MADD letter 1 year before

Ian participated in MADD reenactment at high school in 2012. He was one of the walking dead and we had joked he was picked at the end of the day because there is no way he could have gone all day without talking! Anyhow, this is the letter I wrote. I had it in his Bible on the day we celebrated his life, just one year later.

Tomorrow

My sister has suffered for eight years with debilitating migraines. I remember when they just started to get bad and consistent -- each day there would be an update on how she was doing. I thought for a long time why not report on a weekly basis how things are going instead of daily. I didn’t realize she really could only live day to day -- and each was different -- there was no way to combine them. Now I know.

Both of us were planners. We thrived on organization and schedules and busyness. You needed something done, not a problem. Not enough hours in the day – well, you hadn’t seen what we could do. We easily tackled life and did not let it tackle us. But then, one day happened – a debilitating migraine that would not subside, a child who would not be coming home. No, not the same, but each life altering nonetheless. We understood each other anew. Her physical pain and my emotional pain paved a new way to bond.

So, in one day we learned that tomorrow is too hard. Tomorrow I will still wake up with part of me missing. Tomorrow I will still go through my day wondering if this is all a bad dream, a nightmare that I can escape from if only I would wake up. Tomorrow my child will still not be here to hold, to hug, to kiss, to talk with. How do you face tomorrow when today is almost more than you can handle already?

You don’t.

You face what is right in front of you and you pray that you can manage whatever that is.

Matthew 6:34

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Philippians 4:6

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 

Ian's Brag Sheet

When Ian was in high school his dad and I had to write a brag sheet. This one was written in October 2011, two months before he turned 18. Here is what we wrote based on the prompts. I cannot bring myself to read it again today, but thought I would share it anyway....

____________

Over the past few years Ian’s greatest accomplishment has been to continually strive to improve himself. He left a private junior high environment that was more concerned about clothing than education and voluntarily chose Anderson High School to be more mentally challenged, and he was! He dove in and worked hard all that first year to conquer a level of education that was significantly more difficult and each year since he has improved. He also attempted various sports that first year in order to improve physically and after several concussions began to focus on overall health and a non-contact sports regimen to keep in top physical form. As a consequence, all of us in his family have learned about better nutrition and exercise. Among his greatest accomplishments is his dedication to learning music. In the past four years Ian has taught himself how to play the guitar, the bass and the upright bass. And, one last accomplishment, time management. Ian has managed AP/IB classes, sports, music (including participation in several bands) to also work part-time for the past two years. The dude is accomplished at everything he sets his mind to.

Ian’s greatest challenge in meeting obligations to high school has been to overcome undiagnosed narcolepsy for ten years. Like most people, my family and I thought narcoleptics slept all the time, we could not have been more wrong. Narcolepsy is the inability of the brain to distinguish between sleep and awake, so while a narcoleptic is asleep the brain will try to wake them and while they are awake can cause them to fall asleep. After having Ian tested we learned that he has approximately 30 interruptions (like an alarm clock going off every few minutes) during a typical eight hour sleep cycle. For approximately 10 years Ian has been sleep deprived. We knew that he never slept “well,” was always exhausted and suffered headaches as a result. Just this past summer Ian obtained a diagnosis and began treatment. For the first time in August of this year did he begin to feel rested. So, what did this mean for meeting high school obligations? It meant that despite excessive daytime sleepiness, restless nights, and migraines, Ian simply worked harder, with more determination, while maintaining an amazing attitude. Even today he refuses to acknowledge that narcolepsy may have held him back educationally, that there was likely more he could have done. Seriously, one headache or one night of bad sleep and you can excuse me for the rest of the day!

I steal liberally from Fyodor Dostoyevsky and his book, The Brothers Karamazov, through short excerpts to describe the heart and soul of Ian Pogue via a description of Alyosha:

Here is perhaps the one man in the world whom you might leave alone without a penny, in the center of an unknown town of a million inhabitants, and he would not come to harm, he would not die of cold and hunger, for he would be fed and sheltered at once; and if he were not, he would find a shelter for himself, and it would cost him no effort or humiliation. And to shelter him would be no burden, but, on the contrary, would probably be looked on as a pleasure. (Kindle Locations 369-372)

Every one, indeed, loved this young man wherever he went, and it was so from his earliest childhood. When he entered the household of his ...[friends]..., he gained the hearts of all the family, so that they looked on him quite as their own child. Yet he entered the house at such a tender age that he could not have acted from design nor artfulness in winning affection. So that the gift of making himself loved directly and unconsciously was inherent in him, in his very nature, so to speak. It was the same at school, .... he was a general favorite all the while he was at school. He was rarely playful or merry, but any one could see at the first glance that this was not from any sullenness. On the contrary he was bright and good-tempered. He never tried to show off among his schoolfellows. Perhaps because of this, he was never afraid of any one, yet the boys immediately understood that he was not proud of his fearlessness and seemed to be unaware that he was bold and courageous. He never resented an insult. It would happen that an hour after the offense he would address the offender or answer some question with as trustful and candid an expression as though nothing had happened between them. And it was not that he seemed to have forgotten or intentionally forgiven the affront, but simply that he did not regard it as an affront, and this completely conquered and captivated the boys. ... He was always one of the best in the class but was never first. (Excerpts from Kindle Locations 335-356)

Ian’s contributions to activities in the past few years has been extensive. See his resume! He is devoted to school (AP and IB classes). He is devoted to music as mentioned previously - oh, and he is exceptional at the bass, truly. He has devoted himself to health and sports - ask anyone on his Ultimate Frisbee team or ask him to bench press 300 pounds (he only weighs 150). He never misses a shift at work. He is devoted to his church through missions and plays bass for the kids program every week. And he is devoted to all of his relationships - see excerpts above from The Brothers Karamazov.

A Haiku for My Son from His Mom

Ian rocks screaming

Heart flows with deep empathy

Full of fun, joy, love

A Song that Comes to Mind Chosen by Dad

Better Man

Pearl Jam á la Ian Pogue

Waitin’, watchin’ the clock, its twelve o’clock, it’s got to stop

Tell him, take no more, he wakes the neighbors’ sleep

As we open the door, notes ring over...

We hear him sing, scream, play the bass over

We know and declare our deep love for him, can’t find a better man...

We see his present, we dream his next, can’t find a better man...

Can’t find a better man

Ohh...

Talkin’ to ourselves, there’s no one who feels love so…

He feels our feelings, oh…

Memories back when he was small and young

And waiting for the world to come along...

Now he is becoming, seeks fresh answers

We know and declare our deep love for him, can’t find a better man...

We see his present, we dream his next, can’t find a better man...

We know and declare our deep love for him, can’t find a better man...

We see his present, we dream his next, can’t find a better man...

Can’t find a better man

Yeah...

We love him, yeah...We can’t wait to see his way

He’s becomin’, yeah...that’s why we’ll keep on watchin’

Can’t find a better man

Can’t find a better...man...

Ohh...ohh...

Mother's Day Survival

Dearest Ian,

Josh's mom commented at the end of my second Mother's Day without all of my children to hug and kiss: "Another special day survived. Hang in there." Survived. I think that is what we all feel like, survivors. Survivors are defined as people "who survive, especially people remaining alive after an event in which others have died." And that is about all we do. 

We have not really started living again, much of the time we are just hanging on. And time is moving so slowly, yet at the same time too fast. We go about doing our daily chores, but I don't think any of us recall much about our days even the special ones. Everything is still surreal and devastating and heartbreaking. We don't really allow ourselves to slow down too much because that is when life comes crashing in all around. 

So, slowing down this Mother's Day weekend was no exception. Your dad, Caylea and Danny did such a great job keeping it low key. I appreciated the casual brunch and the gifts we could all share and all the time just hanging out. But I missed you. And it was especially hard because very few people wanted to mention you. I know they all believe it would be hard for me to even hear your name, but what they don't realize is how much harder it is to not hear it--and even more difficult for them to mention Danny and Caylea and not you. I believe because there will be no new stories with you, I am clinging to the old ones and and I am desperate to hear them, even over and over again, despite whatever tears may come. But I also struggled, because how do I reach out to other moms and talk to them about our beautiful kids without causing them to be sad on their own special day? So, I didn't. (I can hear you chastising me, but since this conundrum is all your fault, I am not listening.)

However, since I do have such an urge to tell your stories, I have started a brief list of topics I plan to write about you and that way if people want to "hear" they can "listen" when they are ready. Stories about your earrings, Taco More and Java City, April 20 Columbine song, station wagons, keys, your special jacket, spatulas, 9/11, your nicknames, superlatives, friends, work, school, narcolepsy, hair, beards, girls dresses, the vageena club, scavenger hunts, ear infections and tonsillectomy, "right there!", my last dream of you, "it's Ian's fault" among many others.

Here is one such quick story (already blogged as you may recall) of my gift last Mother's Day 2013: At 6am Dad and I were lying in bed talking. We talked often about your Homecoming…we wanted to be with you…and then I heard “Mom.” Dad and I both stopped in the middle of our conversation and looked toward the bedroom doors. We waited and waited. I finally said, “Did you hear someone call Mom?” Dad looked at me and said, “No, I heard someone call Dad.” We laid there for a few minutes soaking it in. Then Dad got up and checked the house. All five pets were sleeping as was Caylea. We believe without doubt, God opened Heaven so we could hear you call our names. We look forward everyday to our next visit with you.

Until then, I will say that even if your "chatter" this weekend made me cry, please continue to chatter away and know that I feel honored that God allowed me to be your mom for 19 years here on earth, honored that he allowed me three beautiful children who turned out to be wonderful young adults. 

I miss you son. I love you.

Mom

Mother's Day 2005

Homeward Bound

Hey Sweet Child of Mine,

I've been out of words for the last two months. I have just been filled with immense and overwhelming sadness that is indescribable. I heard this tonight. Doubt you had, but thought of you. I love you son. I miss you profoundly. 

Mom

Simon & Garfunkel: "Homeward Bound"

http://youtu.be/7z9wd9bS1FM

I'm sittin' in the railway station 

Got a ticket for my destination
On a tour of one night stands
My suitcase and guitar in hand
And every stop is neatly planned
For a poet and a one man band

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

Everyday's an endless stream
Of cigarettes and magazines
And each town looks the same to me
The movies and the factories
And every stranger's face I see
Reminds me that I long to be

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

Tonight I'll sing my songs again
I'll play the game and pretend
But all my words come back to me
In shades of mediocrity
Like emptyness in harmony
I need someone to comfort me

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me
Silently for me
Silently for me

Simon & Garfunkel: "The Sound of Silence" is also so damn apropos:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raO2E3cIiYM

And, Ian,  you will like this one: The Beatles and "Yesterday"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ho2e0zvGEWE

Where you are is where I want to be.

In the silence I hear your voice.
In the dark I see your light.
In the cold I feel your warmth.

Each answer I reach for fills me with more questions.
Each tear I cry slowly mends my heart.
Each breath I take brings me closer to you.

When will it no longer be dark?
When will it no longer be cold?
When, when, when?

What if?
Why you?
No, not him.

A shattered heart.
A longing.

Silence.

Where you are is where I want to be.

I Can't Imagine

Neither can I.

It is a dream. A very bad one. He's at school. He's going to text or call soon.

"I can't imagine what you are going through" is the most common theme of conversations involving Ian. I can't imagine either. I think if the reality ever fully kicks in I will lose what is left of my mind and my heart will cease to beat.

The plain truth is, I don't want to go "there." The most peace I can find is in those brief moments when reality is elusive and I can live in denial.

Living with a broken heart

mar. 17, 2014


Hey Dude,

I am watching a movie with Caylea. This is our fourth night in a row to watch a movie "together"--her in Houston and me at home--a way for us to connect. Tonight the selection was "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days." I can't remember if you like this movie.... We hadn't seen it in forever.

As I was watching I started thinking of how people often say they would "die of a broken heart." And they refer to this relationship or that one. So many times in my own life I thought that I would, especially when I was younger and immature. But over the past eleven months it still astounds me that I can live with a shattered heart, a heart that is missing a beat every moment.

For the past few weeks the denial has been frequent and necessary to go throughout the day. But dang it if the nights aren't full of reality. The reality that silence is deafening, moments of quiet end with sobbing and an intense longing for you, all of which is overwhelming.

I keep thinking how life changed in just a nod of your beautiful head. We did not have enough time with you here Ian. I know one day we will have all eternity and every tear will be wiped away, but it feels too long to wait.

I love you,

Mom

The Navigator

Ian,

I know I just wrote, but I needed to say hi again since you said hi to me this morning. Hi.

Today as I was driving I noted to Caylea that it is "big pile trash" week and it’s Friday and everyone has had their garage’s cleaned out on their sidewalks since Sunday waiting for the trash truck to come by. And, since it is Friday, all of the “good” stuff has been picked up by driver-bys, so that all that is really left is junk.

And, then on the way to work you joined the conversation to say “Hi” in the form of a Junk Busters truck. I hadn’t seen one in six months and I saw one today after having that conversation with your sister. I knew God let you in on the conversation too and I am so grateful.

Most people probably don’t know that when you were fifteen you started working for Junk Busters. In fact, just like last April, you were growing your hair out and it was bushy when we found out a job was open for a “navigator” at Junk Busters (too young to drive, so you sat passenger and told the driver how to get to people’s homes…not too young to haul trash with those big biceps though). You had an interview within a few days. The day before you cut off your hair, you put together a resume, you borrowed your Dad’s suit and you were ready. I drove you to the interview and waited in the car. Before it even began, the owner (a friend of mine) came out and said that he saw you walking to the door and the moment he noticed you had cut your hair you had the job! Add to that a tie and a resume and he was ready to promote you.

As navigator you learned all of Austin from a “map book” as you called it (hysterical that you didn’t even know it was just called a map since it wasn’t in electronic form). After starting you were near impossible to go anywhere with from that day forward. Back seat driver took on a whole new meaning. But, I would give anything to have you annoying me with how to go where now!

As I thought of my young navigator this morning I found myself in awe of how you just show up at randoms times to say hi throughout this past ten months and I realized this morning it is because of the big Navigator. 

And, I know that in my last post that was filled with all the stuff that comes along with grief, that I put a line in about “hanging on my own cross.” I have since wondered if you understood or maybe even if I had when I wrote it. I think what I meant, at least what it means today, is that sometimes I allow my grief to run to the edge and I don’t reign it in and I am the one who puts myself up there on that cross instead of turning to the One who put Himself up there first.

Grief sucks and I don’t do well with navigators in my life. You drove me crazy trying to navigate from the back seat. I so want you doing that again. But I also realize that I don’t like letting God do a lot of the navigating either. I do turn to Him all the time, but I don’t allow Him to turn me nearly as often. I guess that is something you can be praying for. 

Okay, well I am off to work. Thank you for saying hi this morning--I will tell Caylea you said hi too. We will chat again soon.

I love you,

Mom

The Formula

Ian,

People keep saying that there is no formula for grief, but I think I have found the answer … when grief strikes and is overwhelming and more than I can handle I turn to God. 

When all that I know and all that believed in has been shattered I turned to God.

When I'm in fetal position in the closet screaming into a towel I turned to God.

When I keep envisioning that first day over and over and over again I turned to God.

When I'm angry and disillusioned and bitter I turn to God. 

When I am overwhelmed with life and living I turn to God.

When I feel ready to go Home I turn to God.

When I consider the future and all that will be missing I turn to God.

When I feel like I'm hanging on my own cross, I turn to God.

And these are some of the things I say:

No, no, no, no, no, no. 

Oh God, please not Ian. 

I am so angry. 

It hurts so bad. 

I want Ian.  

I want my baby back. 

I miss him, please tell Ian I miss him. 

but most often and from day one until even now….

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

And in the moments when joy creeps in because of things that I remember of you I thank God.

When people tell me a new story of you and your craziness, your kindness, your love I thank God.

When I consider you have visited me from Heaven at least twice I thank God.

I am glad you are with Him Ian. He is our connection.

I love you.

Mom

A harsh reality.

Dearest Ian,

Yep. It has been a while since I wrote you, but as you know, hardly a moment has passed when you haven't been on my mind. 

A harsh reality hit me last week and as the harsh weather hits today I find myself sitting by the fire thinking only of you, of our last conversations and still praying that all of this is a nightmare I will wake from come morning. Reality is a gut punch that travels through every fiber of my being and frequently brings me to my knees. In the past nine months you have heard me say to others and to myself (and others have said to me) - "Now, Ian is with you always." The new reality is that you were always with me even before April. You are my baby. You have been with me since mid April of 1992 when you were conceived!! (Another new reality as I count back the weeks...) 

The reality of life is that you saturated ours so completely that everything is a memory of you. Last week as I was driving my cruise control glitched. It does this very infrequently, but instantly I recalled the first time -- as we were leaving College Station the weekend after you started your first year in Fall of 2012. ... The little (very little) bit of snow on the ground tonight reminds me of countless memories. ... One of my favorites was during the freak three day snow storm the winter after we moved here and us walking up to Pok-E-Joes to get some lunch. There were icicles hanging all over the place and you grabbed a really long one and stuck up to your nose like a giant booger. I snapped a picture and then attempted to use said picture for your birthday announcement. A few days later I found a large stack of the pictures, torn from the invitations, in your backpack because you were embarrassed. Not less than two years later I am not sure anything could embarrass you as you entered high school, but at 13, well...enough said.

This past Sunday it has been nine months in our new reality. It hasn't gotten easier, it is just very, very different...wrong in a way that is permanent. That said, I did go 9 or 10 days without crying by keeping really busy with work and school. Instead of crying though I had a deep nagging sadness that had me angry at the world. However, on Monday I reconnected with my tears as you helped welcome Lisa to her new Home. She, like you, was not ready to go, but was Ready. I am jealous. I know that I am not suppose to be, but I am. We weren't meant for this world to begin with and now I feel the tightrope on which we walk. 

Have you been watching the progress on our quilts? Yes, Dad is doing the ironing! (Even for the quilts, I was not excited about the ironing - you know my "no ironing" policy.) He is doing well, if you take out some of the words he uses when the sticky stuff is turned the wrong way. Caylea is designing our last t-shirt to go into it-one with a picture of each of our tattoos. And, last night I asked four of your frisbee friends if they have an old frisbee shirt they could donate hoping to find one and they all jumped on it and I think I have three or four coming. Their response reminded me of the sermon I heard this morning - that when you are gifted by God and anointed by His Spirit that you will be used even if you don't realize it (although it is best to be proactive). Well, you were gifted with the gift of gab, the gift of listening, the gift of being a friend to all. Yet again, your friends have responded to us in the same way. Amy even found a (dirty, gotta wash) Starbuck's apron with your signature on it for me to include as part of the border. We all agree that the t-shirt quilts will be a priceless gift for us each, but they are also another reminder to us of your absence. 

Reality - we all miss you more than we can say, more than we can feel, more than we ever thought possible. Reality - you have always been with us and will always be with us.

I love you,

Mom

It isn't fair.

Ian,

In so many ways you leaving is so damn unfair.

My heart, what is left of it, is hurting. I miss my baby. And it seems lately I have become the person to contact when others are experiencing tragedy. Maybe because I understand and can hurt with them...experience empathy in the way you always did. But it isn't fair, I am already hurting!

But then I was thinking I am fairly sure people told me of tragedies before, I just didn't get it. I would "pray for the family members" and go on about my day, my life. Now my heart weeps for them over and over and breaks all over again for you. It isn't fair to feel this much pain over and over and over again.

And on a daily basis, sometimes hourly, and sometimes with every breath I take feel sucker punched, out of breath and nauseous as I recall that I won't see you this weekend, that you won't be texting about your activities, that I can't call you and tell you about new happenings. It isn't fair. It isn't fair. It isn't fair.

And sometimes I am angry at you or God or you both because the pain feels so unbearable and I know it will be with me my whole life, which already feels like 264 days too long. It isn't fair Ian. It isn't fair God.

So, that's it, that is all I wanted to say--it isn't fair, life that is.

I love you Ian.

Mom