Grateful

I’ve shared my heartbreak on social media, but I realize I haven’t posted anything on the blog in quite a long time, so for those of you who only hear from me when a new blog post pops up in your inbox, this may be the first time you’re hearing the terrible news that my brilliant, beautiful, 18-year-old son, Jamison, lost his life to mental illness in early January.

I am undone.

I count time without him on Earth in exactly the same way I counted time when arrived as a baby; first in hours, then in days, now in weeks. Eight weeks. And I wonder if next month I’ll say, “Jamison has been gone for three months”, or if I will drag it out the way some new moms do, continuing to count his afterlife in weeks until I’m that weird chick in the Starbucks line talking too loudly about something that happened, like, 95 weeks ago. I doubt it, but fuck it, maybe I will become a total weirdo. I mean, who can really say what kind of woman I’ll be 95 weeks from now? The truth is, since the day Jamison left, every minute has become an uneasy exploration of who I am in light of this thing we call, for lack of a better term, “moving forward”. This is entirely unknown territory for me. I really don’t know what I’m doing or how to do it, and I’m just guessing here, but I’m pretty sure that there is no right way to keep going, no defined path to follow, no guidebook for forging ahead after a loss this deep and devastating.

If I had a choice, I’d be moving backward. If it were possible, I would go back and I would fix it. I would do better. I would do more. I would do it all differently. If only I could go back. But, the thing is, even if I travel back in time, I don’t know where exactly I would need to land in order to save my son. I mean, not just to prevent his death, but to truly save  him – to protect him from the all the years of pain and suffering and turmoil that ultimately led to his decision to leave us early. I’ve thought about it a lot (Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about it.), but there are so many forks in the long road of retrospect that I just can’t seem to find the one that would change everything.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t get a choice and I don’t get a do-over and moving forward without my beloved son is the only road left in front of me.

So here I am.

And it fucking sucks.

It’s probably hard to imagine that a person could feel a single ounce of gratitude in the midst of losing a child, but I do. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever been more grateful for the love of the people in my daily life, for the support of my faraway friends, or for the kindness of internet strangers. The speed, strength, and numbers in which my people showed up (and continue to show up) for me and for my two living sons in the aftermath of this catastrophic loss feels nothing less than divine. I know we’re supposed to roll our eyes and scoff when offered such trivial things as “thoughts and prayers” during our darkest hour, but I am truly grateful to have been the subject of so many. I’ve read every email, every private message, every comment, every tweet, and every card you sent, and I’ve received every one of your gifts (financial and otherwise) with a grateful heart. People have reached out in so many different ways, I really can’t begin to express my thanks, but if you’re one of them, please know that my family and I have been deeply moved by your kindness. It helped. I mean that.

Most of all, I am eternally grateful for everyone who knew and loved Jamison during his all too short life. I’m so grateful for how many of his friends stopped by the house to laugh and cry and tell us amazing stories in the days following his passing. I’m beyond thankful for those who sent pics of my tall, blond boy in texts and emails, and for those who wrote quick notes and long letters and put them in my hands, and for those who honored his memory in a million other special ways after they learned of his death. This is the gift that I cling to on days when despair would otherwise swallow me whole; Gratitude in knowing that Jamison loved the people around him so well and was well-loved by so many.

I’m learning that sometimes moving forward includes a lot of looking back…yes, to wonder what might have been…but, also, to see what really was. And Jamison really was amazing.

I’m grateful I got to be his Mom.

Truly blessed to receive this original work by Makoto Fujimura (The Four Holy Gospels),
sent in honor of Jamison.

“We, today, have a language to celebrate waywardness, but we do not have a cultural language to bring people back home.”

~Makoto Fujimura


share:

57 Comments

  1. Catherine Anne Glanz on March 8, 2019 at 5:18 pm

    My thoughts are with you constantly as I grapple with your devastating loss. It’s just plain wrong and it sucks big time. I’m so sorry.

  2. Jdawsonii on March 8, 2019 at 5:24 pm

    Thank you for sharing your experiences with us.

  3. Christine Johnson on March 8, 2019 at 5:29 pm

    I think you are the very best missionary.

  4. Niki Turner on March 8, 2019 at 5:29 pm

    My heart goes out to you. I feel your pain and understand the outpouring of gratitude in the midst of grief. Our small town wrapped us love and continues to reach out. So sorry you’ve joined this club. Grace for the broken places.

  5. Kate on March 8, 2019 at 5:30 pm

    My heart is with you. I lost my sister to mental illness, 3 years ago. She was 12 years younger than me (21) and she was Autistic. How I wish that would have been her only trial in life. But she was also severely mentally ill. We couldn’t save her. Even with all the medical intervention available to us with 3 forms of medical insurance and doctors in 2 states. Actually, it was the medicine that wore out her exhausted body. Because side effects can be life-threatening. Without that medicine, she undoubtedly would have ended her own life. She tried in several horrifying ways. We did everything we could do, including sending her to the PNP Center in Dallas, and she still died. I don’t know what to say about that, except that I believe she completed her mission and I think the amount of pain in her life would rival that of many elderly people. In the beginning, I felt that each hour, week, and day took me farther from her. But in reality, I am 3 years closer to seeing her again. In 95 weeks, you will be 95 weeks closer to completing your mission and reuniting with him. That probably doesn’t bring much comfort. I am so sad with you and for you. I hate this for you, but it is not your fault.

  6. Russell Clark on March 8, 2019 at 5:37 pm

    Jamie, I weep with you.

  7. Amy Olson on March 8, 2019 at 5:44 pm

    Beautiful. Thank you for sharing pieces of you. Maybe you will never be whole again…but let Jamison’s brilliancy, love and fondest memories fill the void in your heart.

  8. Kerry Gillette on March 8, 2019 at 5:47 pm

    I’m staring at my newborn daughter, acutely aware of the fact that nothing on this earth is guaranteed other than God’s love. I don’t know where you’ll be in 95 weeks, but I know that you will be a force of advocacy for mental health to be reckoned with. And as a clinician, that’s something I’m grateful for. I’ll be right there in the trenches with you (with my 97 week old on my hip, of course).
    You are loved, am so glad that you have felt that so deeply.

  9. K on March 8, 2019 at 5:50 pm

    Jamie. I live where you do. I went to the same church. I have a grown son with brain/anxiety/addiction issues. From the outside, he looks fine. Strangers (and some close) can’t know the anguish he suffers at times. Since he was 8 years old and his anxiety reared it’s ugly head. I have written his eulogy, picked out the music, the photos to go along. He is still here. Doing well. Today. He is a grown man and yet my baby boy that I know I may lose someday. I am sad for Jamison’s choice and for what took him there. And for you, his father and brothers. You are constantly in my thoughts. And, selfishly, I am watching. To see how this is navigated. In case I find myself where you are.

    • Jody Serey on March 9, 2019 at 8:49 am

      I am where you are, too. My broken sons are adults, but I wake up every morning and wonder if they’re still alive. And I know I will be judged if they are not.

    • Kristin on March 9, 2019 at 12:14 pm

      This breaks me. As the Mom of a 16yo daughter who battles severe anxiety and depression, it is my deepest fear. While they are so very strong, I am terrified that one day she will decide that she is too tired to be strong anymore. I am so very sorry , Jamie, that you are having to live this nightmare. ❤️

  10. Erica on March 8, 2019 at 5:53 pm

    You are loved. He was loved. He is loved. It doesn’t stop, but the change is devastating. My heart is with you ❤️

  11. Beakerj on March 8, 2019 at 5:56 pm

    I work with teenagers, many of whom struggle with mental illness & suicidal ideation. I will remember Jamison as I help them, because it still may be possible to push them a few degrees to either side of disaster.
    I also think of your other boys, dealing with the loss of their little brother & hope they are doing okay, considering.

    I still can find no words to say how much I wish this had been different for you all. I don’t think I could have survived it.

  12. Wendy on March 8, 2019 at 5:59 pm

    Just here listening. Saying I’ve kept you and your sons in prayer does sound so damn trite…..but I have been.
    Frustrating to not be able to do anything else. Have actually punched a wall when finding out and a few times since. Real grown up I know……I know this journey, not as a mom but as a friend. The questions can be relentless. Can’t imagine it as a mom. I hate it for you.
    I’m so glad Jamison’s friends have come by. I hope they continue to.
    Hang on to whatever you can.
    Know you are loved. No matter where you’re at in this suckass journey. I’m in for the long haul.

  13. Glenda on March 8, 2019 at 6:02 pm

    You are astounding to me. I am a drop in an all encompassing ocean of empathy. I know so many of us were swept into your excruciating ache, at least in some imagined way… when we read your story of losing your son… My body shook and my eyes bled salt and salt and salt.

    How beautiful the human spirit, I thought. That I may feel this suffering for a woman I don’t remotely know, but whose bangs and tattoos and zero fucks I so admire.

    My daughter is 16 and struggling with mental illness. I am terrified, often daily. My admiration for you is boundless. Not only for what you’re suffering and moving through now, but for the entire damn road and trajectory that brought you here. I’m sorry for your son’s pain. I’m sorry for yours. Somehow in this weird ass age of the internet, I’m able to also say, I’m here for you. All my cellular and celestial fibers amalgamated and online in this moment.

    I’m in awe as you carry. The fuck. On.

  14. Jan on March 8, 2019 at 6:04 pm

    Oh Jamie I’m so sorry….. I lost my son Jordan to suicide also after a 5 year battle with mental illness and it all just sucks. It is so unfair and so painful, so much anger and guilt and love……….please take care 💕

  15. Mpt on March 8, 2019 at 6:13 pm

    I love you so much…

  16. Rhonda Habel on March 8, 2019 at 6:18 pm

    Your words play over and over in my head: “I want him back.” I love that in the midst of despair and heartbreak, you have also found gratitude. May you find moments of peace, and relief, and hope in the days ahead, and 95 weeks from now.

  17. Mandy Harris on March 8, 2019 at 6:21 pm

    There are no emotions as deep and raw as those that swallow us after the loss of a child. Thank you for baring them so honestly. You are loved.

  18. polishtom on March 8, 2019 at 6:30 pm

    So sorry to hear about this, Jamie. So so sorry. I couldn’t even imagine what you are going through. I pray that the good Lord helps you through this, and that your words help others going through similar circumstances.

  19. Dana on March 8, 2019 at 6:33 pm

    I’m so, so sorry. Thank you for showing up, being vulnerable, and sharing about your beautiful son.

  20. Nicole (colieseyes) on March 8, 2019 at 6:35 pm

    I’ve followed your blog for so many years that I feel almost a little bit part of your family. My heart truly aches for you and your family and every time you post even just a picture of a tree on Instagram it gives me strength to keep moving forward in my own life. I’ve recently gone back to therapy this week to continue my fight with anxiety and depression and your story helped me make that decision. Keep moving forward and be thankful for the blessings. I hear you.

  21. Mandy on March 8, 2019 at 6:53 pm

    My teenage son has been dealing with ADHD, anxiety and depression since he was very young. He is doing well and we are managing it. But as he enters puberty, I know a bets are off. It seems like it’s every day that I look into his eyes searching for signs of turmoil and despair. Is today the day it comes? Sometimes I wonder what I did to mess him up, what I haven’t done to fix him, why God burdened him (and me) with this, and if he’ll make it through. Jamie, you are not alone in this mommy place. Even those who haven’t suffered your grief know the pain of a struggling kid. You fought for him, and we will continue to fight in your honor. Godspeed and peace, sister.

  22. Dorothy on March 8, 2019 at 7:13 pm

    You are truly in my prayers along with your family and friends of Jamison. My heart broke for you when I heard.

  23. Bj Hickman on March 8, 2019 at 7:39 pm

    Still holding you close in prayer., Jamie. ♥️

  24. Kate on March 8, 2019 at 7:42 pm

    You are loved and held in a million invisible ways by a million unseen hands. Mine among them. ❤️

  25. Gretchen on March 8, 2019 at 7:43 pm

    I am so, so sorry. I don’t know if I am a fan, or am as yet in met friend, but I do know that I have been thinking of you and your family so much, and I pray for you when I do. Thank you for the gift of sharing the good, the bad, and the catastrophic, so that not only do you know you’re not alone, but we know we are not alone, too.

  26. Marge Long on March 8, 2019 at 7:46 pm

    Been holding you and your family will continue 💗

  27. Cara on March 8, 2019 at 8:04 pm

    124 days
    17 weeks
    4 months

    I’m not sure when/if the counting stops, but I do know that I’m counting, too. I miss my daughter and the curse of motherhood is that I, like you, will continue to try and determine the exact moment everything went wrong and what I could’ve possibly done to stop it. (I couldn’t have. You couldn’t have. And it sucks.)

    I’m so sorry that you are in this awful, bereaved mother’s club. It shouldn’t exist. Thank you for your transparency. It is a gift to the rest of us who are trying to navigate this treacherous path.

    • Melissa Woodruff on March 9, 2019 at 6:22 am

      Cara & Jamie & every other mom in this place of grieving,
      I grieve with you. My heart is so heavy for each of you. And all I have to offer is my prayers. I offer it with tear-filled eyes & a lump stuck in my throat. When I close my eyes to pray, I see a blinding golden light and Jesus’ Open hands…I don’t know why. I just hope that comforts you in some way. Thank you for sharing. I am so so sorry.

  28. Sheila G on March 8, 2019 at 8:34 pm

    As a blog follower since the Costa Rica days, I can tell you that your words have impacted me for years. Today, even more. May love and sweet memories, grace and peace surround you. Love from West Texas.

  29. Brett G on March 8, 2019 at 8:43 pm

    Jamie, I can’t imagine. It’s not fair.

  30. CS on March 8, 2019 at 8:56 pm

    I am 145 weeks into my journey….
    I am a different girl, a different mom, a different friend. Normal is an illusion, and will never be safe again.
    Maya Angelou said… Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know before you learned it.
    My only prayer for the last several years, has been..
    Oh God, have mercy on us.
    I have To believe this must be what mercy looks like. Some days that brings me peace.

  31. Julie Brown on March 8, 2019 at 9:15 pm

    Oh Jamie, I’m so, so sorry! I have no words that will help ease your pain, 18 years after losing my daughter, I still struggle to face the loss I feel. The only way I’ve learned to deal with this new life we face is one breath, one step at a time. Every day is new and different, some tolerable, others I don’t bother getting out of bed. You are in my heart, thinking of you and your family with love.

  32. Jodi on March 8, 2019 at 9:18 pm

    I know that we don’t know each other, but I’m praying for you. I have no words, and I know that even if I did it wouldn’t take away your pain. Just know that I appreciate your truth.

  33. Crystal on March 8, 2019 at 9:30 pm

    I can understand so much of this. Just reading it I am brought back memories of crying so hard and so long that I literally had no more tears and my sinuses burned and my head throbbed for days from continual weeping. I remember the staggering loss and the surrender of acknowledging that I no longer knew where to go and there was no path laid to follow and from here on out I was walking a dark overgrown forest all alone. Yet in that darkness, I remember feeling the wind of prayers and love somehow miraculously lifting me when I could go on no longer. It was sad and empty and comforting all at once. I also remember the phrase, “It sucks,” because I couldn’t sum it all up in any other way. I’m so sorry that you’ve felt all this and more. It’s a thing I wouldn’t wish on my very worst enemy. I pray you are given strength and comfort somehow in just the way that you need. My heart is sad is for you and your family. Much love to all of you.

  34. Amy Shidler on March 8, 2019 at 9:51 pm

    ♥️ Love you, praying for you, often and deeply. ♥️ Thank you for your openness, vulnerability, honesty and wisdom. Your gift with words comforts and challenges me immensely. I’m so grateful for YOU!

  35. Lily on March 9, 2019 at 12:15 am

    No one, and I do mean NO ONE, could have been a better mother to Jamison. Period. Please know that you and your family remain in my prayers. Even as it feels like it must be trite to hear those words (and thank you for saying it’s not),, it feels trite to say them. There are no words, so I’m praying for peace that surpasses understanding, because, this raw, bitter anguish has no understanding. I weep with you, Jamie. 💔💔💔

  36. Johnna on March 9, 2019 at 12:16 am

    Beautifully and honestly articulated. I’m one of those internet strangers…my family has been touched by losing someone to mental illness too— too many somesones…friends, teammates, students. I’m not sure of my point here, other than to let you know that you are not alone…even if it’s just we internet strangers that are only an electron away.

  37. Carl on March 9, 2019 at 12:37 am

    I have followed you from afar, laughed,cried and, f-bombed along. My heart aches for your loss having walked all but the very end of the journey your beautiful son walked. No-one knew at the time other than a teacher at school. My mum certainly never.

    As a grown man with three kids, two of whom suffer with mental health challenges I fear the worst and hope for the best. I do not wish to suffer the pain you do daily and I hope that as I have learnt to be open with my children about my struggles 30 years ago that it may just make a difference. You continue to inspire even in your darkest hours.

    I will be sure to pray for you and your family that God’s peace and comfort be with you.

  38. Mel on March 9, 2019 at 2:17 am

    Praying you find peace and rest.

  39. Charlotte Stice on March 9, 2019 at 2:44 am

    Beautifully said, Jamie. I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your heart and your life with us.

  40. Kristy Dahms on March 9, 2019 at 5:08 am

    I’m so sorry this tragedy has touched your life. Thank you for touching all of ours over and over again. My heartfelt prayers for your momma’s heart and family, Kristy

  41. Ashley on March 9, 2019 at 7:46 am

    As I read this post I could feel the extreme heaviness and heartache that you are going through, but also the exact same gratefulness.

    It’s so hard to even try to imagine how you must feel so I won’t say that I know or even pretend to, but what I can say is that my heart is broken for yours and I pray that in the midst of this storm you’re able to find peace and learn how to live again in this new season of life.

    Thank you for being open, honest and real about your life. You’ve helped me feel better about myself for years and forth that I am grateful.

  42. Lucy on March 9, 2019 at 9:58 am

    I’m so sorry for your loss. Your beautiful words have been my experience. I’m at 122 weeks. Harsh truth, it will get harder before it gets easier. After the busy, and the plans to make, comes the painful quiet, where it hurts even to breathe, but you have no choice. Welcome to the club that no parent ever wants to join. You are not alone. 2 years out, some of the feeling has come back from the numb. But the loss is a constant companion.

  43. Jen Hindley on March 9, 2019 at 10:15 am

    oh, Jamie, i am weeping with you. This pain is one i cannot even fathom. I wrote this poem 2 years ago for a dear friend who lost her ex-husband to mental illness. Her situation was different, in that there were many, many terrible memories (addiction, abuse, etc) amidst the good, but she loved him and grieved/grieves his passing just the same. There were many that didn’t believe he would be in heaven because of all his earthly choices, to which i say FUCK THAT SHIT. This was my gift to her. And i would LOVE to write one for you…to honor your incredible son and his courageous life. With the weight of the world on your shoulders, i don’t expect you to ever see this, but if you do, and you would like to share some memories of Jamison with me, i would be honored to write you a memorial poem. Seriously, if you see this in 3 years and you want to send me an email with memories…PLEASE DO! I will write the hell out of that poem. For now, here is the poem. Sending you all my love.

    –Gone for a while–

    Your goofy jokes,
    that bright wide smile.
    Wish you could have stayed
    but you’re gone for a while.

    Long walks with that hound,
    (longer if he ran away),
    late talks by the fire
    and oh, the music we made!

    I will always cherish
    those sweet melodies,
    worshiping our Savior,
    just you and me.

    Our music was magic
    it brought us together
    and I know that one day
    we’ll make music forever.

    Yes, I choose to believe
    that your faith was real.
    and while here we grieve your passing,
    at His feet in heaven you kneel.

    Because I know that my Jesus,
    my Savior, is alive,
    I can say you’re not gone forever,
    you’re just gone for a while.

    my email is hindley.jen@gmail.com <3

  44. Meri on March 9, 2019 at 5:12 pm

    I truly think of you and your family every day. I am so sorry for your loss. Praying for you ❤️

  45. Elaine Stover on March 9, 2019 at 5:46 pm

    Malka’s mom here. I’ve been praying for you and your family since I heard and have been getting updates along the path. How devastating it is. Thank you for sharing with us. Your vulnerability is brave and wonderful. Thank you for sharing you with us.

  46. Margaret Thorpe on March 9, 2019 at 6:27 pm

    I can’t even begin to imagine the hole in your heart as you grieve for your beautiful son. I pray that your precious memories of him and your family will give you some comfort on those nights you wake up and wonder why, how, what could I have done.
    Don’t torture yourself but do allow yourself to remember, cry and grieve. Treat yourself gently and allow yourself a lot of space and latitude.
    All those physical, emotional and spiritual reactions you are and will still go through are your responding and working out how to do life now.
    May you finally know a sense of peace.

  47. Vickie on March 9, 2019 at 6:44 pm

    My heart and prayers go out to you and your family. Am so sorry for your loss.

  48. Tom V on March 9, 2019 at 8:25 pm

    Jamie,

    You need to change the name of your blog. You are not the very worst missionary. As I approach the one year anniversary of the death of my dad along with other much more complicated grief, what you wrote, it spoke to the parts of my soul that want to cry over them all.

    Thank you and I will continue to pray for you and yours. The loss of a child is insurmountably more devavsting than loss of an 80 year old father. But we grieve with you.

    Tom

  49. Beth Edwards on March 10, 2019 at 6:49 am

    ”I want him back,” Although It was 19 years ago that I lost my young son in an accident, your words unleashed a flood of tears and memories. I remember looking at my son’s empty bed and crying out that I would give a million dollars and more to have one more minute with him. Such are the waves of love and heartbreak that wash over a parent when the unimaginable happens. Yet, for me also, genuine gratitude arose in the midst of overwhelming sorrow. Still defying my understanding at times, never before or since that loss have I experienced a more tangible outpouring of comfort and grace, from friends and strangers alike. As is true for expressing the depth of one’s loss, there often seem to be no words to adequately express the felt fullness of heart that is intimately tied to the presence of a love that will never let us go. I remember and I remain forever grateful.

  50. Ruth on March 10, 2019 at 1:36 pm

    What a earthshaking loss in your life and in the life of your family!! My heart breaks for you and all that you are going thru right now. I prayed for you as soon as I read your blog and asked God to hug you close in this crushing loss and to comfort you as only He can.

  51. Marcia Bentley on March 10, 2019 at 4:34 pm

    A Letter to my Husband
    Sunday March 10th 2019
    It’s been one year, a long year full of heartache, sorrow and sadness since you’ve been gone. March 12th 2018 will go down as the worst day of my life, your children’s lives and your family’s lives. This is the day a female sheriff came to our front door at 9am to tell me you had taken your own life. The next 2 hours were a blur and I can’t recall all of the details because I was in a state of shock and disbelief. I remember falling to the ground because my legs gave way and began whaling and crying no, no, no this can’t be.
    Quickly the house began to fill with people. I don’t remember what the course of events was or who was there and what happened. Still in shock I just kept remembering the last time I heard your voice and felt your lips kiss my cheek goodnight that Sunday night. You looked tired and came up behind me and kissed my right cheek as I stood in front of the stove and said goodnight. I didn’t give it a second thought other than you looked really tired. I now know that you knew this would be the last time I saw you alive. That weekend you made sure that we had all the babies over, you helped with everything around the house, you went through the box of photos your mom put together for each one of her children, it was a fucking awesome weekend! Little did I know you had your exit very well planned out and you didn’t want to be stopped or saved? For how long I’m not certain. You left a note in my desk drawer that I only discovered after the Sheriff came because you left a note on the windshield of your car letting whoever found you to let me know about the letter. Before leaving the house you went into our daughter’s room as you did many other mornings and covered her up with a blanket and kissed her on the cheek. This morning you chose the blanket with LOVE all over it. I know you chose it because you had to pull it from a stock of other blankets that were toppled over. You texted our son and your parents, you left your necklace behind and we all know how special it was to you. You went outside the home to a remote location and made sure that none of us would discover you. I’m still struggling with why I didn’t know why didn’t I recognize that you were in so much pain and that you couldn’t see a way out of the downward spiral in your mind? Why didn’t I grab your face and ask what was wrong, why so sad?
    Two days later you came to me in my dream and let me do just that. I ran and jumped into your arms and held your face in my hands as you wrapped your arms around me. I kissed you and told you how much I loved you and then you were gone. Perhaps it was at that point you were able to pass through to the other side.
    I’m so sorry for the pain you must have been in and I’m sorry I couldn’t take that pain away. I will never be angry with you and I have only love and compassion in my heart for you. I am only angry at the situation and that our lives will never be the same or as happy without you.
    Therapy this year has been very enlightening and I don’t think I could’ve made it through life without it and the support of my family and friends. I can honestly say that after hearing about people in very similar situations as Scott I have come to the conclusion that this disease gets a hold or your mind and NEVER let’s go. If you are one of the lucky ones that can find the right balance of meds to help you cope you’re truly blessed. Unfortunately, most cannot and live with these demons and a life filled with anxiety, angst and depression. Most people will never begin to understand what my beautiful Scott was going through almost his entire life and looking back he really did hang on for a very long time. He just couldn’t take it anymore.
    I love you, I miss you so much it physically hurts!

    Your wife

  52. Pam on March 10, 2019 at 5:21 pm

    I’ve been grateful, in the years I’ve read your blog, for your insights, your honesty, for you sharing yourself and your life with us. Now this. I’m so sorry. There’s no way around it, only through it. Which is terrible. I pray your love for Jamison, which breaks your heart, will be part of what mends it. God be with you.

  53. shari pilaria on March 11, 2019 at 12:06 am

    Jamisons life mattered. He was and is loved furiously by his beautiful mom who will keep his memory alive, and inspire others who suffer unthinkable loss, to not perfectly but bravely put one foot in front of the other, each minute, each hour, each week, month and year. Drawing closer to God with each step, who shares her pain . . . . steps that take us all on our sometimes painful journeys, closer to the day that all whom have taken an earlier train are reunited forever with us. Thank you for being a real person Jamie and your God given gift of articulating what causes most people to scramble for words. May you find a manageable peace someday even though your world just tilted in this life forever, the sun still rises, and the moon is still beautiful in the night sky,
    Love just isn’t enough sometimes. I am so sorry.

  54. Chantelle Robinson on March 11, 2019 at 9:45 am

    I cannot even imagine the pain of your loss… I’m sorry to hear of this tragic loss to you and your family. May you find seeds of new hope through the compassion and love of those around you.

Leave a Comment