Faith and Gratitude - "Andy Sitings"

I sleep with a tattered blanket and a small ball with Homer Simpson imprinted on one side. They are tucked away under my pillow and, if I choose, I can touch them with my fingertips at any time during the night.  Now, you can stop reading this article now and conclude that an admission such as this warrants no time to read further.  Or, as I hope, your curiosity has gotten the best of you and you have asked yourself, "Why?"

I believe that we all struggle with Faith.  At least I certainly have.  And we are all familiar with the phrase that God does not present us with any situation that we cannot handle.  It was actually Mother Theresa that wisely added, "I wish that He did not have so much faith in me."  She said it first.  I said it second.  It was during the eulogy of my son, Andy, on January 21, 2004.

We can never anticipate how we might react to our worst fears.  Mine was, as most parents are, losing a  child.  I could not imagine life without them.  And because that fear was so great, I prayed to God that He would protect them when I was unable to.

This blog addresses the miraculous ways I have managed to navigate life minus one precious passenger.

My first clue that there was something guarding my emotional destruction occurred in my living room the day following Andy's death.  I was, by no accident, sitting in the wing chair Andy often used to practice his guitar and play "Blackbird" by the Beatles just for me.  I gazed out of my contacts, now foggy from smudged makeup and tears, and beheld a room full of my family, friends, and neighbors.  We were grief-stricken and paralyzed.  Though my contacts did not clear, my thoughts amazingly did.  I felt an unexpected and unexplainable strength wash over me.  I reached for a pen and paper and began to prepare my son's eulogy.  I also became determined to see my loved ones through their sadness, their hopelessness.  Life would continue for all of us.

When I think back to that moment I am still amazed at that powerful feeling.  I call in my "Footsteps in the Sand".  That was my first real introduction to God.

Now, I would be lying if I told you that I have not collapsed at times when I hear "Blackbird", when I see a skateboarder, when I see one of his friends, so mature and grown up, when I see a commercial about saving animals, when I see a smile that can light up a room, when I see a whale breach the ocean, when I see my son Peter play his guitar, when I hold our daughter's son, Andrew, when I see a Peace sign, when I get a hug or am told, "Guess what, I love you!"

But the moments of loss have been so outnumbered by what I refer to as "Andy Sitings".  Well, I should really give credit to my sisters for coining the phrase.  They have them all of the time.  When they occur to me, they are nothing less than miraculous.  I will mention just a few.

It was at least a year before I could really enter his bedroom.  The essence of Andy lived there for so long.  But that did not mean that I was immune to reminders of his presence on earth.  I could open my dresser and find Birthday cards, notes, and pictures.  So I was a bit desensitized, but not much.  I found some precious things.  One was a book written to his friend, Carey, in grade school.  He described how much he cared for him.  I sent it to Carey that August.  In October, Carey lost his twin brother, Andrew.  I am glad I found that book.  I don't think that it was an accident that I  chose to go through Andy's belongings that month.

I was so sad that I was unable to locate "Ba-ba".  It was a tattered blanket that Andy named and clung to for several years.  He would cuddle up with me and suck his thumb.  He was my only thumb-sucker - just like me.  We had identical calluses on our right thumb from the wear and tear.

Years had since gone by and I found myself once again in his closet.  I don't know why.  Maybe I was wanting to change a light bulb. Really? There was nothing visible on his shelves but somehow I went on tiptoes and reached to the farthest corner of that top shelf.  There it was!  I have no explanation of why I would find myself in an empty closet, wanting to replace a light bulb that was not needed, and deciding to reach for one particular corner.  I hugged it.  I smelled it.  And I have not slept a night without it.

We have moved several times since leaving Andy's childhood home.  Sometimes it is a blessing to be away from those memories and sometimes it is gut wrenching for those very reasons.  I emphasized several times because the following story is absolutely unexplainable.

We had been settled into our new home for several months.  One day, our 1 year old grandson, Andrew, was walking around the gravel driveway on his newly found legs.  He bent down with precise balance and picked up a small ball with Homer Simpson on it.  Where did this ball come from? Could the dogs have found it in there romp in the woods, thinking their aging joints could out run the deer?  Couldn't be.  They hated the gravel and remained in the backyard.  Against my concern about germs and the origins of this ball, it was the perfect size for Andrew's fist and he tightened his grip, determined to not give it up. So we brought it inside and it was placed in Andrew's collection of balls.

One day during a visit, my son Peter spotted the ball.  "Oh," he remarked, "you brought Andy's fuze ball over".  My memory of Andy bouncing that silly ball from ankle to ankle came rushing back.  I stared at that ball with all of its wonder. How did that ball find itself in our driveway? You may find explanations.  I certainly have mine.  And that is why it is nestled with Ba-ba.

Why am I writing about this now?  Well, I have no answer for that.  I just felt compelled to sit down and share some of my precious miracles that sustain me.

During this time of year, I am privileged to be connected to some faiths and traditions that are celebrating life - my daughter-in-law, Shirin, and her parents including us in the Persian New Year celebration, my son-in-law, Jeremy taking Molly and Andrew to a Seder to celebrate his Passover tonight, and my preparing to listen to Peter play the organ in church Sunday for the Contemporary Easter Service.   I have come to appreciate that Love and Faith and Miracles are not confined to one religion.  They are part of our everyday life.  We just have to open our hearts to listen and to be led.

I hope that you all find the Love and the Beauty of this life with all of it's hidden mysteries and treasures.  Andy would like that, as I often said in his Eulogy.  And I am certain that you will find Peace.  Andy has taught me this lesson.  And I am forever grateful.