Tag Archives: hope

It’s 3:33 again

There’s something in my heart
And it feels like fire
There’s a yearnin’ in the river
And it feels like home
Take me down, take me down to the water
Feels Like Home ~ Caamp

I’ve been dying recently but not like 6 months ago or even close to the way I died 2 years ago on May 25th but I’m dying recently in a bad way. Last year on May 25th I wanted to scream like I normally do and I did scream like I normally do but I knew that wouldn’t be enough because it does nothing but hurt my throat. Not only is my heart ripped into shreds but now my throat hurts too and somehow, I can’t stop screaming even though I know it’s useless. It doesn’t bring you back. Nothing does and every day I know this and I die in that thought every day. I’ve been dying recently because the 25th is upon me again and it seems like you died yesterday but also 1,000 years ago. It shouldn’t matter that it’s the 25th of May. I mean what the hell is that but a number on a calendar that humans invented to secure a time in space but honestly it’s nothing and it’s everything. I think only a mother who has lost a child can truly comprehend the fact that time is a myth. It’s forever all the time. I loved you and Alec before I was even born so I know I will love you both long after I die because we know the truth. But the 25th is almost here and I find it impossible to be still on that day and this bothers me because every day is November 6 or November 28 and every day is May 25. Everything I feel is wrapped up in those 3 dates but I feel the love and the sorrow the same every day and I miss you. I’m dying recently. I think it’s worse this year but outwardly it doesn’t seem to be because I’ve gotten so good at hiding my daily dying.

How could I not be good at hiding it. I’ve been dying every day since my mom died in 1971 and I was just 3 and a half. That picture of us is the last family picture taken of us and your uncle Hugo is in it but he’s the photographer so we actually are getting a glimpse of how he sees things so in essence we are Hugo in the picture. Trippy isn’t it. I wonder if it was 3:33 when this picture was taken or maybe my mom died at 3:33 AM. I don’t know but I do know that it’s her who wakes me up at 3:33 in the morning and she has been doing that as long as I can remember and I know it’s her. I feel her there even though I don’t remember what she felt like but it’s her. I know she can feel me dying now like never before and last night must have been really bad because this morning out of a deep deep sleep I sat straight up at 3:33 and I was clear headed looking at the clock because I know that feeling when she’s there and sure enough it’s 3:33 again. I’m not saying this lightly. I know it. I know why she was there too. I’ve been struggling about where I will spend the day on the 25th because part of me wants to be in bed all day and not get up once and I just don’t know if I can find the strength to get up and do what I know I’m supposed to do. At 3:33 AM today I knew exactly what the message was. I saw water and I knew.

That picture was taken at the beach in Venezuela when we lived there for a few years. Papi would take us to the beach on the weekends and I know it was the happiest times in our lives because I remember snippets but this picture tells the story. Papi smiling like that. My mom laughing like that. Gabriel and his joking around with that million dollar smile. Juan and Santi all serious as usual and there I am analyzing. Calculating the looks on their faces and taking it all in. Near the water where I’ve always felt like that is home. I still feel the same way and I know Andrew felt the same way about the water too. Maybe the way I am looking at my mom and dad was foreshadowing of something I already knew was coming so I took it all in as much as I could. Maybe. I don’t know for sure but I know Andrew was the same. Took everything in. Everything. Maybe he knew. Maybe we both have that fire in our hearts.

Last year on the 25th I took us to the water. To feel closer to home. To be where you loved to be. To honor you. But this year has been beyond complicated with the Covid pandemic and everyone has gone crazy so my grief is now compounded with additional emotions of uncertainty and disbelief that people can’t see how silly they are worrying about who’s fault this is and upset about wearing masks. People don’t get it. We are being handed an opportunity to love deeper and instead many are worrying about “rights”. I don’t have room for anymore pain. I’m dying recently. There’s something in my heart and it feels like fire. There is a yearning in the water and it feels like home. Take me down, take me down to the water.

That’s where I’ll be with you Andrew.
My first baby.
*My second mama* (pats my head the way he used to)

I remember Cinnabons and I remember love

Leave a reply

“When all is said and done I’d never count the cost. It’s worth all that’s lost. Just to see you smile”
Just to See You Smile performed by Tim McGraw

Every time I hear that song I cry. Not because of what he’s actually singing about but because of how this simple line in the song reminds me of you and Alec and a few of the simple things that brought you both such joy and how I would give anything just to see you smile like that again.

I can’t find a picture of us ever eating a cinnabon but I know we did. Hundreds of times. They sold them at the mall. The one in Gaithersburg. Lakeforest Mall which no longer exists. Funny how things change so much that you cry because it’s really not funny at all. The Cinnabon was downstairs near Sears or JC Penney. That part I can’t remember exactly but I remember the times we had there. Neither one of you would ever have known this because I would never have told you but we really couldn’t afford those Cinnabons yet your delight eating them was so simple and genuine that if it meant that I had to work an extra hour a day just to see you smile from eating a Cinnabon I would have worked as long as it took to earn that extra money for those Cinnabons on the regular. Just to see those beautiful smiles.

When you were little you’d both just ask for them not thinking one little bit about it and I would get us 3. One for each of us and we’d sit and eat right there at the mall. You and Alec would have just been done running around that play area in the center of the mall. You’d be almost sweaty. Grinning and ready to go on to the next adventure. But first: Cinnabon. But you, Andrew, loved them more than either Alec or me and as a teenager you understood that it wasn’t that easy to just “get something” and your eyes would always wander towards any place that sold Cinnabons. At the airport on our travels, sometimes gas stations as we drove down 95 to Florida, random places we’d find ourselves in or if we ever went to a mall anywhere you’d see them and you’d be shy about it but I knew. I’d get you your Cinnabon and you’d smile that smile and say “Oh mama. You’re the mama” and you’d pat my head the way you always did. I just wish that I could stay there in those times. Forever. Just to see you smile.

Your little 5 year old smile, Andrew. I can’t believe how clearly I can see your 5 year old face. Your hair was soft and wavy. Your little teeth were perfect and your smile was like a flash of beautiful little white miniature chiclets. Your big brown eyes full of sparkle, spirit, mischievous adventure, a little sadness and a lot of kindness. Those eyes never changed. I can see you clear as if you were right here with me this very second. Fork in hand eating that Cinnabon. Smiling and smelling of that sweet Cinnamon and frosting mixed in with that dewey boy sweat. Delighted with the world.

Maybe I always knew this was a fleeting moment and I’m glad I “wasted” all that money on those Cinnabons. Best money I ever spent. I’d do it all over again. Just to see you smile.

“I can’t forget the way you looked at me. Just to see you smile. I’d do anything…”

The Visit by Wileyna

Leave a reply

We lived on Alderleaf Dr in a little neighborhood that was magical.

There weren’t that many families there with kids when we first moved in around 1994 but neighborhoods turn over and by the time both my boys were born we started to see that other families were also having kids. Needless to say, by the time Andrew and Alec were 5 and 3 they had a seemingly endless stream of built in playmates for their daily adventures. Our neighbors across the street, Steve and Nancy who became dear friends, ended up having 3 kids who added so much laughter and screaming to our little magical neighborhood. Their oldest son, John, was Andrew’s best friend and partner in Neighborhood Defense. They were a riot. Protectors and destroyers simultaneously. My fondest memories come from those days when John, Alec and Andrew would dress up in their “war gear” and save the world as they destroyed our yards. Best days ever.

Time kept moving in our little magical neighborhood and, of course, things changed. Good friends moved away, kids grew up and our little dream world of magical days became a most wonderful memory. A memory, to me, that keeps me alive and brings bittersweet joy to my heart.

My dear friend, Nancy, who was witness and participant in our magical neighborhood wrote this the other day. She had a dream and in it Andrew came to visit. Warms my heart. Heals me. Please take a minute to read: https://nancywileywriter.com/2020/03/13/the-visit/

I have a Facebook page called “The Little Gigantic Things”. Nancy’s visit from Andrew is exactly that: a little gigantic thing. It’s these little gigantic things that touch us to our core. They are the little things that become the fabric of your being and these are the things that heal you.

Dreams are awesome. Also: they suck

1 Reply

“Like a heartbeat…Drives you mad.
In the stillness of remembering what you had.
And what you lost.
And what you had.
And what you lost…”

~ Dreams by Stevie Nicks

Andrew was with me all night long in my dreams. I can’t remember specifics but I’m all confused again this morning. Woke up scared with the same knot in my throat and tears ready to roll. Why did you have to go? I just can’t understand it and I know I never will. How can there be a “God who loves you so much” yet takes not only your mother when you are 3 and you grow up scared and grieving but then later after you have learned to live with that grief and let your guard down a little bit and love again…and I mean actually love again…this “loving God” takes away your first born child too? I’m 52 years old. I do not believe in a “God who loves you so much…”

Here’s the kicker for me. “Oh you’ll get to see your baby in dreams. But you won’t be able to remember them. You’ll just feel like they were with you all night and there are snippets of the dream you’ll remember but you will just wake up and realize that he’s gone. It was just a dream and you can’t even remember the details”. That’s how much God loves you. No. That makes no sense. I want him back and I don’t want it to be in a dream that I can’t remember.

But that’s never going to happen so I take my dream, my memories and my shattered heart and I carry that life with me here on this floating rock in the middle (or end or beginning) of the universe and I smile through my tears after the screaming stops. I smile because for 22 years he was with me. I carried him. I nursed him. I read to him. We sang together. We talked. We held hands. We hugged. We cried. We learned. We welcomed his brother together. We fought. We disappointed each other. We forgave. We loved. We love. We will always have that because we lived. And all of that, plus so much more, is real.

Andrew came to visit me in my dreams last night and I can’t remember what happened but I don’t need to remember the dream to know that I love that kid and his presence in my life for 22 years is a gift beyond price. I thank the Universe for letting me be a part of that magnificent soul’s life here on earth.

Oh, Andrew. You’re my first baby. (Oh mama. You’re my second mama) He really did say that every time. I wonder.

These Hands…

3 Replies

My dad is the best dad in the universe.
No, really. He is. More on him in future talks. Right now I’m still in shock from what I walked into yesterday at his apartment.
As I am the youngest of 5 and the only girl I am obviously his favorite daughter and it shows. However, when my firstborn, Andrew, came along you would have thought my dad had completely forgotten about his 4 defenders and 1 shining goalie. We kind of became flat Stanleys for him because when Andrew arrived it’s as though the color came back into his life in an instant. Andrew was the sparkle in my dad’s eyes that had been lost when my mother died in 1971. With Andrew around and 2 years later when my youngest, Alec, was born my dad lived again. He would do anything for those boys. Anything. But Andrew really was the brilliant piercing sparkle. And that sparkle lasted for 22 years, 6 months and 19 days. Don’t get me wrong. He loves his other 7 grandkids and even Alec is so very special but the truth is there was something about Andrew and it is undeniable. Andrew touched him like no one has ever touched him including his favorite daughter. When Andrew died the little bit that was left of my dad’s shattered heart turned into dust. He went downhill quick and exactly one year to the day of Andrew dying my dad had a hemorrhagic stroke and almost didn’t make it. I spent a week sleeping in a chair at the hospital with him. Four weeks later he was back home but this time he went to “The Gardens”. Memory care.

Papi has been in The Gardens since June of 2019 making small progress and I have been visiting him daily, helping with everything. Everything. Hardest thing to live through other than the death of a child is becoming a “parent” to your own parent and watching them fade. To have to endure both things simultaneously is honestly enough to send anyone to the bin. I don’t know how I keep going. But here I am.

Yesterday when I walked into his room I was actually shocked because Bloomberg wasn’t on the TV. He watches Bloomberg 24/7. He was a numbers guy and although he can’t do his math any longer, he knows green is good and red is bad and he watches it all day long. So when I heard music coming from his TV I had to see if it was a commercial or something. It wasn’t. It was Jewel in concert on AXS. My dad doesn’t watch AXS nor does he listen to music and much less to Jewel. He wouldn’t know that I loved Jewel and the song Hands was a favorite of mine and that I played it in the car with both my boys for years when they were little.

“If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we’re all ok
And not to worry because worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I will not be made useless
I won’t be idled with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear”
Jewel

I don’t believe it was an accident that I walked into this yesterday. This song, back in the day, used to make me cry and I would think “heartache came to visit me but I knew it wasn’t ever after” and felt so much sorrow that the tears would just flow. I would think about the sadness of losing and not ever really knowing my own mother yet also knowing that the immeasurable love I felt for my beautiful grandmother and my 2 precious children was a true blessing and the tears would flow. How true that heartache can visit but it doesn’t have to stay there all alone forever. We can allow love and happiness to come in again and I did. Not knowing that the universe had this other future sorrow in store for me just a mere 16 years (or so) later that would bring me to brink of wanting to die myself. Not knowing that I’d be tested again on my belief in hope and internal balance. I knew even back then that every little thing we have, feel, touch and smell is a fleeting thing but back in those days I would cry because I knew at that moment that I was blessed to be able to love again. I was a mother and my children allowed me to truly love again. Not knowing how devastating a loss I would meet again. I have been talking a lot recently about my frustration with having to take care of my dad and not be able to just run away to the beach for a couple of days for some grieving time. I know this may sound selfish and it may offend some but I feel completely robbed. Robbed of my beautiful child. Robbed of my happiness again. Robbed of my time and lastly robbed of my memory of my dad who was the strongest man I ever knew. I feel robbed of my time to grieve. I feel horrible.
All.
The.
Time.

And then Jewel is singing her songs on AXS in my dad’s room yesterday and he’s just sitting there with his eyes on the TV and I know exactly what is happening here and why. I smile to myself and proceed to talk.

“Hey Andrew. I feel you. I know you want me to pay attention to the song again Andrew-baby. I know you see how I am slipping these days and turning towards the numbing agent of vodka again and you, of all the souls out there, know where this leads. I see you, Andrew.” (Mama! Live your life that the fear of death can not enter your heart.)

“We will fight, not out of spite for someone must stand up for what’s right
Cause where there’s a man who has no voice there ours shall go singing”

Those lyrics never touched me until yesterday. It’s as though Andrew were in the room talking. That was him. Andrew’s soul was the “Stand up for what’s right and sing for the ones who have no voice” kind. He was there to remind me what I already knew and was beginning to lose focus of:

“My hands are small, I know,
But they’re not yours they are my own
But they’re not yours they are my own
And I am never broken
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters”

How could I not do the most for the dad who did the most for me and my children? How. I am not cut from that type of cloth. I will live my life that the fear of death will not enter my hear because in the end only kindness matters.

“Thanks, Andrew-baby. You’re my first baby!!” (Oh mama. You’re my second mama)

The Cat(s)

Leave a reply

No. “No more pets” I had said after our big Yellow Lab and best friend, partner in crime, the drooler, Cooper passed in 2011. The boys and I agreed. Cooper had been with us since Alec was 1 and Andrew was 3. He grew up with the boys and was, in essence, their sibling. He went through the divorce with us and somehow knew to stick by the boy’s side just at the most needed times. He made messes and made us angry and made us laugh and we loved him deeply. He was our Coops the doops. We were all heartbroken when his time arrived and knew that was it. No more pets.

This morning I’ve been up listening to a cat which has learned to come in to our house in the middle of the night to eat and then it leaves. I’ve seen it hanging around outside on a few occasions and it is getting more comfortable being close by. Our other cats don’t seem to mind it too much either. This morning it has been crying outside and I just wish I could hold it and make it feel better.

Like it’s one of my kids.

While I try to figure out what to do I, of course, think of Andrew and how all of this personal crazy cat lady business began. I blame it all on his stubbornness and downright disregard for my wishes.
“Jesus, Andrew. Now I’m up at 4 AM worrying and taking care of a cat which I can’t even pet and I’m not even sure if it will ever let me!”
(oh, mama. YOLO *insert goofy laugh here*)

“You cannot share your life with a dog…
or a cat, and not know perfectly well
that animals have personalities and minds and feelings.”
Jane Goodall

Kids. They know which buttons to push. Andrew met Katie in high school through a serendipitous event and those two ended up dating for years after. Those two were always at our house when they weren’t either at school or work doing all their we’re so happy together things and life was just rolling along with it’s usual twists and turns. And then that fateful day in the early summer of 2014 arrived.

I pulled up to the house with Rick and I see Andrew and Katie come outside to greet me. I was smiling and waving hello and they were smiling and saying hello when I noticed Andrew was carrying something. Small. Very small. I stopped in my tracks and knew.

There, in his arms, was a tiny little kitten.

“Take it back, Andrew” I said with a stern face.
All the smiles ran away.
Then I actually saw the little kitten. Looked at it.
My eyes saw and my brain processed.
And my heart. And I knew. The kids saw my eyes at that moment and they knew too. All the smiles came running back. And Gizmo became family that day.

Gizmo about 1 and a half years old. October 2015

Gizmo was the kind of cat who hung out at all the neighbor’s houses. He was adventurous, friendly, smart and very loving. He came home every day. We would call him and he would come home to our calls. Until he didn’t. October of 2015 he went out to play and never came home. We looked everywhere. We had to go pick him up at different places in the past. People would call us from his tag and we would go get him. He was never too far away. He is chipped and once we got a call from the pound because someone found him after he lost his collar and tag and turned him in. He was known all over town. The local police officer who lived in our neighborhood loved him. She took pictures of him inside her cruiser and would send them to me. He was a rock star. We have our suspicions of where he might be but we can’t be sure. I still look for him. You never know.

Gizmo was the first of three cats we ended up with and right now there’s a 4th cat who is quickly becoming “ours” albeit from a distance but still. Here I am at 4 AM figuring out how to get some food into it’s belly. All thanks to Andrew. My lover of nature and animals and sea life. Funny to think I actually said “Take him back”. No. It doesn’t work that way, does it? Not at all. Andrew knew I would never let Giz “go back”.

Coops the Doops with the boys

It’s not who I wanted to be but here I am

Leave a reply

I’ve lived a life with grief but nothing could have prepared me for the journey I’ve embarked on since the death of my first-born son on May 25, 2018. Andrew James Lefevre lived 22 magnificent years on this earth. He lives on forever in the space that we feel around us.

Quick background: I am a mom of 2 boys. Andrew and Alec. My babies. My guys. I’m also the youngest of 5 and the only girl which makes me my dad’s favorite daughter. My mother died in a car accident in Colombia, where we are from, in July of 1971. She was 38 years old. I was 3 and a half. That’s when my life with grief began. That’s when I started talking with me, myself and I. Silently yet: Loudly. Daily. Sanely. Insanely and always emotionally. My paternal grandmother moved in with us right after our mother died and stayed with us for the rest of her life. She even moved with us to the States in 1975 even though she had to leave everything she ever knew behind in Colombia. She became our rock. She saved my life with her blanket of love and compassion. She lived 98 magnificent years on this floating rock and died peacefully in my arms on December 12, 2007.

Why am I doing this now? Because my son was an unbelievable force on this earth and he made a fatal mistake one day because 22 year olds are still prone to acting impulsively. Andrew died from an accidental overdose of Fentanyl/Xanax/Alcohol combo and since his death I’ve met countless moms and dads and siblings and families who have lost their kids to the same thing and I’ve seen so many people fall apart completely and lose hope. When I lost Hope at the age of 3 and a half years my grandmother stepped in and let me cry and talk while she made me rice pudding or soft boiled eggs or pancakes or scrambled eggs. She wrapped me in her blanket of compassion and love and those things she did allowed hope to sneak back in. She brought a smile back to my face and softened my falls along the way. She was a giver. She raised me with a giving heart and I hope I can give to others a little bit of what she gave to me. I hope my gibberish will soften someone else’s fall.

Some say, “Hope anchors the soul” and I believe that. Hope is beautiful. My mother’s name is Esperanza. Esperanza is Hope in Spanish. The truth is: Hope never died. Hope lives eternally in the space we feel around us. Hope is always with us.