Here I sit in so much pain
Understanding is what I hope to gain


Waiting for the pain to cease
Praying for a sweet release


But here I do not sit alone
It seems that my community has grown


They all arrive those who understand
Gathering around and holding hands


Knowing the pain to loose a Son
Because they too have lost one


We stand together for what is right
Becoming one unstoppable light



For my friends in loss who constantly find a way to comfort, console, and inspire me

I have clawed my way up to what I thought was a mountain only to look back and discover a hill. I am still not sure what I thought a year would heal for me. It stood in my mind like a magic number however as that number approaches I have learned that 365 days will not cure my grief. It’s almost humorous to me now as I look around my bedroom reading the titles of the books that litter the left side of my bed. “Daily Meditation” which has 365 days of inspiration. I shake my head and mumble “promises promises” because soon the book will end but I fear the grief will not. As difficult as that idea is to accept I feel that if I change course and find the positives they will become a beacon, which will illuminate the path that lay ahead. The memories becoming much sweeter now and more precious, kept in a big box next to my heart wrapped in white shiny paper with a giant crimson bow. I find myself constantly lifting the lid and letting his essence flutter through my mind like the yellow butterflies in my flower garden each time becoming more and more abundantly thankful for the experience of J.T. and the ways he enriched my life.



My grief and pain are mine. I have earned them. They are part of me. Only by feeling them do I open myself up to the lessons they can teach.
– Anne Wilson Schaef

Life pushes and pulls at the strength that remains in an attempt to knock me over. However it has failed to realize that I do not merely stand upon this Earth, I have through shear will managed to grow roots from my soul that run deep into the ground giving me the power to sway with the fury of the storm. Yes struggles can break some, but I refuse to let them destroy me. I will learn from them, survive them, and claim victory over them strengthening the roots that hold me firmly in place and healing the scared heart that beats in my chest.


“Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.” -Unknown

The green of the sky foreshadows the inevitable…the gray and purple clouds once again joining together overhead. The lightning flashes and the thunder clacks its ever to familiar warning as I stand in wait of another downpour of emotion. Rapidly trying to find a place to file away each feeling as they fall in giant drops from the ominous sky, flipping through my filing cabinet of coping and storing them away. “A” for anger and anxiety, “F” for fear, “P” for pain, “R” for resentment, remorse and regret. The drops I miss or can not yet find a place for fall from my eyelashes and cascade down my nose becoming one with a river of tears and begin to puddle at my feet, swiftly rising covering my knees, hips and encompassing my chest. The frigid sea of blue covers my body overpowering my mouth and nose and it is in this moment, this one painful moment, I must once again decide whether to sink or to swim.

Often throughout grief I struggle with the thought of J.T.’s significance. His importance is quite obvious to those of us who loved and knew him intimately, but it is a great gift to me when others who’s life he shared still carry with them a piece of my precious child. Yesterday at J.T.’s elementary school the fourth grade, his classmates, had their Field Day. It is one of the more exciting end of the year activities where the kids compete in athletic events against their peers, and the parents come and cheer them on. In our house, for my Son, this day was highly anticipated and it was there yesterday that I received the gift of significance. For in one short, bittersweet moment after the crowd was greeted and the National Anthem sung, the school dedicated the fourth grade Field Day in honor and memory of J.T. Crow. In that moment I felt him there, his chest puffed up with pride... or perhaps it was my pride I was feeling to know that so many still carry him with them as well.