The Ox is in the Ditch

Mary Ann (Molly) Brantley, Minda Maxey, Beulah Tunstall, Nettie Ott Medley, Wayne Kastning

Granny Ott, Aunt Ann Morrow, my brother, Bruce and me.

    I didn't even realize that today was Grandparents' Day until I read it on my Facebook news feed.  You see, I've been extremely busy with school and I have been working in my classroom most of the day.  I know that today is Sunday but as my Granny Ott would say, "The ox is in the ditch."  If you don't know or remember this verse, it is Luke 14, 5-6. 

   Growing up in the Ozarks kids  typically spent a lot of time with their grannies.  Many  young couples, like my parents, moved into the home with the widowed mother.   We were surrounded by a lot of "granny women."  My Granny Ott, of course, lived with us and our neighbor, "Aunt Ann Morrow" was often at our home.  My Great-Granny, Molly Brantley, who raised my mom, would come and stay with us for several days at a time.  Other granny women, including my Great Aunt Nettie Medley, and my Great-great Aunt Mindy Maxey were very much a part of our lives.  The grannies would get together to can, quilt, mend and just visit.  The kids were always playing near the grannies so even though it wasn't a conscious thing,  all Ozarks kids were influenced by the granny women.  Every story they told had a moral.  I'm pretty sure that the episodes of Andy of Mayberry and the Andy Griffith Show were all written by granny women because they all had a moral to the story.

   These women were our role models.  They were strong - they had lived hard lives.   Many, as my Granny Ott, widowed at a young age had to endure the depression and the dust bowl.  They sent their sons off to war.  The plowed the fields and harvested the crops.  They milked the cows and butchered the hogs. Yes, they were strong.  But, they were also tender.  They could calm a scared child, gently "doctor" a skinned knee or a cut finger.  You knew the granny women loved you.  They taught us right from wrong and how to be polite and respectful.  The lessons we learned sitting at their feet, while they shelled peas or peeled peaches, were invaluable.

   So, I say to all the granny women in Heaven,  who helped to shape and mold me into the person that I am today:  Thank you for all of your wisdom, your gentle spirits and your guidance.

 

♫Thank you for being a friend♫

   One of my friends gave me this Bravlet at my son, Ryan's, funeral.  I put it on that day and it has been on my wrist for at least some of each day since.  It's getting a little tarnished and loose around my wrist, but I continue to put it on every day.  I don't wear it because it says "be brave."  I wear it because it reminds me of that friend - that she cared enough about me to give me that bracelet.

    I've had a lot of reflection about friendship over this past year.  I have learned that you can have friends that you haven't seen in years but when you needed their strength and support, they were there.  I have a childhood friend that I haven't seen since May, 1973 but we have become reacquainted through Facebook over the past several years.  I was deeply touched when I opened a sympathy card from her and found a check and a book of stamps.  She knew that I would not feel like going to the post office to buy stamps for thank you cards.  That kind, sweet gesture brought tears to my eyes on that day.  One of my friends, who lives down the road, came immediately to my home when she heard of my loss. She knew that my computer had recently "fried" and she brought her laptop and MiFi box.  She knew that I needed to write an obituary and scan pictures for the service.  Later she bought me an infinity scarf that is the color of a red fox. She knew that Ryan loved foxes and she wanted me to have something I could wear and touch that reminded me of that.  Shortly after Ryan's funeral I opened my mailbox to find a package from a friend that I haven't seen in a long time, but we interact on Facebook.  I opened the package to find a Willow Tree "boy" angel and a long hand written, heart-felt letter. She has suffered a painful loss in her life and she understood my pain and grief. 

   My dearest childhood friend, who lives in Oklahoma, called me and just let me sob in the phone.  She didn't try to tell me that everything would be ok or that "time would heal my wounds."  She just held the phone and let me sob.  I knew she was there for me and that I could call her and sob into the phone anytime that I needed to.

   I have another friend , who is a former colleague, that has never stopped calling and texting to check on me.  She has left countless voicemails and texts that simply say, "I'm thinking of you."  Another friend and colleague, who also lost her son, has graded my papers, made my lesson plans, and done hours of school work for me because I wasn't able to.

   There are so many friends that went out of their way, interrupted their busy lives to be there for me.  When you are going through a heartbreaking loss, you find out just how kind and generous your friends are.  I could not have made it through the darkest days of my life had it not been for my friends.

   Through this grieving process, I have made new friends.  Many of Ryan's friends have become my friends too.  His loss hurt so many people and they have reached out to me in their time of grief. I also made a new friend who has become a pillar of strength for me, as well as a confidante.  A few weeks after Ryan's death, I received a letter from a lady that I didn't know.  It was several pages and handwritten.  The lady told me the story of the loss of her husband and step-son and how it had changed her life.  A few months later, this lady, became my grief counselor and I have been able to share with her things that I have not felt comfortable sharing with anyone else. 

   I hope that I can be a good friend to anyone who needs my friendship and support.  I feel such a debt of gratitude to those who have helped me get through my grief.  For now I would just like to say,  ♫Thank you for being a friend. ♫

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.