It's New Years Eve again...another one without Ryan here. I look back over the past year and realize that although I remember so many details, I also remember nothing. It is a year of my life which came and went, with little heart felt participation by me. I did my best under the circumstances, so make no apologies.
I have learned a lot over the past year. I have learned what REAL friends are, and am FOREVER grateful for those people in my life. I have heard people say they didn't know what to say...which I so genuinely appreciated. I have also heard the deafening silence of others. I have watched people endlessly try to show their support through words or actions... I have witnessed those who chose not to do either. I have been blessed by people who freely and lovingly talk about, and listen to me, as I talk about my son...I have been deeply hurt by those who don't speak of him, or seem to listen as I do. I have been greatly blessed by Ryan's friends...their love for Ryan has carried me through the darkest of days, and continues to do so. They love, honor, and remember him always. I could never thank them enough for showing me how important he was, and still is, in their lives. In return, they have become very important in mine. I have learned again how incredible my family is...they have been there, and continue to be there, as this painful journey continues. They can't heal me, as much as they wish they could, but they have shown me over and over that Ryan really mattered to them, and that my hurting heart also matters. What a gift they have given me...Ryan would be proud.
Probably the greatest thing I have learned is to take care of myself...to love myself. Being in such a broken place, you realize how important it is to take care of yourself...because you are so vulnerable and fragile. I have learned to do things to nurture my spirit, and I do them. Trips to the coast, writing my blog, time alone, allowing the tears to come, listening to my heart, etc... I have learned who to let close, and who to keep distant...all out of doing what is best for my heart and soul. I have learned to set boundaries...protecting my heart and the heart of my family. I never tolerated judgmental people very well, but now I have no tolerance, so keep those people clear of my life. I am learning that it does not matter what people think of me...something Ryan had already understood. As Ryan once said to me..."I know my heart, and if someone is judging me and chooses not to see it, that's their loss." In all of this, I am learning to love myself the way I know I am suppose to.
So as another new year approaches, I am feeling very solemn and nostalgic. I am missing Ryan more with each day...what I thought would get easier, is in fact, getting harder. In this sadness, I am also trying to see the gifts I have been given. I know Ryan would want me to nurture and love myself...I KNOW that. I will continue to try and do this...I want to make him proud.
I found this on a Grieving Mothers page...it so accurately described my heart that I wanted to capture it in my blog. I have felt many of these emotions and I'm sure anyone else who has lost a child will also feel the power in these words...
1. I wish you would not be afraid to speak my child's name. My child lived and was important and I need to hear his name.
2. If I cry or get emotional if we talk about ... my child, I wish you knew that it isn't because you have hurt me. The fact that my child has died has caused my tears. You have allowed me to cry and I thank you. Crying and sometimes unexpected emotions are healing.
3. I wish you wouldn't ignore or act like my child never existed by removing from your home his pictures, artwork, or other reminders of this very special person who lived and made a contribution to all of our lives.
4. I will have emotional highs and lows, ups and downs. I wish you wouldn't think that if I have a good day my grief is all over, or that if I have a bad day I need psychiatric counseling. My erratic and unpredictable mood swings , from exhilaration to hopelessness, are as unpredictable by me, as they are by you. This is part of my new "normal" life.
5. I wish you knew that the death of a child is different from other losses and must be viewed separate. It is the ultimate tragedy in a persons life. I wish you wouldn't compare it to your loss of a parent, a friend, a spouse, or a pet.
6. Being a bereaved parent in not contagious, so I wish you would not shy away from me . I need you and you need me.
7. I wish you knew of all the "crazy" grief reactions that I have are, in fact, are very normal. Depression, anger, frustration, hopelessness, and the questioning of values and beliefs are to be expected following the death of a child.
8. I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in six months. Please do not think because my "time period" is over that I am a "former bereaved parent" ...I'll forever more be a "recovering bereaved parent." Please don't tell me how I should "cope" or that "it is time to move on" or "someday there will be closure." The word "closure' is a convenient , faddish media term that is absolute and complete nonsense and meaningless.
9. I wish you understood the physical reactions to grief. I may gain weight or lose weight, sleep all the time or not at all, develop a host of illnesses, be accident prone or forgetful, all of which may be related to my grief. I may become isolated and withdrawn for periods of time. I may not even be able to talk on the phone or return phone calls.
10. Our child's birthday , the anniversary of their death and holidays are terrible times for us. I wish you would tell us that you are thinking of our child on these days, and if we get quiet and withdrawn, just know that we are thinking of our child and don't try to coerce us into being cheerful. If nothing else, I wish you would call once in a while and say, "Hi, I was thinking about you." Or just a friendly note or word, "Just wanted to let you know i was thinking of you today and hope things are OK."
11. It is normal and good that most of us re-examine our faith , values and beliefs after losing a child. We will question things we have been taught all our lives, and hopefully, come to some new understanding with my God. I wish you would let me tangle with my religion without making me feel guilty.
12. I wish you would understand that grief changes people. I am NOT the same person I was before my child died and I will never be that person again. If you keep waiting and encouraging me to "get back to my old self" you will be disappointed, discouraged and frustrated. I am a new creature, not by choice, but by circumstances... with new thoughts, new dreams, aspirations, goals, priorities, values, and beliefs. Please try to get to know the new me...maybe you will still like me.
~ Author Unknown
For many different reasons, we decided to stay home for Thanksgiving, surrounding ourselves in the peace of our own home. Sean and Kaitie were at their dad's house, so it was just the four of us. I spent the day cooking, trying to stay focused on that alone. It was very nice, and I thought I had gotten through it quite well overall. The older kids came over in the evening, which was very comforting. When I went to bed I realized how much I had controlled my emotions and thoughts that day. How I deliberately tried to focus on what was at hand, versus what I was missing. I had succeeded, but when I lay in the quiet, I could not escape the sadness of what was missing...Ryan. I felt so deeply sad as I lay there in the realization that holidays would never be as they once were. How do I deal with that?
Today, I started pulling out the Christmas decorations. I knew if I didn't get that ball rolling quickly, I wouldn't want to do it at all. Last year as I began that process, I was doing it to make things as normal for the other kids as I could. Today as I did it, I felt it was more of a habit then anything. I moved slowly, felt very anxious inside, and just wanted to do what I had to do...and do it alone. I remembered how I would always play Christmas music and make a fun day of decorating. It felt so joyful to fix the house up...it brought comfort, peace, and love to all of us. Today I just went through the motions...AGAIN, going through the motions. I heard the neighbors doing lights outside, all together in laughter and completeness. I remember those days, and that complete joy. Although I can remember the joy, I can't remember what it felt like anymore. That is the sad reality of what has happened to my heart. I have spent most of the day crying, as I pushed myself through, doing what I needed to do...making things as normal as I could for everyone else.
We often took family pictures at this time of year and used it for our Christmas card. We haven't taken a family picture since Ryan died, and quite honestly, I don't know when I will ever be able to do that again, if ever. How do you take a family picture when one of your children is now gone?
I spend most of the first year making sure my kids and husband were alright, at least as alright as they could be. I continue to do this, but I also spend more time looking within. I must say, it's a very sad place to look. I realize I am still taking One Small Step At A Time. I don't know that I have made any progress with this grief...I don't know if that's even possible? I have gone through all "the firsts", and here it is the second Thanksgiving. It honestly feels worse then it did last year. I genuinely believe that has something to do with the shock factor, and the protection that provides. Maybe part of it is also the fact that since it's been a year, many people naturally assume you are better. Maybe it's both? I really don't know, and to be honest, I guess it really doesn't matter...it just is. Life feels very lonely right now.
I look at this picture, and I realize things will never be whole for me again. One of my babies is gone, and a large part of me went with him. So events which focus on family...Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Birthdays, family gatherings....all just magnify the fact that life is NOT the same...it will never be again. Ryan is gone, my son has died, and that has forever changed me, and my life. Today I am really feeling the devastating pain of that reality.
I have just passed the anniversary of Ryan's Memorial (Oct 15th), so the "firsts" are officially over. At least that is what I am told. I survived each new month without him, my first birthday, the first birthdays of my other children, the first holidays, Ryan's first birthday, the first mother's day, and the painful and devastating first anniversary of his death. I knew each of these firsts would be a slippery stepping stone which I would never forget...but I also hoped somehow once the "firsts" were completed, a glimmer of light would appear in my world again. That somehow I would miraculously feel whole again. I was very, very wrong.
Each morning when I awake, I hit my snooze button and think of Ryan. I wonder how I will survive another day, if I will manage again to forge through the emptiness, or if I will find a reason to smile. The alarm goes off again, and I force myself up and begin to go through the motions of yet another day. Going through the motions...that seems to be all I do now. I go to work, giving all I am capable of giving...wondering if I'll ever feel the passion I use to feel. I get home and do what needs to be done, again giving all I am capable of giving...homework, dinner, showers, attention, etc..., all the while looking forward to crawling into my bed. The place I can be alone and NOT pretend to be someone I no longer am. I'm still unsure of who I am or what I'm mean't to be, but it is very clear I spend most of my day being what people think I should be...or perhaps what I think they need me to be. Somehow I have gotten lost and I'm not sure if anyone even realizes that?
This is a time of year I always loved. The season was changing, and with it seemed to bring a comfort of being at home more with my family. With that came the realization that the holidays were coming, another time to focus on my children...all their joy and love. Now this time of year haunts me. I have a painfully, piercing understanding that nothing is right inside my heart anymore, and I can't imagine how it ever could be again. My child is gone...nothing is right. With this realization, comes a darkness I can not even begin to describe. In fact, it is so overwhelming at times, that I put great effort into pushing it away, hoping and praying one day I'll feel strong enough to face it. It literally takes my breath away.
What I have come to realize is this...each and every day is a "first" day without Ryan. There is no relief, no glimmer of light, no sense of wholeness, and no feelings of accomplishment for surviving the "firsts." For me, the "firsts" are never ending.
I had no idea of what to expect as this time and date approached, although I had been warned of the turmoil that awaited me. I have learned over the past year NOT to be surprised at what each day may hold, or where my emotions may take me. This grief seems to have a life of it's own, and I have tried very hard to just accept that hard fact.
Today, the eve of the One Year, I feel just as I did a year ago. The only difference is...I don't have the shock to mysteriously protect me. I miss the shelter it provided, but know I must move forward with this heart wrenching reality, no matter how painful it is. And...it is more painful then words could ever express.
Physically, I have an endless pit in my stomach, my head is pounding relentlessly, and I feel nauseous. Emotionally, I feel the gut wrenching panic, the disbelief, the uncertainty, the isolation, the endless fear, the overwhelming concern for my other kids, the self doubt in my ability to survive, the moments of not caring if I do, and the indescribable sadness in my heart and soul....my little boy is gone and my life on this earth will never be the same without him physically here. What does that mean for me? For us? I still don't have that answer, I only know we have all changed so very deep within.
Others may think I should be focusing on the good memories right now. I try very hard to do that, although it never takes away the sadness. Sometimes it brings moments of joy, and other times it actually makes it harder. Right now, in this moment, I am incapable of focusing on memories. What was once my life with Ryan, is now only memories. The loss in that is so overwhelming at this stage, that all I can do is just breathe.
I have witnessed great pain in my other children. Pain I could not take away, but only try to help them through. In recent days I have see that pain surfacing with great force. I realize in those moments, that they, like myself, just try to carry on...all the while the sadness is deep inside, and never gone.
I have spent a lot of time today remembering the day before Ryan died...the talking we did, the dinner he ate, going into his room numerous times to check on him, him coming out to me with questions or things to share, the last words I said to him, and him to me. In 30 minutes, it will be a year since I last talked to Ryan, since I last heard his sweet and loving voice. The intensity of missing him is so fierce, I can not even find words to describe it.
The one thing I am so very grateful for is I have not one regret. Ryan knew how much I loved him, and I knew how much he loved me. Our relationship was a close, open, and honest. We had a respect for each other which I will always carry. We often talked about how we really understood each other. We were so similar, in so many ways, that our hearts instinctively knew each other on a level we didn't even understand. I understand now, and I know he does too.
One Year....I have survived, and grown spiritually... we all have. But at this painful moment in the journey, I feel as I did the day Ryan died... I feel broken.
The days seem to be so very long right now, while the nights, which are my escape, become shorter. So many thoughts and feelings rush through me each day. I find myself lost in thoughts of Ryan...the day he was taken from my arms, how we have each survived the pain thus far, all the living Ryan will miss, and the painful realization that I have to live the rest of my life on this earth without him here with me. Sometimes that reality alone is almost too much to endure.
As the anniversary date approaches, I find my emotions are very raw, and my anxiety continues to build. I go through my day and do what is expected of me, but I can't seem to do more then that. My motivation and focus is almost non existent as I move through each passing day. At work, I find myself staring off, lost in thoughts. At times I feel utterly stunned by losing Ryan, and at other times the tears come without warning. At those moments I am consumed in anguish, and do all I can to hide from the feelings...the pain, loss, and sadness is just too much at times. It feels as if I have no control over what I think or feel anymore. I am just swept away like a tide in an ever changing ocean...turning, pushing, pulling, crashing, exploding on rocks, calmly retreating...only to repeat the turmoil once again. I am learning I can't fight it, rather I have to accept the emotional turmoil which is now my life.
I have no doubt the painful reality of losing Ryan is what begins to fill me now. I would give my life to change this reality, to bring my little boy home again. Sadly, this possiblity is not mine. To hold him close, look into his beautiful blue eyes so full of life, glory in his contagious smile, hear his calming voice, drown in his beautiful laughter, tell him I love him, and hear him tell me the same...these are now just memories. What use to be my daily life, are now just memories and dreams...I can't imagine anything more sad then that. I miss my sweet boy so very much.
I find it very hard to believe 11 months have come and gone since the day my world was changed forever. I have carried pain which words are incapable of expressing. Words....they always came so easily to me, and now they don't seem to hold enough meaning to accurately express what my heart feels so deeply. The words seem to carry the same emptiness I feel within my very being. Despite this, my words and writing seem to be the only way to release some of the turmoil, which seems to build with each passing day. I think people probably assume it is getting easier, that I'm doing good. They see me smile and carry on with life. If they don't ask.... I don't share. I'm sure many of them have lost people in their lives, and probably compare losing a child to that grief. I, too, have lost many people in my life, and it has hurt deeply. But losing a child does not compare to any other loss I have endured. Losing a child is in an unspeakable world of it's own. It literally turns your world upside down and inside out. If you haven't experienced it, you can't begin to understand the devastation. I completely understand and respect that reality. When they say it's the hardest loss there is....they are right. You don't get over it and move on. You just don't. Sadly, some people actually feel it works that way. They obviously have never lost a child or those thoughts would never cross their minds, or words pass through their lips. Since you will never get over it, I suppose all you can do is survive. Each day brings the painful challenge to do just that.
As the one year anniversary approaches , I am filled with anxiety and sadness. I am feeling the devastation that is about to come, as if it hadn't happened yet. As the time approaches, I am triggered daily by things which take me back to the horror which no one should have to live through. Each day brings tears, prompted by many different triggers. The sadness builds, and the tears increase. The day I lost Ryan, I wondered how I would ever survive. I knew I was changed as a woman forever, even though I did not know what that meant for me. Eleven months later, I still don't know what it means, yet I know I am very different. I AM surviving, but in all honesty (and contrary to what most people believe) the reality and devastation of this tragedy grows stronger with time. Perhaps the shock is slowly wearing off? The protection of those walls are beginning to fall...and it leaves me afraid, alone, empty, heart broken, and so incredibly sad.
It seems like yesterday when MHS called to ask if they could dedicate a yearbook page to Ryan. I was so touched and honored, not so much for myself, but for Ryan. This kind and loving gesture spoke so clearly to me of the impact Ryan had on so many lives. Now, the first summer without him has come and gone, and a new school year is about to begin. The summer, which Ryan always loved, felt lonely. I found myself reflecting on last summer, and all the joy Ryan experienced. I missed him here with me. As the school year approaches, my heart is filling with sadness of what could have been.
This school year would have been Ryan's senior year. A year he was so looking forward to. School shopping one last time, senior pictures, the joy of knowing it's your last year, celebrating with friends, choosing the path you want after school ends, the senior trip, the senior prom, and the moment of graduation....that moment of pride, success, accomplishment, and freedom. Experiences which we all assume our children will have, are now just painful reminders of what could have been.
All of the possibilities and opportunities that awaited him have been taken away. Although I know he is happy now, and feel so much gratitude for his peace, I can't help but think about all of the life he will never live. He was at the threshold of new beginnings, and it all came to a sudden end. As I watch his friends begin to talk about and celebrate their senior year, and as we begin to prepare for the new school year, I am left with such a deep sadness. I know the year will be hard, and I will feel the struggle with every important step I watch his friends take. Although I will celebrate their joy, and sincerely wish them love and happiness, I will also feel the sadness of Ryan missing each of those steps. That reality is already piercing my heart. I will walk with, and encourage his friends... I know Ryan would want me to do that. In doing so, perhaps I will help keep Ryan with them on their journeys.
I know God's Grace has carried me this far, and I pray it will continue to carry me. I pray I will be able to walk through what would have been Ryan's senior year with a sense of dignity, courage, and strength. Even more then this, may I continue to honor Ryan, and the legacy he left, with every breath I take.
As I look at this picture I remember my baby, my son....so full of kindness, laughter, and love. A smile that always managed to melt my heart, and completely fill my heart with joy. I miss him more then I could ever express through tears, words, or written language. Only a mother who has lost a child could ever know and understand my heart now. I have come to accept that fact, and it often leaves me in silence. I wonder why I should even try to explain how I feel...no one will understand anyway. Writing helps my heart to process what my mind still has a hard time accepting, yet that has become a challenge as well.
So many times I want to sit down, writing all the thoughts and feelings which swirl through my mind and heart each day. But I find my mind is fragmented, making writing a challenge. I can't seem to capture the words to express all that is happening within, and to me. I suppose this fragmentation is a painful reflection of my heart.
When Ryan's birthday came, I felt the walls thicken, growing even stronger. I shut myself in, walking through the day in darkness and fear....fear that the pain would somehow find a way to escape. If I started crying, I may not stop this time, and I found that paralyzing. The wishes, prayers, and love of those who dared to acknowledge his birthday to me, are literally what carried me through the day. For that I am grateful. The six month anniversary, Easter, and the 7 month anniversary have all come since then. Sadly, I still feel the lingering paralysis from that first birthday without him...the day he would have been 17.
Each day I force myself up and face the day, whether I am ready or not. Every evening, I process the emotions of the day, which often times leaves me in complete exhaustion. The world has changed for me, for my family, and we all struggle to understand and accept our new reality. Words could never adequately express what our hearts have been required to endure.
My spiritual growth has taken me places many people would not believe. But because of my deep faith, and love for Ryan, I have been gifted with a new understanding. Seeing what I have seen, my faith has grown even deeper then I ever dreamed possible. As a result, God has been taken right out of the box...the box so many of us put Him in, although we don't realize we've done it. For those gifts, I am eternally grateful. I have been shown, and given gifts, which will carry me through the rest of my life, only to better prepare me for what awaits when I go Home. Home...a place I look forward to returning to. This has been the gift I have been blessed with throughout this unspeakable sorrow.
Despite this precious gift, I am a human. I am a woman who has lost her child, at too young an age. I am a mother who takes care of my other kids, all of my daily responsibilities, goes to work each day....yet cries when I am alone and no one can see. I am only just learning to share my pain with those close to my heart...in little bits and pieces, as that's all I can bare at any given moment. I have strength beyond measure, but am still completely overwhelmed by the grief of losing Ryan. I am human, I am a grieving mother, and although I know it's not possible...sometimes I cry out to God to please give me back my little boy. It is in these moments I am painfully aware...this journey has only just begun.
My Dearest Ryan,
As I write this letter to you, I reflect with deep love, on all the birthdays I was blessed to have you with me. I remember your first birthday, I remember your last. Your "last birthday" came far too soon. With each year, although themes and presents would change, one thing was constant...I was always so happy to be celebrating your life. Your life, your importance in mine and all who knew you, was always a reason for celebration. Your 17th birthday has arrived...only this time you are not here with me.
I always tried to think of ways to make you feel special, gifts that I knew would make you happy. I found such joy in these simple things because I knew they would bring you happiness. To see you smile, always filled my heart with complete joy. This year I am simply lost. For the first time, I don't know what to do on March 17th. I don't know how to keep from crying. I don't know how to celebrate "your day" without you here, but I know I must. I don't know how to make the day good for your brothers and sisters, when I feel such a longing and sadness within. I know I need to do something, because they need to understand your life will always be worth celebrating. I'm sure I will find my way, knowing you are with me.
My sweet Ryan...I want you to know how much I love you. How much I miss having you here each and every day. How much I miss your footsteps walking down the hallway every evening as you went to wash your face. How much I miss your asking me what's for dinner? How much I miss the late night sounds of the microwave, as you made yourself a snack before bed. How much I miss your examining your hair after I gave you a haircut. How much I miss our talks in your room. How much I miss driving in the car with you and just visiting with each other. How much I miss your openness with me. How much I miss the way you would light up at Christmas. How much I miss your excitement when we went on vacations. How much I miss your eyes, your hair, your smile, and your hugs. How much I miss hearing you tell me you love me. Just how much I miss all of you, and the completeness you brought into my life... just by being you.
I also want to tell you how much I respect and admire you. You were young when you left, but your soul was old. You taught so many how to live. You loved without conditions, you gave without expecting, you accepted without judgment. You held strong to your beliefs and convictions, and I admire that in you. You made me proud...you continue to make me proud.
So on your 17th birthday, March 17, 2011, I celebrate and give thanks for your life. I celebrate the gifts you gave so freely, to all you met. I celebrate the "one love"...which was you. I celebrate your heart, your soul, your spirit. I thank God for you. Happy Birthday my little boy...I love you. I love you completely and for all eternity. Being your mom is a sacred gift and a profound honor in my life... I deeply thank you for being my sweet and loving Ryan.
Mom
As I begin to write, I reflect deeply upon the past 5 months. As each anniversary approaches, I remember every detail... the evening before Ryan died, the last words we shared together,and the unforgettable moments of September 22, 2010. Whether I want them to or not, these memories forcefully come flooding into my heart on the 22nd of each month. I also reflect on the journey thus far, examining each step my family and I have taken along the way. I remember each tear shed, each tear hidden, the fears which have surfaced, the anger which has risen, and the overwhelming sadness which has consumed each and every one of us at various times.
I remember when Ryan died...although I did not know what was ahead of me, or how I would manage to survive, I instinctively knew I would never be the same woman. When I look over the past 5 months, this is something which now resounds through me...I am NOT the same woman, and never again will I be.
A specific area of change which seems to consume my thoughts the most at this time, is the fact that I no longer feel real joy or happiness. I may smile, or even laugh on a rare occasion. But despite these appearances, and/or surface feelings, my heart does not feel the joy it once did. It does not feel the happiness which permeates through your heart and soul, making the world seem right. This is no way is a reflection on my other children, I love them all as intensely as I did before. In fact, I am sure they pay the price of the changes in me. For that, I am sorry. I continue to give them all I have left, but I'm afraid it may not be enough.
It use to be that whatever pain I experienced, whatever challenges I faced... I did it with the certainty I was strong, my heart was whole, and I was blessed beyond measure. From this, I had the knowledge that my life was complete, and I would be happy again, no matter what the current challenge may have been. I am not that same person. I may be strong, but my heart is certainly not whole. What use to be complete in my life, is now torn apart. A part of me died with my son, and I am left fragmented. How could my life ever be complete again with one of my children gone? How could my heart ever feel whole again after losing one of my babies? How could I ever experience real joy or happiness, when there is an eternal sadness and longing in my soul?
I sometimes think I miss the fulfillment of complete happiness. But in all honesty, I don't even remember what it genuinely feels like. My world has changed so much, the woman I am has been so altered, that I honestly don't remember how it felt to be "me" before Ryan died. Sad thing is, I don't even have the desire to feel complete joy or happiness anymore. I don't have the longing to do things which once brought me pleasure. I won't pretend to know how I will feel 6 months from now, or six years. But what I do know is this...at 5 months, this is who I am. Right now, this IS me.
I am amazed, yet not, at how hard the First Valentines Day without Ryan was for me. I thought perhaps if might be difficult, since the day's focus is love, but I never dreamed it would take my breath away. I never imagined I would spend the entire day fighting tears....sometimes successful, sometimes not. Throughout the day, I reflected on past years... the knowledge of why this day was so hard, became very clear.
I realized today that my feelings about Valentines Day are very different from when I was younger. Prior to having kids, the "couple love" was Valentines Day in my heart. Having that one special person who loves you. Once I had kids, what I consider the real meaning, seemed to take on a whole new life of its own. I have always made it a priority to make sure Valentines Day was special for my kids. I wanted them to know no matter what was happening in their lives, I would always be that "one special person" who loved them unconditionally. I didn't want them to think it was only about the love that a couple shares, but rather the love that friends share, a family shares, and a mother shares with her children. Whether they were in a relationship or not, it felt important for them to understand this day is about love. A day to honor those you love...a day to honor love. More importantly, I wanted them to know how VERY MUCH they were loved by me. So in my typical fashion, I went out and bought little gifts for the kids...except Ryan. That is when I first realized this day would not be easy.
We celebrated Valentines Day on Saturday, thinking that might make today easier for me...it didn't. I gave my kids their gifts, which they received in their usual excitement. The younger kids celebrated like it was Christmas, and the older kids understood what it all meant. In their wisdom and sweetness, I missed Ryan. I missed the way he would smile at me when I handed him his gift. As simple as it was, he knew how much love was behind it. He got it, appreciated it, and what really mattered the most to me...he KNEW how deeply I loved him.
Today I felt empty. I was in a classroom of excited students, and I felt no joy. I literally counted the minutes, knowing the day couldn't end fast enough. My mom stopped by at one point to drop off gifts for my kids. She told me she put a Valentine for Ryan next to a picture of him. A mother's heart is so loving, nurturing, and thoughtful. It meant so much to me, that once again, she was keeping my little boy alive.
As the students passed out their treats and cards, I remembered how much Ryan enjoyed doing that when he was little. I remembered sitting with him and helping him address all of his cards. I remembered how I had to get cards with candy or stickers, because he needed them to be special. I remembered how he would come home and go through all the cards, and eat only some of the candy. I remembered how much he loved his valentines gifts from me, or maybe, just the fact I always gave him one. I remembered how much I loved him, and how much he loved me. I thought of how much I still love him, and how much he still loves me. In these moments of reflection, I painfully remembered how deeply I miss him, and how very wrong the world feels without him in it.
This was my First Valentines Day without Ryan....
The days seem to continue on, as if nothing in life has changed. However, in my world...everything has changed. I try to get through each day, the best I can...one small step at a time.
I get up in the morning, and the first thing I think about is Ryan. I hit the snooze button and lay there in the dark...thinking and wondering. How I am suppose to survive this? How do I help my kids work through the fears and pain they carry in their hearts? When will the emptiness within be filled...or will it? Will my heart ever feel joy again? The reality of life, as I know it now, hits me right in the face with the dawn of each new day. As I drive to work, I am guaranteed to cry at any given moment, and with no warning . I have learned to accept this, so when it hits, I let the tears flow. I try to put on the "I can do this" face as I begin the day. Again, at some point during the day, I am guaranteed to cry again. The days have become so long, and I find myself looking forward to the moment I can go to bed. The moment I lay in bed, I thank God that I made it through another day. I then pray with my entire heart and soul. I ask God to hold my kids in their pain, to keep them safe, to show me how to lead them through this, to hold my husband in his sorrow, to take care of Ryan for me and fill his heart with happiness, and to fill my soul with wisdom...so that I may see and hear what this spiritual journey is teaching me.
I have found that some days I walk around in a thick cloud. I feel numb to everyone, and everything. These days are almost a relief, as the sadness does not forcefully permeate through me, reminding me of how wrong the world feels now. Then there are other days when I would give anything to feel numb. On these days, the sadness of what has happened is utterly overwhelming. My mind relives every painful detail, the anguish that no one could ever imagine fills me, and I find it myself filled with an indescribable sadness. I try to distract myself from these feelings as quickly as I can, because in all honesty, those moments are overwhelmingly frightening. Once more, when I lay in bed at night, I thank God I have survived another day...and the prayers begin.
I have learned to accept each day, each moment, as it comes. I know there is no manual or timetable to follow for grief...especially when you are grieving the loss of your child. Although I question my strength, my stamina, and my ability to endure the rest of my life...I also acknowledge the fact that I am somehow surviving...day by day. I am so grateful for this. With the Grace of God, the transcending love of Ryan, and the love and support of my family and friends, I am surviving... as each day goes by.
As I sit here, I find it hard to believe it has been four long months since I lost my son. Four months since the world, as I knew it, was forever changed. Four months since the life was ripped from my heart, leaving me breathless and broken. When I look back, the time is a mysterious blur. Perhaps the protection of shock? At the same time, the memories of what happened, and the exact details, are engraved in my mind with absolute clarity.
During the past months, my emotions have traveled on every realm possible. I have been in shock, in denial, in depression, in question of how I could have prevented this....but the one feeling I have not owned, not yet anyway, is anger. Being someone who does not like conflict, I am certainly not missing the anger stage. The other stages of grief seem to come and go, fluctuating back and forth, with no rhyme or reason. They come as they will, and for the sake of my sanity, I have learned to accept the unpredictable process.
I have watched my children's pain, my husband's torment, and carried my own consuming sorrow. None of us has any answers, but we manage to face each new day as it comes. My faith has been what I have leaned on, searched out, and depended on to hold me up when I felt I didn't have the strength anymore to endure. Ryan has shown me numerous times that he is still with me, which has given me more promise, peace, and hope then I could ever explain. He has taught me so much about faith and spirituality, and I will always treasure his gifts to me. I thank him every day.
I recently returned to work. With the support of my co worker, and many other friends, I survived the first week back. We are completely cleaning and rearranging our classroom for a fresh start. That room is where I stood when the call came, telling me Ryan was not breathing. I stood in that room when my world came crashing in around me. I stood there while sheer panic permeated throughout my entire being. I knew the classroom would hold a lot of painful triggers, so with the advice of a close friend, decided I needed to make changes in there immediately. Once the changes started, my friend (co worker) and I decided to clean the entire room. It may sound strange, but it has made walking into that room much more tolerable. It is hard enough to return to work...I knew I didn't need reminders and triggers of painful memories to haunt me as well. I also set an area up on my desk for Ryan. I have found that brings me comfort throughout the day. My heart is not with me at work, not yet anyway. For now, I am going through the motions... I have learned to do that very well over the past months. I am hoping in time, some of my heart and spirit will return with me as I head to work each day. Until then, I have accepted my return to work for what it is...a necessary step in taking care of my family. Without the support of my friends at work, I don't know if I would have made it through that first week. I will forever be grateful to all of them.
So many changes have happened in the past four months. I have been broken, I have felt the indescribable pain of losing a child, I have done what needed to be done to honor him, I have managed to get up each day (even when I didn't want to), I have somehow been there to love and support my family, I have faced those first holidays without Ryan, I have learned how to nurture my own heart and soul (taking numerous trips to the coast thanks to the support of my family), and I have recently returned to work...stepping back into the world that I don't feel a part of anymore.
Through all of this, I have survived. I am strong, and my faith is what carries me. Even with this faith, not a day goes by where I don't cry. Where I don't feel overwhelmed by the pain of missing Ryan. Where I don't wonder how I am suppose to live my life without him here. Where I don't question if I even want to. As a mother, I carry many questions. Is Ryan happy? Is he OK? Does he have friends? Is he scared being there without me? Does he need me? I should have been there first to welcome him, to be his security, and show him the glories of heaven...is he doing alright on his own? No matter how strong I am, or how deep my faith, these motherly questions come frequently. After all, I am only human. I am a mom who has lost her child far too soon....just trying each day to do the best I can do.
It has been almost 4 months since Ryan died, and I am now faced with the reality of my return to work. As they say....ready or not. Well, I'm not.
The past months have been a blur to me. Although I remember exact details of the events which unfolded, the time is nothing but a painful blur. I don't know where the time has gone, yet at the same time, it has also been the longest 4 months of my life. I can't help but wonder if the rest of my life will play out in this slow motion, lifeless fashion?
I have spent endless hours reading and searching for answers and understanding....so that my journey to acceptance will be easier. I have prayed like never before. Through this searching, my spirituality has grown stronger, and my eyes have been opened wider then I could have ever imagined...but that's another blog! I have been the steady force in this house, even though I didn't know which direction to move most of the time. My husband and children have grown use to the security of my presence, although at times, I'm sure that presence seemed worthless. I have had time to be with myself, I've learned to nurture my heart for the first time, I've been in prayerful meditation with Ryan and God, and I've been the listening ear and open arms when my husband, or one of my kids, fell crashing to the ground. Now I have to walk away from the safety of my home. I must return to the world I knew before Ryan died...a world which holds an entirely different place in my heart and life now.
When your child dies, you are paralyzed. Even though you go through the motions, to do only what has to be done, you are frozen within. I made it through the holidays, and I'm not sure how I did it. My heart wasn't in it, but I suppose the need to take care of my kids gave me the strength I needed to face the storm. Life around me continued on, and for the first time, I was a spectator...not even having the desire to participate. It took me 3 months to find the courage to walk into a grocery store. How could life move forward when my Ryan was gone? I still don't know the answer to that, but I know it does. Sometimes I feel angry watching people around me moving on with their lives, as if nothing has happened. Then I remind myself that of course the life of others must go on. It is not their child...it is mine. I have tried to make sure the lives of my own children have gone on...I have tried. In doing so, I make a point of keeping Ryan a part of our daily conversations, as well as a living force in this home. With the older kids...they are keeping their lives moving forward, but it is clear to see they are also going through the motions. Everyone is unsure of where their heart has gone, if it will ever heal, and how they will REALLY feel joy again with Ryan gone? This loss is unimaginable, unspeakable, and has been completely devastating to each member of my family. Our journey has only just begun.
Me...I am afraid to return to work. I am afraid to see faces of people I have not seen since Ryan died. I am afraid of what my students will say to me. I am afraid to walk into the classroom and look at my desk...the place I stood when I got the call telling me that Ryan was not breathing. I am afraid to be in the room where I felt complete and utter panic, fear, desperation, and anger of being 40 minutes away from Ryan...when he needed me NOW. I am so afraid of all those feelings rushing back to me and overwhelming me....like they are at this moment.
I am not ready emotionally, but must return. I suppose I will just go through the motions until my heart catches up with me....whenever that may be. My priorities have changed, needless to say. I have changed. I still don't understand what that reality means, I just know it is. I know my well being matters now, and I must continue to take care of me...or I will be no good to anyone. I know my hurting family is at the top of my list, and I will keep them there, without feeling guilty if it interferes with work. I always put them first, but would feel bad calling in sick. No more...they come first because that is the way it should be, that is the way it needs to be. They are what matters most, and right now, this entire family is walking around with shattered hearts. You never know what will trigger the tears or pain, but without a doubt, they are always triggered. My work has been extremely supportive, so I am hoping that comfort and support will continue upon my return, and for the months ahead...I'm sure it will.
I guess I'm afraid because I don't know how to continue to take care of my heart, my family's hearts, and return to work. The priorities are my husband, children (including Ryan), and myself. I will give all I am capable of giving to my job, whatever that may be....I just hope it's enough.
December 29th is the anniversary of my dad's death. On this day I found myself constantly thinking about my dad, as I always do...but this year, I also found myself with constant thoughts of Ryan. I wondered what they were doing? Were they spending time together? What do they do in heaven? Do they miss us? Does Ryan miss me? Wondering if you are in the glory of heaven, would you ever have the feelings of missing someone? Just random thoughts and questions I have frequently, as I try to stumble through my life without him here.
I received an email from Ryan's friend...the one who has the meaningful dreams of Ryan. She told me she had another dream on the 29th (coincidence....I don't think so). She said Ryan appeared to her again, specifically asking her to tell me something for him. When he was done telling her, he told her he loved her, and thanked her for sharing the other dreams with me. This is what he said....
" Goodbyes are not forever,
Goodbyes are not the end.
They just mean I'll miss you,
Until we meet again.
I love you mom, and miss you more then you know."
Once again, I was left in awe. I did not share the thoughts, feelings, and questions I was having this day with anyone. But somehow Ryan knew, and even more then this, he knew how important it was for me to know the answer. He continues to reach out, nurture, and love. He is teaching me that even though someone is in heaven, and living a life far more beautiful then we could ever imagine, they are still with us. They hear us, they know our thoughts, they feel our hearts. They continue to love us...because even though the body is gone, the spirit lives on. The spirit is where love is born and lives...it never dies. This knowledge does not take away the sadness or pain of having him physically gone. It does not heal the brokenness I feel within. However, it does bring a sense of comfort and hope. It confirms my beliefs, and opens my eyes so much wider.
A message in a dream....I asked God to always help me hear what Ryan is saying or showing me, promising them both I will always have my heart and eyes open...Ryan is reaching out, and God is helping me to see and hear. I will keep my promise.
As New Years Eve slipped in, I found myself feeling very reflective and confused. I had just experienced the most painful and devastating year of my life, so I would have thought I'd be grateful to see it end. However, it was also the last year that I had Ryan here with me to love, and be loved by... I didn't know how to face a new year without him. More then not knowing how, was the fact that I didn't want to. He loved celebrating each new year, and that alone, filled me with sadness.
I spent the evening alone, which in reflection, is exactly what I needed to do. It was an opportunity for me to gently sit with my heart, and reflect on what Ryan has always meant to me. To honor the powerful and loving impact he has had on my life...and continues to have. It was a New Years Eve I chose to spend with Ryan...and I know he was here, right beside me. I sat down and watched the video from Ryan's memorial...crying the entire way through. I tend to hold my emotions inside, so I know the tears were meant to be shed. After watching the tribute to his life, I turned on home movies of Ryan when he was little. I watched my beautiful and quiet baby, blossom into a loving and playful little boy. I remembered every detail, of every story, like it was yesterday. I remember how it felt to hold him, to sing to him, to play with him, to kiss him, to take care of him, to share in his laughter, to know exactly what he needed at any given moment, to always be the one who could make his world the way it was meant to be...the way he deserved it to be. As I watched, I witnessed the love we shared, the comfort we always found in each other, and the unbreakable connection we had right from the beginning of his life...all of which continued to strengthen and grow right until the day he died. I smiled, I laughed, and I cried. My son, at age 16, is dead...seriously??
Soon after this I noticed it was snowing. My daughter, Kaitie, was at her dad's and very upset she was missing the snow. I told her perhaps it was a gift from Ryan... and I believed that. After I shared that with her, she was very insistent that I send her pictures. Not knowing if the snow would stick, I stayed up until 3 am taking pictures for her...if Ryan was sending a gift, which she felt he was, I would be sure she saw it! The next morning, New Years Day, our entire neighborhood was covered in snow. Snow...the pure and frozen rain from heaven. Snow is something which has always brought tremendous joy to my kids, something which I have always loved with a passion, something which radiates heavenly beauty in my eyes, something which has always lifted my soul, and filled my heart...something, which now, was making me cry.
A new year, a gift of snow sent from heaven...who could ask for more? I could...because when this this New Year arrived, NOTHING felt right without Ryan.
