Two conversations on Tuesday at work that led my mind to him. Renee and I chatted about the boundaries we set for the kids to ride their bikes. We now live in town so Kai’Dyn and Riot have certain areas they can ride. The traffic tends to be heavy at the end of the street from the street that is parallel, it scares me. Well it got me thinking about the days of the boys riding their bikes. Country life, no boundaries. Daniel and Zane rode everywhere, including the 4-wheeler that Daniel received a ticket on for being on a paved road.
Shanna popped her head around the corner to tell me she had a dream about Zane. She didn’t have enough time to tell me that moment so I took a raincheck. Penne was in my chair and we started talking about dreaming about our babies. You see, Penne lost her sweet Kristina many years ago so she suffers my same pain. I asked her if she had many dreams of Kristina after she left. She said a few then told me a wonderful story about her meeting an author who put it in a way that only ones who have lost someone close can understand. When our loved ones comes to us, it’s not a dream, it’s a visit. Absolutely. It’s vivid, it’s REAL. They’re there, you’re there, you are together. In that moment they are not dead, they are very much alive. You can feel them, smell them, touch them. Don’t believe me? Wait until YOU have a visit. It’s remarkable.
A few weeks back, at which I forgot about, I was getting my nails done. Apparently I was on the verge of getting sick and dozed off. In that moment of my dozing session, I had a very quick visit from Zane. I didn’t talk to him this time, just saw his sweet face. That was enough for me. A visit is a visit. Now ironically I keep playing the scene of THE morning of the last time I saw him…about 6am as I was getting my shake from the fridge after the gym and he was going to the bathroom. He turned and looked at me and said “Good morning”, I said it back. That was the last thing I said to him and vise versa. I keep seeing the look he gave me as he turned his sweet face to me with those beautiful blue/grey eyes. I should have known something was wrong. My mom intuition should have kicked in, now I’m kicking myself in the butt every day for not paying more attention. I don’t know why I keep having this scene play over and over again. Guilt. Pure guilt. It’s the worst taste you can have in your mouth. Especially when it kills your son.
Last Wednesday I fought my own demons and went to church. Pastor Amanda asked me to help with Wednesday night Lent service. We did a 15 minute segment on suicide. Practice for our future Suicide Prevention/Awareness Program we will be starting in Levelland and the surrounding areas. I also had the opportunity to explain to the congregation (although there were only a small portion in attendance since it was Wednesday) why Joe and I have been absent from church the last 20 months. I spoke of the second worst day of my life, the day we buried Zane. I spoke of sitting in the nursery during the lunch before the funeral because I couldn’t handle talking to anyone. I remember wearing my black dress but I had my Reef flip flops on because of the rain and mud…and because I didn’t care. I told the congregation the nursery sets my anxiety off, flashbacks. It was the last place I sat that led to a series of events that changed my life forever. No parent on God’s green earth should ever bury their child. No parent should have to see their child in a casket. No parent should have to walk by that casket and see their child’s face for the VERY last time. That’s why the nursery drives me nuts. It reminds me of that day. I wish it didn’t.
The other night, while tossing and turning I finally dozed off. At some point I started dreaming. Zane walked in, turned and looked at me and walked out, all with a goofy grin. It was like he was entering stage right and exiting stage left. He had his longer shaggy hair. He visited me. Alleluia.
BTW the baby Zane is holding in the picture is Riot the day he was born 💕