Iam on that long walk home. You ran ahead of me and your footsteps now echo thejourney I must follow...
Terri Dreismeier
Secluded This First Year
I am bitterly cold; thebrutality of the winds was relentless. The stone black walls that surrounded mebegan to crumble. The black clock of death has visited. I am petrified. I amparalyzed. I am an âme damnée.
“Save my son,” I pleaded.Tears streaming down my cheeks, my cold hands covered my fatigued and swolleneyes. I collapsed to my knees. Dark, faceless shadows were hovering over me.Yet a kind gentle hand pulls me back. “Hand him over; it is time,” said to me.
Iwoke up in a cold sweat at 3:00 a.m. Craig was sound asleep. The nightmare wasso evocative; the willful message was hazy.
***
Mytired, weary eyes opened very slowly as I gently wiped away the salty tears mylips tasted. It is 4:00 a.m. The early dawn seizes me. I am voiceless, silencedby my guilt, failures, and fears. The cocoon that I have encased myself instill dangles upside down on a dead twig. I knew I must get out of bed, andsomehow, I mustered the strength and courage to slip out from under my warm,protective blanket, slipped on my soft, pink slippers, and tiptoed verycarefully down the hallway. The espresso-colored hardwood floors remained hushed,not a single creak.
My two worlds are denselyfogged. I drift ominously lost in disbelief. I step gingerly with abiding love. On top of the fireplacemantle, there sits the beautiful navy blue and gold urn full of your ashes,your kind and compassionate spirit. I paused. Adam Dreismeier-Jang, Soo Ho-the small,engraved gold plate reads. To the left, the Clavinova piano that joyfullyendured your musical fingers, endless hours of practice, treasured memorieswith a closed lid. And all-around portraits of you and our family hung orframed and positioned just so, never once touched. Time has become cruel: Howmany breaths must I take before we reunite; how many steps must I walk?
The black and ivory keysstarted to frolic.
“Hello Mommy, a melody foryou.”
On the day you enteredheaven and gained your wings, I also died.
This dimly lit, opaquecocoon since April 12, 2023, continues to shelter me from the outside world. Ihave remained silent. My soul combats horrible, intense pain and suffering withso much unconditional love. Like a self-conscious caterpillar, something insideme was changing.
Do I dare emerge from the securityof my own created encasem*nt only to be rejected, unwanted, and unaccepted? Iam a living, breathing creature. I am a camouflaged, masked secret. No oneknows me. No one criticizes, judges, or whispers behind my back: I heard hetook his own life; This happens all the time; Not Adam-He had so much to livefor. I brawl with shame and taboos. Dangling here upside down on a deadtwig, no one bothers me. Isolation is far better than breaking free.
Afar, I stare with glazedeyes. The world continues to spin, a merry-go-round, as I try to find my seatback on the horse I used to ride. I am a grief-stricken mother who will never seeher only son become a great man. My life’s plan was unforeseeably changed and shatteredinto thousands of pieces.
Suddenly whispered in myright ear, “Mom, I want to live after death. I have been freed and liberatedand can now live my soul’s purpose of helping and healing others beyondmedicine.”
Hair raising goosebumps instantlycovered my arms, how am I to continue loving and living when I have lost somuch...
In my shelter hidden fromthe outside world, I am numb, exhausted, and trembling. The gift of theunexpected plunks my mind; Will I survive this painful yet also beautifuljourney?
“Feel my golden light, Mom. ”Glimpses of Adam’s illuminating light shonethrough the small cracks.
***
Unchanged, every singleearly morning tears brim my eyes. I lift my right pointing finger to the top ofmy journal. I was nudged to turn one more page.
Saturday, September 27,2008:
My family was peacefullyslumbering. Adam was snuggled with his teddy bears while the Disney classicmovie scores played softly in the background.
Lovehas no boundaries,
Itgrows through time
Loveis enduring,
Wrappedin its warmth and protection,
Loveis not only born,
Itis strength, devotion, the heart of a family,
Loveis always unfolding,
Somethingnew will be around each bend,
Loveis promising,
Thelink that bonds us together.
Two big, beautiful chestnutbrown eyes soon peeked at me. “Good morning, Mommy.” Three soft teddy bearsgave me Eskimo kisses.
***
The gaping hole inside meis deep; I throb all over. Traveling to Saint Bonaventure to collect your itemsonly after six months was not part of the plan. After cleaning out yourapartment and packing your personal belongings, Dad and I needed a break fromthe imprisonment death slammed upon us. To quiet our minds, we walked the5-mile Allegany River Trail that intertwined behind the lush, green treeslandscaping the campus. Spring, for some magical reason, had gloriously touchedevery aspect of the trail. April 26, 2023, the sun shone brilliantly, and thecool, crisp air made us feel alive, even if briefly.
Holding hands, we meandered.No words spoken. As we turned the final bend, the last sign indicated ½ mileback to campus. To the left, a family of deer nibbled along the grassyriverbank. Not one spooked nor moved. The kind,gentle creatures stared intently at us, especially the young buck with antlersnot fully grown. A brave, caring, loving young man; it is you. We began to cry.Your warmth was penetrating and embracing.
On the path right behindthe College of Health Sciences written in rainbow colored sidewalk chalk, “Weare fine, and all is good.” Ironically, one of your most famous lines, “I amfine; all is good. ”Your masked disguise,always your contagious smile with one or both thumbs up. Agony concealed fromeveryone.
***
I verged on the edge oftorture. I was not there like a good mother should have been to save her child.Upon our return to Council Bluffs, I ran to the mailbox every day for a month,awaiting a letter of full disclosure that never came. Each day, I force myselfto take a breath and take one small step forward.
Warmer temperatures pitiedour grief. Instead of traveling to New York to visit you, excruciatingly we aretraveling back to Estes Park, Colorado for our annual family summer vacation.
At an elevation of 10,013 ́,Dad and I once more climbed Deer Mountain. You are with us in spirit. Each steptowards the top of the summit brought a little peace; a sense of hope that lifedoes continue after death. The six-mile trek was breathtaking and not much hadchanged over the years. The golden-mantled ground squirrels followed alongpilgrimaging for every human crumb and morsel possible. The rushing waterfallssang in the background. Instead of unpacking your favorite creamy peanut butterand Concord grape jelly sandwiches when we reached the summit, I took out asmall glass vile. Inside were some of your ashes. Carefully, I unscrewed thetiny black lid, and we released you over the pulse of the earth. We stood insilence and wept, just the three of us holding on to unbounded love.
Dark blue circles blanketedmy eyes. Sleep deprivation drained my body. I took a much needed 30-minute nap.
“There were so manybeautiful white orbs greeting me. All the lives I have touched. The golden sunsat gently upon the horizon and over the crystal, clear blue ocean. The rainbowcrossed the entire sky. I was welcomed by so much unconditional love, Mom.”
My heart pounding, I sprungup instantly. Craig still snuggled in the comfy,taupe colored Lazyboy recliner reading Experiencing Grief by KennethHaugk, said that I looked so peaceful.
“Adam is happy; he is in the most magical,beautiful place.” Through a small peep hole, I clutched a sight of heaven; Ifelt Adam’s soul resting eternally, reaching enlightenment.
***
I write to him on August28, 2023:
I can love you more than yesterday,
I can think about you more deeplyand honestly,
Ican live more today than yesterday,
Ican be brave and take one more step forward,
Ican let you whisper in my right ear, “Embrace the change.”
Mypain is still so intense; yet I feel closer to you than ever before-Why?
***
Death escorted a lost senseof purpose. I no longer know who I am. I scrunched even tighter in my shelteredcocoon.
On your birthday, the tropicalaroma lingered tenderly. One single candle was placed in the center of thepineapple ring. Heart wrenching pain punctured through me.
The homemade chicken noodlesoup simmered in the Dutch oven pot, while the homemade buttermilk bread bakedin the oven. Hope was poured in the water goblets.
November and December were uninvitedvisitors. Tears fell like a rainstorm throughout the harrowing nights.
His empty chair sat there.
***
On thesecond day of 2024, my heart began to beat once more. The soft opaque cocoonslowly crackled, and my ears were intrigued. It is you.
“May the tide wash away thegrief and unite with joy and love.”
“I am trying, Adam. But Ineed courage.”
My soul quivered as I setfree some of my anguish and let your love pour in. Carefully, you attached atiny pair of delicate wings to my back. Your nimble fingers tickled the centerof my back.
“Mom,these are gifts from me to you. When you are ready, you will flutter in theright direction.”
I continued to breathe; Itook one single step forward.
April 12, 2024, one yearafter you entered heaven and gained your wings. Salty tears were stinging myeyes and landing on my lips. I was reminiscing about the precious time we hadwith you on this earthly plane. My right ear rang loud and clear.
“Hold my hand, Mom, andlet’s walk.”
We wandered around on anunmaintained trail. I step with trepidation.
“Where are you guiding meto?”
No clear answer was given.Your memories are the light that will lead my way.
I am still in my protectivecocoon. I have not healed nor even finished surviving. I am both dead and alive. I unhurriedly release some painthat has tormented my soul this past year. I am a mother who has been mourningand morphing. The thin cracks started to let more of my son’s golden lightilluminate through. He kindly reached in. I held his hand so tightly that Inever wanted to let go. I know I must set myself free. I am terrified because Inever want to lose my connection with him. Until my last breath, I promise tolove unconditionally, become more compassionate, and think more deeply.
It has been 426 days since April 12, 2023, and at 2:00 a.m., mythird eye saw beyond the veil. Terri, Terri, faintly calling as if a guestin the audience saved me a seat. Our hands clasped.
“I am here, every day withyou, Mom.”
Your musical fingersvigorously expressing the horsehair bow on those tight strings. I wept tears oflove. The clock struck 3:00 a.m. I felt exactly where I needed to be.
“My music continues, Mom.You will know when I am near. I love you, too.”
I have been secluded thisfirst year. Evolving and shielding. Untangling my guilt, fears, and failures asI push past death and time. My son will always be my son although he no longerwalks this earth. I feel so proud for he is a part of me. Our souls areeternally bonded with love prevailing over.
I inhaled one breath andtook one more step forward on my birthday.
About the Author
Terri Dreismeier, lost her son Adam at the age of 22 to suicide. He was attending graduate school in New York. Like many transracial adoptees, Adam (Jang, Soo Ho Korean birth name) had been struggling with identity, acceptance, and belonging. Terri is currently a graduate student at UNO in the Advanced Writing Certificate program. She is finding healing and understanding through writing and is uniting Adam’s and her voice in helping other adoptees who might be experiencing loss and grief from abandonment. Adam wanted to heal beyond medicine. Terri was recently published in the anthology Adoption and Suicidality by Beth Syverson and Joseph Nakao, and spoke at KAMP (Korean Adoptee Means Power) held in Pella, Iowa.
Aug 28th 2024 Terri Dreismeier, BS, MA,
