The Best Birthday Gift ever

Well, a week from now I will officially increase my age by 1.  This Baby Boomer will proudly declare that she is 66.  But with all the promises my tomorrows have brought to me everyday, I have always kept this thought nestled in the furthest reaches of my mind - "Why have I outlived my beautiful little boy".

I say furthest reaches as it is part of my grief and coping process.  The reality of Andy not being physically on this earth to hug me, to smile at me, to give me his Peace, has certainly been accepted.  And having accepted this undeniable part of my history, I have taken measures and precautions to put all in perspective.   So the reality is tucked away, safe among his beautiful memories.

The problem with that tucked away mechanism is that often times,  a beautiful memory gets released.  I hear Izzy singing our favorite Hawaiian song.  "Please, oh please let this memory be a single one" I beseech my soul.  "Please don't let his not being hear to sing with me piggy back the beauty of this moment".

Sometimes it works.   Sometimes it doesn't.  That is the grief process, Elaine.  And I certainly have devoted the majority of my blog to Andy and that very topic.

I am facing a break in the memory blockade so to speak.  As I face my birthday, I cringe.  I feel guilty.  My son died when he was 19 years old.   I was a Freshman at Thiel College when I was 19.  At that time, my life was just beginning to unfold.

Besides this birthday jolt to the memory vault, another event occurred recently that was bittersweet.  One of Andy's dear friends got married.  Last time I saw a picture of his friend, Andy was in that picture, too.  Then it occurred to me.  Andy would never be a husband, a father, an uncle.

I have been preparing myself for a period of diminished stamina to come.  My aging body, though accustomed to only seeing Andy in my dreams, has had much more difficulty in weathering some stormy patches.  I pray to God to give me strength.  And of course he never let's me down.

I decided to wear my Peace locket that encloses a picture of Andy with the engraving, "I'll see you in my dreams".  The darn clasp and my arthritic hands are a challenge, but the 15 minutes it took to have that beautiful picture drape over my heart was worth it.

That day, several patients commented on that locket.  It was so comforting.

But the best thing was coming home to my grandson Andrew.  He said, "Yia Yia, what is that".  I said that it was a locket and that it was very special to me.  "Why, Yia Yia?"  Because it opens up.  "Can I see?"

I opened the locket to reveal my beautiful Andy.  "Yia Yia, that's my name" and with that he gave me a hug.

My Birthday is coming up and I received the best gift I could have hoped for.  God knew I needed a hug.   I got the best one ever.   Happy Birthday to me.

The View? Whose View?

I have not written a new post for some time.  Normally I resurrect previous blogs that carry important reminders for those suffering from depression, grief, and, most recently, suicide awareness and prevention.


But then there are those moments that ignorance rears its ugly head.  In reviewing my past blogs, I have nothing addressing this topic.  And today gives me a perfect chance to call out on a group of individuals who have done just that.   They have shown their true colors, their bigotry, their prejudice, and for some absurd reason,  feel that they are immune to knowing facts and entitled to spew their disgust towards others. 


My concern?  Does ignorance beget ignorance?


Here is the reason for this blog today.  The "famous" ladies on "The View" stepped outside of their usual comfort zone of religion, politics and woman and gay rights yesterday and began to criticize a contestant in the Miss America Pageant.


Miss Colorado stepped out on to the stage in her nursing scrubs and her colorful nurse stethoscope around her neck (by the way, RN scopes come in a variety of colors) and proceeded to give the most touching monologue about her patient, Joe.  She exuded compassion and for the first time in Miss America Talent History, a person used her basic core  beliefs to demonstrate, more that a Chopin etude could, how intelligent and caring and mature and brave she was to take this risk and deviate from the norm. 


By all accounts on Facebook and You Tube, her beautiful words touched millions.  I have never seen such a response from a baton twirler or tapper, or opera singer.   It was truly refreshing.


But the idiot hosts on The View chose to ridicule her.  They commented on her stethoscope, stating that only doctors carry them.   Imagine the ignorance, the hatred, the bigotry.  Unbelievable.


I was a nurse before I was a physician and I am grateful for the lessons taught to me at every patient's bedside.  Then I decided to turn in my nurse's stethoscope for the Litman Stethescope - a most expensive model designed for doctors to detect the most subtle of changes in the heart and lungs.


Today, there is an outpouring on Facebook.  Nurses are taking pictures of themselves in full uniform, including, you guessed it, their stethoscope.    They are also asking for an apology from the ignorant hosts of the View.


Don't waste your requests on a bunch of women who should have been dismissed long ago.  Where there is hate and bigotry among viewers and a desire to feel better by putting others down, their will always be a following of this poor excuse of a TV program.


View?  Don't kid yourselves.  Are you that insecure that you have to criticize a nurse?   Shame on you.


Nurses, be proud of your profession and be glad you are not a poorly respected TV personality.  I am indebted to my experience as a nurse and the lessons learned.  It has made a difference in the way I practice Medicine.  I am a better doc for it.


Will this Blog be shared?  Will the View Staff read it?  Of course not.  No apology will be offered to this beautiful nurse showing compassion, but God forbid if we challenge race, gender, religion or politics.  The tables will surely be turned. 


How pathetic the media has become.  And the View has sunk to bottom-dwelling scum suckers.  Am I being bigoted in my remarks?  I don't think so.  I have repeatedly seen the hatred and divisiveness.  The facts speak for themselves.  You be the judge.


As for me, I call on anyone out there with a shred of decency to boycott The View until they can show some compassion for others.  I won't hold my breath.   My stethoscope will see to that!

Happy Birthday, Andy. Grieving you, still.

Today is Andy's Birthday. He would have been 31 years old.  I am missing him so much.  He died at the age of 19, eleven years ago. I used to grabbed my locket with Andy's picture in it. It had a lock of his hair tied with an orange ribbon - his favorite color. That was stolen from our home among many other items.  I mourned the loss of that locket.  It was a tangible connection to my son.  I have since realized that as I go to grab that part of my chest where the picture of Andy rested, my hand is now closer to my heart.  And that is where my son truly resides.  

I feel guilty having a life span that has tripled his. This earth would be such a better place with him being here, sharing his smile and saving animals. Sometimes I can get through the day, smiling when I think of him, and at other times, I can't catch my breath, like today. But I recover. That is part of the grieving process.

Grief is experienced differently by every one of us.  I never thought that I would survive the loss of a child.  It has changed my life forever.  The worst part of this journey was immediately after.  My husband and two older children huddled together in the family room and attempted to sleep that night.  I would doze off into a dreamland that still recognized my son as a beautiful, living, vibrant young man, saving animals and smiling to brighten my day.  When I awoke, the reality of his death came crushing down on me and I couldn't bear the pain.  I looked around at my family.  I knew that they, too, were suffering just as much.


Something unexplainable happened.  I felt a sense of strength that pulled me from that tear-stained couch.  I grabbed a piece of paper and pen and wrote his eulogy.  As I sat in the living room the next day, I sent up a prayer and thanked God for the "Footsteps in the Sand" experience that he was providing for me.  I promised Andy that we would go on.  I wanted to make my family whole again - just not my husband, Peter, and Molly, but my beautiful sisters and their families.  I would help his friends adjust to this tragedy and I would pledge my God-given talents to fighting drug and alcohol abuse among teens and young adults.


This journey has not been an easy one.  But I am writing this article to address grief during this month of Mental Health Awareness.


Allow your self to feel the shock, the pain, the grief, the anger, and the guilt.   Avoid the desire to withdrawal.  Know that these feeling and behaviors are more intense initially.  Accept support from others.  You might feel that no one understands what you are going through.  My sister-in-law lost her son to SIDS.  She organized the relatives that weekend into scrubbing down my kitchen.  It was a source of embarrassment for me as I was not the most immaculate housekeeper but it was also a source of catharsis. I had to laugh as I entered the kitchen and saw her recruits glance at me with a look of "save me".


I found that my spirituality was heightened that day and it, along with family support, has given me the strength to carry on.  However, I know that others are not as fortunate.


If grief evolves into a depression (see previous post devoted to this) please seek out a professional who can best provide you with the treatment you deserve.


I no longer look up at the sky and see dark clouds.  They always part for me to reveal the rainbow.  I know that its my Andy smiling down from heaven.  I miss you so much.  I will love you always.  Peace, my dear son.  Love, Mom

Patient Certified vs. Board Certified Psychiatrist

I have finally been able to talk about an incident that occurred over 12 years ago.  It was, in my opinion, a harassment case.  I was verbally and emotionally abused by 2 young Psychiatrists who were serving as board examiners.  They were part of a 4 part process that would determine whether or not I had the ability to hang a banner in my office, declaring, essentially, that I knew how to practice Psychiatry.

Let me start from the beginning.  I had to travel to Columbus first to take a lengthy written exam covering all of the expected knowledge I possessed in both Psychiatry and Neurology.  It was in the fall of 2002.

The best part of the day was stopping in Cinncinnati to meet up with my son Andy, attending the University there, and Peter and Molly who drove down from Oxford, Ohio.  What a joy to be with my children and to of course treat them to this great barbecue restaurant that looked over the Ohio River.  I could see Kentucky.

I shared my day with them.  I felt good about the exam.  I studied and of course I was hoping that I was serving as a good role model to them as well.  Mom had gone to medical school when they were all in elementary school.  Now here we were, all grown up and discussing our accomplishments with rib sauce covering our smiling faces.

I was not surprised to receive my results.  I did well in both areas.  I was actually surprised on how well I did in Neurology and attributed this to my residency days in radiology.  I loved reading MRI's - especially those related to the brain and give a diagnostic assessment.

Close to 10 months later came the oral part of the boards.  I was more confident of this part.  After all, I actually served as a mentor to residents during mock oral boards, helping them with the essential part examiners would be judging them on.  The biopsychosocial formulation was the key.  I was such an expert on this that I eventually wrote a book containing these important factors that influence our mental health.

I travelled to Indianapolis this time.  I was, of course, nervous.  There were horror stories of board examiners.  They could be real pricks and have an agenda.  I thought I was prepared for anything.  After all, I was a mature, older woman, not a typical candidate, and prepared for pretty much anything.  I could diffuse what was thrown my way.   All I had to do was impress them with my knowledge, organizational skills, and of course my ability to do a biopsychosocial formulation.

I was first escorted into a room with two older examiners and a young man, a patient in a nearby hospital, volunteering to be examined.   I asked my questions without taking notes, and after 30 minutes was asked to present the case.

I loved these 2 gentleman.  They conducted themselves in a professional manner and even gave me a smile.  They are never to comment on your performance but one individual even praised a question that was asked of the patient. It seemed to make him comfortable, at ease, and spew forth a plethora of information that they themselves did not even know.   I'm thinking, "I nailed it".  And of course when results were mailed to me, I did.  I was passed on all four areas.

Now for the last part of that eventful day.

We were all to watch a video.  It was a scenario of a man who had an exacerbation of extreme paranoia when he was in a situation involving a Vietnamese woman.  He developed homicidal feeling towards that individual and was hospitalized.

I had this one.  I could recite the Tarasoff Law (look it up) forwards and backwards and felt that working with Vietnam vets during my residency had really prepared me to discuss PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  I had actually worked at the VA right after my Psych residency and was performing Comp and Pens - a process requiring an in-depth interview and investigation.  I would then recommend if their symptoms were indeed related to their war experience.  They most always were.

I walked into the room after viewing the video.  There sat 2 young men.  I could have been their mothers.  I sat and began to present as I did in the live interview previously.  You know, the one I passed with flying colors.  They started to interrupt me.  I thought I was in the middle of a criminal investigation but instead of good cop, bad cop, it was bad cop, worse cop.

They essentially were, in my opinion, sabotaging my ability to present.  How could they possibly know what I know if they are harassing me.  I attempted to not show fear and remained composed.  These were 2 men trying to fulfill the urban legend of the evil examiners.  Where was the roamer?  The roamer is a designated man who is assigned to sit in each room for a brief period to assure non-bias.  Are you kidding me?  This current setup was so subjective that you could cut it with a dull knife.

He finally came in the room, unassuming, and sat quietly.  I knew him.  He was the roamer during my first interview.  He actually gave me a nod and a smile.  I breathed deeply and relaxed in my hard, wooden chair that previously was hooked up to electric wires.

Well wouldn't you know it.  The 2 pricks began to conduct themselves in an appropriate manner and began to ask me to proceed.  From what point guys?  You never asked me for the history of present illness, so do I start at the beginning?  What would the roamer think?  I am half way through the torture and the roamer would assume that I would be further in my presentation that, to this point, was not allowed by these impostors.  I calmly asked them what they would like to know now.  The roamer got up and again nodded and turned toward the door.  Please don't leave me, I wanted to scream.  But he did, not witnessing anything that might be construed as bias.

They turned toward me and asked me repeatedly to list the risk factors that one should assess before discharging a patient that was admitted with homicidal intent.  Good question.  I had this.  I began my list of risk - oops - interrupted again.  What the hell.  How could they possibly pass judgement on me?  Oh, they did all right.  Right beneath my outstanding pass of the live interview came their 4 failing marks.  How could an individual who taught mock boards and passed a live interview not at least pass one criteria of the pricks?

I therefore failed.  It took me only 1 week to recover from the humiliation.  I was aware of the process that challenged their finding.  My husband and a lawyer and significant fee paid to the American Psych and Neuro Board opened an investigation.  My claim was that the 2 young pricks were too subjective.  I dare not claim harassment.  Why?  This is a He Said She Said case.  I was never asked to come in for an interview.  I was told they would investigate and get back with me.  I was surprised at the lack of investigation.  NONE.  They upheld their decision.

Despite the bias aspect of the oral boards I signed up to take it again.  After all, Board Certification defines you.

However, 2 months after receiving the news that I failed, my son Andy died.  I withdrew from the oral boards as I was not prepared emotionally and again lost a large portion of my fee to take them.

As time passed, I never thought about taking those boards again.  Even though the ABPN did eventually agree that oral boards are too subjective and are no longer part of the Certification Process.

I contacted my friend who heads the Psych residency at University Hospitals.  She offered me the opportunity to complete "clinical skills" which would then qualify me to take the written exam.  She made my day stating that I would pass with flying colors.   The cost?  You don' want to know.

I have decided to forego this process.  I don't need a plaque on my wall to define me.  If it comes to a point where insurance companies will no longer reimburse my agency as I am not certified then that will be a sign from God to retire.

As of now, I have a full load of patients who will wait at a bus stop in subzero temps to make an 8AM appointment.  I have patients who show up if they are sick.  I rarely have cancellations and if I do, they are readily filled.

I love my patients - each and every one.  And I am an excellent Psychiatrist.  I don't need 2 pricks to define me.  My patient show rate and my ability to keep them off the street, out of the hospital, and not self medicate with alcohol and drugs is praise enough for me.

I am a Patient Certified Psychiatrist and proud of it.

Angels Among Us

The loss of a child is devastating.  It changes one's life forever.  I know.  My family lost Andy 11 years ago yesterday from an accidental drug overdose.

I should highlight accidental as these beautiful young people with lives ahead of them have no idea the type of drug, quantity, or mix that seals their fate.  This mindset results in an unintentional outcome of an ignorant assumption that they are invincible.

I am not writing to address drugs.  I have blogged that so many times that people can just pull them up and read to their children.

I am not writing to mourn Andy.  After 11 years of holidays, vacations, and every day without him, my posts about him are quite numerous.

I am actually writing today to address something that occurred yesterday that I have no explanation for.  The video on my FB page from 1/16/15 with my dog Cole can help elaborate on this wonderful phenomenon.

When I arrived at Lake View Cemetery yesterday morning, I stepped out of the car and panicked.  Andy's headstone was similar to the majority of headstones in that lot.  A simple granite rectangle that stood no more than 6 inches from the ground.  What distinguished it was that the granite had a tinge of orange, his favorite color, and etched portrayal of my beautiful son, an etched Bird of Paradise (his favorite flower) and the words, "We'll see you in our dreams".

But where was the headstone?  Where were anyone's headstones.  I began to walk to certain landmarks and used my boot heel (with utmost respect) to feel for something other than a snow covered landscape.  Now I know why people perch wooden crosses and candy canes up - to easily locate their loved ones.

I kept our black lab, Cole, in the car.  His arthritis cannot tolerate too much cold and his paws would have been frozen during my, what seemed an endless, search.

Then a man appeared out of nowhere.  There was no vehicle parked nearby but my running car and Cole peering out of the window.  He had a snow shovel.  Should I be scared?  I was alone in a desolate place with nothing but a guitar, a Hawaiian blanket, my iPad, and some Birds of Paradise.

Well that fear never entered my mind.  He appeared kind and was walking my way.  I asked him if he could help me locate my son's grave.  He put a smile on his face, mixed with sympathy and caring.  It seemed as though that he already knew my dilemma.  He explained that he was there to prepare a grave site for a funeral that would take place on the weekend.  A shovel, I thought?  Where is the backhoe?  The office is at least a quarter mile from here.

He drew a map out of his back pocket and asked me what was the number of my son's plot.  When I told him he said, "Well I'll be.  I'm to clear a spot just a bit above him.  I bet it is over here."  I was at least 15 feet off of my target and would never have found it.  The landmark tree was gone.  He placed his shovel on the exact edge of the headstone, proceeded to clean it off, though ice had obscured any of the etchings, and then was kind enough to see that I had a blanket and continued to clear ample snow for Cole and me.

As he finished I ran to the car to get Cole and lift him to the ground.  I locked the car.  This process took less than 1 minute.  As Cole and I lifted our legs to march through the snow, the man had disappeared.  Where could he have gone?  There were no footsteps indicating he left but he was nowhere to be found.

At the beginning of the video I actually raise myself up, again looking for the man to thank him.  My fingers were almost completely numb and had we not have found the grave I could never have played Blackbird for him on the guitar.

Even hoisting myself up I could not find him in any direction.  Do you want to know why?

I didn't look up.  He was definitely sent from Heaven.  Andy must have sent him for Cole and me.  And of course Cole had a little extra energy that visit.  I told Cole that we were visiting Andy.  However, Cole was only 3 when Andy died and I doubted that there was any association.  His tail wagged nonetheless.  He had loved Andy.  Andy practically raised him as his older siblings were in college.  Cole's tail kept wagging and he kept encircling the headstone as if he knew Andy was present.  And I believe he was.

Angels among us?  You bet.  I thank God for the miracle that he brought to me yesterday.  My soul will be forever grateful.

Cole hated to leave the gravesite yesterday.  He usually keeps a slow pace behind but never lingers.  I went back and looked at Cole and said, "Come on, boy.  Andy is here with us.  He is by your side."  He came willingly and I lifted him back in the car.  He nestled into the Hawaiian blanket.

We headed home with Andy's presence surrounding us.

Please visit You Tube to see our video: http://youtu.be/bGM_0zBV1VQ

"Remember me, Mom" - From Andy

Well, tomorrow is the day.  What was it that I intended to do?  Oh, yes.  Sit at your gravesite and play Blackbird on my new guitar.  Why, you ask?  Well, Andy, let me tell you.

I can still see you sitting on the edge of the padded chair in the living room so that your Fender black acoustic could perch on that knee of yours.   Aww that knee.  You were wearing your favorite corduroys with a big safety pin attempting to conceal a hole in the left side.  Come on Andy.  I had your closet filled with untattered ones.  But they were your favorite and this beautiful recital would not have been as perfect without them.   It was so you.  Did you know that you are buried in them?

You played Blackbird so perfectly.  When did your fingers become so adept to play such a challenging song, the third finger constantly strumming the open G string throughout in McCartney fashion.  Did you practice it just to surprise me that night?  I will never know the answer to that question but I will let you know that you took my breath away.  You always could do that so easily.

One example was when you were assigned to be a shepard in the church Christmas pagent.  What?  Peter was the angel Gabriel and actually was to stand in the sacred pulpit as he gave his speech.  I had to take you to the back of the narthex so that your loud consternations might be muffled.  The only thing it did provide during that rehearsal was a sound similar to a distant herd of disgruntled sheep.

But even that act of defiance turned into an act of love.  Beneath my bedroom door was slipped your apology letter.  "I am sorry, Mom.  I will wear that sheet and sandals.  I love you very much".  Yes, you took my breath away.  I kept that note for years, not knowing that I would be reading it to the crowded mourners at your funeral.  I wanted them to know you like I knew you.  A special child that I had the privilege of caring for for 19 beautiful years.

This blog is too limited to list your breathless moments.  But I did want to include the last hug.  Not the one you gave me the night before you died.  "By Mom, see you tomorrow".  No not that one.

It was actually the morning of the day you sang Blackbird to me.  It was a Saturday, January 10, 2004.  You called me from Shaker Animal Clinic and informed me that you were hungry for something from Heinen's.  I took your order, added something extra for love, and delivered it.  At the time you were finishing up with a puppy check and joined Dr. Rickards and me in a conversation.  You didn't have to.  The man with the unruly dog was refusing to step up on the scale.  I was always so surprised that you, my thin little man, could scoop them up in your arms and weigh them.  Some weighed more than you.

Andy, you came into the waiting room and stood by my side and put your arm around my shoulder and kept it there for such a long time.  I forgot what Dr. R and I were discussing.  All I could feel was warmth, peace, love.  Just from your very touch.  Yes, Andy.  You took my breath away.

You have also made me a firm believer in God.  Looking back now, I see that Saturday as God's way of preparing me that he was about to take you home.  There would be too many distractions the rest of the week, so Saturday it was.   It was if I were anointed.   And then to insist you play Blackbird for me before I left that night was truly heaven sent.

Although Blackbird has been my ring tone since we could pick and choose (of course it took your mother days to figure the freakin' techno stuff out), the moment has been incomplete.

I wrote in my last blog that I am attempting to learn and play Blackbird for you at your grave tomorrow.   Dad bought me a new guitar and Peter made me a tutorial.  But I have a confession to make.

I have fallen into a deep depression.  You know about that.  We all had our bouts of sadness - seemed to be on the Arnold genetic side of your Mom.  I have attempted to go to work and have to come back home.  I always worry how my actions might affect others and rumor has it that patients and staff are a bit disgruntled.  Although I do have so many loyal patients and staff who offer prayers for my quick recovery.  I am grateful to them.

I mentioned the above because I have been a bit vegetative.  I get myself to work and feel the energy, the concentration drain.  When I come back home I attempt to do something positive, like practice Blackbird, but have not been successful.  So I will do my best today to practice.  I just am giving you ample warning that it is far from where I wanted it to be.

Maybe I can blame it on the freezing temp interfering with the vibrations of the strings.  I am also bringing a guest if he can make it.  Cole is now 13 years old.  That black lab has such love inside.  Just like you.  He is burdened with such arthritis.  He has difficulty getting into the car.  I wish I had you to scoop him in.  I will try my best. I am thinking that he will not live out the year.

So, I wanted to bring Cole to not only give me strength to play, but to also see where his own resting place will be.  I think you would like that.  I honestly believe that he will go straight to heaven and find you.

Eleven years without you.  Yes Mom has been brave and then she turns around and wants to join you.  Grief, life stressors - they all play a role.  But God is not done with me yet, Andy.   I don't know why I am here on earth and why he has chosen to test me with the most difficult of lessons, but I will obey.

I know he exists.   He gave me that Saturday with you.  Hugs and Blackbirds.

So, as I end this blog, I will emphasize one important lesson I was taught.  For those reading this, please take nothing for granted.  I was given a beautiful Saturday where my breath was taken away twice and I was cognizant of it.  I didn't really know the intention of those moments at the time but I do now.  "Remember me, Mom".    Oh, Andy,  I will never forget.  Not for a nanosecond.

Love and Peace to all.  Don't let a moment go by without realizing the beauty it contains.

With Peace and Love,
Andy's Mom

P.S.  Here is a 24 second clip of a 34 minute tutorial on Blackbird.  Given to me at Christmas by my son, Pete Psarras, and played on Andy's guitar.

For you, Andy.

As the anniversary of my Andy's smile having left this physical world approaches, I always feel compelled to write something about my precious boy.  But as the 11th year approaches, and actually falls on that Friday that changed my world forever, I feel very different inside.  I feel more vulnerable.  And I am scared that I am not the strong person I thought I was.

Now having confessed that, I do have to reassure many, especially my children, that I am not wanting to join his spirit.  I am not suicidal but I am not embarrassed to admit that the idea has crossed my mind several times.  That confession may result in some individuals having less confidence in me as a Psychiatrist.   On the contrary, who better to sit across the desk from the mother whose son was shot in the streets of Cleveland.   I KNOW their pain.  And when I reassure them that I will guide them through this process of catastrophic grief I can say that with confidence.

But the empathy is cracked and the voice is not ringing loud and proclaiming that there will be victory in recovery.   It really never happens.  No one but Andy's family knows the pain of burying their son, their brother.  And though I never would compare the loss of a child to the loss of a sibling, Andy was a piece of me and he took it with him when he died.

Did you know I lost his twin?  Ultrasounds were not performed in those days so when I discovered bleeding at 12 weeks and passed some beautiful mass in the shower I thought I had miscarried.  When the Obstetrician did the ultrasound, I saw his figure floating freely.  Tears of sorrow turned to tears of joy.  I don't really tell that story, but as I said above, I am very vulnerable and need to talk about the joy of having Andy in my life.  It was highlighted at that very moment.

I think one of the most challenging times of my life following Andy's death was when we lost our home to the consequences of, shall I say, the economy.   When you live in a home for 20 years and collected every precious school paper, apology letter slipped under your door at night, favorite stuffed animals, etc., you cannot possibly be told to gather up and be out in a matter of weeks.    So here is my big confession.  After realizing that I could never find nor gather all of the precious memories of my family - the pictures, the baptismal outfits, the crib - I made the statement that I would rather douse the house in gasoline and burn with it than have a dumpster with a sliding board from every window collect my possessions.  I think I meant it at the time.  It represented another huge loss.  I have since reconciled that miserable historic moment in my life and now describe it as another learning moment from God.

God, what do you have planned for me?  I have understood that from pain comes growth.  I have been a fairly good student but a reluctant one.  Mother Theresa once quoted something about God not giving us more than we can handle.  She then followed up with, "I wish he did not have that much Faith in me".  Well, I feel that way at times too but I am attempting to turn this current pain around.  Here is my first breakthrough.

Christmas is a tough time as it was Andy's favorite time of year.  I am Blessed to already have a few things in place to help me.  First of all, my brilliant son, Peter, did something special.  He now has Andy's acoustic guitar.  Andy played Blackbird for me one week before he died.  Those are the facts you need to know.

So, to break through the sorrow, I asked Santa for an acoustic guitar.  And to add to the joy, Peter downloaded a tutorial from him, playing it on Andy's guitar, for me.  I still cry when I sit down to learn but it is a good thing to work through.   I plan to play it at Andy's gravesite on Friday, January 16th.  I think he would like that.

I am putting this blog out a bit early.  I had more strength today to write.  As the bitter cold of January continues, my ability to write a tribute on his anniversary may not be as successful.

I loved my tribute last year and encourage all to revisit that blog.  It was the best one I had written.  Sorry, Andy.  Mom is a bit down in the dumps but my fingers are becoming more calloused and the strings are bringing our song to life.  That is a good thing.  And I know that I need to work through this.

My thanks to Peter for such a precious gift.  Thank you, Jim, for the guitar.  Thank you, Molly, for asking me how I am doing and giving me hugs and kisses.  And thanks to my sisters, Eloise, Elyse, and Ellen, for being there for me,

Just like Blackbird I am taking these broken wings and learning to fly.  I am taking these sunken eyes and learning to see.

Grief is a process.  I continue to seek God for strength and I thank all of my family and friends for their support.  And Andy would like that.