Living with Loss

but the truth is I don't have much in me anymore.  Real truth is I wish I weren't here. God's honest truth is if I thought it would really solve anything I'd of probably offed myself by now.  Harsh words you think, not really.  This grieving, this loss, this pain grows more intense with each day.  Each day without my precious son, each day in this world without his smile, his laugh, his beauty, is one more day of agony.  I long to be shed of it, to be free to rest, to feel and not hurt, to laugh and not cry, to smile and not ache.  Some have told me the second year of this loss was the worst.  In the midst of the first year such thought was inconceivable.  Now, as I approach this second year without my son, I get it. I see it. I feel it.  The blinders of shock have been removed and the significance of it all is revealed; all we lost, all he lost, all that could have been and will never be. It's overwhelming, suffocating, impossible to ...

The other day  friend shared a photo of his daughter and said, she was about to have his first grandchild, a boy.   He sent her the cradle that he made when she was young so the baby can sleep next to her.   He was so full of joy and exuberance over the pending birth. I too felt joy for him to become a grandfather and her as a new mother.   My thoughts went back in time to when I gave birth to my beautiful son, how my stepfather built him a cradle that we kept by the bed in our room.   We still have the cradle.   It was the cradle that sparked my pain.   Being a grandparent is a joy that we will never know and parenthood will not be known to our son. Parenthood with all it tribulations is by far the most magnificent experience.   There is nothing in my life that compares to being a mom.   When I look at Wyatt’s cradle,   I know my center is gone from this world, that my future stopped on January 1, 2010. My life to...

You desire to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: make use of suffering.   ~ Henri Frederic Amiel Elizabeth Edwards died today.  She lost her oldest son, Wade when he was 16.  She said she's not so afraid of death since his death .  I understand her words.  I'm not so afraid of death either, some days I long for death, so I can see my Wyatt.  Death is my passage to being with Wyatt again.  I long to see him, to sit and talk with him, to watch him grow, to be his mom, to see his future.  If death takes me to him then I am not afraid of death.  Resilience comes in how I am dealing with Wyatt's death. Resilience is knowing that I can get up each morning even though when I look in his room I know I will not see him.  Resilience is smiling at other's happiness even when my heart is broken. Resilience is sharing company with friends when I wish to cover my head and hide in darkness. Resilience is takin...

I can't seem to stop my mind from racing with all sorts of thoughts.  Mostly, I think of Wyatt.  The grieving process is so challenging.  I'm still not sure of what I should be doing or feeling right now.  I'm so afraid I'm going to wake up one day and the world will crash in on me...I keep waiting for it. Waiting for the world to stop....but it doesn't. I walked outside the other day and there he was, I walked in the house and there he was, I sat at the dining room table and there he was, I looked up at the sky and there he was.  I see my son everywhere. I feel his presence at the most needed times.  Yes, I talk to him.  Yes, he answers me; the way the light shines, the chirp of a bird, the moon in the sky, the rain on my face...he speaks to me through God's world in God's language. I know he is not physically present, but he is still so real to me, so here.  I wrote a poem a while back that said, "nothing can separate you from me."...

Why did you come knocking at my door, why did you come here?  My house was so quiet and nice, there was peace here. There was no one we opposed, we harbored no ill will nor nefarious thought.  Simplicity and comfort was all we wished, to live with each other in peace and kindness, commune with nature and live in this world with little force.  Why did you come knocking at my door?  I've no bone to pick with you.  I've been good and paid my dues.  I raised my son to be good and right.  He harbored ill toward none and harmed not one.  He was good and right.  Why did you come knocking at my door? 

I left work today around 5:30 and as I walked outside the moon was sitting in the sky. There it was, telling me hello, telling me "I'm OK Mom." It was my sign, my little miracle moment; in that instant I knew Wyatt was with me.  We have to listen for those miracle moments. Sometimes they don't speak as loudly as others. There is not always a billboard saying,  "Hey, I'm here!  Hello!" But today, the moon told me, without question that Wyatt was good, Wyatt was telling me he was OK, telling me that he loved me, telling me that all was good. I need that today, and as usual, Wyatt was there for me. My little miracle moment.

I was thinking about death, those whom I've lost and how that changes my life.  It's more than just the intense longing for their presence, that is just painful, it's the loss of my past and my future that is so difficult to deal with.  I miss my son, I miss my step-brother, I miss my step-father, I miss my father.  I miss their presence in my life.  I miss their contribution to my life and all the things they brought to the feast. It was their personalities, their lives, their contributions, their love, their compassionate and giving natures that made me who I was, without them I am simply not the same person...and now they are all gone.  That makes me wonder who I am.  Frankly, I'm just not sure anymore.

Life seems to be an abyss right now, it seems to have swallowed me whole, covered me in a heavy sadness and shrouded my view of the living.  I hate my existence. I hate where I am, who I am, what I do and everything that goes with it. I hate my obligations. I want to run away, turn aside everything that is familiar and known and go toward all that is foreign and new. It is the "where I was" that is so painful to me...it is all I want, to be "where I was" and it is the only thing in this world that I absolutely can not have.  This time and place is so unbearable, it's an indescribable agony.  Day after day, I work so hard to hold back the floodgates and let the world think I'm OK.  I'm not OK.   I look at photographs of my beautiful boy, my wonderful, gorgeous, handsome, kind, generous beautiful boy and I can't stand the thought that he's gone. How can that be?  I can't bring myself out of this bad place anymore, not o...

Perhaps, they are not stars But rather openings in Heaven, Where the love of our lost ones Pours down through and shines upon us To let us know they are happy. I find comfort in these words. Those times when I miss Wyatt so deeply, I can go outside at night and look at the sky with its bright moon and sparkling stars. He is there; I can feel his comfort around me, the presence of love and and an embrace that time can not steal.  He sits in the night sky and watches over me and says, "I love you mom. I'm OK. Go, do good things." Then I say to him, "I love you son, I love you so much and I miss you.  I love you and I'm so proud of you."  We say goodnight and then I smile and go inside knowing my son is always with me.

We often think time is healing, that the passage of time itself will somehow scab over the wound and heal our shattered lives. It doesn’t.   Time does not heal, it passes.   Time is selfish; time thinks not for anyone or anything, it just is.   With time, civilians, those who have not lost a child, often believe we revert to our old selves, we somehow return to “normal.” Such belief is so flawed.   It would seem human nature is to believe we are so resilient a creature that we can transform ourselves into whatever we wish regardless of what tragedy befalls us.   Ain’t so; I lost normal on January 1, 2010 at 2:42 pm.; normal will never again be a part of my existence. There is a feeling I get that tells me…people believe I have or at least should have moved on with my life.   Again I say, time passes; there is no healing here, just time. I get up every day and go to work.   I go about my daily routine and handle all the crap life has to throw at me. ...

People have amassed shrines for years.   In Prague there is a wall dedicated to John Lennon; flowers and photos adorn the gates of Princess Diana’s home in London; an eternal flame shines for the unknown soldier; Shinto shrines celebrate wind, rain, mountains, trees and rivers; we bury our dead and mark the grave with a headstone….we want a marker of those things valuable and important to us.   That is how we feel about our dead children; we don’t want our children to be forgotten, we must remember them, others must remember them.   My son's boots are my shrine to him.   His boots are the only thing left from his accident.   They sit there, worn but whole, and I see him, I think of him, I remember him, I love him.   His boots do that for me….they create an instant recall of him, his person, his character, his life. Don’t tell me to put the boots away, don’t tell me that is it unhealthy to hold on to things that recall his memory…it is...

Today’s Most Dangerous Jobs : The Work Buzz http://www.theworkbuzz.com/news/most-dangerous-jobs People assume something as benign as a maintenance worker would not be a potentially fatal job, but as these records indicate there has been an increase in fatalities associated to maintenance workers. Can we attribute that to the fact that employers expect maintenance workers to do far more than their job description truly requires, to their gross lack of oversight and adherence to safety measures and the complete lack of substantial penalties issued by governmental oversight agencies when accidents and fatalities occur. In fact, governmental agencies such as OSHA are restricted to reviewing only the violation reported to them…effectively, if they notice or observe potential deadly safety violations while conducting an investigation, they can do absolutely nothing about it. When you add youth into the equation, and often youthful workers have the most dangerous jobs, the statistics c...

At the rising of the sun and at its going down, We remember them. At the blowing of the wind and the chill of winter, we remember them. At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them. At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer, we remember them. At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them. At the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them. As long as we live, they too will live; for they are now a part of us, we remember them. When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them. When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them. When we have joy we crave to share, we remember them. When we have decisions that are difficult to make, we remember them. When we have achievements that are based on theirs, we remember them. As long as we live, they too will live; for they are now a part of us, as we remember them. ~  from The Gates of Prayer    ...

There is a vast void in my heart right now; just emptiness.  I can't seem to collect my thoughts or make sense of much of anything.  I don't have any desires, no wishes, no hopes, just a body devoid of life.  It's like when you open the refrigerator and it's full of food and there is nothing in there you want to eat, so you shut the door and walk away yearning for something to satiate your hunger.  I'm hungry and I know there is plenty of food out there to ease my hunger, but I don't want any of it. Yes, at times I can laugh and smile at things in life and I believe it is essential to embrace this life for what it is....embrace those you love, laugh with those who entertain you, cry with those who need comfort, and dance with those who celebrate. It hurts to embrace it, but it also comforts, it is the ultimate paradox.  I receive comfort from helping others who are experiencing pain or grief, there is something palatable about being able to empathyze...

I slept today, not beause I was overly tired, but just because it was what I needed to do, it was all I could do.  I know that is challenging for some to understand, but sometimes, breathing is all I can do... living is impossible.  I've experienced so many emotions in the last few days, it's difficult to describe it all.  I want so badly to be a part of life, to live, to experience it all; then, it hits me that he's not here, that my child is gone, dead . That's a rather daunting thought.  Frankly, I don't quite know how to deal with it.  I want to embrace this world, this life, this experience that I'm having; but then, really, I don't, I don't want this life, this experience...I want what I worked for, what I longed for, what I hoped for, what I wanted, I want to be Wyatt's mom. Not somebody else's mom...I want to be Wyatt's mom, now, here, in this place and time.  I want to hug him, hold him in my arms, tell him how much I love him, how...

First, I'll tell you I've spared some of the detail on this post...it really does not show the extent of my anger..but just to give you a little idea...I'm angry... I’m angry that I can’t hold my son in my arms and tell him how wonderful he is… I’m angry that I will never have a child in my life, I will never be grandma, I’ll live in this place as just a piece of time, expired when I take my last breath…so what, she was here.   Not….did you know she was Wyatt’s mom, he’s such a wonderful young man, look at everything he’s done, I know she was very proud of him.   No, not me, I’m just an empty, barren, vacant piece time on this wretched planet. I am so angry, so full of rage, frustration and hatred, if my heart could just explode and release the fury it would be such a relief.   I am so angry at this place, this time, this life.   I am furious that I am here, in this time, this situation; I don’t want to be here.   I hate where I am in this life, I hate this lif...

A friend told me a story today about her little boy.  Long after his bedtime, he walked into her room, looked at her and said, "I've got to go see the stars."  Her mother's heart listened to him; hearing him she took his little hand and together they went outside to look at the stars.  Those experiences in life are valuable, irreplaceable, precious moments in time not soon to be forgotten. When I look in the night sky, I see Wyatt.  The moon sitting high in the sky is my little man, watching over me, sharing his light with me, shining upon me.  Some nights when I look up, he's shining so brightly and I feel his presence so strongly...other times there is distance and his absence is painfully noticeable. Our lives are filled with precious moments, all we have to do to receive them is listen with an open heart.

Profound love brings profound loss. I’ve no way to see through the darkness of this loss; it covers my soul, masks my eyes and blankets my heart. Light cannot pierce the darkness for it is too deep, too wide, and too thick; this loss too profound for   my heart to mend. I miss you so much Wyatt.   I miss you.   I hurt in my heart so deeply, so intensely; I miss you my son, I miss you so.

Most of us hold dear the things captured by this life, our deepest thoughts, wishes, prayers and dreams; things we share with those we love. However, there is no exchange of sentiment when you hold a box of ashes, for they are just ashes; no longer the person you loved; only a box and memories unable to give anything in return.   From dust we came and dust we shall return. New and pure meaning comes to those words after you have held the ashes of someone you love, felt them, grabbed them, cupped them in your hands, allowed them to sift through your fingers and gazed at the white ashen color left on your skin.   It’s a powerful experience that will leave you vulnerable to the realities of life.   If you’ve never seen cremated remains, I suggest you do.   It brings a reverence to life that can be achieved in no other way and requires that you acquiesce to the ultimate power of death.   The realization is we will all become nothing more than ashes and dust.   ...

Yesterday, all I could feel was how weak and vulnerable I am, unable to control anything.  I could feel the riptide of sorrow trying to pull me in, take me in the undertow.  "Don't fight it if you get pulled in," I can hear my mother saying, I've heard those words a million times in my life.  Let it take you until it spits you out, but don't fight it, you can't beat it.  I liken this grieving to the world's largest undertow.  My gut reaction is to fight, to swim against it as hard and fast as I can, I don't want it to take me under, I don't want to, I want to swim away.  I want to be anywhere but here, and I certainly don't want to freely enter the fury.  But, I've no choice,  I'm in the undertow of grief, it has pulled me in, I had no choice in entering this dark and dangerous place. Today, there is peace.  I can't explain it, there was just peace.  I thanked my God today for my son.  I realized today that as hard ...

Have I mentioned how painful this is, how horrible grieving is? I've had the most challenging day, just to be  has been awful.  I want not to be, not to feel, not to think, not to remember, not to anything, just not ...nothingness would be so welcomed in place of this pain.  I miss my son so much that really I'd rather just not be .  You may think that is such a wretched thought, but I'm not talking suicide.  I heard a lady in a support group say she just wished she wasn't here. "Don't get me wrong," she said, "I'm not suicidal, I just don't want to be here without my son."  Ditto. This life is so empty.  For me, all I ever wanted was to be "mom."  I wanted to be the caretaker, the healer, the cook, the maid, the chef, the teacher, the mentor, the guide, the chauffeur, the person who cared the most...and I tried.  Now that life is gone. This life is empty; pain remains. I'd rather not.

After Wyatt's accident, most of the things he had on were destroyed. Not his boots, those Georgia Boots are indestructible!  Same style he always wore, lace up, thick sole, heavy leather, steel toe...had to protect the feet. I look at those boots everyday and I think of my son.  Those boots were last thing on my son's feet, and they still exist. Last weekend two of the boys were in our garage tinkering on a motorcycle.  I couldn't stand to see it, I had to go inside and cry.  I was so, so happy they were here, but happiness is also painful.  It congers up all the memories of why you feel that way.  How many days did I come home from work and there were boys, trucks, motorcycles, boats or some vehicle or apparatus in my driveway...suffice it to say, If I came home something was there.  But that was good; that was life, our life...and I loved it. Seeing those boys in the garage brought all that to the surface.  ...

I feel like a big elephant is sitting on my chest.  I want to cry, and scream and explode in anger at this life, this world.  What makes this pain subside, What?  It will never go away as long as I breathe, but if it would just subside.  I can't get this agony to let up; I try, I work hard at it, but it rears its ugly head every time I think I'm making some progress. Right now, I don't want to function, I don't want to be human, I don't want to be productive, I don't want to do anything; I want my son, I want him here, with me, in this time and place.  I want MY son.

I live in two worlds.  This world and my other life of being Wyatt's mom.  Given a choice, I'd be in my former world.  I know in my heart that I will always be Wyatt's mom, but the reality is that he is not here.  I want him here - in this life; I don't want two lives, I want one life, with my son, my family, my future, my past, my legacy.  It's a daunting thing to know that your life ends with you - you have no future...I have no future. Being a mom is a gift that transcends the daily responsibilities, trials, and joys of parenthood. Being a mom means there is another person in this world who is forever a part of you, joined eternally. I have that connection, no one can ever separate me from the love of my son; but there is a great difference between daily sharing the love of one here and remembering the love of one past.                       ...

We took a drive to places you knew, familiar places dripping with thoughts of you.  Here, I feel your presence around me and know your love is there.

Twice I heard this today, "it's like salt in the wound."  First when listening to NPR, a man telling a story of dealing with the horrors of war even thirty years after; how death changed him, how he knew the minute he killed the enemy his life was changed.  For years he would not discuss it, but now time had come.  He expressed how there is no peace for the injured soul, morning is salt in the wound, evening is salt in the wound, it's an eternal cycle of pain. Next, a friend used the term when speaking about the death of her beloved daughter, how everything hurts so badly after such a loss, how sometimes people say things that are so painful to hear, it's like salt in the wound.  This grieving is so unpredictable, so volatile, so wicked at its core.  Insidious by nature, you think you have escaped it but there it is slapping you in the face and bringing you to your knees. It doesn't take much; what most think as so common becomes a mine field ...

Rain has a very special meaning for me; it rained the day Wyatt died.  I remember the doctor calling on the morning of January 1st and telling us to come to the hospital.  It was raining as we ran to the car and from the parking garage of the hospital.  Dr. Peters approached us when we walked in the burn unit. Wyatt wasn't going to make it. This fight was too much for him; my warrior wasn't able to fight any longer.  I can see Dr. Peters kneeling down to talk to me while I sat on the floor, unable to breath, think, feel... how did we get to this place.  It's a surreal experience to know your only child is going to die and you have no power, no ability to change it, no say in the matter; powerless over the grip of death.  Mothers don't like to be powerless in matters of their children; mothers need to be in control, manage things, make sure everything is ok.  Not here, not in this place, there is no control, no management of death, one must succumb...

When Jim and I were first married, he owned a small business.  There was a young man who worked for him who had two younger siblings.  One day, his younger brother was riding his bike to school and he decided to go back to the house.  As he crossed the highway into his neighborhood, he was hit by a semi truck.  He died there, in the road.  I have salient memories of that time now over twenty years ago.  I remember seeing the picture in the paper.  They had the audacity to print a photo of his body on the ground covered by a sheet with his foot hanging outside the sheet.  I can see his tennis shoe in the picture.  I was so angry at the newspaper for printing such a horrific photo, for denigrating his memory, for putting such horror in his family's face.  I had no frame of reference for this grief, I wasn't a mother.  But I did know death, I did know pain, I'd lost people in my life. But this struck me as being so deeply, painfully ...

Gestation is nine months. Most full-term, healthy babies are held in their mother's womb for nine months. For me those nine months were blissful. I took such caution with my body, my mind, my soul. From the moment the little wand showed a + sign, no caffeine passed my lips, no cigarette smoke was in the room, alcohol may as well of been pure unadulterated sin; exercise, rest, water…we were making a person and he had to have the best beginning of any child ever. This child we knew was a boy, not because anyone told us, we just knew. From the time of conception I knew my child was a boy. I didn't even ask the doctor when he was born, there was no need, he was a boy. His name...we had narrowed the list down to a few, but this son of ours, he needed a strong name to match his strong character, we needed to see him, hold him, know him before we dressed him with something so special as his name. This choice was personal, private, ours to give. Together we chose his name, Wyatt. It me...

Yesterday I slept 17 hours of  the 24.  In the nine months since my son's death, I haven't slept very well.  What sleep I get is sporadic, dispersed with wretched memories and flashbacks of this death.  I hear every sound in the house, I twitch with thought and rest is elusive.  But not yesterday, yesterday I slept. I didn't think about this world, my responsibilities; no desires, no real thoughts, just sleep and rest. These past nine months have been brutal, life has been a burden. Sleep was nice, welcome, appreciated.

Stolen Stolen is my identity Stolen is my name Stolen is my purpose You are here no more and someone has stolen what remains. I can’t find me;        who I am,             what I call myself,                            what I am to do in this place. You’re not here: can I call myself “mom?”

If today I could express how I feel, I would tell you that I miss my son with every ounce of my being. I miss his smile, his laugh, his great broad shoulders, his thick curly hair, his reddish beard, but most of all, I miss him. I miss the boy I raised, the child I taught right from wrong and the beautiful young man that he was becoming. I miss my son. I miss his big strong arms picking me up and holding me in a bear hug. I miss him giving me a “memew hug.” I miss seeing him put Elizabeth on top of his shoulders and run around the house. I miss my son. I miss the way he was always there for his memaw and his grandma. I miss the way he respected his elders and yearned to learn from them and be a better person for them. I miss my son. I miss him fussing about my cooking or not having sodas in the house. I miss fussing at him for eating too many hamburgers. I miss caring for him and making sure he’s taking care of himself. I miss my son. I miss washing his clothes ...