When is Cinco de Mayo

When is Cinco de Mayo

 

Cinco de Mayo.  May 5.  I’m sending this on May 5 instead of May 7 for a couple of reasons.  First, and foremost, Cinco de Mayo was Jason’s favorite holiday, above all others.  (”Mom, Shannon asked me when Cinco de Mayo is!!”  That look that only Jason could have, eyes twinkling, shit eating grin.  I knew, but asked him anyway.  “What’d you tell her?”  The grin got broader…. “I told her I thought it was sometime in June…..”  Yep.  My kid.)  Second, I’m having my tonsils out tomorrow, so I don’t know if I’ll be a functioning human being Wednesday.  We’ll see.

 

For Jason.  May 5, 2008

 

“Mom, I’ve got some news.”

 

“Okay, sweetie, good news or bad news?”

 

“Well, kind of… both.  Which you want first?”.

 

I can remember having that conversation.  We had it more than once.  I don’t remember what the “good” news versus the “bad” news was.  There was never any really bad news where Jason was concerned.  Oh, there was the night he came to me, SO embarrassed, not knowing where to turn.  I’m reasonably certain that conversation started with “I’ve got some news”, although I can’t be certain, because he had woken me from a sound sleep.   He’d smashed his windshield with his fist, because of it (I’m not sure if that was the good news or the bad news!).  He was WELL past the age where most young men become “men”….. but he believed as I do, in respect for self, respect for others, and responsibility for your actions.  He knew, even at such a young age, that if you gave someone your body, you were giving them a piece of you that you could never take back.  He’d done that, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel.  How incredibly blessed was I as a parent that I am the one he came to, the one he said, “okay here’s what happened.  Now what do I do?”  Of course, I did my best not to let him see me laugh, and explained that what had happened that night was a natural part of life.   We talked all night, about love, and sex, and the difference in the two, and how he would experience both at some point in his life, and learn Life Lessons from both.  Oh, and just by the way…. he loved Hollie til the day he died.

 

As Jason’s eight Angelversary hits me,  I am left to wonder.  What has happened to our world?  Why do so many people not value LIFE any more?  How did we turn into a “ME ME ME ME ME” people?  When did how your actions effect other people stop mattering?  When did it become okay to cause someone a LOT of pain, just because you can?  When did constant anger, aggression and rudeness become the norm, rather than the exception?  When did it become acceptable to show a total, complete lack of respect for others?   When did, “It’s not my job” become a mantra?  When did it become acceptable to simply disappear from someone’s life with no explanation?  Yes, I have had to let some toxic people out of my life.  But they know exactly why…. because I had enough respect for myself, and for them, to tell them.    When did it become okay for everything to be someone else’s fault (I’m late for work because my Mother didn’t dry my clothes.”  HELLO??????  They’re your clothes and it’s your job).  I.  Don’t.  Understand.  And I don’t think I want to.  

 

When I remember Jason, and his baby brother, I remember the “please”, the “thank you” the “Ma’am and Sir”.  I remember holding the door open, and helping older ladies (even if they were the ripe old age of 25, compared to their 10) out with their groceries.  I remember the ENTIRE track team refusing to let me go to the restroom by myself, because they didn’t like the way the opposing team “looked at their “Mom”.”  Where did that go?  I remember, “let me help you with that”,  “I’ll do that”,  “You sit down, please.  I’ll take care of it.”  Where did that go?  What has happened to our young people?  Jason (and Rick) would be appalled.  I have a vivid recollection of being at the movies with J.  Three were two kids behind us, cutting up (it was a serious movie).  First, he turned and looked at them.  Next, he gave them the “glare”.  Then, he calmly got up,  walked around to them, and explained that they were bothering his Mother, and it would be best if they stopped.  That was all it took.  There are a couple of young men at work who remind me a lot of them (their Mom knows who they are).  I can’t imagine them speaking to someone the way many people find acceptable now.  I can’t imagine hearing anything but, “Yes, Ma’am” when asked to do something….. even if that yes ma’am is said through gritted teeth, as many of my sons’ yes ma’am’s were.  It would be unkind to others to call them by name, but this is a public thank you to their parents.  You raised four remarkable children, and I am very proud to call them friend.

 

Usually, on my sons’ Angelversary’s, or birthday, I remind you to LIVE your life.  Today, I want to remind you of something a bit different.  Yes, you need to grab every single moment of joy that life has to offer you.  At the same time, you have a responsibility, as the future of mankind, to remember respect.  Respect for self.  Respect for others.  Responsibility for your own actions.  Period. 

 

You have a responsibility to own your actions.    You are going to become what YOU become, not what your parents are, or your friends are.   You owe it, to YOURSELF, to be who YOU are.  Not who your parents think you should be.  Not who your friends think you should be.  Who YOU are.  Life is NOT easy.  There’s a lot of pain involved, a lot of heartache.  It is up to you to rise above it, learn from it, and become a better you.  Carl Jung said, “I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become”.   I agree with him.  Yes, the deaths of my sons’ has changed me.  But who I have become since they died rests on my shoulders.  I owe it to them to be who they believed I was.   It is MY choice to always try to behave with honor, courage, dignity and grace (I didn’t say I always succeed), when I’d rather have a tantrum like a three year old, or crawl in my closet and never come out.  Because of who they believed I was.  The times I try to drink it away?  That’s my responsibility, too.  By the way, you can’t drink it away.  Just thought I’d tell you.  

 

So, I’ve got some good news, and some bad news.

 

The good news?  Jason lived.  He was here.  He laughed and loved.  He saved lives.  He taught me to see beauty everywhere.  He showed me what courage was.  Injuries that would cripple most young people were ignored by him, as he continued to compete (Remember he ran most of a season with a cracked hip.  Yep, my kid.).  He showed me the beauty of giving, when he helped his fiercest county rival stretch before a race…. then was the first to congratulate him when he won.  He taught Alvin, too.  Alvin is a coach now.  He teaches teamwork and good sportsmanship.   Because Jason taught it to him.  He shared my sarcastic sense of humor, and made even the “frowniest” (his word) person smile.    He instinctively knew what people needed… the clown, the son, the grandson, the quiet listening ear, the gentle words of advice, the smile, the gentle hug, the kick in the ass…. he just knew what was needed.  And he did it.  He left everyone feeling a lot better after they’d been around him.  He taught me the sheer exuberance of running (yes, he had to drag me more than once.  Now I’m itching to get well so I can do it again), the joy in “skopping  and hipping”, the fun of playing in the rain.  In all his years of lifeguarding, he never understood people rushing from the water for shelter when it started to sprinkle.  (”Gee, Mom, whatcha think is gonna happen?  They might get WET?”).   He taught me how to cry, because he was a sensitive soul.  He couldn’t stand to see someone suffering, or needing something.  He’d give you the shirt off his back, literally.  I know.  I’m the one who had to replace “lost” items.  He was also the most creative excuse meister I’ve ever known.  His “scuses” were definitely…. different.  Problem was, they worked on everyone except his Little Mother.  That young man could sell ice to an Eskimo and make them think they’d gotten a good deal.  People were attracted to him like moths to a flame.  Charismatic, charming, handsome, BUILT, a natural leader.  Like I frequently do (on vacation!  Really!  Never any other time!), he never actually started the mischief (not criminal mischief.  Silly, fun mischief that harmed no one).  He planted the seed, watered it carefully, watched it grow…. and then sat back and watched.  My kid.  To his toes.  From the day he was born.  Jason continues to save lives.  I have the emails and message board postings and phone calls that tell me that me not being afraid or ashamed to tell his story has kept someone from ending his life.  That is a very good thing.   Jason taught me to be kinder than I have to be, because everyone is fighting some kind of battle.

 

The bad news?  He no longer walks this Earth, not in a corporeal body.  Yet, he lives.  As long as we remember, he lives.  And he continues to have a positive impact on this world.

 

For those of you who say I need to “move on” and “accept my sons’ deaths”…. I have.  In a 24 hour span, I have had a regular guest bring someone whose child ended his life 2 weeks ago to meet me.  She said she needed to know that she could still live, and that if I could, maybe she could.  If I were silent, it would, number one, dishonor my children.  To be ashamed of how they died would be to be ashamed of them.  I refuse to do that.  Iris Bolton says that every death brings a gift.  You just have to look for it.  I think mine is to help others walking this path, and to keep others from having to walk this path.  Then, I had a couple of biker’s in the bar.  I was being my usual mouthy self….. my regular bunch was there, and we tend to raise a ruckus.  It makes them smile, it makes them happy, and it makes them come back….. and I truly love them all deeply.  I wasn’t about to leave these to guys out of our shenanigans, so I drew them into it.  Then one of them told me that this was his kind of “grand hurrah” weekend.  His friend looked shocked.  It isn’t something he talks of.  He told me a lot, and I listened.  Then I was quiet (yes, me) for a few minutes.  I told him I had asked my personal Guardian Angels to watch over him during his surgery next week.  And I told him, with total conviction, that he’s going to be fine.  He’s promised to come back to JJJ next Bike Week.  He came in melancholy, with that “look” in his eyes.  He left with a sparkle in his eyes that wasn’t there before.  His friend remarked on it.  My gift.  From my son.  Because I believe to my toes that I will see him again next year.  And I’ll buy his first beer.  All because of Jason, I helped 2 people in less than 24 hours.  Is that a gift, or what?

 

Many, many of you have told me that, if I ever need anything, let you know.  So, I’m giving you a challenge.  I learned with Jason and Rick’s deaths that those are generally just words.  Prove me wrong.  Click the link in my signature.  Donate ONE DOLLAR to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.  One dollar.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Then forward this to 10 of your friends and ask them to do the same thing.  THAT is what I need.  To help save a life.  Because life is so very precious.  The most precious gift we are given is love.  Don’t throw it away needlessly.  If you fubar, say so, learn a life lesson, and move on.  Times are tough right now, but tomorrow will be better.  I refuse to believe anything else.  Life might take some unexpected twists and turns, but, in the end, it all works out.  Try to live your life so that you can look at yourself in the mirror every morning and like what you see.  Don’t be afraid to say I’m sorry.  Don’t be afraid to say I fubared.  Accept responsibility, deal with the consequences, and go forward.  Much easier said than done.  I know.  I’ve lived it.   Remember,

 

“I forgive you” has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.

“I’m sorry” has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.

  

 

“I love you” is the same.  I say it, not because you need to hear it,  but because I need to say it.

 

 

 

My personal prayer to Mr. God and whichever Higher Being you believe in is that you find what you search for.  Then, when you find it, grab it with both hands and never, ever let it go.  Those we love are gone too quickly.  Don’t waste a single moment.

 

Dearest Kidlet, I love you.  Forever.  I miss you.  Forever.   I need you.  Forever.  And I will be who you believed I was.  Forever.  Run with the wind and party with the Angel’s, my Little Love.  Save a spot for me, please.  I’ll have a Ciroc on the rocks and a shot of Jager, thank you.  Make something fruity for your baby Bro, and pour my Andy a Miller Lite.  Mom will have whatever has alcohol in it.  See you when I see you.

 Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom
 http://www.theovernight.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=10009264

Happy Birthday, Little Loves

yes, they have red hair.....

August 5, 2008

 

It was Sunday night, August 4, about the time that I am writing this.  We were at my Mother’s kitchen table, playing Monopoly, Jeremy, their “Father” and me.  I was winning.  I was also in labor, but I didn’t say anything until I was positive.  Finally, when the pains had gotten closer together, I told them that I thought it would be a good idea to go to the hospital.

 

God bless Dr. Mac.  He was waiting for me.  He said that we had until in the morning before they came, but they were on their way.  I was due on September 23, my 17th birthday.  I really wasn’t planning on them being here in August.  But they were in a hurry to start this thing called “life”.  They didn’t want to wait.  He said that he wanted to “check some things” before they came.

 

Very early the morning of August 5, Dr. Mac very gently told me that I would have to have a C-section, because I’m not a very big person.  His brother, Dr. Bob, was going to do the surgery.  That’s when their “father” s Mother told me that she would raise them if I died on the operating table.  I was…. disciplined, to use my Andy’s word, even then.  I looked her straight in the eye and said, “I think not.  Now go away.”  (She’d also told me that I looked like an over inflated frog, and that the babies better not have red hair and brown eyes, because they’d be “ugly”.)

 

I remember when they came, Rick at 11:58 and J at 11:59.  I didn’t ask if I had a boy or a girl, or two of one, or one of each.   My first question?  “My baby does have red hair, right?”.  I remember the room filling with laughter.  They did that, my boys.  They filled the room with laughter.  Every physician in Dale County was there.  (No, I am not exaggerating.)  Back then, twins were a rarity.  I’ll always remember that.  The laughter.  Then they put me to sleep and that was it for a while.

 

They didn’t let me take them home for 9 days.  They were feisty, my wee ones.  Refused to stay wrapped in a blanket.  Refused to be separated.  They had to put them in the same incubator.

 

I opened one of my boxes of Grief Gremlins a few days ago.  I dressed them in yellow to take them home.  Their outfits literally swallowed them.  They both would have fit in one.  I held those outfits, so tiny, and remembered.  How did such small babies grow into 6′ tall men?  How did two young men who found the joy in everything, who embraced LIFE with such passion, end their lives?  I don’t understand it.  I never will.

 

That is the reality.  Suicide is indiscriminant.  It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, beautiful or ugly, smart or dumb as dirt.    Suicide simply doesn’t care.  It.  Does.  Not. Care.  It takes away the very best of the very best.   It isn’t a character flaw, or a sign of weakness, or cowardly.  It is an illness.  A TREATABLE illness.

 

Today, I am going to be very sad, and there will likely be tears.  But those tears of sadness will be mingled with tears of joy.  The red ringlets, down to their shoulders.  Their refusal to wear anything that didn’t have a “Sesame Street” character on it.  “Bee Bir” shoes.

 

Jason, the leader, the prankster.  Rick, my quiet healer.  Always wearing 2 tee shirts.  I called one their “auxiliary shirt”.  Me and my shoe obsession.  Rick saying, “I’ve got to tell you, Mom.  Those shoes are butt ugly”.  I still have them.  I still wear them.

 

All the years of lifeguarding at Shipwreck, then certifying the new life guards.  All the years of racing.  The 5K’s.  The 10K’s.  The marathons.  The time of waiting tables and bartending, because, “Mom, do you know how much FUN this is?”.

 

One day soon, I’m going to make spoonbread.  And that is going to be a huge step.  But something I’ve learned, a lesson we all need.  Life is for the living.  I am going to laugh out loud at some point today.  I’m going to remember.  I’m going to run in the wind.  I came here to live.  And I’m going to.

 

J, Rick, you were my life.  You know that.  Now you are bright shining stars in the sky, working hard at being Guardian Angels.  I love you.  More than there are words.  I miss you.  More than there are words.  I need you, more than there are words.  I will never be the same, not since you left.  But I’m gonna be the best ME that I can be, every single day.

 

Happy Birthday.  Run with the wind, hurdle the clouds, and pole vault over the moon.  See you again someday.

 

Your Little Mother

Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom
 http://www.theovernight.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=10009264

Old woman hair

“Old woman hair”.  When Ham said it, I didn’t know what he meant.  But, just a few days ago, I realized it.   I was with some friends at my favorite hang out.  These two really nice looking ladies came in.  Dressed well, nice jewelry, discreet makeup.  Didn’t look any older than I am, at least not to me.  And the guy sitting beside me commented that they looked good to be so old.  Said they could tell by the hair.  One had hair cut short, with that 60’s fringe of bangs and the top teased and sprayed to perfection.  The other had hers pulled back with the biggest, ugliest bow I have ever seen, with the requisite bangs.  70’s all the way. 

 

That’s when I remembered the conversation.  It’s funny, how you remember things at the oddest times, things that you thought were buried.  Conversations of no import at the time, but the source of immeasurable joy when remembered later. 

 

We were on our way home from a track meet in Niceville (one of the places I wasn’t allowed out of the kids sight because they didn’t like “the way they looked at their Mom”).  Country music was on the radio, and 4 young men, our 4×4 team, were rolling their eyes, asking for real music.  Switched it to “oldies” rock.  My hair was down.  I rolled down the window and was singing along.  My hair slapped H, riding shotgun,  in the face.  He laughed and said, “Red’s Mom (what they all called me), when you gonna cut that?”.

 

Jason, who had been relegated to the center of the back seat this trip, laughed and said that he and I had a deal.  I’d cut my hair “old woman” style when he graduated from med school…. you know, that perfectly coifed look, instead of the wild tangle that my hair usually is.  Until then, it would stay wild.  J told H that much as he liked his Mom, Charlotte, her hair screamed, “OLD”.

 

It’s still wild.

 

Just wanted to share a memory that brought a big smile to my face.   For my friends who never fail to make me smile…. thanks.  Especially you, Big Rick.   

 

Life is for the living.  Get out there and live it.

 

Princess

Maximum respect,

July 4th

The Fourth of July.  Not a day that I usually write about my boys (although I write about them for ME almost every day, I don’t share it).  This is a  day to write about my boys, my life, my journey, where I have been, and where I am going.

 

I remember all the July Fourth’s spent at Disney.  Mom, my boys, me…. we’d load up the Gremlin (yes, we actually had one)  and head to Melbourne.  We stayed with Alan and Vicky (most times, if we were lucky, we saw Tommy and Di for a few minutes).   I had to laugh when I remembered one visit tonight.  Jason Lee was supposed to get the Cokes out of the back of the car.  Guess he was as tired as I was, because he didn’t get them.  They exploded all over the car.  Mom and I could do nothing but laugh…. what was the sense in getting angry?  Couldn’t change it. 

 

The fireworks.  Standing in line FOREVER for the boys favorite rides.  But doing it with joy, and laughter, and Rick with his perennial, “we’re lost.  I know we’re lost.”.  The day it started to pour rain, while we were in the Magic Kingdom.  Mom took shelter.  The three of us?  What’s gonna happen…. we’re gonna get wet?  So, we continued with our adventure.  The older gentleman stopping us and sternly asking me if our Mother knew we were out in the rain.  Rick very politely telling him that I was his Mom, and I knew where we were.  We were outside the Peter Pan ride.  Did we get wet?  Yep.  But all I remember are the smiles and laughs and giggles, the popcorn, Jason and the turkey leg that was as big as he was, the hot dogs, the fireworks, Cinderella singling Jason out, and how he decided he’d just marry her.

 

My life is headed in a different direction.  It is one that I have known that I need to follow for quite some time now.  I am not the same person I was 8 years ago.  My time of taking care of aging, sick parents is over (unless I get Papa, and I’ll happily take him if I need to).   I’ll know soon exactly which way I am going.  But, in a new direction, it is.  I know that I am going to find a way to start a Survivors of Suicide group here.  It is so desperately needed.  Be the change you wish to see in the world.  I may stay semi-retired working on that for a while.  I don’t know right this moment.  I’ll know when I am supposed to know.

 

I used to say that life isn’t fair.  But, I had a print by Brian Andreas (you all know I love StoryPeople).  He always graciously signs my prints, because he knows what words mean to me, and how healing many of his words have been since the deaths of my sons.   It hung at Triple J for a long time.  My heart led me to give it to someone whom I felt needed the words.  Brian says,

They left me
with your shadow,
saying things like
Life is not fair

& I believed them
for a long time.

But today,
I remembered
the way you laughed
& the heat
of your hand
in mine

& I knew that
life is more fair
than we can
ever imagine
if
we are there to live it

 

We have to be here to live it.  Tonight humbled me.  It made me realize how much I am really loved.  What a blessing that is… to be loved.

 

After I finished the party, I stopped by my favorite Biker Bar for a drink.  I actually enjoy stopping by myself for a drink.  It’s me time, and I treasure it.   So many things happened, in such a short span of time.  The really drunk guy who told me I was too “classy” to be at Newby’s.  Trust me, the dude was REALLY drunk.  The drunk guy who wanted to impress me with his education.  Got rid of him by introducing Mark as my boyfriend. The guy who said, “You’re the shoe girl!!  Where’ve you been?”  The tattooed pierced girl who decided I was the “coolest person she’d ever met”.  The guy who asked me if I knew how lucky I am.

 

That gave me pause.  Lucky?  How am I lucky?  My children are dead by their own hands.  My Mother is in Heaven.  Andy is in Heaven.  The people that I love the most in this world no longer inhabit this world.  I am unemployed (I prefer temporarily retired).

 

Then I remembered.  11:11.  The Angel hour.  Those of you who know me know that I haven’t worn a watch since the day that Rick asked for Jason’s watch, shortly after J died.  There is something about watches that makes me shake, so I just don’t wear one.  I am not as attuned to time since my boys moved to Heaven as I perhaps should be.  I make it a point to be at work on time, but everything else happens when it happens.  I’ll be close to on time.  Maybe a few minutes early.  Maybe a few minutes late.  But close.  But, when I went inside to wash the blender, I saw the clock.  It said 11:11.  And I stood there, and talked to my 4 Angels until it said 11:12.  And had the most wonderful Angel hugs.

 

Lucky?  You bet I am.   The best kids in the world were mine.  They made an impact on this world that will be felt for centuries to come.  Andy loved me.  Me.  Who I am.  He didn’t want to change me.  He never made one snarky, hurtful comment.  Not one.  He just…. loved me.  Like I love him.  I am honored to have the best friends this old world of ours can offer, people that I can actually call in the middle of the night, and they’ll do whatever it is I need.

 

I have known great love.  I have known great loss.  But you know what?  It’s a great day to be alive.

 

Please, get out there and live your life.  It took me a LONG time, but I realized that what other people think of me doesn’t matter.  What matters is that I can look in the mirror and know that I was the best me I could be that day. 

 

I may share this.  I may keep it just for me.  We’ll see how I feel in the morning.

 

Walk good, be blessed, and thank your Higher Power for another day.

 

Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom
 http://www.theovernight.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=10009264
 Life isn’t the party I’d hoped for, but I’ll dance anyway, because my sons believed I would.

 

Jason August 5, 1974 - May 7, 2000
 
Rick August 5, 1974 - August 16, 2002 found August 24, 2002
You may not think the world needed you, but it did.   For you were unique: like no one that has ever been before or will come after.   No one can speak with your voice; say your piece; smile your smile; or shine your light.   No one can take your place for it was yours alone to fill.   Because you are not here to shine your light, who knows how many travelers will lose their  way as they try to pass by  your empty place in the darkness
I miss you, Andy.  Kick their butts for me, please.
http://www.runningwiththewind.com/

The Perfect Cat

How does one even begin to describe the perfect cat?  And trust me, Bass was perfect.  He was Jason’s cat whether I liked it or not.  I guess he got tired of missing J, so he joined him Saturday.

 

There are so many “Bass stories”.  Sherrie’s son Hunter was determined that I was going to name him Sunny Bunny.  I named him Sabastian P. Ale (yes, for the beer!  I love Bass Ale.)  It didn’t take me long to figure out that the P.  stood for Perfect.

 

He had to have weighed all of 6 ounces when I brought him home.  I took him to Tommy’s store so everyone could meet him.  He promptly began to walk across the counter, then, quick as lightening, sprawled, all four paws out, sound asleep.  He was adorable,  Red fur, the biggest golden eyes you’ve ever seen. 

 

I was a bit leery of introducing him to the dogs.  I had Bebo, Bucket and Bert.  Bucket and Bo were Mother and son, normal sized Chows, with Chow brains, or Chow lack of brains, however you choose to look at it)..  Them, I wasn’t worried about.  Then there was Bert, my beloved 200 pound St. Bernard.  Bert had no idea that he wasn’t a Chow.  He also didn’t know that he didn’t precisely fit in my lap, so that is where he frequently sat.  I walked into the kitchen with this tiny ball of fur, ready to snatch him up if I needed to.  Bass promptly walked over to Bert and slapped him on the nose.  And thus they became the best of friends.

 

He bit our best friend Barry on the nose.  We TOLD Barry that Bass was finicky.  Barry didn’t listen.  For the record, all of my furpeople have bitten Barry except Bama.  And she will if she gets half a chance.

 

Bass grew into a beautiful 25 pound Himalayan.  He was this huge ball of fluff, ruling the house.  He accidentally went outside once.  I still laugh when I think of him stepping on the grass, looking at his paw, looking at me…. and going back inside.  After that, it didn’t matter if you left the door open.  Fat P wasn’t about to go out there.

 

He had his favorite chair.  He loved to eat.  I have an auto-feeder for my cats.  When it was down to about a quarter of the way full,  Bass would find me and take me to it, to show me that he was almost out of food.  He was absolutely useless when it came to cat stuff.  There is a canal behind our house, so the entire neighborhood has cats to keep the rats away.  Bass didn’t care about the rats unless he thought his food was in jeopardy.  Then he expected me (yeah, right) to do something about it.  Bama and Buford got the last one.  Bass walked around it.

 

One of my (many) favorite memories is Jason sitting in the recliner,  Bass curled in his lap.  J had a towel tied around his head with ice packs in it… he’d just had all 4 wisdom teeth removed.  He looked at me with those huge blue eyes and said, “But Mom!  Nobody told me it was going to hurt!”  Sabastian looked totally affronted that his person was in pain.  If looks could cause physical harm, I’d have been hurt, the way Bass glared at me.  And hissed when I changed J’s ice packs.

 

He was 18, down to skin and bones.  Still loved to eat.  Wanted his treats when the dogs got theirs.  Insisted is a better word, and he could definitely be loud.

 

Before I left Friday morning, we had a long talk, Bass and I.  I told him him much I loved him, and how wonderful he was, but that it was okay for him to go find his boys and his dogs now.  He purred, for the first time in a while.  He licked my nose.

 

He’s buried in the back yard, with his favorite box and blanket.  I miss him so much already.  He was my last living piece of Jason.  In the first days of J’s absence, Bass stayed with me, curled around my head, offering comfort.  He knew.  And he mourned with me.  The same when Bo left, when Bert left, when Bucket left, especially when Rick left, when Andy left.  Through it all, Bass has been there for me.

 

To some, he was just a cat.  To me, he was an Angel.  My Mom even loved him (not as much as she loved Boomer, though!).  She called them the three old people in the house.

 

Thank you, Mr. God, for letting Bass pick me.  Thank you for 18 wonderful years.  I miss you, Bass.  I love you.  I always will.

 

Mr. God, I don’t often ask for anything for me.  There are too many other people whose needs are much greater.  But, if You could find it in your Heart to give me just a couple of days of reduced pain, I’d really appreciate it.

 

 

Mommy

 

 

 

 

Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom
 http://www.theovernight.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=10009264
 Life isn’t the party I’d hoped for, but I’ll dance anyway, because my sons believed I would.

 

Jason August 5, 1974 - May 7, 2000
 
Rick August 5, 1974 - August 16, 2002 found August 24, 2002
You may not think the world needed you, but it did.   For you were unique: like no one that has ever been before or will come after.   No one can speak with your voice; say your piece; smile your smile; or shine your light.   No one can take your place for it was yours alone to fill.   Because you are not here to shine your light, who knows how many travelers will lose their  way as they try to pass by  your empty place in the darkness
I miss you, Andy.  Kick their butts for me, please.
http://www.runningwiththewind.com/

 

---

 

 

2008 Walk in New York

I don’t even know where to begin to tell you how amazing the Out of the Darkness walk was this year.  It’s still all swirled together in my head, but in a good way.  A REALLY good way.  The young boy, maybe 7, who finished the walk.  I watched him as he finished.  He lay down, spread eagle.  His Mom had tears running down her face.  He was wearing “parent” honor beads.

 

The old man, he had to be 70, wearing white beads for a child.  He finished.  Before me.

 

The young man with the broken leg.  Part of the time his team mates pushed him in a wheelchair.  Sometimes he walked on his “crunches” (Jason always called crutches crunches).  They finished… some of them running at the end so the team would finish together.  As the three young people ran by me, I wanted to join them.  Jason and Rick would have run the whole 20 miles.  Had I not been with Caryn, I think I WOULD have run.  The urge was overwhelming. 

 

The ridiculous line for the ladies room at the Staten Island Ferry rest stop.  Knowing it was too far to the next rest stop to NOT use the restroom.  So, 5 of us announced our entry into the men’s room.  They didn’t have a line.  Coming out of the men’s room, to a bunch of teenaged girls asking if they could do that.  I told them sure, just announce themselves first.  The guys thought it was funny.

 

Phil and Seth.  I think that’s the best part.  Twins who had tried to end their lives.  They’re still here, praise all the Higher Powers.    They opened the ceremony with songs.  I felt my sons there.  There is no mistaking the presence of Angels, if you pay attention.  They gifted me with a CD of their music (http://www.aronsontwins.com/index.cfm).  I have listened to “Show Me The Way” non stop since I returned home.  But, they gave me a much better gift.  They gave me a real smile, and a real hug.  I felt surrounded by peace.  Such an amazing gift, one that can’t be repaid.

 

Speaking for all of those people… my speaking debut!  No, I wasn’t nervous.  I was speaking for my sons.  (If you make it to the end of this novel I’m writing, my words will be there).  What an incredible honor, to be asked to speak about my sons.  Scanning the crowd and seeing tears.  Remarkable.  I swear my boys and Mr. God did the speaking.  There is no way that I could touch people the way that they said I did.  Yep, it was my boys. 

 

The seven year old twin holding my hand after we placed beads around the luminaries at the Opening Ceremony.  She was holding on as if she were holding on for dear life.  Her sister was on the other side of her Father, clinging to him.  Unless I misheard, and I don’t think I did, their Mother had ended her life just 6 weeks ago.  I sent as much strength to her as I could…. you all know how I believe.  I asked my four Angels, Jason, Rick, my Andy, my Mom, to please help her.  She looked at me with such gratitude.  I was so blessed to be beside her.  How much pain their Mother must have been in, to leave them. 

 

Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, and seeing the Statue of Liberty standing tall.  The skyline was incredible.  Incidentally, they made the bridge longer, and made it all go uphill, at the end of the walk.  (we zig-zagged around, Chelsea, Little Italy, 5th Avenue, Broadway, and wound up where we’d stared, at Cadman Plaza).  I am absolutely certain of it.  Sort of like in Chicago, when they moved the rest stops (we’d walked 10 miles, then turned around and retraced our steps).  I KNOW that bridge wasn’t that long when I first crossed it.  Losing Marcia and Steven, my soul sister, my best friend.  Caryn suggesting we wait for them.  I stopped for a moment, and realized that if I didn’t keep going I wouldn’t finish.  Then wanting to run after that!

 

People asking me what I was doing.  Asking who Jason and Rick were.  Asking why I was walking.  KNOWING that my voice was being heard.  How amazing is that?

 

Meeting new people, seeing people I’d seen at the walks before.  Occasionally walking by myself, just me and my thoughts, feeling my boys presence.  Hearing my Mom say, “I’m here too Daughter”.  Hearing Andy tell me on that extremely long bridge that used to be shorter that he knew how “disciplined” I was, and that I’d finish.  (He was ALMOST as stubborn as I am, although he called it Marine Discipline).  Hearing him tell me that he was holding me up.  I know he was.

 

The young girl who, while I was walking by myself, grabbed me, hugged me, and told me I had made her cry in a good way.  The soldier thanking me for speaking out.  He deserves the thanks, for defending my right to speak openly.  Him placing beads to honor our military who have found the pain to stay greater than the pain to go.

 

The “Arab”, “arrow” conversation.  You had to be there.  I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.

 

People laughing at Marcia and me for pointing out clothes and shoes (I really want those shoes!) on 5th Avenue.  And I want the purple outfit, too. 

 

Geri on the ride back to Jersey.  Next time, I’m making her drive.  It will be easier on my nerves.

 

Opening innumerable bottles of wine Sunday, Steven graciously trying to find a white I liked.  He did.  Now if I only remembered what it was….  And what was that champagne I’d never had that I loved?  My Marcia conducting the orchestra (again, you had to be there).

 

The heartbreak of the homeless.  But for the grace of Mr. God go I. 

 

Starbucks open at 3 in the morning, and busy.  The lines to get into the “hot” clubs.

 

The “wedding party”.  They were all wearing white.  Not very tasteful white.   And I’m pretty sure some of the girls were really guys.  Not being critical– live and let live!– but that was….. interesting.  Especially the sequined tutued skirt that didn’t cover her {his?} crotch very well.  The shoes were great, though.

 

Jeremy and Marissa.  I love them so much.  I have to miss their engagement party, but she said that I absolutely could NOT miss the wedding.  It’s going to be the event of the year, and I have to have a new dress.  They make me feel like family.  A gift, as I have very little family.  Knowing how much their presence means to my Marcia.

 

The hugs from Adrienne.  Her volunteering to man a rest stop.  That takes a special friend, and I am honored to have her in my life.  Telling me that since she walked with me, she rarely walks without a rock now.  (Iris Bolton told me to pick up a rock at the beginning of my walks.  She said to pour all of the negativity in my life into it, then throw it as far as I can at the end of my walk.  It works.)

 

Knowing that a dear friend was with me in spirit, and knowing that it wasn’t just words.  I’m really glad I felt an uncontrollable urge to go to Newby’s to see Bev on a day that I never go there.   I believe to my toes that we were meant to meet.

 

Coming home to so many emails from the wonderful piece WJHG did on my sons.  Neysa and Scott, my deepest thanks.  I can promise you that a life was saved.  I know.  I have the mail.

 

Coming home to more issues at work.  Then, having one of my long time customers come in and ask to speak to me.  He/she has told precisely 2 people.  Me and one other.  He/she wants to leave this Earth quietly.  And I promised not to tell (I’m not revealing his/her identity).  He/she has less than a year to live.  He/she wanted me to know because, “you’re the only person who’s ever really give a shit in my life”.  Suddenly the work issues didn’t matter.  I’ve touched a life.  A blessing beyond compare.

 

Next year, we’re walking in Washington, DC.  Yes, I will be there, and yes, I will be badgering you for money!

 

If you’ve made it this far….

 

Here’s what I THINK I said.  I know I changed some words while speaking.  I simply spoke from my soul, the way I believe I should have.

 

Hi there.  My name is Brenda Adkins. I’m from Panama City Beach, Florida, and I am a Survivor of Suicide. I have buried both of my children, twin sons, and several friends to this illness.

This is my third Overnight Walk. My first was in Chicago, 3 years after my oldest child ended his life. When I first thought about it, it seemed insurmountable. I didn’t know how to ask people for money. I didn’t know how to walk 20 miles. But I did it anyway. And, by asking, I’ve raised a little over $16,000. My team, POS/FFOS, has raised more than $75,000.00. Finding the courage to ask people for money to help others not live my lifemare has taught me a lot.

It taught me that suicide, mental illness and mood disorders has had an impact on the life of every single person I’ve spoken to. Every. Single. One. A physician, a close personal friend, told me that he had attempted suicide. So did a newspaper editor and a news reporter. Why, then, are we so afraid to speak of an illness that can be treated? Why do we want to put it away and hide it, when a person with a mental illness no more “asks for it” than the person with cancer does? Why do we want to pretend that it doesn’t exist? I’ve never been quiet about the way my two children died. I am not ashamed of my sons, their lives, or their deaths. I’m from the South. I have to tell, you, we do NOT talk about mental heath issues, or mood disorders, or suicide, where I come from. It’s time to change that. There is a  stigma of perceived weakness attached to mental illness. Well, I’ve learned that the biggest sign of strength is the willingness to ask for help. It’s our job to make people understand that this IS an illness, and it CAN be treated.

I placed a Memorial in my local paper for my sons’ birthday one year. A couple of days later, a friend came up to me at work and asked me, “How long are you going to do this?” I was confused, so I asked her, “This what?”. She looked at me, this person who had known me and my children for 20 years, and said, “This suicide stuff. When are you going to stop? When will you let it go?”.

I will tell you what I told her. I will be quiet on the day that people can ask for help and not be turned away, because they don’t have the financial resources for help. I’ll be quiet the day that there is parity in mental health care, and I can get help for my aching soul as easily as I can for my aching back. The day that there are no more suicides, I will be quiet. The day that no other parent, aunt, uncle, friend, lover lives my lifemare, I will be quiet. Until then? My sons told me at a very young age that they were going to make a difference in this world. Their voices have been silenced by mental illness and suicide. Mine has not, and will not, be silenced. As long as there is breath in my body, I will fight for those who need help. I will be the listening ear, the shoulder to cry on, the person to yell at, whatever it takes. Because suicide is NOT an option. The world needs all of us. No one else can speak with our voice, say our piece or shine our light. I refuse to let people pass by in the darkness because I wasn’t there to show them the way. That is why we’re here. To show them the way.

Jason and Rick, this is for you. Run with the wind Little Loves. I love you.

 

You all mean so much to me.  Thank you for being in my life.  Incidentally, I STRONGLY suggest that you not have your tonsils removed, speak before a lot of people, then walk 20 miles in the same month.)

 

Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom (their Little Mother!)
 http://www.theovernight.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=10009264

Speech at the 2008 walk in New York

I plan to write about it soon. Right now, I’m just a wee bit tired (okay, a lot tired. Tonsillectomies and walking 20 miles in the same month don’t go together).If you’re interested, here’s (basically) what I said. I know I changed a few things, but I was just… speaking. I don’t really remember all that I said.

My name is Brenda Adkins. I’m from Panama City Beach, Florida, and I am a Survivor of Suicide. I have buried both of my children and several friends to this illness.

This is my third Overnight Walk. My first was in Chicago, 3 years after my oldest child ended his life. When I first thought about it, it seemed insurmountable. I didn’t know how to ask people for money. I didn’t know how to walk 20 miles. But I did it anyway. And, by asking, I’ve raised a little over $16,000. My team, POS/FFOS, has raised more than $75,000.00. Finding the courage to ask people for money to help others not live my lifemare has taught me a lot.

It taught me that suicide, mental illness and mood disorders has had an impact on the life of every single person I’ve spoken to. Every. Single. One. A physician, a close personal friend, told me that he had attempted suicide. So did a newspaper editor and a news reporter. Why, then, are we so afraid to speak of an illness that can be treated? Why do we want to put it away and hide it, when a person with a mental illness no more “asks for it” than the person with cancer does? Why do we want to pretend that it doesn’t exist? I’ve never been quiet about the way my two children died. I am not ashamed of my sons, their lives, or their deaths. I’m from the South. I have to tell, you, we do NOT talk about mental heath issues, or mood disorders, or suicide, where I come from. It’s time to change that. There is a perceived stigma of weakness attached to mental illness. Well, I’ve learned that the biggest sign of strength is the willingness to ask for help. It’s our job to make people understand that this IS an illness, and it CAN be treated.

I placed a Memorial in my local paper for my sons’ birthday one year. A couple of days later, a friend came up to me at work and asked me, “How long are you going to do this?” I was confused, so I asked her, “This what?”. She looked at me, this person who had known me and my children for 20 years, and said, “This suicide stuff. When are you going to stop? When will you let it go?”.

I will tell you what I told her. I will be quiet on the day that people can ask for help and not be turned away, because they don’t have the financial resources for help. I’ll be quiet the day that there is parity in mental health care, and I can get help for my aching soul as easily as I can for my aching back. The day that there are no more suicides, I will be quiet. The day that no other parent, aunt, uncle, friend, lover lives my lifemare, I will be quiet. Until then? My sons told me at a very young age that they were going to make a difference in this world. Their voices have been silenced by mental illness and suicide. Mine has not, and will not, be silenced. As long as there is breath in my body, I will fight for those who need help. I will be the listening ear, the shoulder to cry on, the person to yell at, whatever it takes. Because suicide is NOT an option. The world needs all of us. No one else can speak with our voice, say our piece or shine our light. I refuse to let people pass by in the darkness because I wasn’t there to show them the way. That is why we’re here. To show them the way.

Jason and Rick, this is for you. Run with the wind Little Loves. I love you.

Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom

This walk took place June 7, 2008

 

Another August 5th

Another August 5.  Another birthday.  Without you.

 

I keep trying to focus on the happy thoughts, the good memories.  Shipwreck Island.  The water park in Dothan.  Somehow, water was always involved in your birthday, wasn’t it?   Yet all I can remember right now is Rick not wanting to have another birthday without his brother.  “I can’t do it, Mom.  I can’t have a birthday without my brother.  Please don’t make me celebrate, not like they did last year.”  That party was a disaster, wasn’t it?  But we made it through it, together.  We made it through.  And I’ll make it through this one.  For you.

 

I remember those tiny red heads, unable to be still, even as newborns.  Kicking out of the blankets.  Squirming until you were touching.  Unable to be apart.  Jason, my strong, steady leader.  Rick, my quiet, capable healer.  As different as day is from night, yet so incredibly alike.  I remember your “father’s” mother, telling me red hair with blue eyes was ugly…. and her realizing her mistake long before my tirade ended.  You were barely a day old.  She was the first to bring out the Mother Lion in me. 

 

I remember you “kating, Mommy, kating” on the kitchen floor, where you’d poured the Crisco oil.  Rick, you distracted me, while Jason poured the oil on the floor.  Then the fun began.  You’d just turned 2.

 

I remember your language, unique to the two of you.  Did you still speak it, after you were grown?  You certainly did as wee ones.  I can close my eyes and see  you, J, barreling in head first where an Angel would fear to go, Rick right behind you, trusting his big brother to always lead the right way, babbling away, with everyone else clueless about what you were saying.

 

My quiet, capable Rick.  “Mommy, did you hear that big noise?”.  I was making lunch.  You were at Vacation Bible School.  “What noise, sweetie?”.  “That big noise, Mommy”.  So calm.  So contained.  My little man.  “Sweetie, Mommy didn’t hear a noise.”.  “You didn’t hear that big noise that car made when it ran over my brother?”. 

 

I ran out the front door like a bat out of Hell.  You turned off the oven and the stove, called your Grandmother, locked the house, and walked back down to the church in time for the ambulance to arrive.  You were 6.

 

I see two red heads, bent intently over the blonde baby held so carefully in your arms.  You didn’t know I was there.  “I’ll love you forever.”.  A hug, a kiss.  “I’ll always take care of you.”.  “We’re your big brothers, you know.”.

 

You were 8.    And so were born my three Musketeers.  My two red heads, with a blonde in the middle…. Jason, Leslie and Rick.

 

Today, for Jason and Rick, Leslie Ann and I are going bungee jumping.  Our boys wanted to take us, but we never went.  We should have.  We’re doing it today.  Scared silly, but doing it anyway.

 

We’re going to drink a glass of good red wine, for Jason, and something fruity frou frou, for Rick.  

 

We are going to laugh.  A lot.  Out loud.  Because we love them.  Because we miss them.

 

We are going to LIVE.  Because, if the past six years have taught us nothing else, they have taught us the value of LIFE.  They have taught us that the things that matter are not things. 

 

Today, for Jason and Rick, remember:

 

When you love someone, tell them.   When you miss someone, tell them.   When you fubar, say “I’m sorry”.  See the beauty in a hurricane.  Color outside of the lines.  Dance.  Sing.  Play in mud puddles.  Laugh.  Love.  LIVE.  Live your life.  You never know when it will be gone.  You never know when those that you love more than life will be gone.   Cherish your friends.  Eat ice cream.  For breakfast.  LISTEN.  Not to the words.  To what people are saying.  Those fingerprints on the wall that you need to clean, and the furniture that needs dusting?  They’ll still be there tomorrow.  Take your child to the beach, or the park, or for a walk around the block.  Have a slumber party.  Even if you’re a “grown up”.  And remember…. never go straight.  Always move forward.

 

Maximum respect,

 

Brenda, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom http://www.runningwiththewind.com/

Boy’s trivia

1. Jason was not still, ever, not from birth. Born 6 weeks early, they couldn’t find a way to keep him covered. Rick followed Jason from birth. He cried until they put him in the warmer with his brother.

2. For 2 years, neither of them would wear anything that didn’t have Sesame Street characters on it. They’d take it off the minute I put it on them if there was no Gro-Gro or Ernie or Bert or “B Bir”.

3. They thought yogurt and ice cream (not frozen yogurt–yogurt yogurt) were the same thing until they were around 7.

4. Rick started making not-A’s after Jason moved to Florida. Up to that point, both were straight A students. Once they went to college together, Rick started making A’s again.

5. They had big feet. Size 12 or 13, depending on the shoe.

6. Jason’s eyes were bigger. Rick’s nose was more defined. Rick’s hair was darker.

7. They LOVED Alabama football….. and loved to tell me that the referees on television could NOT hear me.

8. They couldn’t go an entire day without exercise of some kind, even if they were sick.

9. They tried to blame each other for things, but I always knew who really did it.

10. Rick loved Highlander. Jason loved Star Trek.

11. They owned every single He Man and the Masters of the Universe toy ever made.

12. They didn’t know that they were unique. That no one could take their place, smile their smile, or shine their light. And they should have known that.

Maximum respect,

And its fourth and 65

“And the Tornadoes have the ball at their own 15.  It’s fourth and 65.  Jason Dye set to kick.  Wait!  He’s going to run the ball!  Finally brought down after a gain of 40, but there are flags.  Let’s see what they’re for.”

 

See, Bay High had the best athletes in the county the four years my kid played. I know, because opposing coaches told me what a shame it was all the time, that our athletes had no coach.  We had a FLAWLESS game plan… run it up the right, run it up the left, run it up the middle.  Every.  Single.  Time.  Jase played both sides of the ball and special teams.  The kid really was good.  So, he was out there on that play, the one where his friend ran 40 yards.  The one where the flags were thrown.  Against Bay High.  For roughing the kicker (no, I am not making this up.  I think Jason was the one that got the call.  Bay High was playing Ft. Walton Beach.  Danny Wuerffel was their quarterback.   They did NOT need the refs help to win.  Really.  I promise.).  After the game was over, we took the team to dinner, like we always did (we referred to ourselves as The Dirty Dozen, because we WERE the football boosters, sort of like I was the track booster).

 

The kids weren’t real thrilled about the game, BUT…. they had done their best, doing EXACTLY what their coaches asked them to do.  They had been badly defeated, but there was not one single kid on that team who hadn’t done his best.  When they came in, we stood and applauded… lots of the Moms with tears in their eyes.  One of their coaches blew his whistle and SHOUTED that we would NOT clap for that sorry bunch of players.  He was standing in front of me.  Whoops.  His bad.

 

I proceeded to explain to him in my usual quiet, refined way (in other words, I snatched him up and got in his face), with all the other parents right behind me, that those were OUR children and we were proud of them, win, lose, or draw.  By the time we pointed out all of the amazing plays those kids had made, we had a room full of… not happy kids, but kids ready to try again.  Kids who knew their families were behind them 100%.

Kids who could laugh that they had to be the only team ever called for roughing their own kicker.

 

Why am I writing this today?  I don’t know.  I just know I need to.  I found a box of grief gremlins today.  There were letters in there, written at different times, for different reasons, from my boys, thanking me for never giving up on them. 

 

Please, just for today, remind your child that they matter.  Tell them you love them.  Forget the peanut butter splotch, the dropped spoon.  Thank them for that beautiful weed that they picked you, thinking it was a flower.  I can’t tell you how many bunches of “flowers” my boys brought their allergic Mom…. ones that I put in vases and kept in the house.  See, it’s only a weed if that’s what you see.  So try looking at it through a child’s eye, and see the beautiful flower.  Forget the email you have to answer, the call you have to return,  that show you want to watch on TV.  Cherish those you love.  They’re gone way too soon.

 

I have known great, great love.  I have also known great loss.  The thing is, you can’t have one without the other.  Jason, Rick, Mom, and most especially Andy…. I love you, miss you and need you a lot right now.  J & Rick, you thanked me for never giving up on you.  Why would I give up on the best?  Now don’t give up on me, please.  I love you, to forever and back.

 

Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom