Art

Every year for Mother’s Day Colby gave me something he created. It might have been a drawing, something he made from wood (such as a garden stool), or a poem. A few years ago Colby gave me the painting you see at the top of this post. In keeping with his belief about using everything and throwing nothing away that had any possible use, this painting is done on a piece of cardboard. For this painting he also used paint that was left over from other projects.

The reason I like this painting so much is not just because I think it is beautiful, it’s because the gold in the mountains is paint that was left over from the time we went to Bowie Park in Fairview and gathered pine cones that we tipped with gold and gave to friends as Christmas gifts. The red is from when Colby made a CD storage bin out of popsicle sticks for my mother and painted it. The cardboard is from boxes of books I had delivered for a book signing that Colby helped me stack, and the darker background is paint that was left over from the time Colby and I painted my toy box from when I was a child. The toy box was more recently his, and now resides in the spare bedroom as a bookshelf. Before it was my toy box, it was a storage chest during WWII when my mother was in the Marines.

This is just one of many paintings that Colby did. Most are abstracts and reflect the way he was feeling at the time he painted them. All make excellent use of color and design. Today as I clean out more “stuff” from his room I find his stacks of bare canvasses, his pains and his brushes. In addition to the traditional canvasses most artists use I find several blocks of wood, a small piece of corrugated metal, and two old skateboards—minus wheels. His brushes consist of a small assortment of the usual, plus a number of sponges, table knives, a toothbrush, and a few small scrub brushes. I am so deeply and heart-breakingly saddened that I will never see what work of art Colby planned to create with his collection of “stuff.” I know it would have been absolutely awesome.

Mother's Day

I have been stressing about Mother's Day. This will be my first without Colby and I wondered to several people today what I should do to recognize the day. I asked for suggestions on how to get through it, because even though other holidays have been hard, I believe this will be the hardest one yet. Mother's Day. I can't tell you how shocked I was when someone actually said they didn't know why I was spending any effort worrying about it because, after all, I was no longer a mother. This was said kindly and earnestly, with no ill will, but still, it shattered me, even though they meant no harm.

I will always be Colby's mom. To deny that denies Colby, and he was far too kind and caring, intelligent and talented, a person to disrespect in such a way. Colby was and is and always will be my son. Without getting too deep into religion, philosophy or theology, I believe there is life after life here on Earth. Colby was my son, is my son, now and forever, and I am his mom.

People ask why I am not yet ready to return to a more public life, why I turn down invitations to parties, events, dinners with friends. This is exactly why. I never know when some well meaning person will say something that rocks my still very shaky world. And with every push, every teeter, I come closer to falling over an edge and I don't know how far the bottom is. Maybe I have already fallen over and am free falling into a bottomless abyss. I'd like to think not, but days like this, comments like the one I received today, make me wonder.

Someday I hope I can better handle such situations. Today, now, all I can do is cry.

Easter

Ugg. Today I go grocery shopping. I just put the last item into my cart and round a corner. There smack in front of me is a display of Easter candy. My heart stops, my stomach sinks to my knees and I begin to cry. This will be the first Easter in 25 years that I have not made an Easter basket for Colby.

Each year I went to special lengths to create a basket for him that was a mix of candy, toys and a special surprise. I put a lot of thought into it and always tried to out-do the basket from the year before. When Colby became a teen, he began making a basket for me. Of course we had to hide the baskets from each other. It was fun on Easter morning to try to find our basket, and hope that the dog or cat had not gotten to it first!

Some of Colby's more memorable hiding places were behind the toilet in the spare bathroom, in the mailbox, under a bucket in the basement, and in the clothes dryer. Now, staring at the display, I realize I will never make my son another Easter basket, and I will never receive another from him.

Easter has suddenly become another day that I dread, just like Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Mother's Day, my birthday, his birthday, and a host of other days I wish would just get get wiped off the face of the Earth so I didn't have to deal with them. Another day I have to avoid in weeks leading up to it because the cutesy ads and decorations are a harsh reminder that Colby is gone. Another day that other people get to enjoy with their family and I get to sit in a corner and cry.

I realize I can't face going through the checkout line. I leave my groceries in the cart in the middle of the aisle and sit in the truck until the shaking has stopped enough so I can drive home. I hate Easter.