When the Seamstress is Broken

Dear Readers,
That Saturday began like any other day. I got up, ate breakfast and went to give blood at the blood bank. I was feeling achy, but who wouldn't feel tired when a six year old comes to sleep under your armpit in the middle of the night. I felt nervous, but I always fell nervous when I give blood because sometimes it makes me dizzy. But as the morning wore on, I began to feel fatigued- more fatigued than I had felt in a long time. And my neck began to hurt. My neck began to hurt almost like I had suffered whiplash or something, but again...a kid had slept in my armpit all night. So, like usual, I just went to give blood.
But then, my blood pressure was high, extremely high, and it wouldn't go down, 186/128. Very scary numbers. The nurse shook her head as she sent me to my docs, who in turn sent me to the ER, "Just to be safe", he stated. But at the ER, the PA and Doc there were dumbfounded, "You're as healthy as a thirty year old...I don't feel comfortable though just getting this blood pressure down....we need to run a CT...something just isn't adding up."So I tell myself, whatever they'll just run a few more tests. Worse case scenario, I stay overnight. So Tim and I casually joked in the hospital room and never truly thought anything serious was wrong.
Then the Doc came in. Now this guy is no normal doc. He's the guy who had seen myself and our children through a number of scary things...husband dies, pregnancy scare, ruptured spleen, appendicitis...and never ever would I not trust him or his judgement. But this time when he walked in, his face had changed. The smile was gone. He was serious, weird serious. I noticed at that moment how he had aged. The years of youth had disappeared when he became that somber and the fatigued of his job, and the horrific things that he had endured were present as he slowly sat down and and moved his stool towards me.
"The scan did not come back well. There is a mass. Quite a large one at the base of your skull behind your right ear where all your pain is..." Color drained from my face. I began to feel nauseous. I began to feel strange. I looked at Tim and watched him swallow hard."We need an MRI rather quickly and I want to send you to a bigger hospital...." I couldn't speak. I didn't hear. I flashed to my mother's deathbed, her cancerous, lonely deathbed. My hands started to sweat. My kids. My life. My husband. My grand kids. Mass, tumor, and then fear. Crazy, crazy fear. Fear like I'd only known a handful of times in my life. Oh Lord, I prayed, don't let me lose my life. Not now, I have so much to do....
I came back to reality to hear the doc say good luck as we drove to the larger hospital. "It's okay Honey. let's not panic until we know what this is...", Tim kept saying. But it was too late. I had already let panic sink in. I wanted Virginia, the only Momma I had known in many many years. So I began to call, call all the people I treasure before it was too late. A mass in my brain. Death. Living past fifty. Sweaty. Frightened. Plans. I had to make plans. I had to let them all know how I felt about them. I couldn't leave stuff unsaid. I couldn't, not like Jeff.
"Mom, " I began....and we talked and she begged to come with me and I wanted her too, but it was too late. We were already out of our small town and on our way to the larger hospital. Prayer chain. Yes, I wanted her to call the prayer chain. Yes, I was beyond frightened. So was she. She was crying. I could here her voice cracking. Yes, tell the family. Tell them all. Yes, I would let them know when we knew anything.
And so we kept driving and it felt like an eternity. I knew it wasn't an aneurysm, the doc said the mass was different than that. I knew I wasn't in immediate danger, the doc said that too. But I felt so weird. Foggy almost. And the fog wouldn't lift....
I was put in the wheelchair. All the other sick people who'd been there hours just stared as they wheeled me into a room. They tagged me...one for the hospital....one for fall risk. Was I a fall risk? They said I was. It bothered me. Really bothered me. Was I naughteous? I began to gag. The nurse handed me a blue bag. Where was Tim? I felt his hand holding mine as they whisked me into my own private room to wait for the MRI. It was all happening too fast.
The room was quiet. I asked Tim should I tell the older kids. He thought I should. Yikes! That meant he was apprehensive about this mass as well. And so it began....the hardest conversations I've ever had to have with my babies. It was also the hardest nonconversations I've ever had to have with my little ones. I am awful at being brave. Little did I know, my faith would be tested for the next six months in more ways than I could ever imagine....
Telling my babies...

A New Garment...My Son's Mother

Dear Adoptive Moms,

I wrote this poem many years ago for a Mother's Day contest in a newspaper. It won honorable mention. Although that part is not important, the fact of the matter is that I was thrilled that birth mothers all over would read this and know how much we , as adoptive moms, appreciate what they have done for us. So today as you hold your adoptive child in your arms and he tells you Happy Mother's Day, realize that there is another mother out there who longs to hear those words as well.

 

My Son’s Mother


I wonder what she looks like,
The woman who bore this boy,
Did she gaze upon his hazel eyes,
And love this precious joy?

I long to see her rock him,
As she carried him in her womb,
She gave him life on that treasured day,
Knowing he must leave her soon.

I want to deeply thank her,
for making a heartfelt choice,
It must have really broken her heart,
Not hearing his newborn voice.

I know that she must wonder too,
‘Bout me from time to time,
She gave up a life of memories,
In making her child mine.

I want to say I love you,
for the sacrifice you’ve done,
For giving me the most precious gift,
Your Dragos, my firstborn son.

written by Kari L. Burd 
December 12, 1997

Sewing for Royalty....Raising Special Needs Children

It was one of the busiest weeks of our lives, almost like planning a wedding. With three children graduating this year, and this being the famous "Winter Homecoming" week, our house was not only a buzz...the whole community was a huge hive as well. And they should have  been. After a couple of bad years in a sports slump, our althletes were coming out strong in basketball again. So "Restoring the Roar" (we are known as the Maple Valley Lions), was beginning to be a highly successful campaign and school spirit was not only coming back, but thriving as well. So homecoming week was a myriad of odd contests, special "dress up days", and voting for the senior class King and Queen candidates. Every school in the valley as well as child was involved in this huge event. The excitement was all over the community, but no household was buzzing more than ours.  As fate would have it, we had two children running for the homecoming court; our daughter Timara and our son Arden Dragos...
I watched her gaze at herself in the full length mirrior as I laced up her exquisite princess, blue, ball gown. She looked breathtaking. Her slender figure fit perfectly into her dress and looked absolutely brilliant against her dark coffee skin. Tears welled up in my eyes..."it'll have to be shortened," I struggled to say. But she did not speak. Timara just looked at herself over and over as if she was living a dream....
I remember meeting her for the first time. Oh, I had seen pictures, but photos never do a child justice.
It is their spirit and their personality that makes a child really who they are meant to be.  When I first saw her, she was chasing James all over. He had made her mad and she was gonna "get him". Timara was running and running chasing her brother, when all of the sudden she stopped dead in her tracks and stared high up into my face. "You's gonna be my momma? " She asked all bright eyed and bushy tailed. I nodded. "You's white!" she exclaimed matter of factly  climbing into my arms and snuggled her head close into my neck. "I's gonna love you!" she whispered. And that was it- I was sold. Whatever this child wanted...she was gonna get. If I couldn't buy it, well, I'd just steal it. She had stole my heart. This child was my daughter forever.
She was my little spit fire. She was a little bit of hell all wrapped up in beautiful. She was amazing. Anything she tried she could do and if she couldn't, she wouldn't stop trying until she mastered the task. She was super athletically talented. She was graceful. She was happy. And she was freakishly strong too. But sometimes when she got angry- she got mean, and that became a struggle for us on a daily basis during her toddler years. She had every boy in our household on the ropes and they never dared mess with her because she could "take them out".  She could and she did on several occassions if she felt it was necessary. I watched her once grab the skin on James' neck, twist it, and punch him right in the nose in one quick sweep. It was humorous in a way, but scarey too. But as the years rolled on and we channeled that energy through various sporting events, my little tomboy became a beautiful independent young woman.
She spoke with a hispanic, ghetto, foul mouthed tongue, and was hard at first to understand. So when you asked her a question sometimes she spoke both english and spanish. Quite a challenge for someone who was barely fluent in english.
I remember when she used to get ill, she would puke, and never tell anyone. All of the sudden we'd hear something, click on the light in her room, and there she'd be...tears streaming down her face covered in puke. She'd never yell. Never cry. Just sit and wait for someone to  come clean her up. One Christmas she spiked a very high fever and I drove her to the ER at two in the morning. "I's sick?" she said as she snuggled in my lap.  "Yes, Tateebutt- you's sick," I'd say as I stroked her little head. Later, I got sick too and she said matter of factly, "You's sick now too Momma!"...
 She could cuss like a sailer at her brothers, but if someone messed with them, or they were hurt.- she was as gentle and kind as could be. I remember once when a kid called Dragos ("Fados" as Timara used to call him) a "retard" and she jumped on top of the boy, got him down pushing sand in his mouth yelling, "nobody calls him dat...nobody never!" The kid got up and apolojized to Dragos. My daughter grabbed  HER brother by the arm and waltzed away, having saved the world. You see Timara (he called her Dimarna) was her brother's protector.  Nobody was gonna mess with her brother. He didn't fight it...nope because it's pretty cool to have your own personal body guard even if she was a girl.
I watched her as she stood there...gazing in that mirror...all grown up...all grown up...and I pinned her dress and prepared to make her a true Queen.

Dragos, my Dragos, put on his tux. I bought it online having sold a few of my own dresses to pay for it. It was huge in some places and I knew that I would have to really work some magic getting it to fit just perfect for a King. He put it on...it was too long and the pants drooped. But he grinned from ear to ear? "Think I'll win Momma?" he asked in a small quiet voice. I choked back the sob in my throat..."I think you've got a good chance Bubby, " I answered as I pinned and prodded.
My son. The only thing in my life that I've ever been absolutely sure about. Oh, how I loved this son. The son who was never to have lived. The son that the orphanage in Moldova said to "walk away...he is an idiot and will die". The son I could never give up on and waited a year for. This son was nominated for Homecoming King. I just kept pinning and remembering....
''This is your son Kari...you said a child, any child, and this is the son I've chosen..." I could hear God's voice as clear as a bell. All of the reasons not to adopt him never ever mattered to me. He can't talk. He can't walk. He rocks his head. But he laughs and he' s happy and there is just something about him...your son....he is your son.
Dragos. The son who overcame every obstacle he had to to fit in and be "one of the guys". They said he'd never talk. He spoke fluent english in six months after the adoption. They said he'd never walk. He walked perfectly seven months after the adoption. He'll be an idiot they said. He'll graduate in May with his class. Oh how I have loved raising him. But being a parent to him and even a sibling to him has meant great committment and patience. I had to trade sewing so he could have horse therapy to improve his gait. I traded sewing so that he could have deep massage therapy to help improve muscles destroyed by hundreds of shots of penecillon in his legs when he was young. Tim worked and then would come home exhausted and take Dragos to hills and parks. He would walk him up and down- up and down, to build week leg muscles from being left in a crib sixteen hours a day. His siblings had to listen to him repeat questions and then answer them over and over because Dragos would forget that he had already asked them. They shielded him from kids who were mean to him, when we lived in a different state, and they never let him know that he was different. They have spent hours and hours helping him with homework and telling him facts over and over. But mostly, mostly, they have just treated him normal. They have loved him and punched him and just been a sibling to a brother who some would be embarrassed about. He never ever knew that he was different...they never let him know.
So here he was standing in this tux. this would be the biggest moment of his life. I prayed that win or lose...he would be proud of who he was and who he would become in the future.

We stood behind them, Tim and I , watching from the sidelines in the gym. "And the 2013 Homecoming Queen is...Timara Burd!" the crowd roared with applause and whoops! Tim and I began to puddle up with tears, but before we could even catch our breath, "And your 2013 Winter Homecoming King is...Arden Dragos Burd!" The crowd exploded! Timara began to cry as they were placing her crown on her head and also placing his medallion around his neck. Tim looked at me and started bawling...I was bawling... and we held each other forever as we watched Dragos and Timara hug and cry. The crowd jumped to their feet and gave them a standing ovation! People were shaking our hands. Hugging them. They raced to embrace their grandparents. Their peers had elected them! My children! Two children who had every chance to fail to thrive. Two children whom by all early standards shouldn't have been here at all. My children. Our children.
I watched through tear stained, mascara running eyes as my children were surrounded by their friends and community. I watched as teachers, coaches, peers, and even strangers congratulated them. I watched my daughter Timara once again protect and guide her brother through the crowds... to us!  "I did it Momma! You happy? You surprised?" Dragos asked me through his tears. "Me and Timara won, Momma.! Did you see it?" I nodded and just kept hugging him. I looked over at my daughter so poised and happy and realized something I had never ever told her...something I'd always taken for granted...she was much more than his sister...she was his Hero. And now to share the spotlight with him, well it was God's way of saying to her. "Well done, my good and faithful servant."
That night, after the excitement had died down, I walked into her room and quietly took her hands and whispered, "If you never do anything again, I do not care...I have never ever been prouder of you than I am tonight...and I love you....". I held her for the longest time ..and she knew that I knew what this meant to her. You see his victories were her victories because when you have a special needs sibling every achievement is every family members.

People all over the world want to have a child...please look into adoption. the rewards are remarkably endless. And if you're lucky...real lucky... you will recieve a couple of crowns as well.

Sew in Love with Kids!

I love to sew for children; fun fuzzy pillowcases, silly soft blankets, outrageous creative costumes. But mostly I like kids to feel happy and loved. That's the best part of being a child...to have a blast!
Everywhere you go there are sayings about motherhood, sayings about childhood, and sayings about parenthood, and how great it is to let children be children. But do we really let them? In this fast pace world of hurrying up and growing up and being the best we can be, do we really let our kids live in a world of imagination? Has anyone really gotten down on their hands and knees and relived the reality of being a child?
I remember once when my children were small saying to my daughter, "Stop acting like a three year old!" And her looking into my eyes and answering, "But Momma, I am three...".
I guess my point is that our children ARE only little for a litle while. They see a world full of excitement and adventure. They see gum under tables. They see millions of kness. They see the stuff crammed under the couch. They see the color of gum on sidewalks. They see the trash can eye to eye. They see a toilet filled with adventurous water. They see a box as a new toy. They see things that you and I just consider ordinary, and take them to their imagination and change the world.
We chase them. We stop them. And sometimes we even chastise them. But the truth is, we need to stop ourselves. What would our children;s lives be like, if we just slowed down long enough to wonder...

• What does cat poop smell like in our hands, up close and personal?
• What about eating french fries in the back of the car, they still taste good even if they're a week old!
• How do we know that the sugar wouldn't be better all over the dining room floor?
• How about sucking up puke with a vaccuum?
• Ever swung from a clothes rack? (loads of fun)
• What if we colored our sister's face with permanent black marker? 
• Or how about playing with our blocks in a poopy diaper?

The possibilities for children are endless, and they should be. Somewhere along the line, their lives will get tainted. Some idiot will destroy their innocence and they'll learn to be afraid to try something new or too embarrassed to voice their opinions. But until then, let's let our children discover this big, beautiful world...eat frosting in the rain...protect them and love them...but seriously...let them be children.

 

 

 

 

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When the Beautiful Fabric Has a Flaw....

When God Ran Almighty God, the great I am Immovable rock, omnipotent, powerful, awesome Lord Victorious warrior, commanding King of Kings Mighty conqueror, and the only time the only time I ever saw Him run CHORUS: Was when He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He caught me by surprise when God ran The day I left home I knew I’d broken His heart And I wondered then if things could ever be the same Then one night I remembered His love for me And down that dusty road ahead I could see It was the only time – it was the only time I ever saw Him run And then He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He caught me by surprise as He brought me to my knees When God ran – I saw Him run to me BRIDGE: I was so ashamed, all alone and so far away But now I know He’s been waiting for this day I saw Him run to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice I felt His love for me again He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son”, He called me Son He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He ran to me and then I ran to Him When God ran by: Phillips, Craig, and Dean Almighty God, the great I am Immovable rock, omnipotent, powerful, awesome Lord Victorious warrior, commanding King of Kings Mighty conqueror, and the only time the only time I ever saw Him run....  and the small lil boy laid in the bath tub with his peed undies on his head. Tears running down his face, he wondered why he was so "bad". Why did his parents walk away and leave him here? Why did they choose drugs over him. He pretended to sleep because when he woke up if he was "bad", his foster mom would lock him in that dark closet again. He hated being by himself. He hated the dark so much..... Was when He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He caught me by surprise when God ran....  and she held him in her arms and cooed, "I love you. I will never leave you. It will be okay. I promise Jeffy. No one will ever hurt you again. It doesn't matterHthat you stole. You'll say sorry and we'll help fix it. It'll be okay...." And the little boy now a young man sobbed on his adoptive mother's lap and she held him tight and wiped his tears.... He caught me by surprise when God ran The day I left home I knew I’d broken His heart And I wondered then if things could ever be the same...  She watched him leave. She was a mess. He had broken her heart. He had broken up her home. He had scared his siblings and hit her with objects he had thrown. She looked in his eyes as he hissed those words' "I hate you!" But she couldn't see her Jeffy anymore. She could only see a bitter, frightened young man . She watched him go. She yearned to run after him. But how could she? She had eight other children to care for. The police came and she refused to press charges, but it didn't matter....Jeffy was gone and things would never be the same... Then one night I remembered His love for me And down that dusty road ahead I could see It was the only time – it was the only time I ever saw Him run And then He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son do you know I still love you?” He caught me by surprise as He brought me to my knees When God ran – I saw Him run to me... She felt wrong as she crept up the stairs that night. Something told her to stop, go down those steps one more time,  hug him, and tell him she loved him. But it was late so she did not. She just went to bed. But he did not sleep. He never slept anymore. In fact, he never ate anymore. Life was just too hard. He came home to his Momma and he thought it would help. But it didn't, sure Momma gave him everything he needed. Found him a job, making him a new bedroom, cooked him his favorite meals. he had come home...his momma was thried...he knew she was.But the pain was so deeply ingrained in him that he just couldn't do it anymore. He followed her everywhere...he told her he loved her and it wasn't her fault. he hugged her and kissed her. But it still hurt. She couldn't make it better. It just wouldn't stop hurting. He needed to go. He'd finish it this time because there was nothing left to fix. The pain was unfixable. He looked around at all the love in this home. He watched his sleeping baby sister for a moment...oh how he adored her. She gave him a reason to live many, many days.He stared at the other children's photos on the wall...."I;m so sorry, "h he hoarsely whispered and Jeffy opened the door and shut it for the last time. "They will forgive me," he texted..."they will all forgive me...even God..." I was so ashamed, all alone and so far away But now I know He’s been waiting for this day I saw Him run to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes With forgiveness in His voice I felt His love for me again He ran to me, He took me in His arms Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again” With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son”, He called me Son He said, “Son do you know I still love you?”  His Momma drove over the hilll, raising to bring him home. Hoping he hadn't scared the young girl too much and that maybe someone would give Jeffy the help he needed. She saw the car.She saw the steam. Her heart began to pound. Her chest began to tighten. She peeked in the windows. Her sister yelled to get back back. her sister pushed her to stop pounding on the windows. That's when she saw the blood. That's when she saw his lil ashy hand holding the gun. That's when she dropped to her knees and begged God to stop this...to make it untrue. The police lights, the questions.....Where was God? Where was he now? He ran to me and then I ran to Him When God ran...  Up on that hill in the beautiful woods, with His arms opened wide...stood God. He watched Jeffy run. He watched him run so fast and so far, but determined  as always,God never stopped chasing him. "Jeff, please don't do this. You've tried it so many times. Let's just relax and stay here. It'll be okay...I promise..." But Jeffy ran. He ran to his car. He held the gun in his mouth. He cried. He groaned into the phone...and with all the courage he could muster, he pulled the trigger. And God ran to Jeffy, "Come on home my Son...it'll be okay...I promise...and He took my Jeffy, my whole world and He loved him and He took away his pain...and he held him and now it is okay for Jeffy...just as He promised...

The Precious Handmade Gift of Life....

I watched today as my six year old daughter began to open her gift. At first she seemed quite passive about the task. After all, it was the end of Christmas Eve and Katie-Grace had already opened her fair share of toys and presents from her many admirers. But as her Grandmother explained whom had sent her the gift, Katce began to tear open the first of several packages more fervently, her tiny hands ripping the paper as if it was uncovering a long held secret she needed to know.
The first gift held hushed fascination as my daughter unwrapped it. The room was quiet as her Grandmother proudly stated, "and she made it just for you...." It was a pastel colored tray that bore her name and said "I Love You" hand painted richly with a childlike hand. She carefully reached into the box and pulled out her next treasure and unwrapped it. The gleam in Katce's eyes grew brighter as she gingerly fingered her hand painted teapot. She touched the tiny spout and smoothed the lid as she carefully placed it on its perch high atop the hollow vase. Her hand carefully picked up the next piece and she shewed away the other children and guarded the small sugar bowl with its colorful glossy surface. She held it close for a moment and observed just the right spot to place it softly on the tray in it's rightful place next to the teapot.
I began to hold back tears as she continued in her own little world, taking out each tiny cup and saucer from their wrappings and never looked up to see what we all thought of her latest Christmas conquest. She never noticed that she had other gifts to open, she only stared and touched and caressed her miniature tea set carefully "pouring out" in a make believe tea party that existed in her vivid imagination. No one even noticed the way she touched each small piece time and time again and whispered the words"I Love You" as she read them over and over again. But I did. I noticed.
 You see, I noticed because I am her Momma and I am trained to know my little girl and the makings of her little heart. I am preprogrammed to know that this handmade tea set meant much more to her than a simple playtime romp on a fun filled afternoon. This tea set represented a part of Katce that she is too young to understand, and too immature to comprehend. But I understand it because I am her Momma.
I say it to Katce a million times a day, "I Love you"...I write it to her. I whisper it to her. I tickle it to her. I have even sung it to her. She expects it from me because I am her Momma. And yet, I did not give her this gift. I would have. I could have. I paint. I am talented. But I did not do it, it was not me. This I love you was much more important than any "I Love Yous" that I have ever uttered.
Somewhere, another young woman who loves Katie-Grace perhaps more than I, painted this gift. She tenderly picked out the tray. She carefully painted Katce's name. She fervently painted, "I Love You". She picked out the colors. She painted and glazed and fired them and waited for each piece to get done. She gingerly wrapped them in more love than she'll ever know.
And as I watched my daughter finger the words, "I Love You", I realized that in her little hearts of hearts, her birth mother had validated what I had always promised her...that she loved her. I softly held back a gasp as I held my breath and promised to keep her precious treasure safe, I wanted to stop all the noise and hold her close and explain the importance of this momentous occasion. I wanted to shout to the world that my little girl will forever understand that her adoption is okay, that she fits, that she feels complete. But I couldn't and I didn't. I just picked up that tray and promised to take care of Katce's precious treasure...the words, "I Love You"...painted from a beautiful, loving birth mother to a beautiful, loving daughter she gave to me....

Sewing a Memory

Today I will go to work as usual. I will sew some things for customers, alter a few clothes, and maybe do some cleaning for my bosses. But after that I will begin to make some memories. It has taken me close to two long years to finally be able to part with some of my late son Jeff's things. Some things I have given away to whomever God has lead. Some things I have given up based on the needs of the other person. But mostly I have sniffed his things, refolded them, and put them back in his treasure box that once held so many memories and dreams for the future. It will be hard today. I know it will and there is a huge piece of me that is dreading what I am about to do...but it is time. It is time to make some new memories out of the old ones.
I have decided to take my son's t-shirts, the ones that he collected over the years for various events that he loved to participate in, and cut them up and make a pillow for Christmas for each one of my children. I am choosing to call them "Jeffy Pillows".
Today, I will relive the time he crossed the finish line at state in track and brought his teammates to victory. How they were way behind in the relay and he peeled across that track as if his feet were on fire. How I kept screaming, "RUN! Baby! RUN!". I will see the crowd come to it's feet for my son and yell and chant for him. I will relive every moment on the track that day and many others.
Today, I will relive watching him play in endless basketball tournaments. The heat was always unbearable, but he loved the game. The sweat was unbearable, but he loved the game. Sometimes the other player's attitudes were unbearable, but he loved the game. And because of him...I grew to love the game too.
Today I will relive the young lady who insisted on buying him some brand names shirts for Christmas and how excited he was to have them. Even though we had bought him brand name shirts, the look on his face when he was able to say, "Mom, she got these for me!" I saw in his eyes the love he had for her and realized that I had lost my little boy forever, he was now going to be a man.
In my mind, I will see his face over and over again and I will weep.  I will weep for a son whom nobody would adopt and we never even hesitated because we wanted him to have a better life than foster care. I will weep for a son who gave us so many beautiful memories that the thought of not making anymore will surely pain me until the day I die. I will weep for a son who left the most beautiful memories with me the last week of his life. I will weep for a son who could have had the world at his feet, but chose instead to have heaven at his feet. But mostly I will weep because after today I will not be able to open that treasure box and selfishly wrap those t-shirts around my shoulders, sniff them, and bury my tears in them. After today, they will be his siblings. They will be able to hold them and love them and in essence hold and love him. Because, it is time.

It is time to put this part of my life away and go on. It is time to make new memories and wipe away the hurt of finding my son shot by his own hand. It is time to open his treasure box not to "find" him again, but to remember the child that he was and the good man he grew into despite all the bad. And finally, it is time that I let go of him. I loved Jeff so much. I still do. But today while he is enjoying heaven, I have eight other children, spouses, and grandchildren whom need me to make these pillows into new memories. And so today, that;s what I will do...