Stars

I dream of Colby. It has been a long time since I dream of him so vividly. Months. Many months. In the dream Colby tells me that when he was here on Earth the brain in his body was wired differently than other people's brains. He saw the world through different eyes. I explain to him about schizophrenia and he says yes, that was his brain. He wants people to know that he was very smart. He is afraid people will remember him as dumb when in fact his brain was light years ahead of most of ours. He just could not cope with the differences in his brain, which were hereditary. I tell him that I was aware of Colby's intelligence, as was everyone who knew him. He is relieved.

Colby then says he likes the blue star. I have to think about that, about what he means. Then it dawns on me that the logo for Colby's Army, the nonprofit organization founded to finish the work here on Earth that Colby could not, is in the shape of a blue star. I had not considered it a star before. It was simply a shape that Colby drew over and over again when he was small. But it is. It is a star. And it is blue.

Then Colby says he loved the tree his friends and I planted in his memory. He tells me he was there that day, that he was the one who put the idea of the tree planting in my mind. Colby wants to know if we intentionally got a tree related to the goddess Artemis. After I wake up I look that up and find that Artemis is affiliated with the cypress tree. The tree we planted for Colby was a Leyland Cypress.

Colby also shares with me that my life theme is to be a peace bringer, that I am to help people look at the world through different glasses, to open their minds to ideas that are different that what they might currently perceive. He says he will help me in this and that he is here with me often.

Then Colby tells me he is curious about his death. He says he does not remember much about it other than he just fell asleep and there were beams of light and angels around him. When the angels asked him to go with them, he went. He is very happy where he is now. He says he can see the big picture and is pleased about what will come in the future for people on Earth.

Before the dream ends Colby becomes very excited and jumps up and down. He tells me I will write a book with someone who is very famous and the book will do very well. He won't tell me who the famous person is even though he knows. He wants it to be a surprise and says it will be a big one.

Colby has to go, he says. It takes a lot of his energy to visit me in this way. But he wants me to know that he loves me and is proud of me. We hug and I feel his presence intensely. When I wake up I have a sense of peace . . . and a purpose.

Busy

I stay busy. Too busy. Intentionally busy. Necessarily busy. I stay up late creating more and more work so I do not have that few minutes of down time between putting my head on the pillow and sleep. Those are dangerous few minutes. Those are the minutes where the tears are most likely to come, where the anxiety is most likely to rise. Where the panic begins. So I stay busy.

Of course problems arise, eventually, because no one can keep up a pace like that forever. My body betrays me in its protest. Exhaustion, aches, pains, lack of focus ensue. I must slow down. I must. It is hard. So hard.

In those few minutes between pillow time and sleep, minutes that stretch longer and longer the less exhausted I am, I vow to return to my mantra: "What would Colby want?" How would he like me to live the rest of my life? What would he want me to do? Where would Colby like me to place my focus? If Colby could come back and live through me, what would be important to him?

I know exhaustion is not one of the things he would wish for me. Nor would he wish me pain or sadness. What he would wish me is a life filled with creativity, horses, writing, and helping others. And down time, relaxation, time to enjoy life's little pleasures. That is a goal for me. It is no where near a reality. I have to learn to sit quietly without panicking inside, without  despair overtaking my entire being, without the empty ache that has become a black hole inside me.

I sit for one minute a day. Quietly. Sometimes. Hoping I can soon learn to be comfortable with two minutes. Or, three. Maybe. Someday.

Donations

We receive our first donation for Colby's Army today. I am shocked, stunned, excited, for this validates the dream, the vision, the words I had of this nonprofit organization just days after Colby's passing. This means it is real, that others also believe we can take Colby's ideas and change the world, one step at a time. All Colby wanted to do was "affect change," positive change. This is the first thing I have been excited about in a very long time.

Just days ago Colby's Army received word that it was an official 501(c)3 nonprofit in every sense of the word. That I felt mildly pleased about, but I expected it to happen. I knew the paperwork was in order. But I was not ever sure others, strangers, people who do not know Colby or me, would also see the vision, also believe, even though there is a wonderful, professional group of directors in place, a board of directors, all of whom who are passionate about the cause.

Despite very limited finances Colby's Army is already helping others, has helped others, and will continue to do so. The donations mean we can kick off programs, get more people involved, and help many more. I am thrilled that we can do this for Colby, in memory of Colby, and for the people and animals whose lives will be improved.

It is also wonderful to feel something other than pain and anguish, despair, hurt, sadness, helplessness. I was not sure I could feel anything other than those feelings anymore. I like knowing other options are there to tap into. I have spent the last six and a half months crying and today I also cry, but these are good tears, tears of possibility, of hope. These tears give me a reason to live and that's something I have not had since Colby passed.

Intervention

Today I am involved in an intervention. A young man with mental illness and addiction needs help. This kind young man was an acquaintance of Colby's, and has an addiction to cough syrup. I am surprised to find that cough syrup is one of the leading types of addiction. This is especially scary because, like prescription drugs, most cough syrups can be purchased over the counter. An overdose can cause extreme psychosis and even death.

Five family members and a social worker are also at the intervention. They have a place for the young man to go: a dual diagnosis center that can help. The young man is angry. He says he can't have a problem; cough syrup is legal. He is given a choice of going to the treatment facility or to the Nashville Union Rescue Mission. The choice is his. He says he will go to the Mission and runs upstairs to gather his things.

When he comes back down minutes later he looks for an out. He rationalizes and decides to go to the treatment facility. The real possibility of the Mission, the streets, and homelessness have frightened him. He is still angry, but a ride awaits and he gets in. I hear later that he checked in safely. He made a good choice. He has a hard road ahead, but he also has a chance at a long, productive life.

Another person was at the intervention, one of the Board members for Colby's Army, the nonprofit organization several others and I founded in memory of Colby. I have not mentioned this in a while as we have been laying the organization's foundation. You can learn more at ColbysArmy.org, but one of the things we do is help people with mental illness and addiction, like this young man today, get the help they need. That did not happen for Colby. But it can happen for others and we will help many. Today's young man was just the first. 

Colby's Army recently got the okay to accept tax-deductible donations and every cent will go to help people with mental illness and addiction, as well as animals and the environment, causes that were very close to Colby's heart. There are several programs in the works, which will be kicked off as funding allows. I think Colby would be pleased. I think that because I felt Colby at the intervention today. I felt his spirit in the room. To me, that was his unconditional stamp of approval. I miss you, son.