Another Pryor Milestone

I've mentioned many times in the last two years how each of my family members is dealing with Cody's loss in their own, individual ways. Grieving is different for everyone. Troy and I lost a child. Nathan and Lindsay lost their sibling. Cody was also a grandson, a nephew, an uncle, a cousin and a friend to people I am still meeting 2 years after his death.

My surviving children have displayed varying degrees of grief and it is unique and different from the other even though the commonality is loss of their sibling. Their best friend. Their "let's do something sneaky behind mom & dad's back" partner in crime. But they have one thing in common in moving forward:  CAP's Pizza & Tap House.

We started this venture in a small way before Cody died. I've told that story before, but he and Nathan wanted to do something together and Nathan suggested a pizza joint. The rest of that story is floating around, but the bottom line is we decided to continue this pursuit without the 5th member of our family. Nathan dove in head first with the kind of gusto and determination that both made me proud and worried me at the same time. This grief was pretty fresh for all of us and I wanted to make sure he was dealing with it and not avoiding it by filling his life with the stressful job of opening a business. Not just a business. A restaurant.

Have I ever told you how stressful owning a restaurant is? No? Well, consider yourself informed.

Nathan did much of the leg work associated with the business side of things. He and his friends gutted and remodeled the inside of the restaurant and I nit picked over details associated with paint color and decor. We had issues with our business license and I thought Nathan would have a stroke as we almost didn't pass the final health inspection due to the placement of our huge pizza oven. We fought and argued and disagreed about many things leading up to our opening.

But we made it.

 My children are only in their 20's and a venture like this is huge, even for a seasoned business owner. Each of them has their own strengths they bring to the business. And it challenges them both equally on the parts of the job that is difficult for their personality type. But their focus and their goal is always the same: we are doing this for Cody.  And we continue to fight and argue and disagree about many things.

Like when/where to open a second location.

But my stubborn, driven, tenacious middle child went forth to conquer regardless of how uncomfortable I was with it. He had another reason to pursue this expansion.

Carly Ann Pryor

Best reason ever. I'm sure Cody approved from wherever he was looking down on us.

And so with all the tenacity of opening that first location, the hard work, long hours and sheer determination to prove to me it was possible, Nathan and his business partner Tyler opened up CAP's Pizza & Tap House in Stockton. Their grand opening was yesterday and it was a great success. And while it struck me in the gut that we were still a "-1" for this celebration, I found it fitting to take the picture where we did.

l to r: Troy, Cheri, Lindsay, Carly, Nathan and Carla

I'm so proud of my children and all they put in to this business. Their time, their love, their dedication. It does not go unnoticed.

Congratulations, Nathan! I know your brother would be proud.

(aka "the mom")

September....more than the end of summer

September is Suicide Awareness Month. I have to be honest and tell you that I was not fully aware that there was an entire month dedicated to this subject prior to July, 2016. And after that horrible call my family received about Cody I found myself talking about it all the time, not just the month of September. But some really incredible people reached out to me about the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and I've been involved in some degree since then.

"Involved in some degree...." seems like a strange thing to say since the degree to which I was impacted by my son's suicide was much grander than "some degree". We opened an entire restaurant in his memory. I'm still suffering from a broken heart and trying very hard to pull the pieces of my prior self back to together. Some of those pieces don't quite fit yet. It's a struggle. My whole family struggles with it in their own individual ways. But there are things I can do to help others while perhaps making sense of why I am in this horrible club that nobody wants to be a part of.

One of the things I became involved with was the Out of the Darkness walk that raises funds for AFSP in their mission to save lives, bring hope and help end the stigma associated with mental illness and depression. It is a sense of community, bringing people together for a reason that is heartbreaking and full of sadness. These walks are amazing and help in a small way to heal the wounds left behind in the survivors of suicide victims.The first year I participated I was numb. It was still very fresh and very raw. Last year I found myself hugging strangers along the walk who were participating in their first event, knowing their pain and sadness, but yet giving them a sense of hope that there is healing in the future. That it won't always feel this raw.

September 29 is the Sacramento chapter's "Out of The Darkness Walk" We will be there in our purple, "Team Cody Pryor", walking for change and hope. If you would like to join our team, please go to the link below and click "Join Our Team". Help us raise funds, join us on Saturday morning, or both....or simply make a donation. The love and support I get each year from my family and friends is always heartwarming and I'm certain it will be no different this year.

Thank you all for your support, love and encouragement over the past 2 years.

Team Cody Pryor

It's July 2....

....which means two years ago I was having the last day of my old life. I was happy. My kids were doing well and everything seemed to be in place. We were getting ready to invest in a family adventure. Life was good.

Then it wasn't.

I miss Cody. Still. After 2 years. My heart still aches to be able to hear that infectious laugh just one more time. To have him bolt through the front door yelling, "Mam!" But if I'm also being honest Cody was an up and down test of my emotions for years. The ups were wonderful. When the sober, clean Cody was around life was balanced. But the downs were serious and during the ups I was constantly worried for his health and safety knowing the downs inevitably would come. He was in rehab twice and struggled with alcohol addiction. But he was happy and sober the last 6 months of his life.

Until he wasn't.

I will never know what thing set him off and sent him down the path of self destruction. Just 4 days before he died by suicide Troy and I had seen him in Oregon. As we hugged and said our goodbyes my heart was calm. He was happy. Seemingly at peace. But that's the lie of depression and mental illness. While Cody was thrilled, happy, and grateful that we made the trip to visit him he was struggling. I'm forever grateful that the last days I had with my son were filled with laughs, good conversation and fun. Certainly the upswing that gave my heart that calmness. That peace that perhaps my son had finally found his inner happiness. That maybe the down wouldn't be so overwhelming for him next time.

Until it was.

The worst kind of down imaginable happened on July 3, 2016. I still remember that call. That horrible, unbelievable call followed by days of horrible, unimaginable grief. A grief that still resides within me but has become something different. My life changed forever that day. I changed forever that day. Some pieces of me have been restored but other parts have been forever altered. I'm still learning which is which and to be okay with all of it. I'm embracing all the good and wonderful changes life has brought since Cody's death. The restaurant we opened to honor him gives our entire family purpose and the strength to push forward. It can be hard and trying....similar to life with Cody for so many years...so it seems appropriate that the very place named after him would have ups and downs. It's stressful. And rewarding. And trying. And fun. And tiring. And fullfilling. But even with the ups of the restaurant and seeing my son's picture everyday I was there, there was still an absence of joy.

Until there wasn't.

I have a new, beautiful granddaughter. A lovely little bundle of joy who shares the initials of the uncle she will never know. Carly Ann Pryor has already wrapped her little soul in all our hearts. She brought joy back to my life and I am forever grateful for God's blessing at just the right time. My sweet grandson is completely enamored with her, too. It is a beautiful thing to see him interact with her, give her kisses and ask to, "hode Cahwe". These tiny humans fill my heart and make me look foward to future events with Pa and Mae. Last week we had Tristan overnight on the boat. Oh, to have such joy in my life over something so simple. It was a treat for sure! The anticipation and excitment of having those grandchildren spend a weekend with us on the water as they grow up truly gives me something to look foward to.

So tomorrow will still be somber. The one day of the year that is the hardest for me. For my family. Life changed that day. But life has continued to change. It gets better. Not easier, but better. Joy has returned. Hope exists. Happiness surrounds me and I don't always struggle to see it.

And that's a very good thing.

Dear Carly,

I was given a writing assignment at work to describe what my life looks like when things are in harmony. Or out of harmony. I had the entire thing written and it was a beautiful piece of editorial genius, perfectly describing how my heart aches when relationships are struggling, both personally and professionally. Or how it sings when my family can spend an afternoon together and laugh and have a good time. Or how easy things flow and creative ideas emerge when working relationships are so in-sync. And how my life hasn't felt in complete harmony with anything since Cody died.

Then you were born. And my words didn’t quite make sense anymore.

Carly Ann Pryor  -  2 hours old

How a tiny precious little life can make my heart sing again is surely a gift from God Himself. The joy that I had been missing since July, 2016 came flooding back the moment I held you. I had been searching for it. Waiting for it. Hoping it would find it's way back to me. There were many happy moments, but the true joy I use to have in every day things was simply absent.

Then you were born.

All of these things I thought described what I needed in order to have harmony made no sense once joy returned. It was joy...the key ingredient for me to feel my life is harmonious. There are so many things that used to bring me joy that were lost once grief took over. But now that I've felt that spark again? The happiness-on-steroids jolt of joy I felt the first time I held you? I realized it was the one thing still missing for complete harmony.

Harmony can be described in many ways, but the most common definition is relative to music and the combination of pitches and tones to form a pleasing musical sound. Your sighs and gurgles in harmony with my son's goo-goo noises and baby talk is filling my heart with joy and it is truly the best music in my life right now. You have changed his whole world, his perspective, his priorities, his definition of love. I watched your daddy melt as the nurse put your tiny self in to his arms. My heart was full.

Is my life in perfect harmony? No. Is anyone's? No. But now that a sense of it has returned, however brief, I have hope that it will come around more often. And now that you are finally here I sense "more often"  is an understatement.

Thank you for filling my heart with joy and giving me hope that the days ahead will fill the voids from grief. They are already filled with love, laughter, goo-goo noises, hope and excitement as we watch you grow and wrap us all up in your cuteness. I love you to the moon and back, my sweet granddaughter. 

Love,
Mae

Another Birthday...forever 28....

It seems like I wrote about celebrating the first birthday without Cody yesterday. I just finished rereading it and as tears stream down my face I can't help but think about how different every February 3 will be from now on. A celebration, yes. But a celebration of the life already lived and not the life left to live. I also shed some tears for the mom who wrote that a year ago. She sounds like she was in a much different place than today. More sadness. More despair. Less hope. It was, strangely enough, a bit peaceful.

As I move further and further away in time from July 3, 2016 I find the smiles come easier. There are things to laugh about again. Things to look forward to and hope for. But there are other factors that start coming in to play in this grief journey. A journey that, quite frankly, sucks with all the hit-by-a-brick moments that launch me in to more reality that my son is no longer here but life continues.

Cody would have turned 30 tomorrow. A new decade. A decade that he will not be here for. A birthday that I may have purchased a cane, adult diapers and denture cream as a gift along with something practical. A birthday that we would have, no doubt, celebrated with gusto and fanfare. And as I see posts from his friends and others on Facebook talking about turning 30 it makes my heart hurt. But not quite as much as my heart hurts thinking about how my middle child will turn 28 this year.

Cody died when he was 28.

And why should that matter?  Nathan needs to be celebrated and lifted up and talked about because I'm so very proud of him.Why can't I just celebrate Nathan turning 28 without relating/comparing/thinking about Cody never being older than 28?  Because, grief.

Stupid grief.

And I'm sure it will hit hard again in 2 years when my youngest turns 28. Or not. Grief is unpredictable so who knows what will happen to me on February 3, 2020....when Lindsay turns 28 and Nathan turns 30. 30. The number that is hitting me so hard this year.

Stupid grief. So tired of it hanging around. *sigh*

I've written before about God's timing being perfect in every way and February 3 is no exception. After all the physical/mental/emotional work we were finally able to open the restaurant last year. The timing of being able to have our Grand Opening on Cody's birthday is still not lost on me. I truly believe it was God's perfectly timed gift for this grieving mom. A way for me to remember and celebrate the life Cody lived on the very day set aside just for him when he was still here. A day to continue celebrating instead of thinking about what I've lost. What we all lost. Who we lost.

So tomorrow on the day that we would have celebrated turning 30, we instead celebrate turning 1, a number that represents youth and joy and hope for the future. 1 year behind us with many ahead of us. 1 year of hosting parties and celebrations and first dates and family holiday dinners. 1 year of smiles and laughs and love.

Happy Birthday, Cody. CAP's is turning 1! Here's to 29 more.

So Grateful....

The last 16 months have been both a blur and a slow-moving progression. I've spent many days/weeks/months processing grief and trying to live my new reality. I could never have done any of it without the help of my family and friends.

Troy and I decided that this year's Thanksgiving should be one of gratitude and love for those who have helped the Pryors maneuver through all the things nobody should have to maneuver through. Since the very first day of Cody's passing they all scooped us up in their arms and carried us through some pretty difficult days with love, patience and compassion. My own children have been stoic around Troy and I for the most part, but I know they have had their own grief to struggle with. So this year Thanksgiving was for them, too.

We hosted a big dinner at the restaurant. Fitting, we thought, since the very place we gathered at was born out of the tragedy that they all helped us through...are still helping us through...will forever help us through as the 4 of us continue processing this new normal. It was a feast to behold! As I walked around snapping pictures my heart was full, my eyes watery, and my spirit renewed.

I still miss my son so very much. Not a single day has passed that he is not the last thing on my mind as I lay down each night. My other two children carry his spirit without even realizing it when they talk about a memory, use some silly childhood phrase, or gesture in some of the sames ways he did. Genetics are a fascinating thing and I have a new appreciation for them as I watch my other two children live their lives.

Cody is always here, living through them.

To all of our family and friends, thank you. We are so grateful for your love and support. To everyone else, make sure this holiday season is filled with grace, love and compassion for those around you. The holidays can be a lonely time for some so if you know someone who has struggled in the past or may be struggling now, reach out. Talk. Support. Love. It's always about love.

May your holiday season be filled with blessings!

359 Days

Exactly that many days ago Troy and I were spending time with Cody and Sydney in Oregon after celebrating a beautiful wedding of a close friend. Exactly that many days ago at this exact time I was taking these selfies, filled with joy at getting to see my son that I hadn't seen in more than 6 months.

These pictures make my heart hurt. I miss him so much. At times it seems unbearable. And as we approach that horrible 1 year mark it becomes all too real all over again. It seems so long ago. Because it was 359 days ago, after all. A long time. But in the same breath I remind myself, "It's only been a year." It seems like Cody is just on some bus somewhere, traveling with his wayward friends and enjoying life the way he needed to. 

But he's not traveling. He's not out of cell service range and can't call me.

He's just gone. He will never be calling me again. Not in 10 days when my birthday rolls around. Not on Troy's birthday. Never. And the longer I go without hearing his voice, the more I feel his absence.

There are many things in my life that are difficult since Cody died. Simple things. Things that defined me as a person before July 3, 2016. I just don't have the energy for most of them. My brain just has a difficult time processing things like it used to and it's draining...and physically tiring. So execution of the smallest of tasks seems like a monumental undertaking. But how am I still working? Good question, but the answer probably lies in the fact that I have nothing left once I leave work. I'm forgetful, I'm tired. I'm kind of numb with spurts of sporadic energy usually reserved for my husband, children and grandson. I don't have much patience and I really use to have a boatload. It's hard for me to smile and be polite with strangers when I want to tell them why I'm not happy and overshare my entire life because I think they need to know I'm not normally like this. Over analyzing what people might be thinking about my frown is another of my favorite pastimes lately. It shouldn't matter what they think. I need to just BE however it is I need to BE.

I also have all these things rolling around in my brain that I want to do but can't actually follow through with. Mailing a pile of gifts to people around the world that I've gathered up along the year to show my appreciation for those that have reached out to my family. Mailing just one of them. Mailing a damn birthday card. Buying a birthday card. Getting dressed to go get the birthday card. Getting dressed. Getting out of bed.

Execution - 0; Grief - 9,284,760.

So getting back to the gym seems pretty much impossible right now. So impossible I don't even put it on the list of short-term goals. It's on the list of things I use to do. With about 98 other things.

I would love to scrapbook again, but my scrap supplies haven't really been touched since I was planning Cody's service. It's a disaster in there, with reminders piled everywhere of the last big project I did. So then motivation quickly dies.

Execution - 0; Grief - 9,284,761.

There was one aspect in my life that I just could not look at anymore. This is a great illustration of my brain, actually. If you are of a certain age you can remember the drug-awareness campaign that quoted, "This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs." with a picture of an egg cracked open in to a frying pan.

This is my brain on grief. My side of the bed looked like this for about 11 months.

This is my brain trying to find a version of its formal self. And looking to make my bedroom a more peaceful, restful place in an effort to find some of that elusive sleep. From the time I decided it needed to be done to full execution - 6 weeks. It took me just a day from start to finish.

Execution - 1. And the rest of that score doesn't matter because I've got 1. It's a start.

I'm a long way from being okay, from feeling truly okay. I think each of the Pryors have some really good days and we are each battling in our own ways to keep life moving forward and not let Cody's absence overcome us. We are working through all of it and each day gets better. But we also have our bad days. And the grief doesn't always show up in tears. Sometimes it's laughter. Sometimes it's forgetfulness. Sometimes it's temperament. Sometimes it's a burst of motivation. Sometimes it's procrastination. Sometimes it's fatigue. Sometimes it's anxiety. Sometimes it's IDGAF. And sometimes it's every single one of those things in a single day.

But it's always grief in some form because we lost a member of our family. Troy and I lost a child. Nathan and Lindsay each lost a brother AND their best friend. It's going to take a long time to be "okay". Truly okay.

Much longer than 359 days.

Mother's Day Sentiments

Everyone around me, beside me, thinking of me knows how terribly difficult this year's Mother's Day is for me. I have gotten calls and texts from "kids" who have known my children for years. These "kids" were part of the every-day revolving door attached to my home as we raised our children.

Basically, I have a lot of children. I just didn't birth all of them.

I'm missing an important one this year. The one who most certainly would have already called me with a beaming, "Mam! Momma! Mommy!" when I answered the phone. I also don't get to see my mom's face light up as I planted flowers all over her yard for Mother's Day. So my heart hurts today.

I also have TWO important ones to celebrate this day with. Two children that still make my heart ache with the kind of love a mom has specifically for them.  Nathan and Lindsay are the reason I will post about Mother's Day with happiness in my heart and gratefulness that they are here with me to hug a little tighter. They can bring peace to my fragile heart like nobody else can right now. They are the connection I have to the one who is no longer here. When I hug them, I hug their brother.

But there is truly so much more to them than that. As I've watched them navigate their own journey since losing their best friend it warms my heart how they've grown to appreciate each other more. There was a time when these two didn't speak to each other. It broke this momma's heart. I prayed for their relationship and that they would find a way to have peace with each other and become better friends. Not best friends. I'm not sure these two could be that for each other....it's  been a loooooong childhood with them. lol! But as adults who have experienced the same, difficult loss it has brought them together.

Nathan is my strong-willed, tenacious, stubborn, funny child with a wonderfully soft heart. You would never know it by the wall of toughness he throws up to keep from getting emotional. But this guy is a softie. He's loyal. He's generous. He's a pain in the butt.

Lindsay is my strong-willed, stubborn, silly child who wears her emotions on her sleeve. She struggles with the likes of depression and some other difficult diagnosis, but that girl is driven and focused on getting out of bed every. single. day. to try and make it better than the last one. But most importantly she is a wonderful mother to my grandson. He tests her on the daily, but her love for that little guy is evident in everything she does. He is the center of her universe. He is her everything.

For everything my children are AND are not, I celebrate being their mom today. I'm so very thankful to God that I was given the beautiful gift of motherhood. It hasn't always been easy. In fact, this year has been the most difficult of all my years. But it is always rewarding. I just have to be sure to look with my eyes and heart wide open.

I love you, NayNay and Missy. You are my world and I'm so very happy and proud to be your mom. today and every. single. day.

Hello, Joy? I miss you....

I wish you were here with me, in this very different life I have. There were so many things you were part of. Simple things. A clean house. Fresh flowers from my yard in a vase. A scenic drive. Watching my grandson play. The list was truly endless. Somehow you left me without warning. It wasn't even a slow break up.

It was a shattering of my heart. Damn you, Joy.

In your absence over the last 9 months Anxiety, Depression and Indifference have stepped in. I don't like them. It's difficult to execute things on my list that when those idiots are around. They pretty much suck the life out of me where you would GIVE me life. You were always a breath of fresh air, Joy. That unexpected card in my mailbox. The long, lighthearted conversation with one of my children on the back porch. A beautiful sunset. A clear night where all the stars twinkled. Even a hard day at work after it was over and I could reflect. All things you would show up for.

And where in the hell are you now?

I keep tying to find you. During a birthday. During a holiday. When I see spring bursting at the seams now that we've had some rain. Listening to my grandson laugh. Coffee. Getting a pretty new outfit. Having a great hair day. Seeing the restaurant full of customers. Yummy food. A fun craft project. Vacation with beautiful friends. Coffee.

But you are still nowhere to be found.

Anxiety, Depression and Indifference have paralyzed me. In all the places I think you might be hiding, they make it difficult for me to simply crawl out of bed and find you. I WANT to have a fun birthday celebration for someone. I WANT to participate with my family on a holiday. I WANT to scrapbook again. I just can't execute any of it. Then our lovely friend Regret gets to tag along. She's the biggest fun-sucker of them all. But regardless of my desire to kick all their asses, I can't do it alone. Not without you.

I appreciate that you have sent a few folks in your place in the (hopefully) short term. Happiness makes sporadic appearances. She shows up during things like that first sip of coffee, when my grandson gives me a big hug or when I have a random memory of Cody pop in my head. Contentment also shows up for tiny intervals, usually after long soaks in a bubble bath. But the best companion you sent is Gratefulness. She is always riding shotgun, but I admit that I sometimes forget to acknowledge she is there because of those other idiots. She is always around in the form of my husband, my son, my daughter, my grandson. I see her often with friends and extended family. She is close at my side when I am in prayer.

Praying for you, Joy. Praying that somehow you will find your way back to me. Or maybe it is me that needs to find you. Either way, I promise I will keep looking and keep searching for you. I won't give up. In the meantime, if you would like to send Sleep to help out I wouldn't say no.

Your friend and desperate companion,

Happy Birthday, Cody

Yes, it's 3:00 a.m. It's true I can't sleep. I have a lot on my mind, but mostly that tomorrow, February 3, would have been Cody's 29th birthday.

Not long after he passed away I started trying to wrap my brain around how I would cope with all the "firsts" this year. I stopped trying to wrap my brain around any of it when we spent our first Thanksgiving without him. I'm just coping with the "firsts" as they come. You can't really plan for any of it. I had an earlier blog post about Cody and "firsts" here. I cried reading that again. It's certainly bittersweet now. *sigh*

Christmas was rough. Very rough. I got through it by not putting a lot of extra pressure on myself and allowed it to just be whatever it was going to be. Whatever I felt like doing. Whatever Troy felt like doing. Or not doing. I made an effort, albeit slightly pathetic, for the sake of Troy, the kids and my grandson. It was quiet, but pretty much just what I needed. I think individually we did what we wanted while allowing the others to do what THEY wanted and needed to do. It worked. But I'm glad it's over.

What I did not expect was any emotion with New Year's. I had a meltdown on the way home from work as I realized 2017 would be the first full calendar year my son would not be alive. For any of it. It was a pretty hard gut punch.

And now I'm facing the first birthday without him. The 29th birthday that he will not be here for. The first February 3 in 29 years that I don't have to sit and figure out what special thing to gift him with. Last year I sent him money because he wanted new glasses. He was my practical child, always asking for things he needed. Drove me crazy most of the time because I like birthdays to be fun and frivolous. "Mam, I don't need any of that crap!" I ignored him most of the time and got frivolous things to go with the practical things.

So you may be asking yourself what, exactly, are my plans for tomorrow? This day that was normally set aside to celebrate? Well, we are still celebrating. In an enormously big way. More frivolous than Cody could have ever imagined.

The grand opening of the restaurant is tomorrow. It's been a long, drawn out process full of emotions but we are finally here. CAP's Pizza and Tap House is FINALLY here! We had a soft open on January 20 and if that weekend is any indication of what will happen tomorrow? Well, let's just say it will be the biggest birthday party Cody has ever had. I would say I'm sorry that he won't be there for it, but I believe he will be there. He is everywhere in the restaurant. From the name (CAP's - Cody Allen Pryor), to the logo (subtle skateboard reference), to the names of some of our signature pizzas (the "Coden" and the "Destroyer"). So, yes, he will be there.

Besides, Cody was never one to miss out on a good party.

Happy Birthday, Cody! I miss you every. single. day. But tomorrow? We celebrate!

Just the Two of Us

This guy…. 

As of 7:00 p.m. tonight  I’ve spent 32 years as his wife. I’m 51. So, literally more than half of my life. Almost 2/3.  61% of my years on this earth have been as Mrs. Troy Pryor. If you are geeky enough to check my math, don’t tell me if it’s wrong. Because you get the point.

It’s been a long time.

Like every relationship that is worth fighting for, we have had some struggles. Both large and small. Struggles that we created. Struggles that we had no control over. We are currently maneuvering through the largest struggle we’ve had in the past 32 years. We did not create this. We did not want this. Nobody would. But here we are.

We have an anniversary tradition. But like every other tradition we have, this year seems to be difficult to put any of them in to play for the holiday season. But our anniversary is for US. It is about US. We always made sure it was about US. Not our family. Not our kids. Just us. The two of us. So our annual day out in Old Sacramento is being put on hold. Instead we are hosting a private taste-testing at the restaurant (that, by the way, is still not open because of license and permit delays beyond our control). We decided we wanted to focus on something different. We didn’t really verbalize it to each other but because this year is already so different and hard we chose to concentrate on changing it up. A lot

Because let’s face it, our life has changed. A lot. And while today is about us, it’s about a damaged “us”. A wounded “us”. A grieving “us”.

But it’s still us. Still together. Still fighting. Getting through the season. Respecting each other in where we are in our own grieving process. And it is very different for us individually, but we are managing. Day by day.

And today? It’s about us.

Happy Anniversary, Troy. I know we frustrate each other on the daily, but I love you more than words could ever express. Thank you for always being more patient with me than I am with you. And thank you for letting me be where I need to be after losing our son. Our world was changed forever and I have faith that we will pass through this storm with the same perseverance as the other storms.

The sun will shine again. 

And when it does? Let's head to the boat.

The 3rd of Every Month

It’s the 3^rd.

I’ve been fiercely trying to shove this day of the month to the back of my mind and not deal with it. But the 3^rd of every single month will always and forever bring me to a place that I have to confront. Feelings to deal with. Last month was easier to move through the day as we continued to focus on the restaurant, family birthdays and distractions at work.

But not today. Not December 3^rd.

Today marks 5 months since Cody died. (I still can’t write that without staring at it for several minutes, taking in the full impact and feeling my heart hurt). 5 months. It seems so long ago, yet today I got swept right back to that horrible first day. I was trying to figure out why this month is so much more difficult than last month. I have the same distractions. We are SO CLOSE to opening the restaurant and with that comes a million tiny last minute details. I’ve picked up extra shifts at work. I’m busy. Distracted.

Christmas 2003

But it’s December.

I knew it would be hard, this holiday season. But I was expecting it to be difficult closer to Christmas. But Christmas is everywhere already. On houses, in pictures, in stores, on the radio, on tv….everywhere. And each thing is a reminder that I will be missing someone this year. As each day passes I try to plan for a day to haul my decorations out and fill my home with all the things that warm my heart during the holiday season. But my grief tends to paralyze me unexpectedly and without warning. On those days just getting out of bed and being present for whatever I need to do is draining.

Today was one of those days.

But it’s December. Christmas is coming. I can’t stop it from coming. So I’ll keep trying to plan the day for decorating. (Grief, by the way, makes planning things nearly impossible.) My tree always makes me happy, but I’m dreading hanging all the ornaments that were bought for Cody over the years: Baby’s first Christmas, Black Power Ranger, Scooby Doo, a mouse on a skateboard, a few handmade ones from school and many others.  I’m trying to start new traditions that will honor Cody and bring us joy as we remember the 27 Christmases we had with him. So as I browse through the thousands of items on Amazon…the silly, the beautiful, the ridiculous, the amazing….I remember the craziness that was gift giving to Cody: Charlie Brown shirt, Nightmare Before Christmas stuff, 3D printed shirts with hamburgers…then later a matching backpack….beanies of every shape/size/color, beanies with crocheted beards attached to them, moon boots, things related to Bigfoot ("He's real, mom"), any article of clothing from Zumiez, skateboard decks/trucks/wheels in dazzling colors and designs, and always, ALWAYS, some insanely silly t-shirt shoved in his stocking.  

We haven’t talked much, as a family, about how Christmas will look this year. Maybe we are afraid to. Or maybe we are just busy ignoring it. The four of us have been insanely focused on getting this restaurant open for business. It brings a large amount of stress, but at the same time fills us with immense satisfaction as we see it coming to life. It’s been a blessing of sorts to have something else to focus our energy on. We will eventually be able to breathe and I honestly think there may be some tears as we exhale. Opening day will be exciting and happy and filled with a great deal of “WE DID IT” pride, but it doesn’t change the fact that Cody will not be here for opening day. Or for Christmas.

Or for his 29^th birthday, coming up in February.

February 3^rd.

A different kind of Thankful

Thanksgiving. Normally a day I use to reflect on how many blessings I have and how very grateful I am for the life God has given to me and my family. I don’t just save those sentiments for a single day out of the entire year, but Thanksgiving is that special day when reflection seems to be a given.

Except for this Thanksgiving.

A dear friend saved  this beautifully written post  on my Facebook wall.  I can relate on every level, almost as if I had written it myself. This year is so incredibly painful and sad, but I also have things to still be grateful for. And it’s perfectly okay to be in both of those worlds. But if I’m being honest it’s very difficult to be in the world of thankfulness and gratefulness. I’m not thankful for this heartache. This grief. This sadness. It paralyzes me far more often than I would like, but I can’t hurry it along. I can’t make it go away. I can’t always maneuver through it with grace and gratitude.

And while I sit in tears thinking about the empty chair at the table, my heart is also full from the other chairs that are filled. I’m so incredibly blessed to be in a position with my family to start a business in honor of Cody. To have something wonderful to focus our attention on does not go unappreciated. By any of us.

And so we ARE thankful. Just painfully so.

From the bottom of my heart I extend a sincere and warm “Happy Thanksgiving” to my family and friends near and far. If you find yourself with an empty chair at your table this year, my heart is with you. If it is the first year that chair is empty, my heart is aching for you. If your chairs are all full may the blessings that fill your heart not be taken for granted.

Five Minus One

So we are moving along with the restaurant. We had a major roadblock yesterday (thank you, state of CA and taking forever to get through the application process for a liquor license). Feeling the sting of a potential delay, we decided to focus our attention on the food and quickly (understatement) organized a taste test of various recipes for different items we will be having on the menu. Also included were an array of beers and wines from a vendor. If I'm being honest, I think we wanted to just focus on testing the beer and wine after the bad news we got. But we are forging ahead with FOOD and DELIVERY and if that means we have a soft opening without a liquor license and a huge grand opening once we get it? Then that's what it means.

Welcome to the fun of owning your own business.

Troy and I ran around town getting specific ingredients for pizza dough, wings, sauces, etc. A few invites went out and a small, intimate group gathered in our kitchen. As the beer and wine tasting began, the room was filled with laughter and chattering. The wings came out a couple of samples at a time. The pasta came. The pizza never did. Epic fail not allowing enough time for the dough to rise. But we'll fix that with taste-testing number 2. I think we'll plan it a little further in advance.

The excitement of moving forward with this endeavor was not lost on me. As the evening moved along the laughter got louder, the conversation lighter, the kitchen messier. At one point I looked at my son and daughter, both intently writing and reading something in a journal that documented what each of us liked or didn't like about all the things we were testing. Someone made a comment, to which they both burst out in laughter.

And it hit me. Like a ton of bricks. Like it does without warning.

Cody is not here. My family of five is now a family of four.

Oh, how I longed for him to be there in that wonderfully perfect family moment. To hear his infectious laugh. To read the nonsense he would have written about the taste of the wings or the epic fail of the pizza dough. To see the excitement in his eyes about the family adventure we are on.

Cody loved adventures.

But he is not here. Not in the physical sense, anyway. So I can't see the sparkle in his eyes. I can't hear that perfectly infectious laugh. But like so many other times since July 3, I got a clear sign that my son is here with me. Today as I was navigating through some pictures I came across a folder full of pictures from a vacation that I went on several years ago with my mom and Cody. I looked in this folder a dozen times when I was preparing for his service. But today I noticed there were videos. Several of them. And the first one I clicked on to play was this one.

We were sitting in a hotel room one morning while the staff was unclogging our toilet (that's how things normally go during a Pryor vacation) My mom was always a good sport when it came to my children taking pictures or videos of her. This is no exception....visually annoyed but still humoring Cody.

Humoring Cody.

That laugh.



Thank you, God, for giving me this gift today and reminding me that my son is still here. Cody knew exactly what I needed to hear today. I'm forever grateful I have this video so I can listen to his laugh whenever my heart aches to hear it.

We are still five.

Life is a Roller Coaster

To say that my life is a roller coaster is an understatement. And I'm not talking about just the last 2-3 months. It's pretty much been a roller coaster for.....well, a very long time. I think most people would say their life is like that. Some roller coasters are the little dragon coasters in the kiddie section of the county fair. My roller coaster is like the scariest, oldest wooden coaster with lots of big drops and neck-jerking climbs to amazing heights. I'm not complaining about it. It's thrilling. And scary. And heart pounding. And nauseating.

But never, ever boring with lots of good character building lessons.

I'm not sure what part of the roller coaster my family has been experiencing the last two months. It could be the end where you are sad it's over. You are looking forward to going on it again and experiencing the thrill, but you have to wait in that ridiculously long line to get there. A horrible, long line. Yeah. That pretty much sums it up. But just 5 short months ago we were starting a steep climb when we started talking to Nathan about a business venture. Troy and I found ourselves with an opportunity to make an investment of some sort. There were several options, but Nathan has been wanting to open a pizza restaurant for a long time. He has researched/learned and even created his very own dough recipe. He bought a small table-top brick oven and had some pizza parties until the fateful day it fell off the table and broke.

I talked privately with Troy a few times and brought up the fact his children (especially Lindsay) have encouraged him FOR YEARS to open some sort of restaurant. Anyone who has had Troy's cooking would say it was a solid idea. But Troy has some physical limitations that would have kept him from working that much. Or not work at all for days after overdoing it one afternoon. So it wasn't very feasible.

Until now.

Nathan and Troy with our newly signed lease.

We are now the proud owners of a pizza restaurant.

There's a little bit of back story to how we came about this particular place. It's an old Round Table that has changed hands a couple of times but has always remained a pizza place. When we started toying with this idea Nathan and I were scouring pizza restaurants for sale and this one popped up. We went over incognito to have some pizza. Not only was the pizza pretty bad, the restaurant was lack luster and dirty. But it was cheap so we contacted the broker and were ready to get things underway. We were excited to be opening up a family business that ALL THREE of my children could be involved with to varying degrees under Troy's guidance (due to his physical limitations).

Then we got that awful, life-changing call.

The biggest piece of advice that therapists give after such a loss is not to make any big life decisions for a year. So last week our therapist was shocked when we told her this was in the works. Like, eyes-wide shocked. There was a lot of time spent during that session discussing this, as you can imagine. But from mine and Troy's perspective it wasn't a NEW thing we were making a decision on. It was a decision we had already made that we had to put on hold.

I'm a firm believer in God's timing for things in life. Things will happen the way they are supposed to happen in the time frame He wants them to. Or they won't happen. And that's okay, too. So when the broker called as we were driving up to Oregon to bring Cody home, it wasn't the time. I told her that we would have to put this on hold for now. I remember telling Nathan that if the restaurant was still available once we got through what we needed to get through then it was meant to be. If it was gone then God had something bigger and better in mind and we would have to be patient.

Like I said earlier, we signed a lease yesterday. I'm incredibly sad that we didn't even get the chance to tell Cody we had found this place before he died. But God's timing is always perfect, even if it means perfection without our son. We feel so strongly about it that we are naming it CAPs Pizza and Tap House.  CAP:  Cody Allen Pryor.

God is good.

So is pizza. Hope you can join us in December to raise a glass for Cody.

It's going to be a wild ride!

2 Months

It's September 3. It's been 2 months since Cody died. And no matter how many times I say it/write it/see it, it still seems somewhat surreal. I have caught myself more than a few times thinking, "I should be hearing from Cody." We talked pretty often. Once a week most of the time, but never more than 2 weeks would pass without hearing from him.

But Cody died.

My son died.

I can write that a million times and it still seems strange and weird and like a big lie. But it's not. Because Cody died and I will not be getting a phone call from him. Ever again. Christmas is coming, but I won't be asking him for a Christmas list. I will never get to shop for his list, which would no doubt include some obscure piece of clothing that had food printed on it, or a skateboard, or some new skate shoes, or some ridiculous article of clothing from Good Will. I won't get to fill his Christmas stocking (serious Pryor tradition) with nonsense, practical jokes, a new toothbrush, storybook lifesavers and sour candy. He will never be calling me to tell me what he's been up to, or which song he was learning on his guitar. No more silly stories about his dogs and the cat that decided to love HIM the most even when he was completely irritated with her. I will never get to call him after I have cued up C&C Music Factory's "Everybody Dance Now" and blast it through the phone the moment he answers. Or after I have cued up Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like A Woman". We will never again recite lines from Napoleon Dynamite or laugh about Portlandia. No more silly texts or messages to him on Facebook with a bitmoji that looks like me. Entire conversations with him would take place with just the bitmojis. He told me I was lame. Then he would laugh.

I will never get to hear him laugh again.

I will also never have to worry about Cody again.  I'm a mother. I worry about my children sometimes. I worried a lot about Cody for many different reasons over the years. But he's gone. There is nothing to talk about. Nothing to give him advice about. No long conversations to have about addiction, stress, drinking, money, darkness, or frustrations of being an adult. No help to give and no more lending an ear or a shoulder. The mother-child relationship as I knew it with Cody is gone. Forever. It's probably the hardest of all emotions to NOT have right now...worry....because it means I have this heaviness that isn't associated with the emotion it normally is. It's different. And difficult. And uncomfortable. And painful. I'm left with questions and assumptions and knowledge about things that hurt me deeply. It's the difference between grief  and stress....the absence of worry.

There are many things I will never do again. But I will get to tell Tristan all the wonderful stories I can about his Uncle. The uncle he will never remember, but who adored him beyond words. I will also get to honor Cody's memory by writing stories, and keeping in touch with his friends, making sure they feel his spirit continue to carry them through their own grief.  I get to spread his ashes all over so that his final resting place is the entire world. And I get to hug, kiss, talk and laugh with my other two children as we tell stories and share memories of Cody. I also get to cry with them and wipe away their tears during the times when they miss him terribly.

I will also get to process this devastating loss with my husband, the other person who intimately knows my sorrow. He knows my sadness. He knows my grief. This damn grief that still comes in enormous waves with little warning. Or no warning at all. We are working through it. Talking through it. And I'm writing through it. And putting together 27 puzzles on that stupid app. I've made it through 2 months. Next it will be 3 months. Then 4.

Then it will turn in to 5 months. 5 months from July 3, 2016.

July 3, 2016.

The day Cody died.

Cody's Eulogy

When Cody died Troy and I were faced with having to make decisions, plans and choices about things we weren't necessarily ready for. My sister and I did some of this for our mom, but that's kind of the way the cycle of life is supposed to happen. It's not something you think you will ever have to do for your child. But, nevertheless, we were catapulted in to this horrible new reality. Grief stricken and still going through shock, we sat at the mortuary wondering how in the world our son's life could have been reduced to a small bag of his belongings. It was so cold, feeling more like a business transaction than anything else. Then we spent the next 3 days waiting in a hotel room so that we could take our son home.

I spent a great deal of time in the hotel room trying to imagine how Troy and I would ever get through a service, listening to a minister talk about grief and sadness and the afterlife as it pertained to our son. Cody was deeply spiritual, looking for meaning in the tiniest things nature and our universe had to say. He believed in God but was completely turned off by organized religion. A conversation I had with him about 2 years ago summed up perfectly why.

"Lots of churches and religions have rules just to be able to walk in the door, Mam. Even if there are no rules, there are still judgments made about people's appearance and actions. Jesus hung around with a bunch of thieves, liars and whores. Do you think those kinds of people are welcomed with no judgments in today's churches? Not likely. So I'll just keep doin' what I do."

Knowing that was how Cody felt made it difficult to plan some kind of service at a church or mortuary where there would be some sort of religious aspect to it. It certainly would be appropriate for ME. But not for CODY.  So after a brief discussion with Troy to see if we were on the same page, my sister and close friends started the process to find the right venue, plan the food and help with logistics. It was the perfect place, right next to the high school where he started 9th grade. In the very park next to the river where he had gone many times with friends.  And none of them had any idea until I walked up to the building in tears and told them all of that. God had His hand in everything that happened that day.

My focus was on setting up the service to honor Cody in just the right Cody-way. I asked a very special friend from work who knew Cody to open the service with a reading and a prayer. I knew I wanted to do a video with pictures and music. I also asked a few friends if they would like to speak.

We were still faced with some sort of Eulogy. I felt very strongly in my heart that specific things needed to be said. So I decided that if I wanted to say specific things, then I needed to be the one to say them. Quite a daunting thought given my frame of mind and I wasn't really sure what Troy would think of it. The only thing he said, with a look of grief-stricken fear, was that there was no way he would be able to speak.

It made it even more important in my mind that I speak for both of us.

So the morning of his service, I sat with my laptop on my back porch at 6:00 a.m. I cried, laughed, sobbed and cried some more as the words poured out of me. I printed it out and read it to myself 3 times. I Read it to Troy to make sure he was okay with the message. I read it to Sydney to make sure she was okay with the message. Then I got in a hot bath to soak and read it about 10 more times, trying to make the words come easier without the tears while also trying not to memorize it and make it sound rehearsed and cold.

I asked my father-in-law to be on standby in case I couldn't get all the way through it. But sheer exhaustion and reading it 5 more times before I left helped and I managed to deliver the entire message myself. The video with music and many pictures of Cody's life played just before I spoke. A video clip of Cody with Nathan talking in the background was at the very end.

And then I spoke:

“Why are you always taking pictures” was the question Nathan asked in the background of that video. I’m not sure if I was trying to capture moments in time for my children to look back on later in life or if it was simply for my own amusement. Today clarifies why. Why every picture I took….regardless of how blurry or silly or posed or random….was for a bigger purpose that was not revealed until this week. As I started the process of planning how to honor Cody in just the right “Cody-Way” I knew that his very essence…his very spirit….was captured in every picture taken of him, regardless of whether I took it, a friend took it, or JC Penny took it. That smile. Those beautiful blue eyes. That goofy smile. That shitty grin.

Cody was a beautiful pain the in butt from the moment he was born. Quite literally because I almost tore my sphincter muscle in half delivering him. In retrospect I see his birth as the definition of what it meant to be his mother: A journey filled with moments of indescribable pain that, for however brief or long the pain lasted, could be overcome with hard work, focus, love, determination and the momentary cry out to God to please make the pain go away….but in the end was a beautiful, heartwarming, enduring love that filled me to the brim.

I remember when we brought Cody home from the hospital. Troy and I were so amazed at this tiny little human with all his perfect little fingers and toes. We would lay on the bed with him between us, silent, and just stare at him. Every yawn, every stretch, every sigh was something worthy of acknowledgement from my dog to God Himself. As he continued to grow each milestone was monumental to this first time mom….but his first laugh was particularly wonderful. It was a full belly laugh that happened when my dog jumped up in my lap and scared me a little. It’s interesting that that’s what made him laugh because when he was older one of his favorite things to do was scare the crap out of me at the top of our staircase. It was a fun little game that he got his brother and sister to do, too. Everyone laughed every. Single. Time. Except me. But eventually my heart would start beating again and I would chuckle a little.

My children have always been pretty good at getting me to laugh. But in particular Cody. Every person in this room knows what I mean, even if it was my retelling of some story about him. His sense of humor was silly and sarcastic and sometimes completely irritating. He was a goofball. A comedic force to be reckoned with, whether it was some random stupid delivery of nonsense or dancing his way in to a room when no music was playing. Or dancing his way out of a room when no music was playing. Or dancing to every type of music imaginable. His humor sustained him. It was the biggest part of his personality and undoubtedly one of the reasons each person in this room wanted to be around him. He was infectious. At his best, Cody was someone who could make your darkest day brighter by just simply being himself and allowing you to be yourself with him. No judgments and no agenda.

When you have a personality with a spirit to match that is that big, who do you turn to when your own life just seems too intense? In grammar school one of Cody’s best friends died under horribly tragic circumstances. It crushed him. His spirit and humor were still present but were forever altered. And his heart was altered, too. His relationships were more intense for him, more meaningful and more passionate. He cared about people with his entire soul. He lived for the day. He learned at a very young and tender age that you don’t know if you are going to have a tomorrow so he lived in the moment. Sometimes the moment was dark and difficult and self-medicating with some sort of substance became the norm. It hurt Troy and I to see him struggle. I prayed for him daily, but my prayers during those times were filled with a mother’s desperation to see her child happy and healthy again. Then my prayers were simple requests to keep him safe. Eventually he entered rehab and kicked the bad stuff to the curb. 

But once you struggle through darkness with that taste of relief it hangs around like an old friend waiting to comfort you. So Cody surrounded himself with human friends from every corner imaginable. Look around you. Some of you had only known Cody for a short time. Some had known him since high school. Some had known him since grammar school. Some had known him his entire life. But his dedication to his family, friends and relationships was intense. He was loyal to a fault. Even those friendships that seemed toxic were the ones he clung to the tightest, not because he could self-medicate with them, but because they were the ones he wanted to save and deliver from their darkness, too. He needed a partner to save and keep himself on track. But keeping himself clean became the focus and he ended up leaving Sacramento. With a backpack filled with a few necessities, he took off one July morning in 2013 on an adventure of self-discovery. He was in search of something that would truly bring meaning to his life and make him happy. It was a hard day for me, letting him walk out that door with no real destination in mind, toward a world that had been particularly hard for him the previous 3 years. But he had that sparkle back in his eyes and I knew this was a journey that would deliver both of us from heartache in the long run.

After a couple of months, I heard it. That familiar sound. The voice of a happier, enthusiastic Cody who had fallen smitten. I listened to him as he described this person who had filled his soul and lifted his spirit in ways I hadn’t heard in years. I laughed as he told me stories of his adventures on the road. I cringed as he told me most of them happened as he hitch-hiked and trekked his way through the western states. But mostly I just listened, my heart happy because the sound of his voice was something I hadn’t heard in so long. I knew his eyes were the brightest of blues, beaming with hope and peace and adventure.

His silly, wonderfully annoying spirit had returned.

I’m not going to stand here and tell you that Cody didn’t struggle sometimes after that. People like Cody shouldn’t be expected to conform to what society deems “normal” and “acceptable”. He was a free spirt who needed to live by his own rules. And I was okay with that as long as the rules were safe and legal. I raised my children to be good people. I raised them to be respectful and kind and generous to others as well as to themselves. Cody took that goodness and lived his life in a way I certainly didn’t understand. He went on a permanent camping trip for 2 years to spread that infectious spirit of his around. He traveled on a bus with a dozen other people and just as many dogs. I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand it. But he found a soulmate who perfectly understood that.

Sydney was his everything. She made him want to be a better person. Everything he did and tried to do was for her happiness. Every conversation I had with him the last 3 years was about treating her right, taking care of her and being the kind of man he would want his own sister taking off on a stinky bus with. They loved each other unconditionally and at the end of every day were grateful they had found their own spirit in each other.

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 posted on FB that we refuse to believe he purposely took his own life so I will not talk about how he died. The circumstances were unfortunate and we are convinced that it was an accident, not because it is how we want to deal with the grief, but because of our last visit with him. I don’t need more proof than seeing that sparkle in his eye, that sound of happiness in his voice and the spirit of Cody that seemed to have returned. He was living life on his terms and he was becoming a better man because of it. So to his friends I say take that with you. Keep his spirit in your heart, know that he had found happiness. Be like Cody in wanting to rescue people. If you need to do that by starting with yourself first, do it. Find someone to talk to. To relate to. Someone who will listen. Someone who will help you on the road to being the best version of yourself possible. If you are the person someone wants to talk to, feel privileged you are the one being confided in and take the role seriously. Find the grace and compassion needed to help someone through their struggles, even if that means finding them the help you cannot provide.

Cody talked a lot about his adventures the last 3 years. He wanted to travel even more, to see places right within our own borders and beyond. You don’t cage a spirit as big as Cody’s or try to make it normal with some desk job or traditional living space. And so in death this will continue. We will take a piece of him wherever we may travel, whatever journey we embark on. He wanted to see the world so we will make sure that happens. If you ever go to the Oregon Coast, he will be there. If you decide to hike to a mountaintop overlooking Lake Tahoe, he will be there. He will be in New Orleans, the gulf coast, Florida and the Caribbean Islands before the year is over. Pictures will be taken at every location so that we can share Cody’s eternal scenic view. This entire world will be his final resting place.

My final words are for Nathan and Lindsay. Your dad and I love you more than can be expressed here. Those 3 simple words have deeper meaning now, something that once seemed impossible. You’ll understand when we hug you a little tighter, linger with the hug a little longer. As your mom I will try my hardest not to worry to levels beyond how I previously worried. It may take some time. Be patient with me. Don’t get so caught up in your lives that you don’t stop by or call just to say hello. Come for dinner and stay for conversation. We want to hear about all the mundane, seemingly unimportant things you are doing. I asked your dad if there was something specific he wanted me to say to you, and in his ever-eloquent don’t candy-coat-life he said, “Let life’s bullshit go”. So talk with each other. Hug each other. Support each other in the way only two siblings who have just lost one CAN support each other. We love you.

Thank you to each and every one of you for being here to support our family. Cody cast his net far and wide and that is evident here. The outpouring of love and prayers brings great comfort…..not only from those who walk through our front door but also the ones from halfway across the globe.

God bless you all.