life was not about jumping from happy spot to happy spot…it was about living with joy and peace. It simply is that simple.

Happy Birthday Dad! You are missed every day by your family…I know that you are so proud of your grandchildren-mine and your newest one. I tell my children all the time how much their grandfather would have loved them, how different so many things in our life would have been different had you lived longer. I tell them how much they would have loved you…Dad, I still hear your voice from that last and final talk- thank you for always making me feel “precious”. I miss you. Kiss my boy for me-let him give you one of his famous hugs and dashing smiles.

Peace,
Kathy

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 9:03 AM CDT

Good day. All is well in our house. This Friday is a big day. Who would have thought that Fridays would finally become days that were not dreaded by me?

Jessica is shaving her beautiful, long, curly hair off! I am proud of her and her bravery. This is really important to her. I am proud of how she has really thought about why she is doing this, and how a child feels that is facing cancer and losing their hair. Her heart has truly been very heavy as she weighs the decision she has made to shave off her hair. Jessica realizes that she will be bald, but she realizes it is by choice, it is not because she is facing chemotherapy and her body will be so poisoned that her hair falls out!

This has been a real eye-opener for her and me…if half of the kids choosing to shave their heads spent half the time she has in thought about this choice then they are doing it for the best reason…in the end, Jess realizes this is her choice. No one is forcing her to shave her head, and she does not have to face cancer, or chemo or hair loss because of disease.

We have been remembering how Robert used to love to torture Jess with his treatment and such. I did not remember the story she shared on her website for St. Baldricks where she wrote about her brother…she wrote about how he called her that first day from the hospital to tell her how they stuck a needle in his arm and were pumping him full of blood! He did love to shock her. We have also been remembering how after he relapsed and he faced the “big guns” of chemo his hair fell out immediately. Robert would torture Jess by pulling out chunks of his hair right in front of her. They would be sitting there watching t.v. and he would call her and the minute she looked he would yank out his hair! After a few times of him snatching himself bald, Jeff finally had enough. I still remember when he marched Robert down the hall to shave off his hair.

Robert did not seem to mind too much being bald, at first. But, we in the family knew how it really bothered him. Robert really looked odd as his faced and body swelled from the steroids-he hated the way he looked bald and swollen. I was never more proud of my son then the day he got all dressed up and went to school for the last day of school celebration. In 5th grade at our school it is tradition to have the awards and class dance that same day. Robert beamed as he received his awards and even asked the girl he liked for a dance…all with his head bald! By this time, the swelling from steroids had subsided and he did not look so odd. I do know, my son was very self-conscious and he was very good at keeping his chin up. His bald head definitely made him feel like he stuck out like a sore thumb-he was acutely aware of the finger pointing and people glaring at him when he walked by…

Apparently, Jessica remembers her brother and his plight quite well. She was very sensitive to her brother and she must have known too how his appearance affected him…now, she is braving the glares and stares of the public to make a statement and honor her brother and all the other children who lose their hair to disease and treatment.

In this day and age when celebrities and people make headlines because of their shocking behavior, I am so proud to know that my daughter in her own small way is making headlines to make a difference…

Boy, wouldn’t it be nice if her faced was plastered all over the place because of her cause as opposed to the celebrity of late who shaved her head for WHAT? Please check out Jess’s spot on the St. Baldrick’s webpage. She is a Participant- a SHAVEE-Robert is her honored child…

Send the link to as many people as you can!

www.stbaldricks.org

Thanks for checking in…Peace to you all.
Kathy

Wednesday, February 28, 2007 8:49 AM CST

Good day. Today is a wonderful day. A wonderful for day for me because it is the day I get to celebrate the birth of my firstborn child. Jessica Noel Charlton was born on February 28, 1990. Yes folks that would make her 17! I cannot believe that my girl is 17…

A tradition in our family is telling the stories of each child’s birth. Do your children love to hear the story of their birth? I know that mine do.

Jessica took her time getting here. Actually, I suppose she did not take her time, she came a little earlier than her due date. Her labor was a very long one. Much like the way that she is today she was before she was born. She loves her home and would be happy to stay there all the time. I remember being so anxious for her birth. Being my first pregnancy and birth experience I had no idea what to expect. Also, those 17 years ago, ultrasounds were not standard protocol for a normal pregnancy. So, I really had no idea about what was coming!

I did however believe in my heart of hearts that Jess was going to be a girl-I knew that Robert Mitchel would not be our firstborn. When Jeff and I married, he told me that our first son would be named after his Dad; so, if Jess had been a boy, she would have been our Robert Mitchel! Nevertheless, I had a feeling, and a dream, that my firstborn would be a girl and be born on February 28th! In my heart of hearts I wanted a girl, I wanted a baby girl born on February 28th-I never told anyone this, not even Jeff. It was my secret…Jessica was my secret.

She came into this world wide-eyed and very big. The doctor, known for his accurate assessment of baby’s weights, had estimated that she would be about 6-6 ½ pounds. Everyone thought that I was going to have a boy-EVERYONE, but me! People used to stop me in the line at the grocery store and say,”that looks like a boy to me, you are carrying a boy for sure!” I would just sort of smile and nod a thank you…

I will never forget the moment my girl was born. After a long, arduous labor- 27 hours, she emerged. Jessica came into this world “sunny-side up”; she was blinking her eyes and looking all around. Her fingernails were so long that they said she looked more like a baby that was overdue than a few days early! Jess weighed 9 pounds 1 ounce! She was a big first baby that is for sure! She was perfect. I was exhausted and very weak. I had worked the entire day that my labor started. I had no sleep for 2 days and had not eaten in those 2 days either.

Finally, I had my baby. My mother was at the hospital and knew that I must have had the baby as she was waiting patiently. She asked the nurses if the Charlton baby had been born. The nurse told her, “oh yes, they have had the baby…” My Mom turned to walk off, but stopped to ask, “what did she have?” The nurse replied, “a baby girl, weighing 9 pounds 1 ounce!” My Mom’s chin dropped, she could not believe that I had a girl, she asked again, not believing her what she heard. She was so excited-a baby girl-a granddaughter!

Thus began the most wonderful journey of my life. Jessica was the most amazing, wonderful baby. She was perfect in every way. We used to spend our long days together, just the two of us. Jeff injured his knee very badly the day Jess came home from the hospital, so he was a bit out of commission for the first weeks of her life. But, every moment that we could, we spent with our girl. Just the two of us, and at times, just the 3 of us.

Jessica, there has never been one moment of your life that I was not proud of you, proud of being your mother. You shine in so many ways. Your wisdom and intelligence leaves me speechless at times. As we journey into this next phase of your life, remember how honored and blessed I always feel because I am your mother-because you are my daughter!

As I have spent much time this week reflecting on the frailty of life once again, I am pleased to report that even though death continues to prematurely snatch young people from us, life continues to carry on. I spent some time with my dear friends the Rommels last night. I was privileged to hear Ryon’s Mom share the story of his last moments. I count it a tremendous blessing to hear a word from a mother who has watched her child’s life fade away. I loved being in their home and in the closeness of the family. I was blessed as we connected in an unimaginable way. Ryon suffered relentlessly over the past 6 years; he was a true champion. I told his Mom that I wished I had known him better because of how amazing I knew he was…

Cancer brought our two families together-death has united us in a way we never would have contemplated. Life carries on.

I also want to take one last moment to share with you about a special project Jessica has chosen to be a part of. On March 16th-in a couple of weeks- Jessica will have her head shaved! Yes, you read it right, Jessica is shaving her head! Last year she decided to be a part of the fundraising cause for “St. Baldrick’s Day! This is an organization that raises funds for Children’s Cancer Awareness. The have been tremendously successful each year in their nationwide plight to raise money. Jess has chosen to join their efforts. She has single-handedly raised a few hundred dollars. She is telling her friends at school what and why she is doing this, she has been telling family. Jessica feels so strongly about children and how they even have to lose all of their hair to cancer. She is doing this for them, and in honor of her brother.

On Friday, March 16th, her school is hosting the event. She has been asked to share her story and why she is doing what she is doing. Jess has asked me to join her and say a few words as well. I am so proud of her bravery. Any of you who have logged on to this page have seen her amazing head of hair! Her peers cannot believe that she is going to do this; her reply is…it is the least that I can do! Any money she raises she turns in straight to the fund at her school for St. Baldrick’s. I am excited that she has chosen this project-she is brave.

So, tonight I will not be able to attend Ryon Rommel’s viewing-I will be celebrating the life and birth of my girl! Ryon would have it no other way, I am sure. He, like Robert, never gave up, or gave in, and fought every moment of every day to live again…that is all that Ryon wanted-another day to live…now he lives on in eternity.

Thank you for stopping by. Thank you for remembering the Rommels. Thank you for remembering Robert…remembering life.

Peace my friends, all is well.
Kathy

P.S. Click on the link below for more information about St. Baldrick’s Day!

Wednesday, February 28, 2007 8:49 AM CST

Monday, February 26, 2007 7:11 AM CST

Good Morning. It is a very gloomy day here in West Palm Beach. It is the kind of day that mirrors the sadness I feel in my heart...cancer has taken yet another life. Ryon Rommel passed away in the middle of the night Saturday. He died at 12:05 am Sunday, February 25th.

The ache and sadness I feel in my heart is really not for Ryon...for he has gained eternal healing and is complete and at peace, he is strong and whole again...Ryon, you will be missed more than you could ever have imagined. As a mother I ache for your parents. I know too well the pain that your absence from this life will bring to them. Your Mom and Dad are strong, amazing, loving people-I have no doubt that every moment of their days will make you prouder than ever...I know also how much your brothers will miss you. I watch everyday as my 3 children miss their beloved brother...you remember him, Robert. You two used to joke a bit in the halls of the hospital...

Ryon fought the most brave, gallant, most difficult battles I have ever known any human being to fight. His disease held his body captive for years; it took a toll on him every moment of every day, never letting up and never giving him a break. Ryon's family fought right alongside of him. NEVER giving up hope for a complete healing, NEVER fading in their courage and faith that Ryon would be well again...

Many of you remember Ryon's Dad...Joe Rommel. A champion for my family. A champion for Robert. Joe single-handedly tried to save Robert through his faith and out stretched hand to provide him a safe room and place to live when he came home from his transplant...

Please remember this family as you journey through another week, another day, another moment. Remember that sadly cancer still is taking lives...cancer now will try to break the hearts of this family even further in the absence of Ryon. Pray for courage to grieve, to live and to breathe again...

The link for Ryon's page is: www.caringbridge.org/fl/ryonspage

Rommel's we love you. If we can stand in this gap of sorrow with you and hold you up as you held us up we shall...may you feel the love and warmth of those around you as you journey forward...

Peace,
Kathy

Monday, February 5, 2007 6:44 PM CST

Not long ago, while speaking with a dear friend of mine, I commented on how badly I needed to get back to exercising. I rambled on…“I need to whip this body into shape; muscle has memory you know and I need to jar their memory!” My friend’s reply was perfect…my friend said to me, “Well, remember that the heart is a muscle, and it has a memory too!”

I have thought of this reminder many, many times since these words were said to me. I have been fascinated with the idea of memories that co-exist between our hearts and our minds for a long time. They are like treasures-morsels of our lives that can make or break us. I truly believe that it is a two edged sword, our beloved heart and its memories. So many times it seems our heart remembers things as it wants to and not as it truly should see them. It is our mind and heart working together that can form a perfect balance between holding on to the wonderful memories that we need to cherish and letting go of the memories we need to forget.

Today is my 40th birthday. As this day has approached I have thought about many things. My birthday has represented many sad moments in my life. It is shrouded by some very sad memories of my Dad and my Robert. These 2 loves’ of my life were both very sick on and around the time of my birthday. So sick in fact, I thought that as I watched their bodies failing, my heart would surely break and I would die too. These sad memories are now part of the collection of cherished memories that I have squirreled away in the surplus treasury of my heart. I have taken even these dark, scary moments and encapsulated them in the muscle mass of my heart.

A few years ago I decided it was time to make new, happy memories to squirrel away in my weak heart. It takes a lot of courage to dig deep into the archives of our heart and sift through the memories that make up our lives. I say this because so many times we bury memories away and act as if they are not there and pretend that they do not affect us. It seems to me that as we grow and mature it is our responsibility to face these memories and file them in their place. How many times have we been held captive by our memories? How many times have the memories of the past crippled us in our present and tainted our future?

All of my memories of my father I cherish. I have learned to look back even on the saddest, weakest times of his life and cherish my memories of him. I can do this now because I have come to accept that this was his life - every moment of it- good or bad it made my Dad the man that he was. With Robert, I am desperate to keep my memories of him. So desperate that I allow myself to even dwell on the darkest most horrific moments of his life because it was him, it was his life. Even if they are memories that no one would ever want to make, remember or cherish. Every moment was his life. Every moment was him. In every moment he was alive and shined for me as only he could.

It is up to me to be strong enough to know when I can dwell on these memories. It is up to me to allow my heart to be controlled by my mind and stay strong and among the living. Even in our memories we have a choice. I daresay, sometimes, memories are triggered and catch us off guard. They come out of nowhere and sweep over us like a toxic fume and take our breath away. That is when we have to be the strongest. It is in those unanticipated moments that memories can make us weak in the knees.

I cherish my mind, my memories. Don’t you? I know that each of us has memories that we desperately wish to forget. Memories of moments that we wish never even happened. Remember this, even those memories are part of the make-up of our lives. Even the worst memories are a true part of who we are.

Will you let your memories make or break you? The New Year beseeched me to choose happiness. This new year of my life is compelling me to be happy, truly happy. I want my face to be a reflection of the happiness in my heart. Every moment of every day in my life is tainted by memories of my dead son. I have even been dreaming of Robert lately-Matthew asked me the other day if Robert’s body would still have skin on it…those words from my young son about his brother are now part of the moments of memories that I hold in my mind and heart. I have chosen not to dwell on the answer to his question, the image that question conjured up in my mind is horrific…I am sure that you can imagine.

My mother threw a surprise birthday party for me the other night. I was completely surprised. I found myself surveying the room of guests and saw so many wonderful things. I saw the segments of my life come together in one room. Friends and family were together for the first time since we buried Robert. I was surrounded by love and felt much love. My life was so complete for those moments. My sweetie was there, my children, my family, friends…even my ex-husband and his wife. It was exactly as it should be. Minus one, always, minus one…forever every moment will be minus one. I will never have one more moment, memory or anything with my Robert. As a child swinging on the swing with my best friend we used to talk about turning 40. We talked about husbands and children…we never imagined the death that would be in our lives. I never anticipated a birthday without my son Robert.

I was so happy to be moving forward in life. I am happy to be moving forward…Robert I will always miss you. Every moment will have a hole in it. Every memory may feel somewhat incomplete for me, but that does not mean that I cannot continue to make memories to store up in my heart.

I watched as my 3 children danced and laughed and beamed as their mother celebrated her 40th birthday. My children complete my life-they are the beginning and end of my days. Now I make memories by being the mother of 3 children, no longer 4. What a beautiful thought…me making memories with my 3 children. Is it as it should be? Apparently; because it is- as it should be. No more, no less- happiness - it is perfection for me.

Work those muscles, make them strong. Remember your heart is a muscle and its memories are the fibers that weave together to make it strong.

Peace, all is well.
Kathy

*Yes, it has taken me too long to write here...thank you for stopping by. I hope to have some new photos from the party online in a couple of days.

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