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It’s the end of the week, two days past June 14th, the day forever etched in my mind.

Only in 2019 it wasn’t a Wednesday at all. It was a Friday, the end of a not-too-easy week tinged with hurt feelings from yet another chink in the armor of my experience with mankind. I soothed myself by getting back to my life, to my weaving, the dogs I was boarding and my solitary life up on top of the hill. Josiah had fallen silent for what was on the edge of far-too-long, but it’s hard to call your mom when you are lying dead on the side of the road, dumped there like garbage seven long days before.

Here we are four years later, 1460+ days have passed since his laugh was scrubbed clean from this earth. So much has happened in the interim.

I know, here I am again with yet another date I am acknowledging, but since the day he was killed, the calendar gets marked with dates–new ones and old ones, none of which feel good anymore. His due date, his birthdate, the last time I saw him, the last phone call, the day he was killed, the day I got the call–the day he was found, the day he was cremated, the day the Clouds were sentenced. I think you get the point. And that’s not all, the list goes on and on. There are more dates recognized in the year that had to do with his death than there are that had to do with his life. For those of you who might wonder, why? Why would you do this to yourself?

The answer is pretty simple–and that is that it’s common with those who are grieving–common with those who have experienced a life changing loss. We can try to ignore it, bury our heads in the sand, or we can face it which is what I’ve chosen to do.

Tuesday night, I got a text from a local rancher friend letting me know that they would be slaughtering on Wednesday. The mobile butcher would come and the three of us would stand up on top of that mountain with views that stretched in every direction–to the north, the south, the east and the west. I go to collect parts that would usually go to waste which I then use to help feed my raw fed dogs, Dharma and Smokey, the pitties Josiah brought home.

It isn’t quite high enough up there to see the Pacific Ocean lapping at the shore beneath Kings Peak, but there is a vastness there that speaks to me much like the sea. Rather than the sound of waves and sea lions barking, there are the birds filling the sky with song while the wind caresses the near waist high grassland on which the cattle feed. It is pure nature in that place, absolute bliss devoid of any of the noise or troubles caused by man in the populated world.

The timing of my return was near impeccable as I was there 3 years, 364 days ago. Just one day after I received that harrowing phone call. As I wound my way through their 5,000 acre ranch, tears fell from my eyes while deja vu set in. Spending the day with people I love and respect in a place that brings me such peace was the perfect way to handle the day that once ripped my life to pieces. It seemed the perfect way to see the contrast of where I am now and where I was then.

The book I am writing, Remember the Birds isn’t only about loss, it’s about love, resiliency and the strength of the human spirit, even when faced with a reality that threatens to tear us apart.

Last week, with the rising tide of fervor that happened on social media about the advocacy work I continue to do and my upcoming trip to the Gorge Amphitheatre to complete Josiah’s journey for him, a kind and talented woman from Southern Utah whom I had never met put together artwork to honor both my journey and Josiah’s life. She is no stranger to grief–not just her own, but also in supporting others. Her main line of work is designing monuments for those who have passed on. If you’d like to support her or need artwork done for a monument you are making for a loved one, you can find Karen Ferguson through her business page here.

Karen designed the artwork below and after reaching out on my Facebook page as well as the Remember the Birds page and Help Bring Josiah Home to see what interest there was, I placed an order for both t-shirts and stickers to be made to commemorate this journey north, to honor Josiah’s life and to continue to spread the word until some sort of justice is served. I am continuing to advocate for Josiah in the judicial system by taking baby steps through phone calls, emails and my yearly trips north.

If you are interested in a shirt or sticker, I will be selling and shipping them once they come in. All proceeds will go towards helping to fund the costs incurred traveling to Washington next month. I will be posting here to the blog when they become available. If you are on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter, you can find me there as well. I post more frequently on those platforms and would really appreciate a follow!

Also, while in Washington, I will be meeting with Joe Brusic, Yakima County District Attorney, to discuss pursuing charges against James and Donovan Cloud at the local level.

If you’d like to read about the 48 hours that occurred 4 years ago, you can have a go at Chapter 6 and Chapter 7 (I discovered when rereading it that there are some issues in the timeline. Everything contained is still true, but not quite in that order. This realization is one of the reasons why writing takes so much time! Especially if you want to get it right!)

For those that worry that I might be too focused on death, it’s certainly not true although the effects of my loss is the foundation of all that will come to pass. I took this picture of Brian and I last Sunday at the Hog Farm, Wavy Gravy’s place further south in Mendocino County. I labeled the expense of the tickets I purchased as “self-care” after last week’s many hard days.

My eyes widened when I saw it later. To me, it’s proof that I am very much on a path to healing. And yet, time marches on like a soldier to a war that can’t be won.

*please forgive any typos as life is beckoning me to head out the door!

Lots of love from Josiah’s mom,
Liz

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