It's hard to believe that Kaitie is now the same age Ryan was when he died. Time continues on, and with it, comes new challenges we must all face.
We just passed the anniversary of Ryan's death. This year held a lot of added anxiety due to Kaitie's age. It was hard for her...hard for me. We talked about the turmoil this was causing, and faced the fears which it brought...together. I have always had close relationships with my kids, and this was one of those times I felt very grateful for that gift.
As Kaitie moves forward now, she will be living all the "could have beens" Ryan never had the opportunity to experience. She has gotten her license...Ryan never had the chance. She has purchased her own car...Ryan never had the chance. As I watch her take these normal steps in life, I celebrate her joy, but also feel a solemn sadness within. Being the first sibling to follow in Ryan's steps, she carries with her all the the things that could have been for Ryan.
I have thought many times about the things Ryan would never do in his life. As I watched his classmates take their senior pictures, go on their senior trips, and graduate...sadness filled me. I thought it was past me after graduation...and then Kaitie turned 16. I realize now I will be living a lifetime of "could have beens" as I watch her grow. I have thought deeply about how to handle this. I don't want to take away from Kaitie's joys and milestones, yet I can't hide what each step stirs deep in my soul. I have accepted the fact that I will feel both joy and sadness as she journeys through her life. I have decided to make each milestone extra special for Kaitie...as if she were living it for two. Doing this has not taken away the sadness, but it has helped lighten the load. I pray it continues to ease Some of the sadness as I move forward celebrating Kaitie's life, yet...Living the Could Have Beens."
I am at my "Place of Peace" trying to find some healing after the anniversary of Ryan's Death...the one place I feel like I can really breathe. The wind is fierce tonight, which creates powerful waves...exactly what I needed. The sound is healing to my soul, and I am so grateful for this time here.
Tonight I was fortunate enough to be able to spend some time with a very close friend of mine, and her incredibly sweet husband. They happened to be here at the same time I was coming. My time here is usually spent alone, for many reasons, but sharing my special time and place with someone so close to my heart, seemed so very right...and I am so grateful we did it!
On this journey I have been forced to take, there is little that really brings me comfort. Nothing seems to be able to take away the pain, or ease the brokenness within. But there are things which help me endure the loneliness along the way. A good friend is one of those things. Someone who listens, and as they listen, with every sparkle in their eyes you can see the love and compassion shining from their soul. Someone who cries with you, laughs with you, and somehow seems to feel your hurt...even though you both know it's impossible. Someone who is not afraid to speak your child's name, and also seems to know how important it is for you to hear. Someone who also listens with genuine interest and unconditional love every time you speak his name. Someone who always asks how you are doing, as well as the rest of your family, because they seem to know that even though time has passed, the pain has not. Someone who encourages your every step, and celebrates every small victory as you try to move forward. Someone who gives you a safe place to fall. Someone who loves you enough to really show it.
I am grateful for such friends in my life. I don't know if they even understand the importance they play in my life. Do they know how much they lift and carry me during my saddest moments? Do they understand how they gently bring light into my darkness? They may not know my pain, or what it's like to lose a child, but they know me. They know my heart. They hear my words, and they understand my silence. They are my friends...and they are a gift in my life. They help me take One small step at a time...
Tomorrow will be three years since I lost my son...three years of missing him. I remember and relive this evening as each year passes...the last moments I spent with Ryan on this earth. They are so vivid, so clear...yet so long ago.
As September 1st hits, the anxiety begins to build within. A silence fills my heart. With each passing day, the sadness and anxiety build within. I wonder if I will survive each day, but then remember I feel this way every September...and I do survive.
This anniversary date is holding much turmoil, not only for myself, but for Kaitie. The little girl in this picture is now the same age and grade in school that Ryan was when he died. With that reality comes much fear, worry, sadness, and heartache. Kaitie is carrying an anxiety and fear no one could understand. My heart aches for the journey she is on right now, and has been on for so long now. She is strong and courageous, but like myself, carries her pain within. As a mom, I look at her, and I remember Ryan. She is exactly where he was when died...I can't even express how that feels and weighs in my heart.
I feel as though I have endured this year better then last year. I'm not sure if I'm just learning to survive with more grace, or if I'm just burying my broken heart with more ease. With tears rolling down my face as I type this, I think I probably just bury the heartache with more ease. Pushing the pain down is one of the ways to survive each day. It really is too much to endure...I can only handle little bits at a time.
How do you ever accept, or get over the fact that your child died? You don't. How do you ever find peace within your soul, when such a large part of it is gone? You don't. How do you feel safe when you go to bed each night, knowing that one of your children died in their sleep? You don't. How do you ever feel peace within your heart, when your heart has been shattered? You don't. You just learn to live with it. You learn to endure the heartache. You learn to live your life as it is now, and carry the emptiness within. You try to be the best you can be with what you have left, knowing inside it is not at all the person you were before. You move forward because you have to, not necessarily because you want to.
Losing a child is a lifetime grieving process. It's something you live through each and every day. It's been three years. Yes, I am surviving. Yes, I am living life. Yes, I am trying the best I can. Yes, I have learned to laugh again. However...the longing, the sadness, the missing, the emptiness, the heartache...they are all very much alive within. That is who I am now, whether people see it or not. This is my life now.
As I type these last words, I realize it is exactly 3 years (10:30 pm) since I last spoke to, and saw, my Ryan alive on this earth. I miss him more then I can express...
