My Small Garden Paradise: Past and Present

The advent of what is now known as TBT (Throw Back Thursday) has prompted me weekly to share changes that my garden has gone through the past several years. It has evolved as I have. Neither my garden not myself are the same as we were. I feel a kinship with the space I call mine and I feel that we have grown and transformed together. While the basic fundamentals are the same, there have been embellishments as well as setbacks that have led us both to where we are today; imperfect but beautiful all the same. Let me take you through some of the changes...

Spring 2008

This was a year after I began my garden. The spring before I had come home to a huge box in front of my steps. My beloved arbor was inside. No note, no idea where it had come from.It was the impetus I needed to continue working on my garden, in memory of my dear son ,Ryan. In 2007, still mourning his loss in August 2006, I found myself outside most of the time...I hastened to fill the hole in my heart by using my hands to create beauty to fill that hole. My faith had been shaken and through the days, weeks and months of digging, planting and creating, I found my faith again. The addition of this wonderful arbor helped me on the path to a stronger faith and a new love for creation. This was also the year I planted my Crepe Myrtle, to give me a constant reminder of my loved ones in Wilmington, North Carolina; most of all my dear Nan and Pop.

Spring 2009

I have no photos of my arbor other than this one in 2009. There has been a progression and my beds continued to expand. At this point I was working full time again and I continued to find solace in my garden after work. What others would view as work here, was enjoyable for me and continues to be a way for me to decompress after a stressful day. I started to add little ornaments to my yard, too, to provide visual interest. The pair of garden frogs to the right were a gift from my neighbor across the street who loved to look out of her kitchen window to see my garden. Gifts such as that are always very precious to me and reinforce my determination to make my garden a place of beauty.

 

 

Spring 2010

The year 2010 was a big one for my garden as well as for myself personally. As my garden was becoming more established. I, too, was gaining a level of confidence that I had not experienced before. I still struggled from depression, but I had come through the tragedies of my life a stronger person. I was providing for my family well and I had the freedom to do pretty well whatever I pleased. You see, I had lived without my husband by my side for over eight years. Long story for another time, but during that time while he was away, I learned to do things on my own. I learned  that I could. I had survived losing him, my beloved house and my son, all within a five year period. I had tried to remain close to my hubby and we worked hard at our marriage during those years apart. But now would be different. We would be together again. I felt so many things, among them excitement, trepidation, concern about dealing with his health issues, the list went on. My garden and my faith gave me the strength to take it one day at a time. Both of us had no idea what the future would hold; but again, we evolved together.

Spring 2011

What a difference a year makes and I learned many lessons by this time in 2011. My garden was thriving and my marriage was intact. While there were some bumps I had never anticipated; my garden and I grew together. It was still a period of adjustment; I cannot say that things in my garden or in my life were perfect, but we were taking it one day at a time. Again, my garden helped me through a huge transition in my life and I found myself there when I felt discouraged or disappointed in my expectations for me as well as my family. I learned humility in many ways. You can see how my garden has grown.

Spring 2012

The year 2012 was a rough one for me and my garden. In March of 2012 I had to have a hysterectomy.  My uterus was 3 rimes its normal size and filled with fibroids. When they operated on me I had a pint of blood in my abdomen. I had suffered through pain unlike any I had ever known and was on the mend through the Spring. My garden called to me but it was tough going. The work I had invested in planting perennials paid off in a huge way this year. My garden was beautiful in spite of me not being physically able to do more than the basics of watering and tending. It was this year that my garden taught me another lesson. To enjoy... Since I was limited physically, yet yearned to be outside, I noticed things that I hadn't noticed much previously. I saw butterflies and I had the pleasure of finding my first monarch butterfly caterpillars. I raised them to beautiful adults. I had hundreds of hummingbirds enjoying my garden as well. Because I was still, I got to watch them and learn so much from them. I developed a new appreciation for the phrase: Stop and smell the roses.. It was a turning point for me. I began taking photos in earnest and friends encouraged me to share those photos. I began a page on Facebook "My Small Garden Paradise" and I found that I enjoyed sharing with others. It grew slowly and I started it primarily to show my friends but it got me through a rough year. My garden became my friend in an entirely new way.

Spring 2013

They say that there is a rainbow after every storm and 2013 was a year when both my garden and I thrived. My marriage was good and my hubby and I were handling his ongoing issues with being bi-polar together. Our family was intact and we, along with my dear daughter, were establishing a rhythm. We were adjusting to a new "normal" without Ryan and being a family unit. My garden was also finding its rhythm. The perennials were flourishing and it wasn't necessary to add flats and flats of annuals each year. I began what has become known as my "hummingbird tree", filled with a dozen feeders for my beloved flying jewels.My page on Facebook began to grow and I found that the more genuine I was in my posts, the more people responded.  We added embellishments to our garden: wall art for the open walls of my home and solar lanterns to adorn my arbor. I posted photos daily.
My ingenious hubby added light and implemented many of my ideas. We worked as a team and although, we had our struggles, we were a family again in the full sense of the word.

June 3, 2014

Now 2014, a few days ago in fact, on the day my Ryan would have turned 26.. I have had ongoing health issues this year but my garden continues to be a source of joy to me. I pace myself now and since I am home for the moment, hubby and I have invested in some vast improvements for our garden. We have added hayrack planters to the railings and under some windows; we have added trellises to match the wall art on our home. Hubby has built shelves for me to use for some vertical space. Lights and feeders have been added to my now infamous hummingbird tree. Beds are being expanded and the garden has become a paradise to us. My Facebook page has grown to nearly 6200 likes and that combined with my garden has given me the confidence to follow my instincts and to learn to accept and love myself for who I am , complete with failings.I have begun to write again; this blog is evidence of my making an effort to do what I love most.

 My garden and I have changed over the years. We've had our ups and our downs, joys and disappointments. We continue to make improvements and I make sure to taker the time to enjoy what I have created here. My paradise is a haven for all things that I love: birds, flowers, butterflies and hummingbirds. There is evidence of creation everywhere I look and it makes me feel closer to my Heavenly Father. Together, my garden and I  have emerged intact, beautiful and prepared to face the years ahead with keen anticipation; faith strong...

Much More Than a Garden

People ask me a lot of questions about my garden. When did I start it? What is this flower? How do you fertilize? I love that people care enough to inquire about what my views or opinions are. However, when I look at my garden, I see so much more than just the beauty that greets me or the work I need to complete. I see memories; I remember people and places and times that are etched in my brain permanently. Many of those people are no longer with me, yet they are forever with me in my garden. I would like to share some of those memories with you.

Many of you know that I began my garden in earnest in 2006 after losing my precious son, Ryan, in a horrific car accident. He was 18 and losing him was and still is, the hardest thing I have had to endure in my life. He and I were close, and I am so thankful for that. After his death, there were times when I would spend entire days, sunup to sundown digging, planting and rearranging to keep my hands busy as my mind grappled with the reality that my "RyGuy" was gone. My small garden paradise is a testament to how each of us finds a way to come to terms with pain in our lives. I found a peace and serenity in surrounding myself with beauty. Every flower I planted, every butterfly I saw reminded me that there was Someone higher than me that cared and felt my pain. Many were the tears I cried while out there. To this day, I still weep at times. I find comfort in my garden and it soothes me.

I also have flowers in my garden that remind me of other loved ones. My mother has been gone for 12 years now, yet every spring I see her again when the lilacs bloom. She loved her lilac bushes; in fact, I remember well the day she called me in a panic because a neighbor was going to have the bushes cut down because they blocked his property line. She cried and begged me to come and get some before they were gone. So off we went, hubby and I,equipped with shovels and pots and we dug up several lilac bushes with the help of my tenacious nephew, Jamie, who was then 4 or 5 and always a hard worker. I planted those bushes and always had the goal of passing on some of them for my 4 siblings when they would have homes of their own. Later, in 2005. when I was forced to move to my current home, I made sure that those bushes came with me. My son, Ryan, and my nephew, Alan, helped me to dig them up and plant them at my sisters until my new home would be ready. My nephew and I laugh about that ride with the bushes in the back now. There were spiders everywhere and I thought for sure we would get in an accident if one even came close to crawling on me! We spent the 20+ mile trip screaming, jumping and laughing nervously as I recall. Funny now but scary then.

I have 4 of those lilacs with me here. I gave one to each of my brothers and I gave one to my youngest sister. Circumstances have made it necessary to replenish those. Each one passed on reminds me of my dear mother. This year, for the first time, I had the scent of lilacs in my bedroom while they bloomed just outside of my window. Their fragrance lulled me to sleep and helped me remember. A dear woman gone much too soon...

I also plant zinnias every year. Yes, because I love them but they also remind me of both my father and my maternal grandmother. Zinnias were my grandmothers favorite flower.  I was old enough to remember how she would get bouquets of them from my mother picked fresh from our garden where my father grew them like wildflowers. Each Spring, he would scatter seeds harvested from the ones the year before and there would be hundreds of them in our yard! All different colors and such healthy plants. He
would have to support them with sticks and string to keep them from drooping. I remember always watching the butterflies that would feed from them and I think it was then that butterflies became my favorite creatures. I used to wonder where they went; what it would be like to fly free like they do. So when I see zinnias, I see so much more than just a flower. I see my father and my grandmother, both also gone too soon...

I have gorgeous bleeding hearts here in my garden every Spring. They grow large and full, covered with beautiful fronds of delicate hearts. They are so beautiful; I have several here now; all taken from one plant. A plant I used to mark the resting spot for my daughters beloved Elroy, her first cat, one we had with us for 16 years. He was a gorgeous male tabby that my mom raised as a kitten whose mother was run over by a car. Originally Elroy was mine, but Jessica soon became his favorite person, his keeper. To Ryan he was "Senor Kitty Cat" as he called him but he was Jessica's friend. That cat was a piece of work. I will never forget how he would climb trees as a kitten and not be able to get down. He was rescued once after surviving through a thunderstorm. We used to laugh about hearing his loud "Meowww!" over the claps of thunder and the pouring rain and wind. He got himself stuck in another tree for nearly two weeks and people would ask us if the cat had gotten down yet. Jess would do everything to try to cajole him down; hubby refused to let us get him. Tough love that was. We believe to this day that he finally fell down; we never saw him in a tree again after that.

Elroy proved to me that cats are affected by pain in a family When Ryan died, Elroy would sit by the front door or on Ryan's bed and cry for him. He did that for days and it would tear us up to watch him hurt, too. When he died I buried him in my rear garden and Jessica requested bleeding hearts and forget-me-nots to mark his grave. Appropriate flowers. They grow there to this day and we are always reminded of our dear feline friend, Elroy.

So you see, friends, I have so much more than a garden here. I have memories enough to write a book. I get to have loved ones with me even after they've been gone for so long. I am reminded that there is beauty to be found even while in pain; that life goes on despite what we may encounter along its path. Our memories are what make us who we are. I hope that my memories have made me a better person; I hope that they will stay with me to keep me company in "my small garden paradise".

Hope Through Adversity

     It's been a rough month for me. The pain in my shoulder that has plagued me for months reached a new high when I slid down my front steps earlier this month on the way out to work. I landed on my back and wrenched my shoulder and within minutes could not move my left arm more than an inch or two. A trip to the doctor and x-rays showed no broken bones. Good news there. Next off to see an orthopedic doctor. A look at my x-rays and a diagnosis of degenerative arthritis and a "frozen" shoulder, caused by a lack of cartilage between the joints. Great. I get a cortisone shot and am told to wait a few days and to start physical therapy the following week, 2-3x a week. I leave with a script and a note taking me out of work for another two weeks. Okay, so we have answers. I'm out of work, I have no income and now I'm looking at $60.00 for therapy each week for the next couple of months. I say a prayer and my hubby tells me not to worry, just get better. Easy enough.

     Off I go to therapy on Tuesday. It goes well. I leave hurting but I'm on my way to recovery. It'll take two months to get my full range of motion back. Okay. Let's do this. I'm willing to put in the effort. I have a job to get back to and it's spring; my garden waits...I'm feeling optimistic on the way home. I can do this...

     I notice roadwork ahead and a "Men Working Ahead" sign as I see the two cars ahead of me stop suddenly. I pull to the right shoulder as an evasive move to avoid a collision.  I look in my rearview just as the grill of a truck fills my mirror ...BANG! I'm thrown forward against the seatbelt and everything on the front seat falls to the floor. The gentleman and I get out. No one appears hurt. He missed seeing the sign.  I have the presence of mind to dial "911" and take photos of the damage to my car as we wait for the police.  The police come and I turn down the ambulance. I tell the officer that, ironically enough, I just left physical therapy. I don't know if I'm hurt. He tells us the accident report will be ready for pick up in 7-10 days. This has been a bad spot for accidents. The rear of my vehicle is stoved in and the right light assembly has been sheered off. My rear door does not open but both vehicles are "drivable" so I limp it home. 

     On the way, the shock begins to wear off. I get home; call my daughter then the insurance company. I begin to shake and realize that it's hard to move my neck and my shoulder hurts...bad. My daughter calls me back and she meets me at the hospital, along with my husband. X-rays are taken. No broken bones. Strained neck. I'm given more meds and sent home. My therapy will be stalled while I get clearance from my doctor.

     The car is more badly damaged than we thought. Looks like the frame has been compromised and neither the hatch or rear door will open. My husband tells me and the tears come. I worry that it might be totaled and I'm not ready to part with my car, for reasons beyond financial. I bought this car in 2006 after my son was killed and I was left without him or a car. The insurance paid for my new vehicle. I always found it poignant that my first new vehicle came at the cost of his life. If I lose this car, I feel like I'm losing him. As the years pass my grip on the things that remind me of him seems to be loosening. Again I pray and tell myself that it's only a car. I can do this.

     It snowed last night. Again. I look out at my yard blanketed in snow. The wind is howling and my dear husband goes out to clear the walkway and the car. I drop him off at work and go to therapy. This is my first time driving since the accident and I find myself checking my mirrors often. Therapy is grueling and I am brought to tears once or twice, while the therapist stretches my shoulder.. I drive home and I feel discouraged. I try to pray but the words don't seem to come. So many things pressing in on me and I hurt.

      As I pull into the driveway I see that the bright sunshine has cleared my driveway of snow. The walk is clear, too. I hear the birds that are visiting my feeders. They're hungry. I wonder how the garden has fared and see the crocus, cheery yellow, shining through the snow. I am awed by the tenacity of these flowers. I wouldn't have been surprised to see them shriveled, done for the season. After all it's snowed, it's cold, and the wind is fierce. Instead, however, here they are, gorgeous and dazzling in their beauty. I realize that there is a lesson here for me. I'm still here. I am beautiful, too.  I've weathered storms of my own and the winds of change have blown me down at times. But like these crocus, I'm going to keep going because the end result will be well worth the effort. It makes me a better person. I see the answer to my prayers now. There is hope through adversity. I've made it through this far and it will be these beautiful flowers that inspire me to keep on. Lesson learned. Thank you Father.

In Hindsight I Can See...

In Hindsight I Can See...

I have always enjoyed gardening. Originally I thought that I had inherited this love from my mother who always had houseplants of one type or another in the house for as long as I can remember. She was the one that I remember caring for the huge Crown of Thorns that we had in our huge south-facing front bay window. It would have flowers on it all winter, but it was when it came time to put it outside on the front step that it came into its full glory. Covered with small green leaves and small red flowers, it was a sight to behold and a danger to anyone unaware of the huge thorns that lay beneath the leaves! I loved that plant. We also had ferns, spider plants and various other houseplants. These my mom nourished and she had success with them.

When I decided to try my hand at plants, it was she that gave me the cuttings to root and it was her that helped me plant them. I remember naming them and talking to them as to a friend. Every one I had seemed to thrive and my mom always teased me about how roughly I handled them, yet they didn't seem to mind. It was later that I became familiar with the term "green thumb" and I never questioned my having one. Soon my room was overrun with gorgeous plants. I remember putting in ceiling hooks and shelves beneath the windows to hold them all. My favorite at that time was a Swedish Ivy that I named "Woody" after my favorite Bay City Roller. They are still a favorite of mine to this very day, although I have no houseplants now, thanks partly to my daughters' cat, Cosmo, who likes to eat anything green.

I said originally in my opening paragraph, though, because it wasn't until last year, after the death of my father, that I realized that my love of gardening was similiar to his. Sad to say, I had ongoing issues with my father and never got to thank him for this gift. But the evening after he died, I went to his apartment that he shared with his wife, and it was when I saw a gardening catalog lying on a table where he used to sit that I got my first inkling. I noticed markings on the catalogs cover and inside; there were circles around the flower bulbs he had planned to plant that fall. Each choice was marked with a notation as to where that bulb(s) would go and I smiled in spite of myself, because I saw myself doing the same things in mine at home. When I went outside later, I was surprised to see a small area that he had filled with flowers and various garden accents. There were small trellises and a raised bed edged in rocks, stepping stones and little ceramic creatures. There were hummingbird feeders and bird feeders and in that very limited space, again I saw myself. His garden was designed the way mine was. Suddenly, I became aware of the summers my father had spent in our yard, tending to a large vegetable garden in the back and a beautiful lawn and flowers (usually zinnias) in the front. He tended my mothers roses and lilacs. Every spring, my mom would get mad at him for pruning bushes back too far. "They'll never come back!" I remember her chiding him, and yet, they always bloomed beautifully the following year!  I remember him always being tanned to a deep Indian brown  and rarely if ever, wearing a shirt as he would labor outside. We always had birdfeeders, too. There was always some bird or new flower to marvel over. Today, I know where I get my love from. My eyes were blinded all those years. You see, my dad was an alcoholic during my childhood and my memories from then were not the kind I wanted to remember. But now, I can look back and find something good.  I didn't get to tell him, it's true, but perhaps in the future I will be able to. I look forward to seeing him again in the Paradise ahead, and I am hoping that he and I will be able to nurture our love of gardening as well as a better understanding of one another.

Twenty five years ago...

Today marks twenty-five years since I gave birth to the most beautiful baby boy: Ryan Michael. He was 8 lbs and 20 1/2 " and perfect in every way. Twenty-five years ago, you could still be surprised by whether your baby was a boy or a girl and my husband and I decided to be surprised, rather than let the ultrasound tech tell us what she thought. I remember my husband telling me how beautiful he was and my mother shot 2 polaroids of him as they whisked him away to the nursery. He was a robust little guy: barrel chested and brawny even then. He stayed with me in the room the first 3 days of life and rarely did I let the nurses take him to let me rest. I remember him having a bit of jaundice and the nurse told me I may need to go home without him. "NO WAY" was my response and I cried while praying that the light they use for such a condition would help. It did, and we got to go home together.

My daughter, Jessica, was 4 at the time and she was enamored with her little brother! She was a mom to him and had him with her all the time, Ryan was such a joy! He had the rosiest cheeks and white blond curls. He was such a happy baby, I rarely remember having trouble with him in any way. He was a bruiser, though. He was a tough guy and friends would kid us about how he was going to be our own "Bam-Bam".

Time went on and he became precisely that. He was a joy to be around and usually had a smile on his face! There were times when I thought there would never be enough money in the budget to fill his clothing or food bills, but we always managed.

He and Jessica were close, closer than I think most children are. There were times she wanted to beat him, like the time he took her Bubble tape that she had been saving, and ate all but one small piece he left for her, because, as he put it, "She waited too long to eat it!" As if, it had been calling to him all that time!

Ryan was always goofy, too. He and his cousin, Alan, were constant companions. They were a mere four months apart in age, and if you looked for one, you usually found the other not far behind. They were a couple of cornballs, and spent years watching WCW wrestling, Nascar, baseball, basketball and football. They played Playstation for entire days and both watched Tommy Boy til it was nearly worn out! They would coerce Jessica into making them countless grilled cheese sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies and anything else they could get her to make rather than get up themselves.

So many memories...

As many of you know, I started this page after I lost Ryan on August 12, 2006, in a horrific car accident. My garden became an obsession, a way to fill the void left by the loss of my big "little " boy. Even after nearly 7 years, the pain of heart can nearly cut me in two at times, especially near his birthday. There's something in a mother, whether it's instinct or something else, that is programmed to kick in at certain times. I'm convinced of it. I can only say that I am sooo glad to have all the good memories his life added to mine, albeit the short period of time he was here, and I will hold dear every one of them close to my heart  until I get to hold all 6'4" and 240 lbs. of him in my arms again...

My Heart Remembers

Tomorrow will mark six and one half years since I lost my son, Ryan, in a horrific car accident. There are moments, even days, when I can function as one who has accepted that  my baby is no more and that life goes on. After all, I still have my beautiful daughter, Jessica. I have a husband, family and friends that love me. I have all my memories that aren't marred by the regrets that many mothers of teenagers have. And...I have the hope. The hope that I will see my son again in the new world the Bible promises ahead. The world where as Revelation 21:4 says: "death will be no more,neither mourning, outcry or pain. The former things will have passed away."  So why are there other times when I can only feel the pain that has ripped my heart open and threatens to consume me?

Most days I can hide it. I've learned that the phrase "It gets easier" only refers to the fact that you get better at hiding it. You learn to smile, to joke, so that others have no need to feel uncomfortable around you. I do my best to function in the real world. Time does not stand still to let me catch up. I go to work, I am a wife and a mother, a sister and a friend. I try very hard every day to keep going and to be a good example of faith to others around me.

But some days I can't function. The pain is so real, so crippling that it would be hard to imagine unless you had lived through it yourself. My nephew turned 22 this past week and I find myself automatically thinking that he's lived 4 years longer than my Ryan. Every birthday marks a catching up or passing Ryan age-wise.

The hardest part is going to my Kingdom Hall and seeing all the kids that have grown up since Ryan has died. Many are even married. His best friends are now busy with families of their own. My world has stood still. There will be no wife to be a mother-in-law to or children to look for Ryan's rosy cheeks on. I will never dance with him at his wedding or see his joy at the birth of his first child. My daughter will never be a sister-in-law or an aunt. My husband will never be able to pass on the mechanical genius he passed on to Ryan to a grandson or a granddaughter from his own son.

It would seem that I continue to mourn. That I merely need to move on. After all, hasn't it been six and a half years?? I feel others concern. How could they understand? They try to comfort me by saying that they've lost a mother, a father, a beloved family pet. Isn't that loss too? Let me just say that I have lost my mother, a father...even my most beloved Mom-Mom but it is not the same. I lost my baby . The special person I carried within my womb for 9 months. I protected him within me, I talked to him and sang softly while I cradled him in my belly.His father would pat on my belly and the baby within would pat back. When he was born and we learned he was a boy, my husband held my hand, tears on his face, and told me "he was beautiful".I nursed him at my breast while I gazed in wonder at this second miracle I had been privileged to have. He was a joy from the first. And such a happy little guy. He was my "Campbell soup kid" and the image of his father at that age! He was a sturdy little thing and we used to call him Bam-Bam. He had white blond curls and no one who met him could forget those rosy cheeks. He adored his big sister and she loved him with all her heart. He captured my heart from the day he was conceived...

So many memories. Yet so many more were supposed to come. You outlast your children, right? You expect to lose your parents, but a child??

I never got to see him after he died. They identified the body through DNA tests. What remained of his body. I was given the comfort of knowing that he died from blunt force trauma rather from the flames that consumed him after the car ignited from a broken gas line. I'm grateful for that. He was cremated but I never saw or held his ashes. My dear sisters took care of his burial in a David Wright Mets jersey Meredith got him for his high school graduation. I didn't want to see the ashes because I knew I would never be able to let them go. Jess and I had toyed with the idea of buying 50 yard line seats at the Linc, home of his beloved Philadelphia Eagles and perhaps, pouring out some of his ashes there. But in the end, I decided to forego that idea and instead keep the memory of him the day he died. My last memory of Ryan was him telling me he was going to a friends house to play RISK with a bunch of the guys.

The evening he was killed and the following days remain a blur in my mind. A true nightmare. The outpouring of love from family, friends and my congregation were unbelievable. I saw firsthand Gods love in the way we were taken care of. The Bible mentions" time and unforeseen occurrence that befall us all". Things happen. It wasn't part of Gods plan. Thus the need for resurrection to life in a world where tragedies like Ryan's will be a thing of the past.

Yet the years pass. This system goes on. I am human, after all, and I wonder "When?" I look at photos and the tears come. I was afraid that after a while, the memories would fade, but now I realize they are all I have. Ryan is more vivid to me now than he ever was. When you love someone the memories don't fade.They still have the power to make you laugh and sometimes the memories bring tears. They open that hole in your heart wide open so that you question whether you can endure it.

Today is one of those days. They come and I accept it now.  I struggle each day not to be bitter, yet I know that I resent what comes naturally to those who still have their children and never for a moment realize that it could be taken away from them in an instant.. It is what it is and if some days it hurts me , then I allow myself to hurt. Tomorrow will be another day and I will do better then. I will smile and even laugh...and wait to hold my Ryan again.

It occurred to me earlier that today is June 19th. Five years ago, my son, Ryan, graduated from high school. On that day, I was staying in a beautiful rented Victorian house on Long Beach Island, NJ, with many of my girlfriends. I remember having to borrow a friends van to make the trip back to Pemberton because my car wasn't running. Despite stormy weather that day, Ryan's graduation went on as planned, outside. My daughter and both my sisters were with me. We screamed loudly from the stands and made enough noise to have Ryan look up at us with that smile of his and shake his head. I remember at one point waiting with my camera poised on him because I knew at some moment he was going to be unable to resist looking at us and I was right. When I showed the proof to him later via the photo, he smiled and shook his head some more.

I had known he would look at us eventually.

I remember that Ryan hadn't wanted to walk to receive his diploma at the ceremony. Ryan always shied away from the limelight and his high school graduation was no different. I put my foot down about that quickly; and later Ryan told me that he had enjoyed going to the ceremony. I was so proud of him that day. We had been through so much as a family and it seemed a huge victory to see both my children overcome adversity to make it to their special days. (My daughter, Jessica, had graduated from the Honors College at Rutgers University a month to the day earlier) There had been so many prayers and tears shed by myself wondering if we would make it  on a day to day basis. This day was a victory for all of us, a testimony to how far we had come. 

Ryan had plans to attend Auto Mechanics school the following January. He needed time to save for the things he would need so beginning in September hadn't been an option. He questioned his decision from time to time but I reassured him that we would be okay, that God would help us as He had up to this point. Ryan was never a scolarly kind of kid, he was hands on like his father. He had a way with mechanics, how things were put together, how they ran. I was confident that tech school was the way for him to go.

Ryan never got to go to school in January. He died in a tragic car accident on August 12 of that year. I often wonder if he'd have been a certified mechanic now, perhaps providing for a family of his own. Memories of his high school graduation are more valuable to me than ever. We aren't guaranteed tomorrow, but we can make the most of today. I 'm so grateful that Ryan and I were able to be close and not have regrets that many parents of young adults do. When I look back to June 19, 2006 I still see it as a victorious day, a day that symbolized so much more for us than just an end to high school.  A day of memories never to be forgotten and all the more precious now because my son is no longer here physically but is in God's memory.