It's Just A Shirt

This is the very last picture we took with Cody. We had gone up to Oregon after a wedding to visit him and his girlfriend. I hadn't seen them since January and I was shocked and amused at that beard he grew. Troy was more annoyed than anything. Annoyed because he can't grow a beard like that. Cody grew that in 3 months. Troy has had his for about 7 years and that's as long as it's ever going to get. And Cody's outfit? It's the Cody-version of hipster. Because Cody was NOT a trend setter and would hate to be labeled a hipster. He rolled his eyes at me when I asked if that was the look he was after. He was never after any look. He did what he wanted if he liked it and didn't care what anyone else thought about it. I think he mostly embraced this kind of fashion statement because people stared at him trying to figure the whole thing out.  This is what I wrote in his eulogy about this picture:

The last time Troy and I saw Cody was just 5 short days before he died. We had a wonderful visit, full of laughs and good conversation with a bit of fun thrown in for good measure. He was happy. Peaceful. Full of plans for the future. We had breakfast before we headed home that morning. I asked Sydney to take a picture of us before we left. I begged him, like countless times before, to just give me one nice smile for just ONE good picture. He teased me incessantly with that stupid serious crap until I gave up. Little did I know it would be the very last picture. A moment of his silliness and ability to make me laugh and frustrate me all at the same time frozen forever in that last picture.

I took THIS picture last week. It's the shirt I was wearing the last time we saw Cody. The last time I hugged Cody goodbye. This shirt had been sitting in this very spot next to my bed where I took it off at the end of that day. Troy and I hadn't even finished unpacking from our trip when we got that horrible call. So it was just sitting there, a sad reminder every time I crawled in to bed. Until last week. When I finally decided to stop staring at it and hang it back up.

I still can't bring myself to wash it. I'm wondering at this point if I will ever feel like wearing it again. It seems like such a simple thing. I mean, it's just a shirt. What's the big deal? I can't answer that question. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But I hung it up.

Baby steps.

Piano Man

I don't have any pictures to go with this story, but I think it holds its own weight with just words. It is, after all, another Cody story.

My son tried very hard to be an entrepreneur. He failed miserable on several fronts. At one point we had so many bikes parts that our side yard and shed overflowed with crap. He was determined he was going to rebuild bikes and sell them at a premium price. Yeah. That didn't work out so well.

But it didn't end with bikes. There was always something he was going to "fix up" or "modify" or "Cody-fy". So we shouldn't have been surprised when an old, beat up player piano showed up in our driveway. He was walking home one night and saw this sweet gem sitting on the street with a "FREE" sign attached to it.

Best bargain ever.

Cody pushed that piece of crap 2 blocks home. 2 blocks. On the street. Oh, he had grand plans of transforming that piano into a fish tank. Or a cool outdoor planter. Or just a cool conversation piece. The only conversation we ended up having about that thing was when he was getting it out of our side yard. Yes, the same side yard with all the bike parts.

The other conversation we had about it was when it finally got hauled to the dump. During transport it fell over on its side and dented our truck bed. Forever.

Dump run: $25
Gas for dump run: $5
Codyism to retell and laugh about forever: Priceless

Life is puzzling

I like jigsaw puzzles. A lot. Cody used to do them with me. For about 30 minutes. Then he was bored with it, just like every other individual living in my house, but Cody usually held out longer than the other 3. I didn't mind having to go solo with my puzzle fixation. I have always found puzzles relaxing and oddly satisfying.

My family (specifically Troy) used to find it fun to hide one piece from me. Just one. Anyone who does puzzles knows how crappy that little joke is. It gives a person GREAT PRIDE to slide that final piece in to place, run your hand across the smooth, complete puzzle surface and beam with satisfaction. You can't do that when someone hides the last piece. I have gone DAYS without being able to finish a puzzle because someone hid a piece. A few times they didn't even give me the piece to finish it, they just quietly put the last piece in place. So funny.

Jerks.

I have a strategy when I put puzzles together. First I put the side pieces together, completing the frame. Then I group all the pieces together that will likely go in a specific place by looking at the picture on the box. I'm pretty good at puzzles and have a hard time walking away from one once I've started. The more difficult, the more pieces, the better. Have you ever been in the middle of a puzzle and come to a point that you are tying to find one specific piece to finish off a section that will lead to the next section? I have a bit of OCD when it comes to this and my mind won't allow me to just move on until I find. that. one. piece. Just about the time I'm ready to walk away from the table for a break, I find it. My motivation to press forward skyrockets just from finding that one piece and suddenly the break I needed so badly doesn't seem so important anymore.

After Cody died I downloaded a puzzle app on my phone. It started as a way to distract my mind from the sorrow I felt as I tried desperately to fall asleep each night. This app forced me to change my strategy on how to do puzzles....it only allows you to work on a specific section at a time, not the whole puzzle at once. It bugged me at first. Okay, it kind of pissed me off given my current frame of mind and I almost deleted it. But I pressed on since Solitaire wasn't working anymore. I eventually started to see this app as an analogy of my life right now. I'm being forced to participate in something I once enjoyed in a way that is not comfortable, wanting so badly to look ahead and put the pieces of the frame together and fill the rest in as quickly as possible. And the app itself completely drains my battery. My grief is very much like the struggle with this app. Trying to figure out a new strategy, looking for something familiar but fumbling through the process. Wanting to just put things back together in lightning speed the way I am used to, feeling emotional about the change, and all the while having no energy to do any of it.

Nothing about Cody's death is familiar. It will never be comfortable. But I will keep putting the pieces in their rightful place, watching the bigger picture unfold and make sense again. It seems like a 250 piece puzzle turned in to a 5000 piece solid colored puzzle with no edges that I got at a yard sale with suspicions that there are multiple pieces missing. I know for sure my family will help with this one. It may take months. It may takes years.

But one thing is certain.

I'm going to have to face the reality that one piece of this puzzle will always be missing.

Writing Therapy for a Shattered Heart

Wow. Looks like I was gearing up to start writing again. 18 months ago. Then I had some life-stuff to deal with. My mind was focused on getting through the death of my mom. Sad was an understatement and writing something funny and witty was just not in the cards for awhile. But I started several posts, kept them in a draft form hoping to post them with some fun pictures and updates on what I've been up to all these years.

But life-stuff has happened once again. My heart is so heavy and the grief is so intense that I'm just not sure how my writing will ever be the funny, lighthearted bit of nonsense it once was. But writing has always been therapy for me. Stress therapy. And maybe it's okay that the writing changes. For awhile, anyway. Writing this post will encourage more writing. And more writing. And still more writing....enough writing therapy that perhaps that lighthearted bit of nonsense will return. Eventually. I'm on a mission to get my happy back. It's a lofty goal.

But I need to write this post first, the beginning of some intense writing therapy. Meaningful, deep, emotional writing therapy. Maybe through my own experience I can somehow find the words that will help someone else deal with the grief that I find myself faced with.

On July 3 Troy and I lost our oldest child, Cody, to suicide. I've written about him before here. Words cannot even begin to describe the impact this loss has had on our immediate family, not to mention extended family and the 100+ people that Cody called friends. His personality was as big as his soul. I could go on and on about Cody and the stories from the 28 years he walked this earth. And I will, but not in one single post. You'll learn about him through a series of posts....that writing therapy that I need so very badly....and I know you will discover the amazing person he was as I pour my heart out on this blog in order to help it heal.

As the life of Cody unfolds here, so will the life of my family as I share our journey towards a new "normal" without him. The year of firsts will no doubt be painful and heartbreaking, but as each funny story, picture and memory is shared it will keep his spirit alive and help to heal the wounds that are still so tender and fresh. As that happens, please keep us in your prayers as we navigate through the grief.

Cody Allen Pryor
February 3, 1988 - July 3, 2016
"In the end, it's not the years in your life that count.
It's the life in your years."  Abraham Lincoln

Coming soon....

....me. I'm making a comeback. It's been 2 years since my last post. Imagine the things I have to ramble on about.

Like where the heck I've been.

Like what the heck I've been up to.

And why I never finished my retelling of the Wizard of Oz??

Stay tuned....