Living with Loss

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.