Family: Even If I Could Forgive, I Know I Will Never Forget

It shouldn't surprise me by now that just as it seems everything is going real nice and smooth and the calm has set in that there is sure to be a storm strong enough to wash it all away.   Usually all it takes is a shadow from the past catching up with me.  It's not as if I never get angry, or as if I never have a dream crushed.  But as always, I will bounce back once I get things put into perspective.

Today has been one of those day for me.  It started last night when I received a letter from my 'dad' who is currently locked away in a state prison for crimes he committed against innocent people.  It is the second letter I received from him since my mom died and the third since he was put away for probably what will be the remainder of his life.   I don't remember the last time I spoke to him or even have seen him.  He is nothing but a distant memory to me and not a good one that that.  I have not opened any of the three letters and although I have no intentions in reading them, I still hang on to them.  

I cannot even explain why and if I did, the reasoning would not make any more sense then me even keeping them in a safe place.  Dr. Pat (my weekly therapist doctor) tried to reason with me that I may be holding onto them so one day I may be able to forgive him for the wrongs he has done.  I cannot imagine ever forgiving him for anything with little to no desire to even ever speak to him or see him for any reason.  I am satisfied with the work I have done to move forward in acknowledging to myself that I am not responsible for the physical, mental, or emotional abuse he inflicted upon me or my brothers and mom.  

So why hang on to these letters? Why not read them?  It is not out of fear of what they may contain.  There is nothing he can say to me that will change how I feel about my past, the childhood I never had between the ages of seven and fourteen.  Sometimes I wonder if he has ever forgiven himself but I quickly turn back that thought for if he has, shame on him.  If he was ever going to forgive himself and learn from his evil doings, it should have been after the first time he ever laid a hand on me or any of us.  It's not like I ever heard him say he was sorry and there were many opportunities to do so. 

I hate when I let him do this to me.  When I let him get into my head and then I try to sort out a past that cannot be changed and I refuse to forgive.  A past that I cannot seem to forget and continues to teach me new things about God and Faith and Trust and Love and mostly about myself.  I do have faith in God and I do trust his plan for all of eternity.  I love the people I am surrounded by, all the friends, family, and those I cross paths with.  My lack of faith is not even with my 'dad'.  Nor is my trust.  I lost no love when I discovered he had none to offer me anyway.

Where is the weakness in my faith and trust?  It is inside of me.  That may surprise some of you who have followed this blog site since the birth of it.  I consider myself very spiritual and I work on building my faith consistently.  I trust God has a plan for me and that the things he sets in front of me are not to test my faith in him, but to help me grow the faith I lack in myself.   I do not trust that I am were I need to be at any given point in my journey on earth.  I can always be better, I can always do more, I can always try harder.

I am way over the point in my life that I can keep blaming my 'dad' for how I think and how I grow.  As I learn this about myself it becomes much harder to accept in myself the things I want to change the most, as they really are the hardest things to change.  I do not want to hate my 'dad' but I am not ready to forgive him.  I want to keep blaming him for all the wrongs in my life that I cannot right, but I know those days are long gone and I am who I am because it is what I have become.  

I fear that someday I will become the animal he was and I will end my journey on earth as he has, a life behind bars.  That may seem non-sense to most of you that I think like that but I hear so many times from family members how much I look like my 'dad' and how my characteristics mimic his.  The way I walk, the way I talk, my crooked little smile, the spark in my eyes.  If I can so easily be compared to him from the outside, what is there about him that was left on the inside?  I know I should trust that I am not like him and I should have faith that I am a good person and I would never harm anyone, but it is a nightmare that I relive on nights like I had last night.  That letter left unopened, stuffed inside a safe place, all together unopened, unread.  

Sometimes its hard for even me to put into words how I am feeling.  This morning, after another night of no sleep because shadows found me no matter how tight I closed my eyes, I heard a song by Carrie Underwood called "Blown Away".  I do not usually listen to CU, not that I do not feel she is a great song writer, I just never really got into her scene.  Even when she married a hockey player by the name of Fisher I was not interested in downloading her on my Ipod.  The words shattered my somewhat ready to get over it mood and I was anxious to get off work today to look up the lyrics and YouTube it to get a better feel of this song.  I found it somewhat expressed how I feel about my house back in Sioux City IA on Bushnell where I endured seven years of tormenting abuse at the hands of my 'dad'.  I bet this song is true for a lot of people in today world and I really thought the lyrics did a beautiful job of how I really wish a storm could come and take away the past that will not let me out of its grip.  

The man I call my dad today has been more of a father figure to me then my 'dad'.  He keeps me on the straight and narrow.  He is tough on me when I need him to be.  He allows me to make mistakes.  He accepts all of me, not just the sunny side, but the dark side as well.  So this I will say to the 'dad' that tries to creep back into my life ... thank you, because of you and your wicked ways I get a dad who loves me and respects me as a human being and helps me grow.  I hope to be just like him some day, because he didn't have to be on a birth certificate to be a dad.  He does it with his heart, and he does a great job walking beside me on my journey on earth.  I couldn't ask for a better man to guide me through the rest of my earth life.

Carrie Underwood (Blown Away)
Dry lightning cracks across the skies
Those storm clouds gather in her eyes
Daddy was a mean ole mister
Mama was an angel in the ground
The weather man called for a twister
She prayed blow it down
There’s not enough rain in Oklahoma
To wash the sins out of that house
There’s not enough wind in Oklahoma
To rip the nails out of the past
Shatter every window till it’s all blown away
Every brick, every board, every slamming door flown away
Till there’s nothing left standing, nothing left to yesterday
Every tear-soaked whiskey memory blown away
Blown away
She heard those sirens screaming out
Her daddy laid there passed out on the couch
She locked herself in the cellar
Listened to the screaming of the wind
Some people called it taking shelter
She called it sweet revenge
Shatter every window till it’s all blown away
Every brick, every board, every slamming door flown away
Till there’s nothing left standing, nothing left to yesterday
Every tear-soaked whiskey memory blown away
Blown away
There’s not enough rain in Oklahoma
To wash the sins out of that house
There’s not enough wind in Oklahoma
To rip the nails out of the past
Shatter every window till it’s all blown away
Every brick, every board, every slamming door flown away
Till there’s nothing left standing, nothing left to yesterday
Every tear-soaked whiskey memory blown away
Blown away, blown away, blown away, blown away
Blown away

Amazing Grace 44: A Letter Delivered To Heaven, via a sad boys heart ...

Hi Gracie!

In a few days it will be three months since you left us and went to heaven.  It feels like just yesterday we were making pinky promises and laughing about your tormenting text messages to me from your mom;s cell phone.  Sometimes when my cell peeps telling me its a message I hold my breath for a second or two hoping it will say "Annie's Cell" and all of this is just a dream and you are still with us.

 I talk to your mom and daddy at least once a week even if it's for a short five minutes.  It is getting easier to stay in contact with them but it makes me miss you that much more.  They are doing really well Gracie, I know you are proud of them.  Your mom goes and visits the twin girls once a week to hold them and sing to them.  Little Dude still calls your mom 'Gracie's mommy', I hope he never stops that.  He does not get the whole death and heaven scene, and still asks when Grandma Shirley is coming home.  You remember me talking about Grandma Shirley, my mom who died last November. I am sure you have already visited with her up in heaven.  I hope you remembered to give her my message.  Your daddy still has a lot of sadness in his eyes from missing you but he is doing great taking your mom out and living it up, just like you told him to do.  My dad and your daddy go out for beers every so often.  Remember when you asked me to buy you a six pack?  Man were you ever mad at me for not letting you try a beer before you left us.  Then you made me pinky promise to buy one on what would be your 21st birthday and drink it.

Last month I went camping with Carlos and his Mom and her family.  You remember Carlos right?  His little brother was killed in a bicycle accident a few months before school was let out.  He asked me questions about heaven and we decided that you are probably already helping Manny find their daddy.  We belly laughed for about 5 minutes, really loud, so you would hear him enjoying life on earth and it would make you and Manny smile.  I told him about the night your mom and daddy and you and me laid on the living room floor and belly laughed until our belly's ached.  We had a fun weekend and before he goes back to school in a couple weeks we are going to hang for a while and get one more belly laugh in before we both get busy with school activities.

Remember my really really ugly friend George?  He text me just the other day to tell me he was thinking of you and had said a short prayer that your mom and daddy were hangin' tough, just like you did the last few months of your life on earth.  I still tell him how much you must have really loved me, to be so nice to him just because he was my friend despite all his ugliness.  (I know you're laughing at that right now.)  Last time Geo and I visited Olivia she was playing with the barbies you had given her.  I know you visit her Gracie, and I cannot prove that it is you showing yourself to her, but I know in my heart you are her "special little invisible friend".  Thank you for that Gracie, I knew you would be her little guardian angel.

I visited the Cancer Center today for a couple hours.  I finally made it inside the building after all the times I sat in the parking lot to emotional to go in.  It brought back a lot of happy memories for me, as well as some very sad ones.  Some of the nurses remembered me as the boy with the funny name Jett.  That always makes me laugh because that is the very first thing you called me when we first met.  I visited some very sick kids Gracie, just like you said I should.  I read to some of them and I played cars with a little guy there and I visited with some of the parents for a while.  It was probably one of the hardest things I embarked on since you left.  I walked by 'your room' several times and even though someone else is now calling it their room, I could not bring myself to go in.  I did not even look inside that room Gracie, it was just too painful.  I am glad that I went today because it was one of our pinky promises I did not think I would ever keep.  I did not cross it off my Pinky Promise list yet, because I feel I should go back again and again until I can face those halls free of the sadness it has put in my heart.

I know in my heart you and Joey visited me earlier in the week when I was sick with my  headache.  It gave me comfort that you were with him because that told me you are out of God's park and in His house!  I miss you still Gracie, very much, every day.  I trust God's plan for you and although I am not angry He took you from us I still wish we had more time together to work on your story.  I write in my journal almost every night putting your words into the story of your courageous life.  Our Amazing Grace blogs are still being read on a daily basis and we are still getting new BFF's (Blog Following Friends) daily.  Your precious short life has reached every United State and many countries over seas.  Keeping up with the emails, messages and tweets is difficult to do but it is something I will not let go by the wayside.  Together we blogged your journey and one day it will be in print with my story of your journey behind it in a beautiful book celebrating your beautiful life on earth.

I miss you Gracie.  I love you.  Thank you for staying in my heart long after you walked into His house of peace.  Thank you for a lifetime friendship that was short on earth but will last an eternity in heaven.  Your strength and courage in transitioning from life on earth to beyond a breath of life is inspiring and encouraging that no matter what I face while I am on my journey here, it will be worth the wait to one day be invited into the Kingdom of God.

Big Hugs, Lots of Smiles, Pinky Promises Unbroken,

I love you Amazing Grace!  from the boy with the funny name, Jett

Friends: Buidling on Faith You Never Knew You Had

"Faith is believing beyond the ability to prove what you cannot see.  Faith is letting go of the pain, hanging on to the memories, and accepting what you cannot change.  Faith  ... it's easier said then done."  (This is my definition of faith.)


Thank you to my friend Susan for allowing me to blog part of a letter I had written to her recently in support of the pain she carries in her heart.

                                                *****************************************************

You are very welcome for the song reminder.  I know we feel the same pain in many ways, just different circumstances.  I have overcome many difficult things in my short life that I used to hope for 're-do's" so I could maybe do something different so they never happened.  This past year spending time with my little friend Gracie who died at the age of eight helped me rethink my "re-do" wishes.   As painful and hard as life has been had it not been for the "ickies" in my life I would not have walked the path I have.  I would never of met your sister Kim (I love her deep and she has helped me more than even she will ever know).  I would never of been reunited with my extended family on my 'dads' side.  I probably would never have found my lost brother Jordy who ran away from home when I was seven and he was 14.  I would never have been able to pray for your son Matt (RIP his trouble soul) and I would never have met you Susan (I pray daily that you find more and more peace inside your heart).

The most difficult thing I have ever had to do was decided my mothers fate.  She suffered a series of strokes and it was to the point she was being kept alive with machines.  My brother Jordy and I had to decided at what point did we want to remove the support keeping her alive and chance she start breathing on her own, or die trying.  We decided to remove her from the machines and she was gone with-in two hours.  I often cry at night wondering if we made the right decision.  I miss her, I need her, I want her back.  I know that is selfish of me, because my brothers and baby sister that died before her deserve time with her as well.

Life sucks, there is no arguing about that.  If it was easier, if things went as I planned, I would not be as strong in faith as I am now.  I would not have learned to appreciate the things that go well, and learn from the things that turned sour.   I would have never seen the beauty in the sad story of a someone I love dying.  I would never had the chance to embrace someone's life as it slowly crept away into God's hands.  Had things not happened to me the way they did my direction in life would not hold as much meaning as it does for me today.  The heartaches, the disappointments, the fear, the fading faith, tears that never dry, nightmares that never end.  I would not be who I am today if I had not experienced the sad moments of life just as I have the happy moments.

I hold a lot of anger about the sexual, mental, and physical abuse of my younger days.  I hold a lot of sadness about the people I loved and lost.  It creeps up on me at the most inopportune moments.  I see a therapist weekly to help me sort through the sad times and allow me to feel good about the good times.  I no longer feel guilty about enjoying the things I work hard to achieve.  I no longer wish it was I who died and left all the pains of life behind. 

When I first escaped the abuse back in Sioux City I had no one to talk to.  No one to listen to me.  No one to tell me they understood my pain.  No one to sort out my feelings of guilt with.  So I wrote.  I wrote every night right before I cried myself to sleep.  I filled notebook after notebook full of my feelings of hate and anger and demise.  I wrote how I wished myself dead. I wrote how I hated my 'dad'.  I wrote about how much I missed my brother Joey.  I wrote about how much I hated God for what he took from me, my innocence, my comfort, my family, my hope.  I lost faith I never knew I had.  I wanted to be dead, because that is how my heart felt.  I wrote and wrote and wrote, night after night after night.  The more I wrote the more angry I became.  Until one night I wrote  "this is no life, and death is no where in sight".  I wrote that single sentence on the last page of the last notebook that I ever wrote about wishing I was dead.

The next day I woke up, grabbed my skateboard, and wheeled up and down the street, greeting everyone I passed with a smile and a hello.  And they smiled back and they told me I was a nice young man.  And it changed my outlook.  I am not saying I never hurt, or never cry, or never wonder why this all came my way.  Had I never written that sentence I may still be writing in the dark, never sharing my story with others, never helping others see that you never really lose your faith in God, you lose your faith in yourself.   You never really lose your hope in a better life, you bury it deep so you don't ever experience a pain that deep again. 

I can no longer hold myself accountable for what others have done.  I am not my 'dad' and I did nothing to him for him to abuse me the way he did. His choice, his sins.  I am not my mother and I no longer try to understand her life and how she could allow me to be abused.  I am not God, and I have no right to try to figure out why these things happened.  I can only have faith and grow it stronger that His plan is the ultimate reward for a life lived in shadows. 

I write because it helped me overcame a darkness I could not see the light through.  I write because the things I have to say today can be shared with so many others who have suffered a lull in their faith of better days ahead.  Life is a journey, not a birthday cake, but it doesn't mean you cant enjoy a piece of cake now and again guilt free with a scoop of ice cream. 

If your support system lacks the faith you are looking for, seek it in other ways.  Write.  See a therapist.  Bake a cake.  It doesn't matter what you do, as long  as you DO SOMETHING.  Live.  Because breathing air and never enjoying what life has laid out in front of you is a long walk on a path set before you by someone with a plan.  Everyone has something to offer.  Find a strength you have to share with those with faded faith and disappearing hope.  YOU MATTER!

Hugs and love,
Jett

NO TOPIC LINE YET

Today I turned 20.  It does not feel any different to me then yesterday's 19.  In many ways it feels no different then when I was seven.  I do not remember much before the age of seven, and what I do remember is not from inside of me, but the memories I have been told by others.

I was seven when my brother Jordon was 14, the year he left home to rid himself of a life I would not be able to walk away from until I myself was 14.  I was 14 when my brother Joey died of lung cancer and I lost all hope and faith in escaping a life of emotional, mental, and sexual abuse at the hands of the man who with my mother brought me into this world. I was 14 when that man decided to ball up his fist and knock me to the kitchen floor and proceeded to kick me over and over again in various parts of my body, including my mouth and the back of my head.  I was 14 when I contacted my brother Jordy, who had found his way to Boston, to come and help me before our 'dad' killed me as said he would that day in the kitchen.  I was 14 when Jordy flew back to Iowa, rented a car, loaded up what we could that I owned, and headed back to Boston.  I was 14 when I left home, just as Jordy had been, looking for a better way to survive in a world where both parents failed me.  I was 14, confused, scared, and wondering how I survived the last seven years of my life.

                                                               ************************

The first six years of my life are pretty much non-exist to me outside of the times I can remember playing with my little sister in the yard of the home that would eventually become know to me simply as the Bushnell house.  I remember her smile and I can hear her laughter.  I remember the bike rides we took along the front of our house and down the sidewalk along the side of our house, turning around before we reached driveway and repeating this trip several times.  Looking back at this in my mind today I laugh as I think about how it seemed back then like we were on a trip that took us around the world and back when it was actually maybe the total mileage of a block before we exhausted our little legs.  Exhausted from our journey we would sit on the back step at the Bushnell house and lay back looking up at the sky, resting our legs.

Our mom would peek her head out the back door with her kitchen apron on and a towel in her hands from just finishing drying the dishes and putting them away.  That peek from our mom was an invitation for Jaci and me to come in for our mid morning nap where we would wake up to lunch and then it was back outside for more bike riding and swinging.  Then it would be an afternoon nap time for Jaci beings she was just two, and me being five it was one on one time with my mom.  I was learning to read!

Jacelyn Mary : July 7, 1995 - July 3, 1998

The smallest dash in my world.  Jaci was four days short of turning three when God decided to end her journey on earth and continue it in heaven with Him.  I was told recently by my Aunt Mary (her brother is my 'dad') that the day Jaci was born I  told her I hoped it was a puppy and not another brother.  I was just short of turning three and I just knew a puppy would be more fun than having another brother push me around all day.  Aunt Mary told me that once I laid eyes on Jaci I was in love with my sister.   Even though I used to pet her like she was my puppy I was OK that she was a girl puppy.  Aunt Mary said that by the time Jaci was a month old my brothers and me referred to her as "puppy" instead of Jaci. 

I remember I always thought Jaci's birthday must be special because every year for the three years she was with us there would be all kinds of parades and fireworks.  I would remember the last near birthday Jaci would have turned three very clearly.  It was the weekend of July 4th in 1998 and my family traveled to Omaha NE to spend the weekend with Uncle Steve (his brother was my 'dad') and his family.  We arrived there on Wednesday the 1st and would return home on Satuday the 10th.

My parents, my brothers, Jayson, Joey, Jordy (22, 16, 13 respectively in age), myself (almost six at the time) and Jacelyn who was turning three in just a week.  That was the Bushnell family, all in one old beat up mini van headed to Omaha NE for a rare vacation that would change the dynamic of our family by one.  To myself and Jaci it seemed as if we would never get to our destination.  I remember that trip because my brothers suggested I count the white lines as we drove by them on the interstate.  They would remember regretting that little prank as we pulled off the road to clean up after I became sick from watching the lines go by.

Once we pulled up at my Uncle Steve's house we unloaded to settle in for the week.  The bikes Jaci and I got to bring along were put to use right away.  We got on those wheels and took off down the long sidewalk laid out in front of us.  We traveled back and forth from one end of the block to the other, something we were never to do at home.  "Do not cross onto the neighbors sidewalk and NEVER ride across the driveway".  That was burned into our minds at our Busnell house, but for some reason we were allowed to ride from one end of the block to the other, even slowing down for the driveways but allowed to cross them and continue on with our ride.  This would become our routine for the rest of the day Wednesday, all day Thursday, and a better part of the day on Friday.

We road our bikes as we watched our brothers and cousins play football in the front yard of Uncle Steve's home.  On occasion we would get off those bikes and wander into the back yard to find our mom for one reason or another.  Mostly it was for a drink or a snack, occasionally it was for shade to just get out from underneath the hot sun.   We loved our bikes and we loved our new found freedom of being able to travel further than we could back home.  I remember my brother Jayson would sometimes step onto the sidewalk, holding up his hands and stopping us at the "red lights".  Sometimes he would walk behind us making a siren noise and pulling us over for traffic violations, writing pretend tickets or sending us to mom to being him a lemonade or he would take us to jail.  We would giggle, mostly because he took the time to play with us and partially because he was being funny.

Night time came early for us but I remember laying on the floor of my Uncle Steve's guest room that we slept in with our parents.  I was to tired to sleep and to tired to stay awake.  I would listen to my brothers and cousins outside on the deck laughing and having fun and the adults in the house talking.  My mom would come in and check on Jaci and me every so often and while Jaci was sleeping my mom would try to get me to shut my eyes and sleep so I could be refreshed and ride my bike the next day.  For two nights this was our sleeping routine, both nights I would not shut my eyes until my mom came in to go to bed herself while my 'dad' stayed awake, drinking with his brother.

When morning arrived and I woke up I noticed Jaci was already dressed and ready to roll.  In a matter of minutes I was up and dressed and we were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast.  I do not recall what breakfast was and that was probably because we sat there anxiously waiting to be dismissed so we could go out and ride out bikes.  My brother Joey was already sitting out on the front step with one of our cousins so we were allowed to go out and ride our bikes just as we had done the day before.  Back and forth the length of the sidewalk that Uncle Steve lived in the middle of.  When our legs were tired we retreated to the back yard to play while the rest of the two family started to wake up, eat breakfast and gather on the deck.  It seemed that there was no end to the talking, the laughter, and the stories being told.  Before long it was lunch time, again I do not remember the details of the food being eaten because all Jaci and me wanted was to keep playing.  We whined and fussed when it was nap time and with much haste went in to take the nap that would refresh our little bodies enough to play out in the summer heat again before the day got taken away from us.

We woke from our nap and had a snack and went back out to play.   We played in the back yard for a bit and as time passed our 'dad' and Uncle Steve were drinking pretty heavy, enjoying the holiday weekend, as the cousins played more football and the wives tried to keep everyone hydrated and fed.  Jaci and me decided to go out front and ride our bikes.  Up and down the block, back and forth, slowing for the driveways and speeding by them when the coast seemed clear.  Now and again someone would come out front and check on us, reminding us the stop signs were our limit and we were not to cross beyond them.  When Jayson came out to check on us he always stayed longer, playing with us.  Writing us bogus tickets and jumping on the back of my bike, or Jaci's trike, weighing us down and slowing us down.

I remember Jayson reminding us to be careful and heading to the back of the yard to play with the cousins more in his age range.  I decided to sit on the steps, lay back, and rest my tired little legs.  Being six and hauling a much older brother around was tiresome and worked my legs out good.  Jaci kept riding, stopping on occasion as she passed by me laying there asking me if I was OK, telling me to come play.  I could not even tell you what happened in the next few minutes but I was laid back resting when I heard two car doors.  I sat up to see who might being leaving just as I saw Jaci crossing the driveway on her trike  I saw our van backing up.

The last sound I ever heard out of my little sister was a scream before she was silenced by the tragic accident of being backed over by our family mini van as she sat on her trike.  That is my own memory.  No one has ever had to remind me that she screamed.  No one has ever had to tell what I heard was a vehicle backing up quickly, screeching as it hit Jaci.  No one has ever had to describe to me the sight of Jaci, who would have turned three in four days, laying motionless beneath the back tire of that van.  Those are sounds and images I still hear and see today.  I close my eyes at night and the visions are there.  They are very real to me even 14 years later.

It all seemed to happen very quickly after that.  The fire truck, the police cars, then the ambulance.  My mom and my Aunt Janie sobbing.  My brothers and cousins trying to comfort them.  Me sitting on the steps as motionless as Jaci was under that mini van.  My 'dad' and Uncle Steve both sittig in separate police cars.  I was one confused little six year old but no one had to tell me the tragedy of it all.

Jaci died before she even got to the hospital.  Years later Joey would tell me she had already died before they put her in the ambulance.  At the time all I knew was Jaci was not ever coming home with us.  The only other thing I remember about that weekend was Jayson driving my brothers and me back to Iowa, back to Bushnell, without our parents.  We left on that Saturday after the sun had set.  No one spoke, no one answered my questions.  They were not mean to me, and I remember them asking me every now and again if I was OK.  My parents came back Tuesday, which would have been Jaci's third birthday.  As a family they sat us down and explained that Jaci was gone, she was not coming home.  No questions were asked.  Life went on.  It was not even a month later and everything to this six year old little boy was back to normal.

Jayson went back to college in August, and the rest of us just lived day to day as if we never had a sister named Jacelyn.  My mom would continue to home school us and I started playing indoors more.  I no longer had a bike to ride and even if I did I no longer had someone to ride with me.  My 'dad' worked more and came home late.  We started eating our meals before he got home and that Bushnell house grew silent once he was in the house, ate, and watched TV. 

I was six, soon to be seven in a little over a month.  All that really meant to me was a present and a homemade cake.  I was excited to turn seven only because I asked if I could again, have a bike to ride outside our house again.  I was sure a bike would be waiting for me when I woke up on the day I turned seven and under my butt with my feet pedaling by lunch time.  It may have been the first time in my little life that I was disappointed that a dream did not come true, but it would prove to not be the last.

                                       **********************************************

The gift that waited for me when I woke up on my seventh birthday was a pair of inline skates.  They were cool, don't get me wrong, but I had never skated before in my life.  It was hard to hide my disappointment from not getting the bike I had asked for.  I got no apologies, no explanations.  My mom and my brothers convinced me these skates were way cooler than a bike and that these skates were safer than a bike.  My mom had made special mention that my 'dad' had picked these out and he had spent more money on them than he normally would but he really wanted me to have them.  What can I say, I was seven and I never really had gotten much attention or affection from my 'dad'.  I was feeling pretty good about his sudden interest in my happiness.  What kid would not feel special with such a thoughtful gift.  I imagined they cost him a whole paycheck!  We were poor, and I even though I didn't know what that mean or how poor we were I knew gifts were not something we should expect so if they didn't come through we would not be too disappointed.  After all, there were growing boys to be fed and bills to be paid.  Shoes alone could put a family in the poor house, or so we would be told over and over again throughout the years.

I was seven and I it was so special I turned seven that my 'dad' thought I deserved a special gift.  I came to grips with the fact a bike was out and slid those skates on and took off and to this day I still skate, although I now skate on ice and not the pavement.  Yes, seven was going to be a great year!  Why if seven was this special how special must eight be?  The next year would prove to be a real confusing year for me and the closer I got to eight the more I wanted seven to go away.

Friends: The Power of Your Prayers are needed!

To my BFF's  (Blog Following Friends):

First and foremost a personal thank you to all of you that have faithfully followed the Beyond A Breath Of Life blogs.  What started out as an assignment for an aspiring journalist (that being me) has become so much more, far beyond any grade I will be assessed in the final two years of my journalism schooling.

I have met so many wonderful people through this blog.spot and I have corresponded with even more of you.  The messages sent via Facebook (Jett Pauling), the emails I received via my email account connected to this site (JettPauling@yahoo.com) and the kind words sent to my Twitter Account (BostonSweets) have all shown great support in my efforts to reach my dream of becoming an established writer someday.

So many of you have shared your own stories with me and I thank you for that.  Many of you have simply commented with a few words of encouragement that pushes me to the next level of documenting my journey.  There have been critics and I thank you for those challenges and for those of you that stuck with my blogs as critics get a special thank you from my heart.  Without all supporters, including my critics, I would not grow in my quest to share my journey.

The majority of my BFF's came back time after time to read the journey I took with little Gracie, who at the age of eight died of brain cancer.  I am blessed to not only have been able to walk that final leg of her journey on earth with her, but I also was blessed to be able to share it with over 3500 of you that joined this site to follow her with me.  (You should know, Gracie loved the blogs we wrote and shared with our BFF's and a big part of our time together was talking about how many lives she touched by her strength and courage in facing death.)

Again, I thank you for the time you take from your life to read about mine.  I invite you to email me, tweet me, or find me on facebook and message me if you feel you would like to.  I try to respond back to those that have questions or want to share their journey with me.  I personally reach out to any fellow bloggers out there that are sharing there story as well.  

I have a request to ask of those who believe in the power of prayer.  The son (Jacob) of a cousin (Pam) of my great great friend (Kim) needs many strong prayers and positive thoughts sent his way.   He has been put into a coma while they try to figure out how to treat him and repair him back to himself.  He somehow was stricken with an infection that got inside his skull.  I am not to sure about all the medical terminology and procedures they are using to help him recover but what I do know breaks my heart.   He is currently two hours away from his family in an Omaha NE hospital and as soon as he can be moved he will be three and half hours away in a Lincoln NE hospital to continue his treatment and recovery once he is out of the coma.  His mother and his father will split the week so one of them is with him at all times.  Pam is a teacher and with school starting up (Jacob would be entering the 9th grade) she is limited to the amount of paid time she can be absent from her job.  There are other children involved and can easily become a financial burden for Jacobs family.

Please pray for Jacobs recovering and also pray that his mothers strength and faith carry her through this difficult time.  These are the times when it feels as if our faith is failing us and I feel that with over 3500 BBF's sending thoughts their way it will carry Pam through this test of faith presented before her.

Thank you BFF's!  Your support of my writing and your prayers for Jacob are appreciated.  God Bless each of you and may this blog find you in God's Grace and love.

Jett Michael Pauling

Friends: D.eath A.lway S.ays H.eaven

I have lost a lot of people from my life who's journey on earth ended in one way or another.  Family, friends, my friends family, friends of friends, even a pet dog.  Lives lost from cancer, strokes, tragic accidents, overdoses, suicide, natural causes, and our dog who got hit by a car.  I attended many memorial and prayer services as well as simply stopping by the home of the deceased family to pay my respects.  It was not until my friend Connor died that I attended my first Catholic funeral Mass and graveside service.

After the graveside service my dad and I walked around the cemetery.  I know his intent was nothing more than just going for a short stroll and talking about the events of the day.  He just wanted to get a feel for how I was holding up through everything.  I had asked him what must have turned out to be some tough questions about life and death, because he kept referring me to a family friend to ask those questions to.  (I would later find out from that friend that my dad probably had a tough time answering them because it brought back memories of when his mom had died when he was only 18).  

We continued to walk around and look at and read headstones.  I found them very interesting and even though they were all various sizes and shapes, and engraved differently, and decorated differently with fresh flowers or momento's that somehow reflected moments in that person life, I found they really all had that one thing in common. Very few of them gave any indication of the life that was lived.  You could read the name.  You could read no less than the year of birth and the year of death.  Unless it was engraved on the headstone you could not determine what role they played in life.

I saw one that said simply "BABY GIRL - 1936", indicating born and died the same year, perhaps the same day.  I saw one that said "Wilbur 1915 - 1982, indicating he had lived a long life.  One read "Magaret Larson, loving wife and mother  1952 - 1991, indicating that perhaps she died suddenly, leaving behind young children.  They varied so much, but not one I read left me with much information regarding the life left behind.  Each one I read could have easily read "Born - Died" and told the same story to those that never knew who was buried below those life's markers.

This revelation of sorts, walking around an area designed to honor the lives of those who moved from earth's journey onto the journey we take after we die, somewhat confirmed my belief that it matters not how you died, but how you lived.  There were no indications of who left in God's Grace, and there were certainly no indications of those who may be in heaven, and who may still be waiting in purgatory, burning off the remainder of their sins that followed them beyond their last breath of life on earth.

I believe the mystery lies within the dash that was the common factor in the headstones I stopped to take note of.  It did not matter when they were born, as they had no control over that event in their life, and I believe it did not matter when they died, as my belief there is that we also have no control of when we die, or even how we die.  That is God's plan, that is His decision, and when someone dies, I believe it was etched in stone in God's Park (as Gracie called it), or Purgatory for those of us that believe in that stopping point before God sends his angels to retrieve us from before we enter into His house, before we pass through the pearly gates of Heaven. 

Ecclesiastes 3:4 : A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance.

Death brings out a sadness in ourselves that we would never know if we never experienced the loss of a loved one.   The emotional ride we take ourselves on as we grieve is matched by no other journey we will make here on earth or in the afterlife.  We will cry, we will be sad, we will be angry, we will demand answers, we will question our role in the loss.  We will miss the life suddenly gone and we will forever search for ways to fill that void.  A time to weep, a time to mourn.

When we only look at the death and fail to remember the life we keep ourselves in a state of grieving, often putting our own life on hold.  The life we lost, gets lost, when we close our minds to the memories of the good times and focus only on the the date of death.  I would bet none of us would have to go very deep in our hearts to remember our loved ones laugh, or the smile they displayed, or the glow in their eyes.  The good times we shared, the warm hugs, the jokes we shared, the brighter days.  A time to  laugh and a time to dance.

It matters not how we died, what matters is how we lived.  Open your heart to who he was and what he gave back to the world. Look past the dates and focus on the DASH between the date of birth and the date of death.  Open your mind long enough to let go of the anger and frustration of a decision made that cannot be reversed.  We all make choices and we all live, or die, by them.

To my friend Sue:  We may forever disagree on our thoughts about who goes to Heaven and who does not.  What we will agree on I am sure is the pain that never fades, the yearning for our loved ones back, and the emptiness we feel, is real.  That time does not heal old wounds to the heart and nothing can be said to comfort what our minds refuse to let go of.  I think of you and Matt often when I listen to a song by Vince Gill, 'Go Rest High On That Mountain'.   I find the lyrics "You weren't afraid to face the devil"  very powerful and interpret them as someone who looked the devil in the eye and dared to give his life to God.  His choice.  Selfish as it may seem, he decided to try peace in Heaven when it was not offered to him on earth.
Remember the DASH.  It represents the best of us, the moments in his life that created the legacy he left behind.  The pain and anger may not ever fully leave your heart, but let it fade, so Matt can rest in peace, and you can move forward in a world that refuses to wait up for us as we search for the faith that slipped away.

Go Rest High On That Mountain (Vince Gill)

I know your life on earth was troubled

And only you could know the pain

You weren't afraid to face the devil

You were no stranger to the rain

Go rest high on that mountain

Son your work on earth is done

Go to heaven a-shoutin'

Look for the Father and the Son

Oh, how we cried the day you left us

We gathered round your grave to grieve

Wish I could see the angels' faces

When they hear your sweet voice sing

Family: No Secrets Exist Between Us

Jimmy came into the misfit life I have through Mikey, who was my brother Joey's best friend.  Jimmy, a.k.a. , Little Dude, will be six in December of this year.  I first met him when he was just two, and it was not love at first sight.  Mikey and I were both living with my brother Jordy at the time, and Mikey started dating Lil Dudes mom, Kathy.  When Kat first started coming around I really didn't care for her, mostly because I could see where this was heading.  It looked to me like love, and that meant eventually, if I could not save Mikey in time, he would be moving on and settling into a life of marriage and kids.  I needed to save my misfit brother, and being 16 that meant not liking his girl.

I wasn't really mean to Kat, I just put on the bachelor pig life style I know girls don't really care for.  I was just going to scare her away and get Mikey back.  Yeah, it wasn't really working, she was a tough chick and he was smitten, bitten by the bug, the love bug.  To top it off, she brought over her son to 'meet the guys'.  I am openly admitting I was not thrilled about this meeting.  We were doing fine without adding to our misfit family.  We did not need girls, and we did not need kids.  We were doing fine on our own, just us guys, my brother Jordy, Mikey, Jake, and me.

It will forever be etched in my mind the day Kat brought Jimmy over to meet us and have dinner with us.  I was annoyed by all the fuss my boys were displaying to make sure everything was in order.  We had to put away anything a two year old would break  We had to hide anything that was 100% manly and soften up the place to impress the lady coming over.  We had to dress for the occasion and suddenly sitting around in our boxers and tee shirts would be come a thing of the past for us.  Watching our language was probably going to be the biggest challenge.  No manly body noises would be allowed.  I found all of this ridiculous, if she can't accept us for who we are and how we live maybe she is not a good fit for us.  Us.  As if she was dating all of us.  Ah, but she was, was she not?

This dinner meeting would be the first time I waited on a woman to be on time.  Since that day, I find I am always waiting on a woman in some fashion or another.  After waiting for her to show up for 15 minutes, there she was, with kid in tow.  I admit, he was a cute kid, and a quiet one at that.  Never left her hip or her lap.  Stared at all of us like we were aliens.  Would not even sit on his own, when she wasn't holding him he was next to Mikey.  I knew nothing about kids, having never been around them in my 16 years, the last two being nothing but us men living together, void of girls pushing us around. 

One hour into this visit and Lil Dude started opening up to Jake.  By the time dinner was over, he was warming up to Jordy.  By the time they left that night, I was still out in the cold.  I barely got a hug goodbye from this little creature, and it was an air hug.  I was exhausted, and all I did was eat and try to be a gentleman for the lady's sake.  Four years later and not only am I Lil Dudes Uncle Jett, he is my little dude buddy.  Over the years we became friends, we spend lots of time together and share some great memories, even though he is to little to understand they are memories.  We've seen each other at our bests, as well as our worse.  We love like brothers, we fight like brothers, we play hard and laugh lots.  Lil Dude never lets me down, makes me laugh, and helps me enjoy life through the eyes of a kid again.  We drive his mom crazy and we share secrets, all of which he fails to keep between the two of us.

There have been many funny moments that have left me in complete stitches with a gut ache from laughing so hard.  Lil Dude is a funny kid and has a great sense of humor and a great outlook on the world.  Experiencing his learning about life, watching him become who he will be in years to come, has been a privilege for me.  In short, being "Uncle Ett to Little Imz" has given me hope for the future of our human race.  I see his happiness level soar off the charts, and even in his worse of days, he makes my happiness level soar even higher.  His imagination runs rampant through not only his mind but the minds of those he shares his stories with.  If I could change anything about him, it would be something so little it would not jeopardize the kid he is.  That little thing would be that he would actually HOLD A SECRET long enough to carry through with things before he tells the world, our 'secret'.  Then again, it is who he is, and I love that kid just the way he is.

I remember the cold snowy day that LD (Little Dude)  decided to go next door to visit grandma Shirley (my mom, rest her soul).  He trekked through a path of snow, climbed up the back steps, opened the screen door and before he could open the wood door into her kitchen the screen door shut, smashing him between the doors, not allowing him to turn the knob to get in.   My mom and I heard this little voice and when we found where it was coming from, I looked out the door to see him squished between them, calling out "et me in dare, et me in dare (let me in there)".

There were many funny moments as I watched him grow more, learn more, and become more curious about what life sat in front him.  Yet that was not enough for me, I needed more laughs, I yearned for more fun, I reached for whatever I could get from this innocent nephew of mine.  So I did what all uncles do, I took advantage of his lack of knowledge of how things worked, and purposely set him up for my own enjoyment.

Just recently we went to visit my friend Cheesy, who is mute and talks by signing.  Most all of my misfit family has been learning sign language, and LD and Ola (my 1 1/2 year old niece) are probably the two that have learned the fastest.  LD and Cheesy get along pretty well and I like that they can 'talk' to each other and it gives LD practice in his signing.  Cheesy married Allie, who is a deaf mute.  LD easily gets confused over which one can hear and which one cannot.  It was fun to mess with LD and see his frustration in communicating with Allie to try to get a cookie from her.  She had her back to us and Cheesy kept signing to LD to ask her louder.  LD was to the point of yelling "ALLIE CAN I HAVE A COOKIE PWEASE?"  when it dawned on him she cannot hear and he needed to go tap her to get her attention.  He was peeved at us, because nothing comes between LD and a cookie.  When he told her a funny story and she smiled at him he turned to me and said "Allie don't think I am funny" and I explained to him she cannot speak so her smile is a laugh, to which he replied "but I like to hear how funny I am".

I taught LD how to ice skate and it has become a real source of fun for us to go to the rink and skate around and play a little one on one hockey.  A tradition we have formed still leaves us exhausted from laughing hard at each other at the end of our ice time.  LD will go lay dead center in the middle of the ice, on his back, complaining he is too tired to skate off the ice.  I grab my hockey stick, hook it through one of his skates blades and pull him off the ice.  When he feels a little playful he will skate back out to center ice and lay back down again for another 'drag' off the ice.

I love being a part of Jimmy's life and I love that he is part of mine.  I love teaching him not only life skills but educational skills as well.  I love how he grabs his parents cells and gives me a random call, yelling into the phone because he wants to be sure I hear him from so far away.  I love how the first thing he does when he comes to Papa's house (Jake) is go to his snack drawer and count everything in it to make sure we didn't take anything out of it.  I love how he still misses grandma Shirley even though she has been gone from us for eight months.  I love how he uses the same stupid logic I use with him on his little one year old brother Baby C (Channing).  I love how he sneaks his toy cars and action figures into the cribs of his twin sisters Abigail and Isabella.

Not only did Little Dude make me an uncle, he showed me how to be an uncle.  How to love unconditionally, how to appreciate the little kids in my life, how to share my love with them, how to open my eyes to the innocence of the youth, how to balance being an uncle and being a friend.  He made me realize that you not only learn about life from a book, or from adults, or from teachers, or from professors, or even from your peers.  You learn about life and everything it has to offer from everyone you meet, from all the people that stay in your life, or simply pass through it.  You learn about life from opening your eyes, and peering into others eyes.  It is something I tried to teach Gracie to do, to look into the eyes of the person she was speaking to and see what she could see about what they did not reveal in words.

Seeing the world threw the eyes of others will open up the beauty of the world around you.  Seeing the world through the eyes of others leads to a better understanding of people hearts and makes one less likely to judge others for the lives they live.  When you judge less, you forgive more, you accept more.  That is the one lesson of life I have learned through my struggle with sharing my misfit family members with others.  As the years roll by, and others are introduced to me through my misfit brothers, the love in my heart swells bigger than I could have ever imagined.  That is a task Gracie left behind with me, the challenge of making sure I fill up all the space I have in my heart with love.  That is also the challenge I feel LD has brought into my life as well.  There was room in Mikey's heart for us, and Kat, and Jimmy, as well as Baby C, Abbey, and Izzy.  To think I tried to deter Mikey from moving forward into a life of marriage and children, because I didn't think he would still love me the way he used to.


Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.  ~Confucius