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.