The first Christmas has come and gone...I surived. Did I feel the joy Christmas usually fills me with? No. Was there a painful void in the family gatherings? Yes. Will Christmas ever be what it once was? I doubt it.
My goal this Christmas was to make things as joyful as I could for my other kids. I knew they were hurting, and felt the same anxiety about Christmas as I did. Somehow, I felt I needed to lead them through the holidays...even though I didn't know how I would survive them myself. I suppose that is the job of a mother...to stand strong and lead the way, no matter how much you wish you could run and hide. No matter how much your heart is hurting, or how unsure you are of which direction it is you need to move...as a mother, you must find a way. They needed me, their needs matter so much more then my own, and that is where I found my strength....it came from the love I have for my kids who are still here with me, as well as the love I have for Ryan. I am certain that Ryan knew I would find my strength from this very love. I also know he was proud of my efforts...which matters more then I can say.
We had a very special time with the kids. We were all painfully feeling Ryan's absence, but together, we made it through. I got them all Vision Memory Blankets, which had pictures of each of them with Ryan, on their individual blankets. I knew in my heart I needed to give them a piece of Ryan this year, so I spent hours putting these blankets together, and addressed it to each of them from Ryan and me. They were all very touched, and I know the blankets meant the world to them. My instincts were right...they needed a piece of Ryan this Christmas. Throughout the evening we laughed some, we cried some, we talked of Ryan a lot. We brought him into this home with us...right where he belongs. And...we missed him deeply.
We spent time with the Pyzers and Beebouts, as well as time on our own. Some family members shared their concern with words, a look, or a touch...gently letting me know they knew this was hard and they were there. Some spoke not a word, nor showed any signs of reaching out. To those who dared to address the sadness, no matter how uncomfortable it may have been for them, I am grateful. With their words and/or gestures, not only did they show me that my broken heart, and the hearts of my husband and children mattered...they let me know Ryan was still a part of Christmas. I needed to know that...my entire family needed that. When my mom arrived, she walked in the door and handed me a small, artificial poinsettia to put under Ryan's tree. This was one of the greatest gifts I was given this Christmas. Some may ask...what was the big deal with that? Well, it was a very big deal to me. What it told me was she cared about my heart, she understood I was carrying an unspeakable sadness within, and she knew how important it was to bring Ryan into this Christmas somehow. She knew what Ryan's tree meant to me, so she added to it. What greater gift could anyone ever give a mother grieving the loss of her child? I will keep that poinsettia forever, and each year when I put his tree out, that plant will sit under it...reminding me of the incredible gesture of love she gave to me, to Ryan, and my entire family that first Christmas.
Since Christmas, I have felt numb. Some tears, at the most unexpected times, but for the most part... very numb. Perhaps this is a way to shield myself from the magnified sadness surrounding the holidays? Perhaps a way to protect my heart from the pain I don't know how to deal with? Perhaps a way to survive the remainder of these dreaded holidays? Perhaps a way to process how these first holidays were without Ryan here with us? Whatever the reason, I am almost grateful for the numbness. I'm sure it's part of the grieving process, and won't last for long, but immediately following this First Christmas...I welcome the numbness.
As I write this blog, I am moving into the time 3 months ago, when I saw and spoke to Ryan for the last time on this earth. So many emotions are running through me, I don't know what to say. I only know I need to say something, because the sadness is building and must be released.
I don't know how grief is measured, or if it can be. I know there is no timeline, no right way....only my way. I don't know what "my way" is under these horrific circumstances, so I continue to take it one day at a time. I have never been so shaken, thrown into such turmoil, or felt such heart wrenching anguish in my entire life. There have been many times I have felt the ground beneath me ripped away....but in all those times, I have never felt completely broken like I do now. My world was shattered 3 months ago, and I can honestly say, I am no better today then I was that fateful day of Sept. 22, 2010. I am still broken, and am questioning when I will feel the pieces of my life are somehow coming together again...or if I ever will?
After Ryan died, I managed to face what I had to do. I did what needed to be done....made the painful phone calls, worked with his dad in making decisions and arrangements, dressed him one last time before his brothers and sisters saw him, and finally....I poured my heart and soul into his memorial. It kept him close, and it was something I was doing in his honor...a gift to him. When the one month anniversary came, I arranged to write notes and release balloons with his siblings...a way to help them, while honoring Ryan. Then came Thanksgiving...I pushed through it, although inside, I wanted nothing to do with it. Now Christmas is here, a time Ryan loved so much, and I have found the strength to push into this holiday as well. Not for me, but for my family. I knew how important it was to make things as normal as possible...whatever normal means anymore? I am strong, I always have been. I do what I need to do, no matter how much sadness my heart carries. Because of this strength, I know I will continue to move forward, endure, and do whatever it is that needs to be done.
But underneath this strength, is a woman who has a broken heart. A woman who will never get over this loss. A woman who will never stop missing her little boy. A woman who will always wish her son was still here. A woman who will forever long to see her son's smile, and hear his voice again. A woman who will always remember the joy Ryan brought into my life, into this family, and into the lives of so many. Yet sadly, at the same time, think of all the things he will never get to experience. I am a woman who will never be the same person she was before...so perhaps I also grieve for the loss of me.
I am a strong woman. But I am also a broken woman. I am a woman who is a mother....a mother who lost her child...a child much too young to die. As I sit here with tears pouring down my face, I am certain of this...this pain is just as severe at 3 months, as it was the day it happened. Perhaps it is worse now, because I am not protected by the physical and emotional responses that happen with shock. All I have now is the harsh reality...a reality I find very hard to accept and live with.
Ryan's friend sent me a note a couple of weeks ago...she had another dream with Ryan. She said they were sitting together, and in the background a song was playing... "Dear Mama." As the music played, the words appeared in front of her, much like they would on a karaoke machine. As the words scrolled down, Ryan grabbed the lyrics he liked...or he wanted her to share with me. When he touched the lyrics, they became brighter, came towards her, and then disappeared. When she woke, she felt she was meant to share the lyrics with me. I am grateful for this.
Some may think this is nothing but a nice dream....but for myself, I believe Ryan had something to share with me...and once again, he knew where to go. He knows my pain, could never bear to see me cry, and I believe he is reaching out once more. Reaching out just to let me know how much he loved me...and loves me still. Ryan had a message, and shared it through his friend's dream. This...I BELIEVE.
"I finally understand, for a woman it aint easy trying to raise a man."
"Lady, don't you know we love you sweet lady? Place no one above you sweet lady...you are appreciated, don't you know we love you?"
"Cause when I was low you were there for me, and never left me alone cause you cared for me."
"And I could see you coming home from work late, in the kitchen trying a fix us a hot plate."
"Just working with the scraps you were given, mama made miracles every Thanksgiving."
" Pour out some liquor and I reminisce, cause through the drama I can always depend on my mama."
"And when it seems like I’m hopeless, you say the words that could get me back in focus."
"When I was sick as a little kid, to keep me happy there’s no limit to the things you did."
"And all my childhood memories, are full of all the sweet things you did for me."
"And even though I act crazy, gotta thank the lord that you made me."
"There are no words to explain the way I feel, you never kept secrets, always stayed real."
"And I appreciate how you raised me, and all the extra love that you gave me."
"I wish that I could take the pain away, if you can make it through the night, there’s a better day."
"Everything will be alright if you hold on, its a struggle everyday, gotta roll on."
"And there’s no way I can pay you back, but my plan is to show you that I understand...you are appreciated."
Decorations are up, shopping is nearly done, and presents are under the tree. Despite all of this, my heart is painfully empty. As Christmas approaches, the sadness in my heart seems to grow stronger...which I didn't think was even possible at this point in my life. It is almost becoming too much to endure...which leaves me questioning my strength and ability to survive this journey I have been forced to take. I am filled with endless tears and an overwhelming anguish...an anguish I can not even begin to describe.
Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. The birth of Jesus, the music, the decorations, the warmth of family, and most of all...the love which people seem to give to each other so freely. I always thought it was sad that people didn't carry that love throughout the rest of the year, but at the same time, did feel grateful for the time it was here. What use to be my favorite time of year, is proving now to be a time of devastating sadness and loss.
Ryan always loved Christmas, and his brothers and sisters did too. They love the decorations, the excitement of Santa, and the feeling of love that seems to be everywhere. If I had no other children , I would have crawled into my bed this year, hiding from the world. But...I do have other kids, and because of that, I need to find a way to bring joy into their hearts. This Christmas will be hard on Ryan's brothers and sisters too, so it's my job to do all I can to create a normal Christmas....all the while not knowing what normal is anymore?
I bought a small fiber optic tree and wrote Ryan's name at the base. I have placed two pictures of Ryan on each side of the tree. It is my way of paying tribute to him, and keeping him with us in a way everyone will notice. I know he will be in our hearts, but I feel there needs to be something special to look at...something which honors his life and his spirit with us. The fiber optic tree radiates like a rainbow, the symbol of hope God has always shown me in my darkest hours...the promise that things would be OK. I need that promise right now, so I brought it into my home, and called it Ryan's tree.
I try to be excited for the kids, although I don't always succeed. I did everything I could to make the house look the way it always looked for Christmas, which took every bit of strength I had. I forced myself out into the world to buy gifts, even though I ended up breaking down during those shopping times. I am doing all I can to make Christmas right for my other kids, but deep within my heart...I feel nothing but emptiness and sorrow as this first Christmas without Ryan approaches.
Sometimes the turmoil inside is so strong, so overpowering, it seems as if there will never be a sense of peace again. I am not expecting to find complete peace or acceptance....I know they will never be mine. I don't imagine after losing a child you ever feel complete peace again...after all, your child is no longer with you. However, a sense of peace is needed to move forward and allow you to breathe. At least it is for me.
My greatest peace comes from the ocean. It is there I find some sort of comfort in this insanity, a small sense of peace...letting God's love and majesty completely surround and fill me. Those visits are not nearly as often as I need them to be, but they do help while I'm there. I have been reading a lot...again, searching for that sense of peace my heart desperately needs right now. Books about faith, afterlife, near death experiences, the paths of other people who have lost a child, etc.... I am so open to everyone's ideas, thoughts, and feelings... passing no judgement on the journey they are on.
I know how hard life can be, and how much we all need peace in our hearts. When you lose a child, you are thrown into a very lonely, quiet, and seemingly impossible place. It takes every bit of strength to get out of bed each day and try to resume a semi normal life for the rest of your family. All the while, nothing feels normal within yourself. I don't even know what normal is anymore? I don't know how I am suppose to function in the world as I did before? I don't know when this overwhelming feeling of sadness will ever lighten? I don't know when I will feel joy in my heart again... or if I will? Nothing is the same, nothing feels right...I am a mother who has lost her child. Even now, I can not seem to wrap my head around that reality.
I continue getting up each day. Sometimes I feel like I'm numbly walking through the day, other times I know I am barely crawling. I continue trying to meet the needs of my family, although I'm sure I fail them in many ways. While I go through the motions, deep in my heart... I am fighting and frantically searching for some sense of peace.
Ryan has been a blessing to me from the moment he was conceived. Throughout my pregnancy, I knew the child within me was a gift. A gift I was so grateful for. A gift given to me from God...and taken away, too soon, by the very One who gave him to me. As I try to make sense of this, or at least find a little sense of peace, I am reminded of the blessings he brought into my life, as well as the lives of all who loved him.
Ryan was always a gentle spirit. His heart was tender and giving from the moment he knew how to share it. He did not like conflict with anyone, and withdrew at its very presence. As he got older, when conflict surrounded him, he tried to calm the waters. If he couldn't find the peace he desired, he walked away from the situation. He believed in peace between people...in unity. He believed in reaching out to all he knew and loved, as well as reaching out to those he had never met before. He believed we should all love each other unconditionally, and did not believe in passing judgement on others. He knew that was not his job, or the job of any other person. He lived what he believed, and knew to be right. At his young age, he KNEW what loving another person really meant. He understood what God meant when He said to love each other...he really understood.
In Ryan's young death, I am left so empty. Yet I am also amazed at the power one young life has had on hundreds of people. As I think of him, I wonder if perhaps his early death wasn't some sort of sacrifice on his part....some understanding he had with God... to better the hearts and souls of those he loved, and who loved him. Perhaps if he were still here, we wouldn't be hearing and seeing the message of love we are all receiving now? This does not take away the ache in my heart, but it does help me see that God has a plan...even if His plan has left me broken.
I pray that all who loved Ryan will keep their hearts and eyes open, so that they will always listen and see....Listen to the message of love he showed us in his short life, and always See the Blessings of Ryan.
