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.
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.
