Grief - My Constant Companion

   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. 

  

  

Easter

I didn't intend to blog today but sometimes things happen that I can't get off my mind and I need to write about them in order to move on.  I have past Easters on my mind.  What a great time the kids and I would have celebrating.  We would get up early on Sunday morning for Sunrise Service, then go out for breakfast (that was a rare treat), then back to church.  Later we would go to my parent's farm where we would gather with the rest of my family for a big meal.  All the grandkids would hunt Easter eggs in my parent's yard and have a lot of fun.  After the kids got older and left home we didn't celebrate together - they had moved to other states so we would just talk on the phone or Skype.  I have tried not to let the holiday get me down but a couple of things happened that caused me to tear up.

Yesterday JC and I were having lunch at El Chico and I ran into an acquaintance that I hadn't seen in many years. He came and sat down next to me in the booth and asked how I was doing.  I told him that I was fine and he then said, "Shelley, how are you doing since you lost your boy?"  You see, he too lost a son six years ago and he knows the difference between doing OK heath wise and doing OK emotionally.  We talked about what it has been like for him.  We talked about the reality of it - we love our kids so much but as he put it, "We don't always gee and haw." (if you're country you will get that)  But - that doesn't make any difference in how much we love them and how much we grieve for them.  It's a loss that only parents who have experienced it can understand.  He told me that it does get easier but there will be times that it will hit you like a ton of bricks and bring you to your knees.  I was still feeling blue when I got home and trying to stay busy and keep my mind occupied.   I heard my cellphone  "ding" and saw that I had a text message from my brother, Bruce.  I opened it and it said, "Your tree bloomed" and he had attached four pictures.  The Junior High teachers gave me a weeping cherry tree when Ryan passed away and I decided to plant it at the cemetery, rather than our house. I had checked on it several times over the winter months and it was always "green" when I would scrape the bark.  I had been to the cemetery two weeks ago and it hadn't budded out so I was surprised to see the beautiful blooms on it. That it had bloomed over the Easter holiday lifted my spirits.  I felt like a was getting a message from Ryan.

After that, I thought I was doing "OK" until I heard my phone "ding" again.  This time it was a Facebook message from someone that I didn't know.  It was from a young man from Austin, Texas.  He sent me the saddest message - it brought me to tears.  It seems that he had met Ryan at the South by Southwest music festival in Austin a couple of years ago and they had gotten to be friends.  He said that he had been busy with work and hadn't been in touch with Ryan in quite awhile but had been thinking about him and tried to text him.  He received an error message so he went to Ryan's Facebook page to contact him.  He was shocked when he found that Ryan had passed away.  He was heartbroken and kept messaging me. I felt bad that he had to learn of Ryan's death that way and I ended up trying to comfort him.  It was very sad and upsetting.  He kept telling me what a nice guy that Ryan was and what a talented musician and artist that he was.  He said that he felt  grateful that he had gotten to meet and get to know Ryan. 

I don't know if other families have had  to go through similar things. Ryan was in an industry where you have a lot of acquaintances from far and wide.  We have heard from many people that we have never met or never before heard their names, but they all expressed their love for Ryan.  I keep hearing stories about something he had done - good things - that makes me happy. 

I will miss that phone call tomorrow.  If you are reading this - hug your kids if they are with you;  call them and tell them that you love them if you can't be with them. 

Healing

   I went to the cemetery by myself for the first time today.  I needed some time for quiet reflection.  There are so many things on that clipboard that still need to be done and I hope that I am doing what Ryan would want.  I went down to my Granny's old house on the farm for awhile.  It has become our family's storage facility and I hate to admit it, but most of it is my kids and my stuff.  I have been methodically going through all the boxes of Ryan's things and putting them in hard plastic storage tubs.  He was a packrat.  He would say, "Mom, don't throw this stuff away, OK?"  So I didn't and now I am glad for that.  I found report cards, ACT scores, SAT scores, pictures, cards, letters, notes, check stubs and on and on.  If any of his childhood friends wanted to have their own production of "Middle School Diaries," I have the material.  I haven't read all of the notes but I couldn't help but scan a few.  There's a lot of teenage angst and silliness in them.  I found a pair of battered drum sticks and his band folder, a few paintings, the manuscript from MASH and You Can't Take it With You, scholarship essays, and college letters.  As I have time I will read and look over all of these things.

Items from Ryan's boxes; battered drum sticks, pic of Ryan and Eva, pencil drawing of Lissa, and a painting.

   As I was looking through his school work, I remembered an incident that happened a couple of years ago.  Ryan called to tell me about a young father who was on the city bus with him late one afternoon.  He said that the father was Skyping with his young son and daughter.  The man told his children that he would be home in time to have dinner with them.  He asked if they had their homework done and told them that he would go over their homework after dinner.  This made a big impact on Ryan and he later posted about it on Facebook saying; "It matters to kids, it really matters."  Ryan didn't have much of a relationship with his dad growing up and none at all after he moved to Los Angeles, so this young dad's caring behavior really touched his heart.

   Ryan lived life in the fast lane and he could "chew you up and spit you out," but he also had a softer, gentler side.  He cared about the hungry and homeless, especially the youth.  This is why Misty and I have chosen to start the Ryan Rorie Foundation.  It is our goal to help continue to support the homeless youth shelter and center in Los Angeles.  With the generous help of Ryan's friends, colleagues, and fans we have been able to donate several hundred dollars already.  We also have aspirations of opening new shelters and art centers in other areas for at risk youth.  We would like to ensure that all homeless and at risk youth have a safe haven and an art center, with which to express themselves through the arts.  Within the next month we will be choosing the first recipient of the Ryan Rorie Memorial Scholarship.  It will go to a student who plans to major in the visual or performing arts.  I have a website that I started but realized that I didn't have the skill set to finish.  I have turned it over to a former student, now a college professor, and he his completing it for me.

   Misty and I can't get back what we would most like to have, but what we can do, is give to others.  Through giving, we can heal.  Losing Ryan has changed our perspectives on just about everything.  Things that used to seem so important now seem trivial.  I am planning to take early retirement so that I can build and run the Ryan Rorie Foundation.  Misty is an esthetician and makeup artist and she has made the choice to begin volunteering for the American Cancer Society's "Look Good...Feel Better" program.  She is also looking into volunteering at the homeless/battered women's shelter helping the women look their best when they go on job interviews.

    I recently read this quote in a book about slavery:  "When you be givin' you ain't got time to think 'bout what you ain't got.  But you got to give with your heart.  You got to give from your heart."  Sarah, a slave from Virginia

   If this woman, who lived through the bleakest time in our country's history, having her husband and children sold away from her, could still have it in her heart to give, I can do it too.  I will do it for all the kids out there who need someone to care.  They would all have loved and been inspired by Ryan if they could have gotten to know him.

  

  

Another Month on this Journey

   I didn’t write a “four month” blog on the anniversary of Ryan’s death.   A new year had begun and I felt uncertain as to what to do.  The holidays were much different for us.  A part of our joy was missing.  Misty and I tried to make it “normal” for the kids.  She and her family put up a Ryan Memory tree.  We all contributed ornaments that reminded us of him. Lily and Reid made ornaments - there were a lot of foxes.  Lily’s birthday is in November and she used some of her birthday money to buy two small resin foxes.  She placed them under Ryan’s tree to “stand guard over it.”  We tried to stay busy.   We drove around looking at Christmas lights, watched movies and tried to keep our minds busy.  It wasn’t the same.  The lights didn’t seem as bright, the movies weren’t as funny, and the traditional food didn’t taste as good.  We have decided that next year we will completely change our holiday routine – maybe go to a ski lodge.  It’s not that we didn’t wish everyone else a joyous holiday; it’s just hard to be happy for others when you’re missing someone so badly.

   I joined Compassionate Friends which is an organization that supports families who have lost a child.  They have weekly meetings in Mountain Home, AR.  I haven’t attended any of the meetings but I read their literature daily and I go to the website for support when I can’t go any farther alone.   I have found other moms who hurt the same way that I do and understand my pain.  I have found that they are quick to tell me that I’m not losing my mind when I come home and find the milk in the pantry and cereal in the refrigerator.  I have found myself spending twice as much time grocery shopping only to come home with practically nothing to cook.   I have forgotten to make lesson plans, copy worksheets and tests, but I am assured that I’m not losing my mind and things will become less foggy in time. 

   I have returned to daily journaling to alleviate some of the stress that comes from grief, anger and bitterness.  I have also begun a yoga practice.  There are days that I can’t calm down and performing the yoga poses and breathing seems to help.  Ryan took a yoga class and he would encourage me to, but little did I know that someday I would be doing yoga to help ease the pain of losing him.

   Misty and I are both actively working on our book. I’m much slower at writing than she is.  I only have about 18 pages done and I think she has around 30.  So many buried memories have surfaced as I write.  Ryan was such a smart and funny kid and I have so many cute stories that I am telling in the book.  There are sad and angry stories too.  As Ryan got older our lives began to change. Ryan experienced bullying and hatred – something that wasn’t allowed in our home.  I can’t use names of those that I refer to as the “Meanie Boys” and Ryan called them the “Undesirables.”  I was worried about this part of the book but as someone said to me, “If someone reads this and sees them self in this story, they deserve to feel guilty.”  When Ryan was in high school he considered becoming a lawyer.  When he would come home upset and hurt from being bullied I would jokingly tell him that someday when he was governor he wouldn’t have grant the “Meanie Boys” pardons.  We would get a laugh out of that.   I have been going through Ryan’s “tubs” a little at a time.  I recently went through one from his 9^th grade year and found a book that he had written and submitted to a national contest.  He hadn’t placed in the competition but the book is a treasure.  I plan to scan it and use it as part of our book.  Some will get a kick out of it, some will not.

   Besides the book, there are still many things to do on my “clipboard.”  The scholarship form is ready but the webpage is not.  We have been approached about a documentary but Misty and I have mixed feelings there.  We will only agree to it if we have control over what is in it.  We are still trying to start a foundation – that is taking some time.  When Ryan died he was working on a stage show but wasn’t quite finished with it.  He had shared his idea with someone in LA and they are following through with it.  They have contacted me to let me know when it will be performed and have invited me to come.  Misty is apprehensive about this.  She is afraid that certain people that we don’t care for will profit from this.  All the profits are supposed to be donated to the homeless youth shelter in LA.  I hope we are not disappointed.

  And speaking of…the horrible people who stole Ryan’s things and spread nasty stories about Misty and me are still alive and well.  We try to avoid “friends of friends” on social media and tell people not to tell us things - that we just don’t want to hear about them.  They will bring about their own downfall someday.

   One thing that Misty and I have become aware of throughout all this is that while we selfishly claimed Ryan as only ours, he belonged to a lot of other people.  We have begun to realize how many friends and business acquaintances that he had.  They all “lay claim” to him and sometimes that’s a good thing but other times it has angered us.  We are still trying to figure out how to make peace with that.  He had his life in LA and his family life with us.  It’s hard to meld them together and sometimes I wonder if we even have to.

   But I suppose when all is said and done, Ryan made a huge impact on a lot of people.  He was creative, smart and funny and those attributes helped him get to know a lot of people and he enjoyed interacting and collaborating with them.  Hopefully those people will help to keep his memory alive and help us to achieve positive things in his name.

  

 

Pretzels and Ramblings

Today is pretzel making day.  I grabbed the ingredients, bowls and spoons and went to work. When it was time to knead the dough, I reached for my wooden dough board and as I kneaded my mind began to wander (which it does a lot as I have gotten older). 

Most young people today (20s and 30s) don’t have the sense of appreciation for things passed down through families.  I once had a thirty-ish young man say to me, “Why don’t you throw that old board away.  It looks awful.”  I replied, “That board has great meaning to me.”  I didn’t elaborate because he wouldn’t have “gotten it.”  That board was the only thing my former father-in-law ever gave me.  It came from Mar-Bax Shirt Company.  He worked there for many years.  The company was replacing the floor of their trucks and a few smaller pieces were left over.  He brought them home for his daughters-in-law.  I’ve used it as a dough board, cutting board, and it has burn rings where I’ve set hot pans on it.  Yes, it’s ugly, but it never leaves my counter top.  Henry and I didn’t like each other very much.  We disagreed on 99% of things – most of which had to do with Ryan and Misty.  Not long before he passed away, I called their home to talk to my kids' Granny Faye and Henry answered the phone.  I hadn’t spoken to him in years but he recognized my voice.  He was already in the last stages of cancer and had become a Christian.  He wanted to talk to me a little and I got the sense that he was trying to make everything right between us.  I think he left this earth with a more clear conscience.  I’m bird walking here – back to my story.

My family has done an amazing job of keeping and preserving items from our lineage.  I love my great-grandmother’s bedstead that is in my guestroom.  I have my Aunt Ethel and Aunt Joyce’s desks, bookcases, coffee tables, plant stands and occasional tables.  They are old and worn but I love them.  I had a former (praise be to Glory) family member once say to me; “Why do you have this old stuff?  You know you could finance some new furniture.”  (And finance yourself right into bankruptcy, I thought to myself).  I told her that all that “old stuff” had meaning to me.  She just wrinkled her nose.  As I am typing this, my computer rests on my Aunt Joyce and Uncle Carl’s desk.  It sat in the corner of their living room.  It’s scarred, but I don’t care.  Also, on it sets my Uncle Carl’s pen and pencil holder.  It was in the drawer when I got the desk and I imagine it was the same one he used in the County Clerk’s office.  Also, on here is my Uncle Jack’s wooden card file – probably sat in the Sheriff’s office all the years he served there.

I use family dishes.  I love to use my Grandma Thelma’s beautiful fruit bowl, all my Aunts’ old Fire king dishes, my Aunt Opal’s orange and yellow striped Kool-aid pitcher and colorful metal glasses. (Kids today have no idea what a brain freeze is, until you’ve gotten one from a metal glass).  I serve meals (and get strange looks) in brown stained and cracked bowls and platters.  I don’t see the stains or cracks – I see all the good food from my childhood that went in those bowls and on those platters.  I see my company look over toward my china cabinet which holds the good china and then back at my table. I don’t care and they will never understand unless they come from a family that believes in preserving their history.

We sleep under old quilts – many friendship quilts that have the names of family and friends, who have been gone a long time. “Why don’t you buy velour blankets?”  “Why do you have these old pillowcases with names embroidered on them?”  It goes on and on.

I know they talk about me and say that I am an odd duck.  Again, I say, I don’t care.  Because what I have is a strong sense of who I am and where I came from.  I was fortunate enough to have family who loved me unconditionally and I loved them unconditionally.  I want to surround myself with things that reflect that.  So barring a fire or tornado, these things will keep their places in my daily life.  There’s nothing that Pottery Barn or Restoration Hardware, to name a couple, could sell me that would give the feeling of love that my “old stuff” does.

Misty has started asking for and receiving many old pieces to use in her home. I am taking bookcases and an old mirror to her when we go to her home for Christmas.  She has that sense of lineage and the importance of preserving it.  I hope that she will pass it onto her children.

The green dish in the picture was given to me by Mom. It rests on the old battered dough board.

Meltdown

This is a blog that may never be read.  I won’t be sharing the link on Facebook so unless someone who follows me on here opens it, it will never see the light of day.  “Why am I writing it?”  I need to let out some emotion and that, for me, means writing.

Today I attended a funeral.  It was for a lady that I have known all my life and attended church with all my life as well.  She was also a family friend and grandmother to one of my dearest friends. Not to be disrespectful, but, this blog isn’t about her.  It’s about the emotions that hit me at the funeral.  I grew up attending the First Christian Church of  Flippin; was baptized there, married there, and raised my children in that Church.  My children were also baptized there.  It is what I consider to be my home church. 

When Ryan passed away I chose to have his funeral at the funeral home chapel. It was easier for everyone and we hadn’t attended church at the First Christian in many years.  The kids got out of school and moved away and I also moved away.  I knew today going inside that church would be hard, but nothing prepared me for the emotions that I felt and quite frankly – I lost it.  As I looked at the stage all I could see were my kids up there singing, or acting in a play, me scolding them for “runnin’ in the church house.”  I tried to slow down my breathing, I looked at the cross above the baptistery,  and the pictures of Jesus on the walls.  Nothing helped.  Silent tears streamed down my face.  Once the service was over, I walked outside and some of the “little church ladies” tried to hug and console me.  It only made it worse.  This was the worst public meltdown I’ve experienced.  Mom and I had to leave and I felt terrible about my breakdown.

Some of my family and friends think I need to be medicated.  I just can’t bring myself to do that yet.  I want so much to be strong and do this on my own terms.  I don’t know if I’m grieving worse than others – I don’t have a ruler to measure it with.  I just can’t imagine anyone not feeling this awful pain that I feel if they’ve lost a child.  People will tell me that I need to be strong and move forward – quite frankly – I want to slap those that say that to me.  I want to yell at them and tell them if they had buried their child, they wouldn’t be in any better shape than me.

Back to my story.  After I dropped Mom off and began the hour’s drive home, I cried and cried.  I was barely able to drive.  I decided that I was losing my mind.  I prayed.  I talked to Ryan and I just talked to the air.  I have no idea when it will get easier or if I’m going to stay sane of mind until it does.  And I wasn’t just crying about what happened at the church.  There are those that have treated me badly.   There’s a family member, by marriage, who has yet to say one word to me about Ryan’s death.  Not a word!  Then another family member by marriage who sent me an ugly text message because their feelings were hurt about something else.  Something that I had absolutely nothing to do with.  And even if I had, it was wrong on so many levels to send me that message.  I guess I was crying about that too.

Next week is Christmas and dear Lord I don’t know how I will get through it.  I will do my best for Misty and her kids but it is going to be hard.  Every day when I pray I ask God to let me feel Ryan’s spirit and I hope that he will allow that over the next few days.  I need to feel him around me.  Someone close to Ryan visited a medium and she found some peace.  I wasn’t raised to believe in those things but at this point in time, I’m willing to try it, if I thought it would ease some of this pain.  Is that crazy or is it on the same level as taking medication?  I don’t know. 

If you’re reading this, please keep me in your thoughts and prayers. I need them.

Three Months

Another month has come and gone. Three months since Ryan left us. Thanksgiving was our first holiday without him.  It was easier than Christmas will be.  Ryan hadn’t been with me on Thanksgiving in many years.  Living so far away, he couldn’t make the trip here or to Misty’s home very often.  In fact, I had not even spent Thanksgiving with Misty’s family in 6 years.  Jason’s family celebrates their Thanksgiving and Christmas together on the weekend following Thanksgiving so the kids usually spend Thanksgiving at home in Texas, then travel to East End, AR the next day for his family’s celebration.

Ryan and I would always Skype or Facetime on Thanksgiving. He would tell me with whom and how he was going to celebrate and I would share what our plans were.  I missed that time with him this year. Having Misty and the grandkids here made it a lot easier. 

We invited my family here for a hayride and fun activities for all the little ones.  I think it was the first time that my Mom had all her great-grandkids together in one place.  Watching the little ones have fun brought me joy.

The day after Thanksgiving (Black Friday has a whole different meaning for me now), Misty and I went out to the Ott cemetery.  She hadn’t been there since Ryan’s funeral and hadn’t seen his grave, since it wasn’t filled in when she left the service.  I had ordered a concrete fox and turtle to place at his grave.  Ryan loved foxes and he had a fox tattoo on his forearm.  For many years he also had a turtle named Greta.  We placed them on his grave and I watched with such sorrow as my  beautiful, 34 year-old daughter lay down on his grave and sobbed.  I had to walk away for a while.  I saw her take a stick and write “I love you” in the dirt on his grave.  Our pain is still so great and our emotions so raw.

Things get easier in some respects and worse in others.  I no longer enjoy getting the mail or e-mail.  I got a letter from the student loan foundation informing me that I was responsible for the balance of Ryan’s student loans because I had co-signed for them. I have been paying them for 16 years and have 4 years left. His social security number had been flagged and they wanted to make sure I knew that the debt is still owed.  Thank you Guaranteed Student Loan Foundation.  I also got an e-mail from Arkansas Governor’s School, which Ryan attended and I have also taught at AGS, wanting Ryan’s address.  They are putting together a “Where are they now” book.  I sobbed and sobbed. I still haven’t answered that one.  On “Black Friday” I got a bill from the LA Coroner’s office for $372 for transporting Ryan from the hospital to the Coroner’s office.  Ryan would record songs and store them in an online account, which Misty and I can access.  Today I got an e-mail that said “Hear Ryan Rorie’s latest music.”  I was at school, on my plan period,  when it popped up on my phone.  I just sat at my desk and cried.

My friends, who have lost children or are grief counselors, will say that I am in the anger phase now.  There are a lot of things that I don’t like to see.  Those Facebook shares, “share if you have son that you love” and that stuff.  I realize that people can’t walk on eggshells around me and I try to just scroll by quickly.  I get irritated when people complain about trivial things.  I don’t spend much time reading posts anymore.  I check Misty’s page and that’s about it most days.  

I don’t like going shopping anymore.  I run into people who want to talk to me about “it” or they don’t know and “stick their feet in their mouths.”  I have openly cried in stores.  I’ve run out of stores, leaving my cart behind and cried in the safety of my car.  Once I forgot my purse in the cart and one of my students brought it to my car.   I just can’t do it anymore.  And there are those that Misty calls the “Looky Loos” who just want to see my reaction.  They haven’t seen or talked to me in years and yet they stop in Wal-Mart to chat!!!  Now my shopping is in the early morning hours and online. 

Ryan’s high school class of ’94 held their class reunion a few weeks ago.  They were so kind to let Misty and me be a part of it.  It was both good and painful, as it was for the parents of 3 other classmates.  I saw pictures of him that I had never seen and was touched by the memorial video. 

Now the time has come to set the record straight on some things that have been extremely hurtful to our family.  There have been rumors that have gotten back to Misty and me as to Ryan’s cause of death.  We have remained silent on this, not because we are hiding anything, but because we loved him and have respect for him and his memory.  But…as the rumor mill continues to crank out incorrect theories, I will discuss it.    Ryan had suffered from acid reflux and irritable bowel syndrome since he was a child.  This was an embarrassing topic for him so we didn’t discuss it outside our home. As he got older, he suffered greatly from stomach problems and had developed ulcers. He was always on the run and didn’t eat properly.  He was a Starbucks fanatic and drank a lot of strong coffee.   That day, he had gotten sick, I don’t know why – maybe just a bug, and began vomiting.  His heaving caused a couple of ulcerated areas to bleed and he began to hemorrhage.  He was home alone and waited too long to call for help.  By the time that EMS arrived he was bleeding profusely and was too weak for the doctors to try to do surgery.  They later went in and tried to cauterize the ulcerated places but his blood pressure dropped too low.  Ryan bled to death.  It is hard enough to suffer loss then have to hear the horrible things that people say.  Shame on those who have spread rumors and mis-information.

Now on to positive things.  Kitchen 24 in West Hollywood recently donated money in Ryan’s name to the Angel Food Project and their management and staff helped to cook and serve 1000 meals to those in need.  This touched my heart.  Ryan was concerned about the homeless in LA, especially the kids.  He would show me where they slept and where they could go for a meal.  He would tell me stories about  some of the people that he saw on a regular basis.  He couldn’t imagine anyone living that way.  It is Misty’s and my goal to raise money to help out youth in need.  We are writing people asking for funds to help us start a foundation in Ryan’s name to do this.  We’ve enlisted the help of one of Ryan’s good friends from Little Rock to “get the ball rolling.”  He has given us a lot of good advice.  His scholarship fund is already set up.  I kept all the donated money for that and will continue to raise funds to keep it going.  Misty and I want to make sure that good things can come from our loss.  Ryan was a good hearted, kind person who had so much to offer society and we want to share that with others and that through this foundation many will be helped.  This will be a legacy that would make him proud.