Skip to main content

Rain

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 to the ultimate power of death.  Oh sure, we can fight, and fight he did, he fought like the warrior I raised, but death was too much for him; death always conquers life, young or old, strong or weak, death will win.


The rain covers me in memories, feelings, tears, and fears at the same time it embraces me in the memory of my son.  There is a bitter sweetness to the rain, I love it and fear it all the same; I long for it and I despise it; I dance with joy and wail with sorrow.  Today, it is the same, I feel the heaviness in my heart, the tears welling in my eyes all the time I know that Wyatt is talking to me, I feel it in the rain, that he is there.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Shrines

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...
Post a Comment
Read more

Hunger

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...
Post a Comment
Read more

God Moment

I was thinking of when I created this blog and named it.... Living with Loss, I knew I would have to live with this loss, but at that time I wasn't living, I was surviving. It was a goal of sorts… but also a mission to keep breathing. It is only now, over six years since the death of my son that I have begun to know how to live again. The sharpness of those first months and years have softened and the pangs of grief strike less frequently, though when they do they rage with vengeance. What a journey of emotion these past six and half years have been from overwhelming and consuming grief, disbelief and shock, depression and fear, finally acceptance and the incorporation of the loss into our lives.  I remember in the first months after Wyatt's death, I would walk through the house and tell myself he had gone on a very long trip to a place far, far away. He was unable to contact me and I unable to contact him. I later learned counselors think this is a poor method for ...
5 comments
Read more