Bullying

Dealing with the loss of a child is a slow process. It has helped me  in recent years to let grief lead  the way and guide me in the directions I could handle at any given time. There were always aspects I was not ready for. The visualization of what Joshua went through as he gasped for his last breath, the physical aspects of death and burial, and even the people who contributed to his demise and my anger. I must admit the last one has been avoided by me like the plague. With all of this rage, I never really wanted to have anyone to direct it towards. It has now become an inevitable part of my moving forward.




As many of you now know, Massachusetts is in the midst of a bullying push. The Phoebe Prince hanging in South Hadley catapulted Bullying to the very front of our lives and gave it the emphasis it needed to have something done. Late though it is, it is certainly now opening up this topic in schools and with teachers everywhere. A week ago I got a phone call from the principal of our local high school looking to have Joshua’s story told as part of the teacher training and also for some object lessons on what is and what is not bullying. And there it was. A very, very difficult piece of this puzzle for me to face. The school is not simply interested in suicide, but suicide specific to torment. Many of Joshua’s friends have shared with me the torment he suffered in Wolfeboro at the hands of cruel people and I of course know much about the years before that. The term that hit Joshua the hardest was “FAGGIT”. That word hurts just to say it. I have now spent this past week pouring over messages from Josh on the computer, journals and going through all of the emails from his friends. It is the hardest reality yet to face. I did not protect Joshua from nasty people, nasty insults and nasty games.



Suicide is not pretty. Bullying is downright ugly and has many forms. I hope to be an inspiration to the teachers at North Middlesex Regional High School and provide them with empathy and knowledge. Joshua did not always want to kill himself. He was pushed. My goal is that no student suffers the same pushing!



Joshua’s Mom



P.S If you are reading this and you are a bully or a bystander please note, you are no longer protected and if caught you will be punished, now more seriously than ever. If you are an adult that bullies, please stop right away and seek help. You are likely raising a bully.

No Matter What I Do He Is Still Gone

At the end of the day when everthing is quiet, I climb into bed with a hole in my heart that I can't fill. This past month after authoring one of my stories about Joshua, being in the local paper and having my blog featured in Chicken Soup's newsletter. I am still a broken, bleeding open wound. Nothing seems to ease the pain whatsoever. No accomplishement could ever be great enough to ease the pain of death. If anything there are but moments that I am ok, in an ocean of grief.




One of the last times I saw Joshua he was sitting in a chair to my right. We were watching a movie with Will Smith about robots and Joshua was seeing how long he could dip his chocolate chip cookie in milk, just before it would dissapate into the milk. I was laughing and saying “no that's to long”...He would do it longer. It never broke apart and always made it to his mouth. I fell off to sleep after the movie ended and later called to him in his room, “light's out” and he softly said “I'm already asleep mommy”. He never stopped calling me mommy!



Some days I simply can't even get one foot in front of the other and some days I charge ahead with purpose. Really no matter what, I can not bring him home.



~Joshua's Mom

Every Day Pain

Sometimes it’s as if my heart waits quietly to reconnect with my son. Each smell, taste and sound becomes a possibility for a memory I’d forgotten. Joshua was born to me at 16. His life chronicled in a fascinating way by journaling. His first steps, his first words, his first bike and even his first love light up the pages of my notebooks. As I had a glass of wine and peered into one of these books I saw “JOSHY LOVES MOMMY” written in scribbled crayon over the while lines. He was 4 and proud to be able to write. My heart burned to remember him with his little fingers flipping through this book and leaving this note for me. He had no idea it would be the keepsake of a broken heart.





A few weeks ago Annabelle and I stood in front of the TV to set up a Wii game of Jeopardy. She, knowing how to do all this, fidgeted with the paddle and came to the place where the characters were created. I stood in awe in the middle of the living room when I saw a character on the screen with the name Josh. It even looked like Josh. What is this I asked Annabelle? “Oh that’s Josh” she said proudly without looking up from her search. “Josh?” I asked in a gentle voice. “YUP, he is my character on here” she said as if that was normal every day stuff. I voiced a quiet “oh” and we played Jeopardy. Often I read stories about people using online characters to be and do things they normally could not. On this day I played Jeopardy with my son.



Annabelle wanted to have shirts with thumbholes like Josh. The idea bothered me because I hated how Joshua tried to keep himself so covered up. He hated his body, his legs and arms and began to disappear by covering himself with long hair, long, coats and long sleeves. It is times like these that I have to remember that Annabelle is not Josh and that she tries so hard to connect with him. As I folded the laundry yesterday her brand new bright green shirt with the thumbholes made it’s way into my hands and as I reached my hand into the sleeve to pull it right side out, my thumb slipped into the hole. Moments past and I was frozen. I simply stood there feeling my son all around me. I put myself in his shoes, remembered his arms and hands and the last time I felt him in my arms and teased him about his choice of clothing.



Each day life brings Josh back to me. So I live with my heart wide open!



~Joshua’s Mom

Grief does not take a vacation!!

This past week I went to California to visit my sister Jen and see her precious new baby girl Ruby. I was excited on so many levels. It took my mind off the dreary winter, the piles of snow banks around and of course the pain that still lingers from not having Joshua around for Christmas or to see 2011. Maybe for one week I was going to leave my grief behind in Massachusetts. No such luck. As I stepped off the plane and exited the airport into the beautiful 68-degree temps I took a deep breath, it seemed innocent enough. Suddenly with that very breath of sunshine and warm air, I heard and felt my grief arise from the depths of my soul. Confusion seemed to be the order of the day. “Is it spring?” it asked. “Is it time to get ready for June?” It asked. Could it really be April already? And there I stood, bags in hand hoping to have the best vacation of my life and my grief suddenly decided it needed to understand what was going on. I felt dazed and unhappy and tried like hell to explain to myself. No it is not spring I thought almost out loud. It is not time to get ready for the sixth anniversary of Joshua’s death. I never once thought of the possobility that these warm temperatures would cause my emotional clock to think it was April and begin to prepare for June. It was like telling a child who woke up to early on Christmas morning to go back to bed. How do you tell a gut wrenching heart pain that you have a few more months.????


Thankfully the week flew bye.  Babies and diapers and sight seeing kept me very busy.  I made certain to take some time each day either on a walk or a bike ride to honor my grief. With each flower I picked or each blade of grass I stepped upon, it would come rushing back and again ask “Do you need me?”, “Is it time?” and I would softly again say no not yet. It was the first time it didn’t rush in, but asked me if it was needed. I found myself remarkably aware that we were for the first time acting as a team.  This my true friend.


I am home now. Home to the mile high snow banks, frigid temps and snuggling up by the fireplace.  California was beautiful, but this is where I belong. Although I know grief is not far from me, for the moment she has taken her place in the distance and waits for a the real April to come....<3



~Joshua’s Mom

*** Photo taken in California by my sister Jessica Lusk. <3

Life Books

Joshua’s death does indeed have silver linings whether I like to believe it or not. One of these is what is left for his sisters Danielle and Annabelle.




It seems I would do my son a huge disservice if not to learn from every aspect of his being gone. As I wildly pour over journals I have kept since he was a baby, I have become irritated with myself at how much I blabbered on about failed marriages, weight gain and people in general. The top portion, usually a paragraph is dedicated to the kids and then on and on with things that do not matter. The gold is the moments I wrote about his first steps, his favorite foods, and the way he was growing into a young man. Oh how I wish I had sat and written about him for hours on end.



Lesson…..Each moment is precious and you can not get it back. But you certainly can paint it’s picture with words.



Action:

A few weeks ago I went to the bookstore and bought two journals. Each of them represent my daughters ages 14 and 12. One is black and has rainbows on it, perfect for a teen and the other birds perfect for the girl who loves nature and just made her mommy a bird feeder. I then divided them into sections, past, present and future and began to record. Past was fun as I took boxes and boxes of journals and dumped them on the floor in front of the fire. Oh the things they said and did as babies.  It was a daunting task to sift through all of my drama and get to the best of it all. The present is for the things I see and hear now. The favorite games and activities and the many questions they ask me about growing up and the future is about things I hope for them and things I think they will need to know. How gorgeous they are inside and out, how to be mindful of the virtues as they travel through the harder times …I then add recipes and things of myself so they can remember me God forbid I am gone.



Joshua Stephen Amaral, it might be too late for you. But it is not to late for us. Thank you for showing me how to honor you in every conversation, every relationship and every moment of my life.



~Your Mommy

The Book Arrived

It was two days ago now and I was headed down the driveway to pick the girls up from school. I noticed a large manila envelope on the outside of my mailbox. I sat for a few moments looking through the car window uncertain if I should retrieve it. About a week ago I sent a request to the Wolfeboro police dept for my son’s entire file including photos taken at the scene. I pondered it for a while and then made my way over to the mailbox, convincing myself I did not have to open it any time soon. As I approached I noticed that the sender was Simon and Schuster. I tore off the elastic that held it to the red flag on the mailbox and ran to the car. Could this be the Chicken Soup Book I wondered? Indeed it was. I tore off the top to open the envelope and gently reached my hand into the package. It was in those few moments, as I pulled the book from it’s wrapping that it left the spiritual world, the emotional world and became physical. Somehow I was holding a small piece of my son. The front cover was a tree, much like the Joshua tree. And it was much like my life, dark on one side and bright and healthy on the other. Tears fled from my eyes and dropped onto the cover as I feverishly wiped them off. What if my story isn’t really in here, It wondered. Fear came over me and I slowly, without bending the book sifted through the stories in the front for his name. I did not see us. They would not have sent the book if we were not here. I looked again, and finally saw his name. Joshua. My baby boy was in here. Forever. More tears came as I read the story of my son and the cemetery. Of the tree that has taken such good care of us. That afternoon I held onto the book all day. I lay- in bed sobbing, clutching the book and moving in and out of the tangible world this book had created for me. For a while I felt as if I had my son back.



Annabelle my twelve-year-old daughter who was so pivotal in my sending that particular story krept in, as I lay peacefully in bed still holding  the book. She walked softly towards the side of my bed. Looked down at the book and me with pride on her face. “Mommy, this is wonderful, but I am starting to get concerned”. And there it was. The little tiny angel who wanted to make certain I did not allow myself to linger to long in the place she has seen me go far too often. I smiled at her, gave her a wink and laughed an unexpected laugh. She brought me back to reality, made me see that I was not clutching Joshua, but more his memory. Thank God for that jolt. I have no idea how long I would have stayed in that place. Many times I have wondered how much sooner I would have gotten back into reality, how many less years I might have stayed in bed if my daughters were at home nudging me to get better instead of sent away and kept away from me.



Blessings,

Joshua’s Mom

Dream, Written in the middle of the night.

Wings




They were dark brown with white streaks and amazingly strong and beautiful. They spread out wider and seemed as if they could span an ocean. I thought I was looking at the wings when suddenly it was a strong neck that came into vision and then beautiful black curls. His curls. But they lined the back of the neck and I thought I was supposed to be seeing  something more closely on the neck.  Each time I tried to focus on the back of his neck to see what the words were, the dream faded. The scene then  cut to horses flying wildly in the night. A sky dark with grey and as I watched a black line entered my sight and fought with a white line. I felt the fight and begged the dark not to win. I was then back to the horse, white wings flying so strongly through the clouds. My thoughts were that this was an angel horse, my son's angel horse . I begged God to show me what I needed to see, to get me closer. The dream to me back to his  neck only this time it was simply the hair. Curly thick black hair, hair I would know anywhere, hair I would run my fingers through when Joshua was a baby. I cried, wailed and thanked God. Joshua has his curly hair back. I reveled in the feeling of how angelic he must look with his locks. I thanked God and rested realizing I was not supposed to see more…It was his hair I was supposed to “see” or more so feel.  He must be well. He must be happy now.


Then he began to fade, my body moved slowly away until he became a blur. I shouted to the heavens" please no, how will I come back?". "I cant leave".  A heart filled my vision and was the simple answer.

<3

Written in the middle of the night, unedited because this is exactly the gift I was given.