On September 22, 1976, my son, Timothy Michael Lynch, was born. He had blue-green eyes and dark blond hair, and finally grew to six feet tall. He was an artistic kid - always drawing. I kept drawing pads for him that he always filled. When he was 10, he spent a week watching an old B&W movie of Shakespeareís King Henry V, then he drew the knights, soldiers, and castles, until dinner. He had started writing poetry, and was getting good. He loved my garden and helped plant and water it and then pick the vegys. He also loved the ocean and beach. He loved his many friends and made them laugh, at him, his jokes, and at themselves.
He was very smart, but hated school - he was completely bored. He took the GED so he could start college. He didnít want to Ďwaste time on high schoolí. He really found himself in college - he was getting 4.0 studying to be a fireman. He loved his Fire Science courses and couldnít wait to take the EMT course - that would have been this summer. He wanted to help save people.
He was looking forward to life! He wanted to work at a fire department in a beach city in Orange County, CA, for a few years, then, marry and have a family, two boys and a girl. Later, he wanted to go into fire investigation or prevention, or finish a BS in Forestry. When his kids were school age, he wanted to move to Montana, Wyoming or Idaho, Where they would be safe. Little did he realize how much danger he was in, living in his own home with his father.
On March 25, 1996, at 19 1/2, Tim was shot and killed by his father. Why, is a mystery. His father is charged with first degree murder. He shot Tim five times: twice in the chest, once in the stomach and twice in the heart, after Tim was on the floor! His father claims he Ďover-reactedí, it was Ďself-defenseí, etc., but he shot his unarmed kid, even though he was a 2nd black belt!
Itís been seven months, but I still feel the pain stabbing my heart. I miss Tim so very much. We were close friends and shared so much together, like the same music. Itís so hard to Ďlookí to the future and have to face it without him - Iím missing part of my heart and soul.
I attend Parents of Murdered Children and The Compassionate Friends who have all lost a child in some way. I went to counseling for four months, until the counselor felt I was doing OK, whatever that means. I am assured Iíll survive this, but some days it just doesn't seem worth it, except for my 23 year-old son and some very good friends. I also read, read, read books by parents who have survived this hell. I have some days that are good and some that are big black holes of pain. Most days are a mix of both. I have the most trouble at night, trying to get to sleep. I didn't know you could cry in your sleep.
There is still much to go through - the first holidays without Tim, the trial of his father, my ex-husband, then the first anniversary of his death. Iím told, and have read, that it gets better: the hurt will lessen, the numbness will go away, and some day, the sun will actually shine for me. Iím patiently waiting, but do not know how living can be joyful again. I can laugh, sort of, but not with much joy. I miss my son, his laughter and his vision of his future. I miss the grandchildren I will never know. I know what hell is, I have been living in it for seven months!
I have been writing a journal and am also writing poems. I would like to share the first he inspired me to write:
Heís back with You, now, but I miss him so,
How Iíll survive, I donít really know!
The joy in his smile, and his sparkling eyes;
With all of these, my heart also dies.
I remember his birth, those first steps, so unsure;
The joy of his laugh, as it rang, clear and pure;
I cherish his drawings, poems, and art;
They are all that are left for my grieving heart.
He made it through childhood and grew as he should,
Through school, into college, as best as he could;
The lifework that he chose was noble and proud,
To help and save others, Mom, thatís where Iím bound!
To fight against fires, I will risk my all,
To help those who are injured; I hear their loud call.
My life is to give, and to help those in need;
To know that I served, in act and in deed.
Then bullets fired in anger ended his life, out of season,
God took him home, and left me a life with no reason.
I miss you, Mom! I love you so much!
These words I hear, let me know heís in touch.
Iíll watch over you, Mom; your guardian Angel, now;
It will get better, though you still canít see how.
Please, have no fear, Mom, for Iím with you forever;
Iím always in your heart; in all you endeavor.
I give to you roses, and fields of flowers and green,
Iíll visit you often, as a whisper, or in a dream.
Iím in the soft winds sent to caress you each day,
And wait to hug you, when you finally pass this way.
You can send email to Karen at [email protected]
anniversary date 3-25-96
date of post 10-26-96