Thirty Days

Today marks 30 days since we lost Ryan.  It doesn’t seem possible that this much time has gone by – maybe because I didn’t sleep for so much of the time.  The rise and set of the sun meant nothing to me for days.  I sleep better now, except for Fridays. I know that 3:48 am will come – that is when I received the first phone call.  Then the dreaded 7:14 pm – that’s when it all became final. 

People ask how I’m doing and I usually say that I’m doing better – but I don’t really know.  Better than what?  I was better when I had two children.  Now, I have one to touch, smell, talk to and only memories of the other.  I don’t mean to sound bitter, I’m just being realistic. People will say “Are things getting back to normal?”  There is no “normal” – I haven’t found my new normal yet.

Having the funeral did bring some peace.  You are no longer in that “limbo” phase.  It marks the point where you must pick up the pieces of your broken heart and move forward.  I have ordered Ryan’s headstone.  This was tough.  A monument is forever and I wanted to choose one that would have pleased him.  It won’t be ready for a few weeks but I think he would like it.

Going to his grave was anguish that I cannot even put into words.  JC and I went there on the Sunday following his funeral on Thursday and raked a little bit.  Last Sunday Mom and I went, removed the faded flowers and raked his grave.  I don’t even know how to articulate how it made me feel to rake clay mud clods and rocks off of his grave.  The pain in my heart was so bad.  Mom and I both just cried and raked.

I have written “thank yous”, returned dishes, and placed all the potted plants around my house.  I have re-read all the cards and letters and put them in a safe place.  I have looked at the registry book to see who all was at the funeral – I was in a state that didn’t allow me to take note of who all was there.  Forgive me, I am so very touched for each and every one who came to pay their respects and honor Ryan, but my mind was not focusing well that day.  I spoke with a friend yesterday who has also lost a child and she referred to it as being “in a fog.”  That is exactly how it is.  I remember nothing of some of the conversations that took place in the first few days.

Today, JC, Mom and I are going back to the cemetery to plant a weeping cherry tree that was given to me by the Junior High teachers at Gainesville.  I am choosing to plant it there rather than at my home so more people can enjoy it. 

I have tried to figure out what it is that we miss the most about a child that we have lost but I can’t say.   I miss Ryan’s laugh – it was infectious.  I miss the sound of his voice.  The first 3 weeks or so I would wake up to his voice singing.  It was so real but it was gut-wrenching.  That has stopped now.  I touch his things and try to feel his spirit.  I have a little bowl that he made me in second grade art.  His little finger prints are all over it.  I put my fingers on his finger prints and tell him that I love him.

I begged God for a sign that Ryan was in Heaven and happy.  One morning I was praying as I left my house for school and the little foxes that used to play in my yard ran across the road in front of me.  Ryan loved foxes – he had a fox tattoo on his arm and he bought Lily stuffed foxes as gifts.  He had seen my pictures of the foxes and was hoping he would see them when he came for a visit.  I felt better after I saw the foxes.

Last Friday something happened that brought me to my knees sobbing hysterically.  Back in November of 2011 Ryan had found a poem called “The Boy with the Too Big Eyes.”  He e-mailed it to me and then called me and we discussed it.  It was about a boy who grew up in a little town, moved to a huge city, and then realized that his life hadn’t worked out as he thought it would.  Ryan had been so much in the spotlight growing up and then in college but when he got to LA he realized that he was just one fish in a great big pond.  That hurt him.  On Friday, I had woken up at 3:48 and decided that I needed to stay busy so I wouldn’t think.  I went to my computer room and pulled out a plastic bin that had science labs in it.  I thought I might take some to school and try them with my students.  While going through the stack of science work I ran on to that poem.  I guess I had printed it and placed it in the tub 3 years ago – I honestly don’t know.  I re-read the poem, cried, and laid it on the dining table to later be put with all the other things that are special to me.  On Friday afternoon, Misty called me.  She has been methodically going through folders and files on Ryan’s Mac Book.  She said, “Mom, I found this poem on Ryan’s computer and it’s called “The Boy with the Too Big Eyes.”  I began to cry inconsolably.  Was this a message to Misty and me?  I don’t know.  I want to think it was his way of letting us know that he is OK.  We need to believe that our loved ones are at peace and happy.

One of Ryan’s friends from LA had a dream recently.  He said that he normally never dreams of people, usually things – but he dreamed that he was at a party and Ryan walked in.  He said that Ryan was so happy and he told his friend that he was in a really good place. 

On Ryan’s Mac Book, Misty found a series of blogs that Ryan had written.  He writes about family and it leaves no doubt that he loved his family very much.  It was a gift to us to find and read them.  He had also made an audio recording of Reid and him.  Ryan was having Reid identify pictures on flash cards.  Reid’s little toddler voice is so cute and if you listen closely you can hear Ryan chuckle in the background.  This must have been important to Ryan because he placed it in a file to keep.

I wish there was some miracle potion that would make all this pain go away, but there isn’t.  I also know that I hurt so much because I loved him so much.

I also know that in so many ways I am lucky.  I’m lucky for the 38 years that I had with him.  I have many pictures, videos, and audio recordings that allow me to see and hear Ryan at all stages of his life.  Every time I want to have a pity party session I remind myself of Colleen Nick.  For 19 years she has suffered not knowing what happened to Morgan.  I remind myself of the mothers of those young men murdered by ISIS – what horror.  I cannot imagine their pain.

People have been so generous with monetary donations.  I have a good start on Ryan’s Memorial Scholarship Fund.  I will be having a webpage created soon and will share that once it’s done.  Ryan valued education and he would encourage anyone to follow their dreams and not get discouraged.  I hope that through our loss we can make positive impacts on others.  Ryan was a truly amazing person and touched many lives.

Ryan’s best friend from Flippin couldn’t be at his funeral but he sent this letter to be read.

I first met Ryan across a table in Mrs. Wade’s room. We wrote journal entries abut our mornings and mine was probably something about eating cereal and brushing my teeth.  Ryan skipped the mundane and regaled us with a tale of waking up early to climb a tree and drop a whipped cream water balloon on his sister, Misty.  I was impressed.  He seemed like the most sophisticated person I had ever met.  We were ten years old.

My family had moved to Flippin and I was still trying to figure out how to fit in.  It was hard, since I didn’t care much about sports or bow season.  I thought I had to pretend, until I met Ryan.  Here was a kid who didn’t fit the mold, and didn’t even try.  He taught me that the best thing you can be is yourself.

Like a lot of us who grew up in the Ozarks, Ryan didn’t start out with many advantages.  But he had a talent for turning nothing into something.  One day he was an awkward 6^th grader in an itchy band sweater tapping out “Go Big Red” on a snare and seemingly overnight he was the most amazing drummer we had ever heard, sitting behind a full kit making the rest of us look like a bunch of horn-tooting amateurs.  One day we were videotaping silly infomercials in my kitchen for a project in Mrs. Melton’s class, and seemingly overnight he was the star of the school play, with the rest of us in the cast watching him in awe from the side of the stage.

Ryan always had an unparalleled wit. He was never without a hilarious comeback or quip for any situation.  “I may have been born yesterday, but I stayed up all night,” I remember him telling me.  Of course, later he’d confess that many of those zingers came directly from his mom, Shelley. He also had quite a few sayings from his dad, Dody, but those are probably best left unrepeated.

Not all of Ryan’s decisions worked out for the best. I recall him wearing a red plaid jacket to prom one year which in hindsight may have not been the way to go.  But his decision to invite me into his life as a friend is one I’m very glad he made.  When there was no place for me, he made room. He did the same for all who were privileged to know him.  For someone who didn’t always fit in, he fit perfectly into our hearts, where he will always remain.

Christopher Martin