Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Andrew's Angel Day
I have determined that the expectations that I put on Andrew’s Angel day are way too high. I go out of my way trying to make it such a special day, that of course it will fall short.
In the past the boys have gone on a “ride” on both Andrew’s birthday and his Angel Day. But this year we had no working machines so that was not a possibility. So instead, I tried to do things that I knew deep down the boys would not appreciate, or even enjoy, and somehow, because I wanted them to enjoy it, miraculously they would. I must remember that they are still teenage boys, and hanging out with their friends ranks much higher on their list than going to the grave with the family.
So in my clouded wisdom, the first stop was to get CTR rings. I saw some great rings that you can’t even tell that they are CTR rings, which is good, because my boys wouldn’t be caught dead in CTR rings. Lately my boys haven’t been making the best choices, so I thought, if they got CTR rings to remember Andrew, this would help them want to make better choices so we all can return with Andrew someday. They appeased me, because are they really going to tell me “no” on Andrew’s Angel Day? I don’t know why I thought they would be excited about the idea. So I kept asking them over and over, “Do you like your ring?” Duh! Have I not lived with these boys their entire life? They kept saying yes, and are still wearing them, but I am waiting for the day they just lose them.
Next stop was the grave. I have always known the kids opinion about the grave, and yet, I am sure they are going to love decorating it for Easter. We did, and it was fine, but not the “moment” I was hoping for.
They all goofed around blowing the air horns and shooting each other with the dart guns that they conned us into buying at the Dollar Store. Which truthfully, what do I want? Do I want them to stand around and cry? No. Then how can my expectations be met, if I don’t really know what I want? I am sure they are acting exactly how Andrew would like them to act. It isn’t like we need to stand around and “reflect” because we reflect all of the time. So, ultimately I should be happy with how the grave went. I also picked one of each color of the plastic Easter eggs and set them on Wyatt’s grave. As I set them down, I thought they seemed more fitting on Wyatt’s grave, since he would only be 2 ½, where Andrew would now be 18 ½, and would probably have nothing to do with silly colored eggs.
Then Garrett went to hang out with some friends, and the rest of us went to the gym. It began to feel like “just any other day” at this point.
On Saturday, I just felt uneasy, as if I didn’t really experience Andrew’s angel day. So I decided to go to the grave by myself. I took a folding chair and my iPod and just enjoyed my surroundings. I listened to my favorite song, “Heaven Was Needing a Hero”. I cried, and that made me feel better. I walked around a little.
I noticed another family with several members at a grave. I felt somehow connected to them. I wondered if it was an angel day or a birthday. I wondered if it was a parent, a spouse, or another child. It’s not like you can just walk up and say “hello. What brings you here?” I am sure there is a rule about that somewhere. They were still there when I left so I didn’t go by to look at the headstone, but decided that I would the next time I went out there.
Some guy rode up on his bike, walked all around, and talked, nonsense, loudly on his cell phone. I started to get irritated. Doesn’t he know I am grieving for my son? I did feel he was being rude. But I didn’t say anything, and left.
On Sunday, my mom called and said that they went to Andrew’s grave. They asked if I had ever noticed this one or that one. Then they asked about the very grave that I was noticing on Saturday. It was the grave of a 15-year-old girl that died the day after my 15-year-old Andrew. I thought, how could I not have heard about this? I understand the thought that it was the day after Andrew died, and I am not sure I would have noticed if the earth stopped turning. Which, for me, it did quit turning. But I really think I would have heard about another 15-year-old dying the day after my 15-year-old. I googled her name, trying to learn what I could about this girl. I came up empty handed. It is crazy what drives bereaved mothers? I have to go up to the grave tonight to make sure I have the spelling right and see what I can find out. I worry that people reading this will think that I am this crazy stalker. But I mean, it is another teenager, the day after mine, in the same cemetery, in a town as small as St. George. I have to know! I can’t help that I feel connected? Are we connected? Or am I just crazy. I am hoping it is a little of both.