Often, here on my front porch, I am fortunate to have
someone else take over this space and share a story.
someone else take over this space and share a story.
Today my good friend, Geri, has written
a piece that is so very close to her heart.
For me, it is a lesson in endurance, patience, and Love.
And reminds me of this verse....
And now these three remain: Faith, Hope, and Love.
But the greatest of these is Love.
1 Corinthians 13-13
~
a piece that is so very close to her heart.
For me, it is a lesson in endurance, patience, and Love.
And reminds me of this verse....
And now these three remain: Faith, Hope, and Love.
But the greatest of these is Love.
1 Corinthians 13-13
~
| ~ Geri with her husband, Pete ~ |
Thank you, Misha, for asking me to Write a guest post.
I have struggled to find the words to write about my son Nick,
and I realized the other morning I wanted to share something he wrote me.
Nick sent me this Letter when I went to a 12 step weekend retreat in October of 2006. I’ll give a little background about it. I had joined Al-Anon a few years before this retreat, as Nick struggled with the disease of alcoholism/drug addiction. For those who might not know, Al-Anon is a wonderful support group for family and friends of alcoholics. Maybe someday I will write another guest post (if I’m invited back again!) sharing with you and your readers how much it has changed my life, taught me, meant to me. For now I’ll just say that because I was a member of a 12 step program, my dear, dear friend Kathi, herself a long time member of AA, was able to invite me to this wonderful weekend of recovery.
One of the most touching parts of the weekend is ‘the letter ceremony’. It is held on Saturday evening, in a room filled with candlelight, soft instrumental music and love, lots and lots of love. As my sponsor for the weekend, Kathi had sent letters to my family and friends, asking them to tell me what changes they might have seen in me, how my recovery was affecting them, what I meant to them, things of this nature. All the letters would be sent to her, and she would present them to me during the ceremony.
As she told me later, the letter she knew would mean so much to me, the one she really, really wanted to make sure I got, was a letter from Nick. So, Kathi being Kathi (I have a whole other post I could write about her, and what true, long time friendship looks like. We've been best friends for 50 years!), she wanted to make it as easy as possible for Nick to get that letter written and sent back to her. She was a little nervous that since he was a 22 year old college student, busy with full time school and a full time job, he might procrastinate writing it, or maybe not take the time to write one at all. So in the letter she sent him, explaining what he might want to write about, she included a self-addressed, stamped envelope.
She said she was prepared to call him, or if necessary to even drive to where he lived to make sure I got a letter from him.
She needn't have worried. Within a few days of mailing Nick the letter, she noticed an envelope in her mailbox, addressed to her, in her own handwriting.
Nick was the very first person to get a letter back to her.
Here’s what he wrote:
Dear Mom:
What’s up? (he always opened a conversation with that phrase). I hope you are enjoying your retreat so far. How lucky am I to have a mother like you? Pretty darn lucky! Your constant generosity, caring and understanding have greatly helped make my life what it is today. I can think of countless examples of you being all these things. Like our daily phone conversations. When half the time I’m in a bad mood and acting like a jerk, and instead of hanging up on me and calling me an asshole like I deserve you listen and give advice, showing you care. Or even after my second drunk driving, you never gave up on me, even when a lot of other people did. You gave me encouragement that I needed to stay afloat. The two years of you driving me places, so I could get to work and meetings. That was extremely kind. Thanks!! Or better yet, when I was feeling down about not getting any hours at work and you said, “don’t worry, your family’s got your back.” That was really something mom. It meant the world to me. I’m truly grateful for the way you make me feel loved, even when I think I don’t want to be loved. You know, I’m lucky. I truly feel I have the world’s best mom. Stay strong like I know you will.
Love,
Nick
~ ~ ~
Nick lost his battle with this disease on June 10, 2009. He was 25 years old. He died of an accidental alcohol and methadone overdose. I know he did not want to die, he just overdid it. People tell me he went to sleep and did not wake up, that he was not in pain. His roommate found him on his couch, in the same position he was in the night before, so I think this is true. His beloved dog, Maggie, was with him when he passed.
He had relapsed again, and didn't share that with us. I spoke with him two days before he died, and when I asked him how he was, as I always did, he said he was doing great, just great. I believe he was trying to protect us, that he did not want us to worry, that he was embarrassed and ashamed that he had relapsed. He was one class short of completing his degree at the Great Lakes Culinary Institute, where he had been studying to be a chef, a dream of his.
He was our first born, one of the two great joys of our life, and the person who taught me what it really meant to love another person. He made me laugh and he made me cry. I prayed, begged God to take the illness from him and give it to me, but we know it doesn't work that way. I choose to believe he is at peace now, his struggles over and fears gone.
I choose to believe I will see him again someday, somehow, and that his spirit, his essence, his true self is still with me everyday.
I am lucky, and honored, to be his mother.
At Nick’s visitation the night before his funeral, after his sister Rachel read a poem for him, I asked people if they would like to get up and say something. You could see people start to fidget a little; this kind of thing is hard to do. The first person to go up to the podium, with shaking hands, and a trembling voice, was Kathi. And she told the story about the letter, because she felt it showed just how much Nick loved me, how considerate and thoughtful he could be, even though his disease led him to behave in ways that hurt us all deeply.
Nick, I’m staying strong like you knew I would.
But oh how I miss you!
How I ache to hug you, and talk to you and laugh with you.
You tried; you fought the good fight.
I witnessed that personally. But it was too big for you.
You have nothing, nothing to be ashamed of.
As you heard me say so many times, I fell in love with you the minute I saw you, and that love has done nothing but grow stronger.
Sleep well, my sweet boy.
You were loved, and you loved.
And that is everything.
I have struggled to find the words to write about my son Nick,
and I realized the other morning I wanted to share something he wrote me.
Nick sent me this Letter when I went to a 12 step weekend retreat in October of 2006. I’ll give a little background about it. I had joined Al-Anon a few years before this retreat, as Nick struggled with the disease of alcoholism/drug addiction. For those who might not know, Al-Anon is a wonderful support group for family and friends of alcoholics. Maybe someday I will write another guest post (if I’m invited back again!) sharing with you and your readers how much it has changed my life, taught me, meant to me. For now I’ll just say that because I was a member of a 12 step program, my dear, dear friend Kathi, herself a long time member of AA, was able to invite me to this wonderful weekend of recovery.
One of the most touching parts of the weekend is ‘the letter ceremony’. It is held on Saturday evening, in a room filled with candlelight, soft instrumental music and love, lots and lots of love. As my sponsor for the weekend, Kathi had sent letters to my family and friends, asking them to tell me what changes they might have seen in me, how my recovery was affecting them, what I meant to them, things of this nature. All the letters would be sent to her, and she would present them to me during the ceremony.
| ~ Geri with Nick as a toddler ~ |
She said she was prepared to call him, or if necessary to even drive to where he lived to make sure I got a letter from him.
| ~ Nick in his graduation photo ~ |
Nick was the very first person to get a letter back to her.
Here’s what he wrote:
Dear Mom:
What’s up? (he always opened a conversation with that phrase). I hope you are enjoying your retreat so far. How lucky am I to have a mother like you? Pretty darn lucky! Your constant generosity, caring and understanding have greatly helped make my life what it is today. I can think of countless examples of you being all these things. Like our daily phone conversations. When half the time I’m in a bad mood and acting like a jerk, and instead of hanging up on me and calling me an asshole like I deserve you listen and give advice, showing you care. Or even after my second drunk driving, you never gave up on me, even when a lot of other people did. You gave me encouragement that I needed to stay afloat. The two years of you driving me places, so I could get to work and meetings. That was extremely kind. Thanks!! Or better yet, when I was feeling down about not getting any hours at work and you said, “don’t worry, your family’s got your back.” That was really something mom. It meant the world to me. I’m truly grateful for the way you make me feel loved, even when I think I don’t want to be loved. You know, I’m lucky. I truly feel I have the world’s best mom. Stay strong like I know you will.
Love,
Nick
~ ~ ~
Nick lost his battle with this disease on June 10, 2009. He was 25 years old. He died of an accidental alcohol and methadone overdose. I know he did not want to die, he just overdid it. People tell me he went to sleep and did not wake up, that he was not in pain. His roommate found him on his couch, in the same position he was in the night before, so I think this is true. His beloved dog, Maggie, was with him when he passed.
| ~ Nick's beloved dog, Maggie. She now lives with Geri and Pete ~ |
He was our first born, one of the two great joys of our life, and the person who taught me what it really meant to love another person. He made me laugh and he made me cry. I prayed, begged God to take the illness from him and give it to me, but we know it doesn't work that way. I choose to believe he is at peace now, his struggles over and fears gone.
I choose to believe I will see him again someday, somehow, and that his spirit, his essence, his true self is still with me everyday.
I am lucky, and honored, to be his mother.
| ~ Nick "The Baconator" during class at culinary school ~ |
But oh how I miss you!
How I ache to hug you, and talk to you and laugh with you.
You tried; you fought the good fight.
I witnessed that personally. But it was too big for you.
You have nothing, nothing to be ashamed of.
As you heard me say so many times, I fell in love with you the minute I saw you, and that love has done nothing but grow stronger.
Sleep well, my sweet boy.
You were loved, and you loved.
And that is everything.
Thank you for this, Geri.
And you are so right.....
Love is everything.
Thank you for your friendship!
xo,
misha
Please feel free to leave a comment for Geri!
~
And if you would like to contact Geri,
just click right here!
{ You can either *friend* her or message her from this link! }
This post first appeared on From My Front Porch In The Mountains, please read the originial post: here
