Rest with The Father, Bryson Drago Ross

Bryson, the son of Shellie Ross aka Military_Mom on Twitter, died today after a tragic accident. He was only two years old. Please take a moment to offer a prayer for the Ross family and if you have time, go post your condolences on her Twitpic tribute to Bryson or leave her a comment on her Blog 4 Mom page.

Hold on 'till Tomorrow

There are no words to ease the pain.
Nor enough tears to wash the sorrow.
There is only the knowledge that you are loved,
so hang on 'til tomorrow.
For in the morning all things are made new
and though your babe is gone,
the love you shared will carry you through.
So hold on till the dawn.
The night time comes to steal your peace
with the deafening quiet it brings.
But close your ears and open your heart
because that's where His voice sings
So rest your weary mind tonight;
Know that your son rests well
With the Father of all who knows the pain;
Whose teardrops also fell.
No, there are no words that can ease the pain.

Nor tears to wash the sorrow.

There is only the knowledge that you are loved.
And you WILL see him tomorrow.

~Tish Raiford (c)2007

Twenty Five Years

One-quarter of a century of birthdays and Christmases.

Three hundred months of love and laughter.

9,125 days of successes and failures, sadnesses and joys, triumphs and defeats.

219,000 hours of growth and understanding, of wisdom gained and sanity lost.

13,140,000 minutes of life void of a mother's advice. And annoyances.

Not one moment of regret for having been chosen as your own.



It's been twenty five years since I last heard you say, "I love you, my angel." Yet, somehow, I know that you've never left me. I've felt you near; heard you whisper softly in those wee hours of the morning when I'm not quite awake but not fully asleep.


I see your presence in the mirror of my mind when I have to live through hard times.

I remember the laughter in your eyes when I use one of your lines to deal with difficult people.

I live in the warmth of the love of the heart of the kindest, most loving and giving woman I've ever had the honor of knowing.

You were only my mother here on earth for 17 years, but you have never stopped being my mother here in my heart.


Happy 25th Heavenly Birthday, Mom. I love you very much. See ya in a few...

Mother and me - 1967

Saying Goodbye

I was tired. After several weeks of sleeping on a cot I just wanted to close my eyes for a minute. So I turned backward on the hard, stiff-backed chair and rested my head on my hands. While I rested I thought back over what had brought us to this place on this day.

A couple of months before Twig was born in 1982 Mother called to ask if I thought she should go to the doctor after having bloody diarrhea. I asked her why she was calling me instead of the doctor. She decided that since it was only that one time, she’d wait and see if it happened again. Two days later she was in the hospital being transfused because of blood loss. When she hadn’t had any more episodes during her hospital stay, and the lower GI hadn’t shown anything, they let her go home with instructions to follow up with her primary care physician if she had further problems. A week or so later she had another occurrence and her doctor scheduled a colonoscopy. As it turned out, that test was performed on the day that Twig was born. Without telling me what was going on, Mom had the test in the morning and then came to the hospital and stayed with me until I delivered her second grandson. I could not have done it without her.

The initial test results came back while I was still in the hospital. (Back then when you had a baby they kept you for a minimum of 5 days.) She had some minor polyps that they sampled for a biopsy. Nothing to worry about, said her doctor. When they turned out to be malignant he told her that they were very small and repeated that there was nothing to worry about so it was ok for her to take a couple of weeks to clear things up at work before scheduling the surgery to remove them. Two weeks turned into nearly three months as she stalled and postponed always citing the doctor’s statement that there was nothing to worry about. By the time she finally underwent surgery, the very fast-growing cancer had perforated her intestinal wall and metastasized (spread) to her liver. They gave her less than two years to live.

She immediately started a very aggressive series of chemotherapy and radiation treatments that left her predictably weak and tired all the time. She underwent two more surgeries. She lost nearly 100 lbs. and all of her hair, but she never lost her positive attitude and infectious laugh. Or her hope.

While her sisters and some friends helped as much as possible, as her only child, it fell to me to try to take care of her and my dad during the times she was in the hospital. I arranged to have someone with her during the daytime while I was working and I spent nights sleeping by her side to make sure her every need was met. When the end came nearer I took a leave of absence and spent the last 2 weeks constantly by her side.

I am so grateful that I had that time with her. We talked about everything under the sun: shared joys and sorrows; all of our differences, grievances and mistakes. We laughed and remembered and apologized and forgave. Thanks to that time together, by the time I was sitting backward in the chair resting my eyes, there was nothing left unsaid between us – and no more time to say it if there had been. Sometime during the course of the last 24 hours she had slipped into a coma.

My husband touching me on the arm pulled me back from my faraway thoughts. Facing him, with my back to Mother, I opened my eyes and the look on his face said it all. “She’s gone,” he said so softly that it was almost a whisper. I later learned that he was looking at her face when one tear slid slowly down her cheek, she sighed and was still. The pain and humiliation she had suffered during her long, hard, struggle were finally over and she was at peace. At the age of 27 I became a motherless daughter.

Today marks the 24th anniversary of my mother’s permanent address change. While this date is always remembered and the loss mourned, this year has hit me particularly hard. You see, this year I am the age that my mother was at her passing: just a few months shy of her 52nd birthday. In my mid 20s, 50-something seemed so very far away. It seemed enough time to live a whole life. Now, sitting here I realize just how NOT enough it is. The reality of how young Mother was has gripped my heart causing pain unlike anything I’ve felt since 1984. I look at my life and think, how could I be dead today and it all have been enough? It can’t. Even a million more todays can never be enough time to love your children; to laugh with your friends; to hold your one true love; to see the light and joy in the eyes of your grandchildren when you walk through the door. The best that any of us can hope for is the grace and strength to live today with all the love, courage, compassion, and joy we can muster. And in the end be strong enough to help those we leave behind say goodbye.

WHAT GOES AROUND…

Today is my birthday. I turned 51 years old. My children seem to have forgotten. Well, my 3 legal children apparently forgot. The one that should have been mine and a bunch of the others remembered. It’s not like mine always forget – just, well, sometimes… at least since they got old enough to have their own lives. When they were younger their dad always reminded them. I have some really neat mementos of those childhood well-wishes. However, left to their own devices…

I guess what goes around truly does come around.

One of the few regrets I have not been able to overcome since my parents’ deaths in the mid 1980s is that I so rarely made any big deal of their birthdays and anniversaries. The only thing I can chalk it up to is that I was going about doing what my mother had raised me to do: living my life independently.

In 1982 my mother turned 50, five months after the birth of our youngest son – you know, the little dinner skeptic I wrote about earlier. I was so wrapped up in my life with a 3-year-old, a new baby, and a new job that her big FIVE-0 just slid by (as mine did) virtually unnoticed. I think I called her at work that day, but that weekend when she and Dad went to their lake house and celebrated with friends there, my little family was just too busy to take the time to make the drive. There would always be next year. Within 6 months she’d been diagnosed with colon cancer. Within 2 years she was gone. Her 51st birthday was the last we were able to celebrate with her. (And NO – I do NOT intend this to by MY last!!).

In 1982 my father also turned 50 – four days before Mother. She would razz him unmercifully for those four days… “Hey old man.” “Careful there, Old Guy. You know you can’t keep up with this young chick!” She loved him so very much. My relationship with him, however, is a whole ‘nother 500-page essay. I loved him too, but… Just suffice it to say that for the most part I wasn’t interested in making sure his birthdays were pleasurable. Then, in 1987, 3 months before his 55th birthday, just when we were getting our problems worked out and becoming friends for the first time in our lives, he went and died on me, too. The doctors called it massive, multi-system failure caused by years of drinking and smoking too much. I knew it was from a broken heart – he just never really got over losing Mother.

Now here I sit 20+ years later understanding all too well how much it hurts to have your children forget those special events that mark the passing of your life. But I’m not really upset or feeling sorry for myself – I’m once again feeling sorry for my parents. And I’m feeling sorry for what my children might go through if I were to be gone suddenly from their lives.

So, here and now, I deputize you all to be my voice if in, say, oh, 50 or so years from now I happen to shuffle off this mortal coil and my children should express any guilt over having somehow “let me down” because they lived their lives as I raised them: strong and independent. It’d hurt me a whole lot more to think of them as being anything but who they were raised to be than it does to have my birthday occasionally forgotten. I know they love me. No question. Period.

Now, get off that computer, go call somebody important in your life and tell them that you love them. It doesn’t have to be a special occasion – it just has to be heartfelt and frequent enough that they don’t have a chance to forget it. Believe me, it will help all concerned if you ever miss an important date.

Peace, Blessings, and Love to all.