For the past year,
grief has seemed to be the one constant in my life. It has been my unwanted, but ever present
companion. I've tried to define grief
but I think it warrants a different definition each time one experiences
loss. Merriam-Webster defines it as:
deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement; also: a cause of
such suffering. I thought I had suffered
deep and poignant distress from past losses but nothing, and I mean nothing,
prepared for the grief that I have suffered from losing my son, Ryan.
When I was a child
I lost a favorite uncle and I grieved as a child does. I was sad for awhile and missed him but over
time it faded. My first adult experience
with grief was when my Granny Ott passed away.
We had lived in the home with her and loved her very much. When she died I felt that crushing, can't
breathe, type of grief for the first time.
Later I lost my Grandma Thelma and felt the same type of grief. When my Dad passed away, it was worse than
any emotional pain I had ever felt. I
couldn't stop crying and I was physically sick.
For many years I could not even talk about my dad without crying. I missed him and I needed him. He could fix all the bad things that came
into my life. What was I going to do
without him to help me? As time has
passed it has eased and I can look back with fond memories of him. I still talk to him and tell him that I need
his help. These conversations are no longer sad and tearful. Do I think I'm crazy for talking to Dad? No.
I've been told by many of my friends that they also talk to their
parents who have passed. We will always
search for their spirits because we want their guidance.
Losing Ryan was a
whole different level of grief. Parents
shouldn't have to grieve for their children.
It should be the other way around.
I was brought up to never question "why." I was taught that there is a reason for
everything and that in time we will understand.
But I did and do ask why? Was it
something I did wrong? Was Ryan's life
cut short because of my past
mistakes? I don't know. Last week I sat at the hospital visiting with
my former mother-in-law, my kids' Granny Faye.
She had an accident and is suffering from a life-threatening
infection. I felt the need to go talk to
her about my kids before it was too late.
While sitting with her we talked openly and honestly about the
"why" that we aren't supposed to ask.
She admitted to me that she also wonders why, though she knows we aren't
supposed to ask. There are no answers
but we agreed that it's human nature to want to know. But I wonder if we were able to know, would it only make
the pain worse?
I can't begin to articulate
the pain that parents feel when they lose a child. It is both an emotional and physical
pain. At first, thankfully, I was in
shock. I couldn't have made it through
those first few weeks if I hadn't been numb from the shock. Then, it hit. The crying, sobbing, chest crushing emotional
pain. It doesn't leave. It's there all the time - it never
leaves. It hovers just under the surface
of consciousness. Small things trigger
it and it takes over your thoughts and behavior. Rose Kennedy said, “It has been said, 'time
heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity,
covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."
This past year has
been, without a doubt, the most grief filled that I have experienced. Three days after Ryan passed away, one of my
7th grade students was killed in a car accident. It's strange because I hadn't experienced the
sobbing, snot filled, can't breathe breakdown that I should have after losing
Ryan. Probably the shock - but when I got the call about my student - it
triggered it. We were on our way home
from the airport when I got the news. I had a complete meltdown. My husband, JC, had to pull over and help me
get it together. Two visits from
"Grief" in three days! Why?
Why? Why? And my visits from
"Grief" didn't end there. Over
the course of the year two of my school classmates have passed away. I have a lost former sister-in-law, who had I
had stayed good friends with. I have
lost two former students, only two weeks apart.
Why won't "Grief" leave me alone?
I know there are
those who have suffered much more than me.
My sister-in-law and brother lost their two sons only five weeks apart. The look of total devastation that I saw on my
sister-in-law's face will haunt me the rest of my life. She is a Godly woman who has never hurt
anyone. One of my classmates has lost
two children and her husband. She is one
of the kindest, nicest people I know.
Why must she suffer so? No matter how sorry I feel for myself, I know
that it can never compare to their grief.
My Grandma Thelma outlived 5 children and 4 husbands but she never gave
up. She never withheld her love for fear
of having her heart broken by loss. I
see stories on TV and read about parents who have lost all their children in
one fell swoop. I cannot imagine their
pain.
I admit, I wanted
to lie down and die with Ryan. I didn't
want to live with the emotional pain, but I have a daughter who I love equally
and I have 3 beautiful grandkids who I love dearly. No one will ever replace Ryan and I will
never stop loving him. I wish he didn't
always visit my memories with "Grief" by his side. I know that as Rose Kennedy said, I will
build some scar tissue and someday he will visit my memories with being
accompanied by "Grief." I
long for that time to come - for now he only visits me alone in my dreams. When I wake up, "Grief" is there to
punch me in the gut.
It is my wish that
none of you experience the loss of a child.
It is also my wish that "Grief" stays out of your lives all
together but I know that's not realistic.
Again, I don't know "why" he has visited me so many times this
past year. But I will not give up. I will not allow distance to grow between those
around me because I don't want the pain associated with loss, if something
happens to them. I will build that scar
tissue.
In loving memory of
Ryan. August 28, 1976 - September 5,
2014
I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the
neck.
