On September 16, 2010 our son James Richard would have turned 38 years old. He lived until he was 8 years old, his life short, full of pain and sadness, something a parent never wants to endure. James or Jimmy as we called him, was given tremendous love from both Jerry and I and although he never was able to return that affection my love for him was boundless. When Jimmy turned 2 years old the physical and emotional toll of caring for him beat heavy on our hearts and lives, and after much discussion we placed him in a local nursing home for the handicap. It was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made in my life. Feeling I had abandoned my son, I involved myself in his therapy at the nursing home and outside of it. Jerry and I would on occassion bring him home to vist for the weekend or take him to the park weather permitting. Although there had been some talk with the doctor at the nursing home as Jimmy approached his 8th birthday about adding a DNR (do not resuscitate) to his medical file, we never did accomplish that task before Jimmy came down with pneumonia and subsequently died from massive heart failure. Jerry and I were at home watching a comedy show when the phone call came in informing us of his death. The timing was short of undescribeable shock and sadness. Leaving our young son Jason with a babysitter we drove to the hospital in silence and then on to indentify Jimmy’s body. A few days later, and 2 days shy of our 9th anniversary Jerry and I boarded a boat and headed 3 miles out from land to release Jimmy’s tired body out to sea. All morning long rain had fallen and a chill was in the air. Once aboard the boat the rain stopped, the sun came out and a rainbow lit the ocean sky. After sending Jimmy’s ashes out to sea, and with the weather clearing, I headed up to the bow of the boat, finally resting there to take in all that had just happened. It was during this time that I felt Jimmy’s spirit, at peace, happy, and content. Shortly after arriving home I wrote a poem about my experience. You can read that 1st poem at the end of this post.

The week prior to Jimmy’s 38th birthday I once again strongly felt his presence, more than any year since he passed away, with the exception of the day we took him out to sea. He was joined by many of our loved ones, their spirits light and filled with joy, all music to my ears. Our conversation was silent though easily heard and understood. As quickly as I wrote the first poem, the second rhyme arrived with ease, quided as if from Jimmy himself. My love for my first born son grows larger every day. Forever in my heart my Sweet Baby James.

.Sweet Baby James.
I thought I heard him laugh today,
with many of his friends.

His smile was bright in my mind,
as it was before the end.

We’ve spoken often these last few weeks,
silent words filled with joy.

He shared of loving and living,
this from my sweet young boy.

He told of company he keeps now,
related as well as befriended.

So many tales of the love he feels,
and how it is neverending.

Beside his beautiful spirit,
his Uncle beams with pride.

Above him strong and protective,
is Grandpa with his beautiful blue eyes.

Butterflys soft and delicate,
in harmony flew in and around.

The sunlight soft, almost heavenly,
held our hearts earthly bound.

We spoke more than the day he left,
his seashells playing just for me.

Oh how the years have come and gone,
so fast we both agreed.

With tears, large love between us,
we promise to speak again soon.

The time or place to be unknown,
our hearts surely aswoon.

So now there are no goodbyes,
for we simply are as one.

Always a loving mother,
missing her beautiful son.
9/16/2010

Jimmy’s 1st poem

To J.R.F.
You sounded like melodied seashells,
the day you met the sea,
the sound, so soft and musical,
meant many things to me.

I heard you say,
above the boat,
I’m free, I’m free, I’m free!

I heard you say,
Don’t worry mom,
This part is from me.

I felt the sadness,
when we parted,
3 miles from the land.

I felt you slip,
I felt your love,
depart,
from my hand.

I felt your joy,
I felt your tears,
I knew you were free.

And deep inside,
yet sad was I,
I felt you were happy.

September 12th, 2007

I don’t mention our first born son, Jimmy, very often, yet I should. Especially today, September 16th, as he would have been 36 years old. Hard to believe that one isn’t it? Jimmy was born mentally retarded, a genetic disposition I wouldn’t find out until years later that was on my side of the family. (Thank you Beth) My pregnancy was uneventful and the labor swift for a first child. Turns out I would be able to deliver quick with all my kids. It wasn’t until Jimmy was about 3 months old and during a well baby check up visit that it was noticed he might be behind in his development. We were referred to UCLA where he would be further evaluated. That whole time seems so very long ago. Even though I outwardly feel fine about living through his whole life experience, inside I turn to a place of great sadness.

UCLA is a big campus and we visited it a lot, for his diagnosis, and for his physical therapy. I knew in my heart all along that the therapy was to appease others, for Jimmy would stay the same no matter what we agreed or felt we had to agree to do in hopes of helping him develop further than his approximate 5-6 months physical age. That in itself made and still makes me sad.

At the age of 2 Jerry and I decided to put him in a home, South Bay, for special needs children. It was a small home and I was able to visit often, even helping out with more physical therapy for him. I met wonderful people along the way and came to realize that in some ways my young son was helping me grow up and learn through these life experiences some good can come. As years passed his health declined, and he would often get sick, a common occurence in a nursing home. Close to the end I talked to the nursing home doctor and we decided on instituting a DNR (do not resuscitate) for him.

Jimmy was almost 8 when he passed away from pneumonia. Such a young guy. Finally now he would be at peace. Jerry and I had him cremated and enlisting the services of a sea burial took him out at Kings Harbor in Redondo Beach. It had been raining the day before yet the sun chose to shine that morning and all throughout our ride out. It was very strange for me personally to see the box and then ashes as we spread them 3 miles out at sea and know this was all that physically remained of our son. His ashes, like sea shells fell on the moving water. Goodbye my son. I’ll always love you.

Many people know very little about Fibromyalgia, and even fewer probably know that it has a long list of symptoms. I am among the many I am sure who have this horrid disease, to have a lot of those annoying symptoms. One of the most frustrating symptoms is being hypersensitive and startling easily (jumpiness). If you google Fibromyalgia you will find this symptom along with a few more that seem to go along with it, such as hypersensitive to light and sound. After years of doctor visits with many different specialists, being poked, prodded, and tested until my hair stood on it’s end all over my body and screamed “hell no more”, I have been told that I have probably had Fibromyalgia since I was very young, just never diagnosed earlier. Upon further digging on the net you might find that some sites claim that hypersensitivity can be linked to stress, trauma, post stress disorder and so on. I suppose also, if you knew my complete history, you might think the later would fit. Or at least add to it.

My most wonderful husband Jerry, can attest to this very annoying symptom, that of being hypersensitive. Over the years he has had to put up with me screaming out of fear just because we met in the hallway. Ear piercing loud screams if I didn’t hear the pitter pat of his feet on the carpet or tap tap on the wood floor before hand. Last night was no exception.

I’d like to add also that I believe in ghosts. Now that makes it interesting, doesn’t it? I think my most wonderful husband thinks I might be a bit crazy when I admit to that. Oh well. Can’t win them all. I’m not sure of my earliest encounter with a ghost, but I will share with you that when Jerry and I went out to sea to sprinkle Jimmy, our first son’s ashes, at sea, Jimmy spoke to me loud and clear. I came right home and wrote a poem about it. That very day. I’m telling you all this because it adds to the whole hypersensitivity issue. See what I mean? Want more?

About a month ago “someone” was flitting around the house while my most wonderful husband and I were watching TV. I never knew who it was, and I usually do know. At first I was scared, then I calmed down when I realized they weren’t out to harm me. And, my dear sweet deceased brother Richard came by for a visit a few weeks ago. But I digress. That will be for another day. Another blog.

So, as often happens, and as I have gotten older and can’t hear as well, Jerry can unintentionally “sneak up on me”. He’s tried many a tactics over the years. Sometimes he’ll say “boog-a-boo” as he enters a room, alerting me he’s nearby. Other times he’ll start talking before he actually is in the same room as me. He tries all sorts of things to make it be known he is nearby, probably so I won’t scream. Loud. Like I did last night!

I was entranced in writing a blog. Not this one. The night air was hot, so we had our big industrial fan blowing the cool night air in through the open patio screen door, making it hard to hear anyone, anywhere. Afterwards Jerry said I was looking sort of in the direction of the doorway, not that I was aware of doing that. Then without seeing him, I looked the other way. It was then that he said to himself “Oh boy, I am screwed.” I am not sure why at that point with that thought running through his head, he decided to lean in close to my left side and patiently stare at me. All the while I was unaware that he was even in the room. See where this is going? Ready? Wait….wait….

YUP! I screamed so loud and long that my voice hurt! And Jerry’s ear drums were pierced with the awful sound that echoed out the screen door into the night. Blood ran down the side of his whiskered face. (Ok, I am exagerating) Our neighbors probably thought I was being murdered. Maybe they thought about calling 911. It was that kind of scream. Long, loud and meaningfull. And embarrassing.

After an “episode” like that happens I am usually so embarrassed. At the time I am truly scared. My heart is racing as if I spent 30 minutes chasing Tom Cruise. I’m breaking out in a sweat like an old menopausal lady, and I have the look of true fear written in every wrinkle. Charming right? Oh well.

There is usually lots of apologies said, then some laughter, and hugging. My most wonderful husband is like that. Very understanding. Well, except about the ghost thing. But we don’t want to go there again. Do we?

ps The photo at the top of this blog is of Neil’s Mercantile in Standish, CA. My husband and I grew up about 1/2 mile from this now boarded up building. We used to wait for the school bus at the corner, not a lot of fun on a cold winter morning. I added this photo because it is said to be haunted. Cool. Google it. You’ll see. Or go here:

http://www.ghostweb.com/standish1.html