Some Lessons Learned....

     Over the past two and a half years, I've learned so many things.  Some are painful, some bring hope.
     I have learned that I am stronger then I realized.  I have survived the greatest loss you could ever experience as a parent.  At times I still don't know how I will face the next day.  There are days I find it hard to breathe, but somehow I do.  With the love of those close to me, and through God's grace, I have somehow helped to walk my kids through the deepest darkness of their lives.  As a mother to them all, I feel so grateful for that.
     I have learned how loving my children are.  They have lost their brother, yet have poured their hearts into Ryan's Memorial Fund...finding such peace in giving to others, all in their brother's name and honor.  They have walked through such darkness, and although they will always feel that loss, they also have learned that they can feel joy again.  They continue to love others, even though love was ripped out of their lives.
     I have learned that some people will walk by your side and support you for the rest of your life.  They will tell you how much Ryan meant to them, or speak his name with love.  They show their love for me, my family, and for Ryan, with their actions and words.  In doing this, they show that his life here DID matter, and in no way is he forgotten.  THOSE are the people that carry myself, my husband, and my kids through each day.  I have also learned there are those who do not speak his name, or even acknowledge it when spoken by us.  That is hurtful.  I am still learning how to let that go.  We all are.
     I have learned after losing my child, I can endure ANY pain or loss.
     I have learned that Ryan's beliefs and attitudes were beyond his age.  His belief in "One Love" is the way we should all live. I continue to learn from his life.
     I have learned through my other kids that there can still be joy in life.  It may be different, it may be for mere moments at a time....but it is there.
     I am still learning to live my new "normal" life, whatever that means.  There is a huge hole in my heart, and in our family as a whole, but we are learning to live with that.  We are doing the best we can do.
     I am still learning to understand the woman I have become since losing Ryan.  I have learned that I may spend the rest of my life here trying to understand who I have become, or am still becoming...but I have also learned that is alright.
     I have learned how important it is to take time to nurture myself.  When your heart and spirit have been broken like this, you need to find a place where you can breathe, and feel the calmness that peace brings.  When you find that place, you need to take yourself there often.  I am learning to do just that. 
    I have learned that this journey I am on, truly is just "One small step at a time."

Our First Family Vacation....

     I knew the time would come when we would take a family vacation without Ryan, but I didn't know how intense the pain would be until I got there.
     Sadly for us all, my selflessly loving mom died in June.  My sister asked me to come to Disneyland with them at Thanksgiving, as it would be her first time back there without my mom.  I wanted to help her, and I also knew my kids needed some joy in their lives.  We thought we would be helping each other to take a hard step for both of us, and knew my mom and Ryan would be so happy about that.  However, I knew in my heart I wasn't ready for this.  Disneyland was the last place we took a family vacation...WITH Ryan.  How could I go back to the place he loved so much WITHOUT him?  Despite my overwhelming fears, I knew we had to go.
     The kids were all very happy, so I felt I was doing the right thing for them.  I learned quickly that sometimes what is good for your kids, is not good for you.  Being a mom, you put your kids first in most situations.  Since Ryan died, I have tried so hard to do whatever was right for them, whatever I could do to help heal their broken hearts.  They had to come first...I needed to help them move forward, even though I didn't know how to do it myself.
     When we entered Disneyland, someone took a family picture of us.  When I looked at it, the first family picture without Ryan, I began to cry.  We have not taken family pictures since Ryan died, and it is very clear to me why.  That was the beginning of the end for me.  I literally cried my way through the happiest place on earth for three days!  I didn't know when it would happen, or what would set me off.  I just knew when it hit, I needed to walk off by myself.  I know the younger kids were in their own world and enjoying every second.  But the older kids, they saw the pain in me, they understood it...they carried it as well. 
      When I look at this picture of Sean and Kaitie at Disneyland, I see my two beautiful children...but I also see the one who is missing.  Does anyone else see what this mother's heart sees?  Instead of Ryan's "light up the world" smile next to his brother and sister's smiles, his ashes are in the tattoo in Sean's arm.  What has happened to my once perfect and complete family?  
     I feel somehow I let everyone down this vacation.  My sister, who asked me to be there...I was emotionally unavailable to her.  Sean and Kaitie, who needed joy more then anyone...witnessed their mother's heart break all over again.  My husband, who wants nothing more then to wash away all my pain...saw how deep it actually was, how successfully I hide it, and how helpless it leaves him.  
     I learned that I do keep so much of this sadness buried within.  It's the only way for a mother's heart to survive such a loss I believe.  You literally take it one small step at a time.  You let yourself feel as much as you can handle feeling at any given moment, and then you close down.  If you don't close down when you feel the need, it will consume you, and the fear of where that will take you is too much to even think about.  I learned that listening to my heart about what I can and can't handle is what I have to continue to do.  It's one way that I can take care of myself, and I know Ryan wants that.
     The little ones had a great time.  My older kids said they had fun too, despite my breakdowns.  I hope this is true.   If I brought them any joy at all by taking them on vacation to Disneyland, then I know I did the right thing...even if it wasn't right for me.

Ryan's Senior Year....

     The 2011-2012 school year was a year I will never forget.  What would have been Ryan's senior year, a time of joy and celebration, in fact was a time of great sorrow.  As much happiness as I felt for all of his friends, I felt an even heavier sadness... I was bluntly faced with all that Ryan was missing.  With every senior picture, excitement about the senior trip,  pictures of seniors dressed up for prom, dreams of  their futures, and preparing for their High School Graduation...my heart would drop so deep inside that I felt I would never be able to reach it again.  
     My Ryan did not get to take senior pictures, he did not get to go to his senior prom, he didn't experience the great adventures of a senior trip, his dreams of college and life after high school were taken away.  He was weeks away from getting his driver's license...all requirements done, just  waiting out the time he needed to.  He would never graduate from High School.  His life was suddenly cut short, and we were left with the pain of all the things he never did, nor would ever have the chance to do.
     A couple of weeks before the graduation, the principal at Middletown High School, Mr. Roderick, called me in.  He informed me that he had ordered a Diploma for Ryan.  I immediately began to cry...somehow my baby would graduate!  I was overwhelmed with the compassion this man had... not only for our family, but for all the graduating seniors.  We all needed closure with this graduation.  Mr. Roderick knew this, and did what he could do to help all involved.  He informed me they would have a chair which would be empty in Ryan's honor.  He asked if Kaitie would accept the diploma for Ryan.  Again, I cried.  Kaitie sat in the chair for Ryan as the class walked in...none of them knew she would be there.  Then the diploma, which his classmates knew nothing about,  was presented to Kaitie.  There were cheers, whistles, and so many tears.  She accepted with such strength, courage, and grace. I was so very proud of her, and I knew Ryan was too.  After she accepted the diploma, she sat down with me, leaving Ryan's chair empty.  It was then she began to cry.  As I looked through my tears to Kaitie, and to Ryan's classmates, I saw the gift of closure Mr. Roderick gave to them all.  Our Ryan was graduating with his class.
     This journey has been so very painful, and I'm afraid it is not getting easier.  One thing I have learned as I face each day, is that there are people along the way who reach out and somehow know exactly what to say or do.  Whether it's to let you know they don't know what to say, but are there for you...or to share a story or memory of Ryan...or to acknowledge him on his birthday, holidays, or any gathering of family or friends...or to respectfully honor your son at graduation.  Each word or action is to let you know they  have NOT forgotten your child.  That he mattered in this life...and he still does.  I can not thank those people enough.  I will never forget what Mr. Roderick did for all of us at the graduation of 2012.  He honored my son, and in doing that, he let me know that Ryan did matter and is NOT forgotten.  At the end of each day, that is all that really helps...all I really want...all I really need.

The Pain of My Children...

     The time as moved forward, whether we wanted it to or not.  Everyone wears a smile...a mask.  Is it to put on a front for others, or is it to put on a front for ourselves? 
     I have been fairly open with my own journey through this darkness.  Although in all honesty, I haven't even allowed myself to go to that lonely, painful place for more then seconds at a time.  It is too hard, too sad, too dark, too empty....too much.  I have tried to help my kids as much as I can.  But even with me, they wear their masks.  I suppose I wear it with them as well.   Perhaps we're all too afraid to show each other how we really feel?  Afraid we will bring each other into that place where none of us are ready to go?  Little by little they share their tears...I share mine.  In watching my kids move forward so bravely, yet suffer so silently,  I am learning that we have to go to that place we are so afraid of.  Even if it's a little bit at a time.  We have no choice...the masks are beginning to tear as the reality of what is takes over.
     Loss of focus, loss of dreams, loss of passions, loss of closeness with people...anger, sadness, physical illnesses, constant fear with every breath taken.  This is what has become of my children.  These are my children...and I love them.  I sadly know the greatest pain a mother could endure is the loss of her child.  I believe the second is to watch her children suffer.  I know my own mom has carried that pain as she witnessed my heart break, and I am witnessing that very pain in my own children.  At times it feels overwhelming, yet somehow I find the strength to be there for, and with them.  I ask God to help me....and I keep trying.
     They have all had their worlds turned upside down.  They have had their very hearts broken apart.  Their dreams of the future ripped into a million pieces.  They have tried to move on, and have done so as well as could be expected.  They have shown great courage, strength, and grace.  But they are wounded, traumatized, and forever changed.  Like myself, they are NOT the same people they were before they lost their brother.  Over the past few months, as their masks have worn thin, I have seen glimpses of the deep pain they carry still....confusion of not knowing how to get through the next day, sometimes not even caring if they do, the painful reality that their brother is really gone, the longing for what could have been and should have been, the anger of it all...which no doubt is in reality the uspeakable sadness they carry, the constant fear of dying...or losing me,  which mainfests itself relentlessly, and the need to talk about the pain, yet fear of going into that darkness.
     My children are in pain....anyone close enough to them sees what they try so hard not to show.  Those are the friends I am so grateful they have.  I will continue to do all I can to help them, but I know I can not make it better.  That is hard, but it is the truth.  They are all so very close, and one of them now is missing.  They all feel the loss with great intensity and sadness.  I just pray God holds them all, while He leads me.  The Pain of My Children...it's unimaginable.

Strength in Tragedy....

     During the past year I have questioned my strength and endurance numerous times.  What I considered to be strong before, doesn't seem to be strength now.  What I use to see as weakness, now glimmers with the light of strength.  When you are faced with the tragedy of losing a child, you are given a lifetime of challenges to overcome, or at least endure.  In these challenges, you continually question yourself in every step you take.  Am I doing this right, can I really survive, will I ever really feel joy again, am I helping my kids to endure what they should never have had to endure...do I have the strength?

     Is it being strong to put your mask on and move forward as if things are normal...or is real strength removing that mask and letting everyone know you no longer have a normal existence?  Is it being strong to stand upright with a smile on your face...or is real strength letting the tears flow, and anxiety show?  Is it strong to celebrate the joy of your son's friends...or is real strength admitting that although you are happy for them, it breaks your heart that your son is missing out on all of the celebrations?  Is it strong to act like it doesn't hurt deeply when people don't speak about your son anymore...or is real strength speaking up and saying you need them to talk about him...or at least acknowledge it when you do?  Is it strong to pretend you're not hurt by those who don't reach out...or is real strength admitting you are, and then setting boundaries for yourself so you can't be hurt anymore then you already have been?  Is it strong to forge forward on those days you can barely get out of bed...or is real strength staying in bed and allowing yourself to just feel the sadness you are so deeply afraid of?  Is it strong to say your son is in a better place, at peace, and completely happy...or is real strength knowing this, yet still being able to say the pain of missing him is overwhelming, devastating, and all consuming?  Is it strong to bravely face all your daily responsibilities...or is real strength taking time out to nurture your bleeding soul?  What is strength in tragedy??

     I don't know the answers, but I do know I have done all of the above.  With the Grace of God, I am still here and manage to make it through each day.  I continue to take life "One small step at a time"...praying I will find the strength to face each day with some sense of dignity and grace.

Another New Year....

     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.

Grieving Mothers....

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

The Second Thanksgiving....

     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.

The "Firsts" Are Over....???

     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.

One Year....

         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.