As we walk through the days, weeks, and years following the death of our children, we are often surprised by the tiniest flutters of a memory that reignite all the feelings of loss like they just happened. Last week, I was cleaning out pictures and came across a professionally made Christmas picture of me and my children that I had completely forgotten about. Austin was probably two at the time. I was riding home from a concert a friend and I had performed out of state, and she was driving. I reacted so viscerally to seeing this picture that she almost had to pull over. For the rest of the hours long drive, I kept pulling out my phone and looking at it. I sent it to my daughters and to my closest friend. It’s been more than 20 years since that picture was taken. It’s been twenty years since my son died. Still, that one photo brought back floods of memories.

It was 1995 and life was great. My husband Henry and I had been married for 12 years. We had moved and lived in different cities from Texas to the East Coast with Henry’s job promotions. We were also incredibly involved in local churches wherever we lived. Our daughter Brittany was 2 years old, and we loved life in Jacksonville, Florida.

Then in the fall of 1995, we found out we were expecting a son! My family was excited as he would be the first great grandson.

Jonathan Martin Beech, beloved son and brother, lost his valiant four-year battle with brain cancer on March 10, 2007, just eleven days after his fifteenth birthday.

Jonathan was a quiet, unassuming boy who greatly loved his family and friends. He was an outstanding pianist, cellist, singer, and a budding composer. Academically driven, he earned nine years of straight A’s, and achieved recognition by both the Johns Hopkins University and the Carnegie Mellon University talent searches. He enjoyed basketball, bicycling, camping, hiking, ping-pong, pool, pinochle, poker, and reading. We treasured every day that we had with Jonathan. His untimely death left a gaping hole in our hearts and souls, and we sorely miss him.

This is so weird. How did I get here? Someone wants to hear a story about my son’s story and his death? But here I am. Five…can you believe it? Five years have passed by since Vincent’s death on September 17, 2018.

Vincent Alfonso Carrozza

Born: November 25, 1994

Vincent was my first baby. I was so young and barely married a year. I was convinced that I was eating for two! I became so heavy - I gained a total of 75 pounds. He did not take long to come into this world though. I was in labor four hours – 8:30am through 12:26pm. He was heavy - over 9 pounds - and long – 22 inches. Everyone always said he looked like a two-month-old when he was born. Back in those days we stayed in the hospital for 48 hours. The nurses had taken Vincent the first night from me and placed him in the nursery for observation. He was not feeding and did not latch onto me, and he was wheezing. I thought it was a cute little snore because he was so heavy; but it was not.

I always knew I wanted to be a mom. What I didn’t know, though, was just how much this was going to require. When my husband and I first married, we talked about having “a quiver full” of children. We wanted as many as God would give us! Just a couple of months after we were married, we found out we were expecting our first child. Sadly, this pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. Just one year later, though, we did have a beautiful baby girl. A couple of years after that, we had another beautiful girl. She was followed just 15 months later by our chubby, full-of-life, baby boy. I was ecstatic! My heart was full caring for my children.

Karlye was born on February 15, 1978, at 3:05 am weighing 4 pounds, 4 ounces.

Karlye was A FIGHTER. 

She was in the hospital for several months because of her weight. Thankfully her lungs were fully developed; however, she was placed in an isolate. I would come to the hospital unable to actually pick her up but stroke her little body through the portholes of the isolate. The nurses would give her instant meals though a small syringe.   

On September 6, 1983, I became a mother for the first time. My husband and I were thrilled! We’d had trouble conceiving and tried fertility drugs and everything else with no success. One day we just decided to quit the drugs and give up the idea of children - God had a different plan. I have never been happier in my life.

Ryan was a fun-loving child. He was always on the go, had a wonderful smile and laugh and always a sparkle in his eyes. He was so loved and just precious. I was overprotective as I could not imagine anything happening to him. When he was 4 1/2, his sister was born. Four years later, his brother was born. He was a good big brother to both of them, and they loved him.

"It was just a dream" was my first thought as I struggled to wake up that morning. Seconds later, reality slammed into my brain with the force of a semi-truck slamming on its brakes while driving at highway speed. It was NOT a dream. In less than twelve hours the most dreaded fear of every mother would become my reality. I would stand at the side of a casket looking at the lifeless form of my daughter. Ally was young. She died of cancer. She left behind a heartbroken husband and two young children.

If you and I were to meet in person for coffee to talk about the events of our lives that have shaped us into who we are today, I would undoubtedly tell you about an event that occurred 20 years ago this month - the unexpected death of my 4-year-old son, James Austin.

This loss rocked me to my core, and I have not been the same since. It changed me. At the time of Austin’s death, I had just reached the point that life was feeling stable again following the end of my marriage. This loss catapulted me into a trajectory of questioning everything I knew & believed.

Over the last several weeks, I have had the opportunity to attend two piano-specific conferences that have impacted me in unexpected ways. The first was the Steinway Conference: Keys to Finding Funds, held in the Sofitel Hotel in New York City. This was a brief two-day conference centered around ideas for fundraising for schools and universities interested in obtaining Steinways or becoming all-Steinway schools. My university, William Carey University, was the first all-Steinway school in the state of Mississippi and, as the newest full-time faculty member in the piano area, I was privileged to attend this conference on behalf of Carey.

In last week’s episode and blog post, I shared my experience of the connection between our creativity and our personhood. What is going on in our lives really does have an effect on our creative output. I have heard so many music students say they don’t feel creative, and they question whether they should be studying music. I’ve been there, y’all. This is a normal part of being in music school. The answer to whether or not you should continue is - Yes! You absolutely should! It is entirely possible that what you are feeling as a lack of creativity is from the stress you are currently facing in school. Our brains need space to process new ideas. This is nearly impossible when you have exams to study for, new music to learn, rehearsals to attend, performances to give... It’s exhausting just thinking about flexing those creative muscles after all that!

Have you ever tried to untangle a knot; and the more you worked on it, the more entangled it seemed to become? And it probably also became more difficult to see where the knot was because your fingers are tired, your eyes are tired and after a while you just want to throw it out. The more that you worked on it, the more work it seemed was still needed.

But there are lessons we can learn in the waiting. Any period of waiting in our lives can be useful and can be used for growth. This is something I touch on in this next week’s episode, so I’ll wait until it drops to go into more detail on this. For now, though, I do want to encourage you by saying that waiting isn’t pointless. In fact, it can be really productive!

One of life’s greatest joys is learning who you are over and over and over again. It’s almost like each new day we are given the chance to rebrand our image. How cool is that??? A therapist once told me, “Every day when you go out into the world, YOU get to decide who you want to be. This can change daily, but it’s always your choice.”