Living with Loss

As Spring shows its glory, the absence feels deeper.  All the good things in life come in spring...the beautiful new flowers, the freshness of cool rain and the warmth of sunshine following the cold of winter together create a newness to life that comes with no other season. This spring seems more beautiful than many I've seen in a long time, yet at the same time it evokes little joy for me. As a young mother, my father would guide me and Wyatt around his yard and show us each new flower bud, every little bloom. It brought him such delight. "Look at this" he would say as he held up the little bud on a grape vine.  "Now, come over here" and we would dutiflly follow as he would show the beginnings of an orange.  Around to the back we would walk and gaze at the blooms on the pear tree and talk about how many pears it would produce that year and how we would pick them and stew them with cinnamon and sugar.  Spring was my father's favorite ...

I've been to several counselors to help me through this grieving process.  While I think a couple have been pretty good and probably helped me get through some of the darkest times, there was one who simply raised the hair on my back.  After our first, and only visit,  I left her office feeling like not one person in the world understood this sorrow.  She who seemed so grounded, so peaceful, so willing to help one struggling in pain. We concluded our meeting after relaying to her the horrific story of my beautiful son's accident, hospitalization and then his death.  I shared my pain, opened my heart and prayed that she would be able to guide me to clarity, to hope, to living again.  As we concluded, with sweetness dripping from her words, she said, "we'll put the pieces back together."  At that moment, I realized she didn't have a clue; not one iota of a clue....clue-less she was, absolutely clueless .  PUT THE PIECES BACK TOGETHER!...

I use to walk with purpose in this life. I knew my calling, I knew my responsibilities. I understood the value of why I had to follow the pattern of society. Why I had to tap my feet to the monotonous sway of life, it was good.  I liked it;  I had purpose. I've no purpose any more.  I sway in the wind without a destination, no grounding to keep me and no hope to hold me. Why is it I'm here?

Well, it's hit me; At least it seems that way. I could do it today, I could leave this place and never return and never miss it. All I want is my son.  All I want is to see him, to hear him, to put my arms around him and hold him tight, to tell him that I love him, that I'm proud of him.  Do you know what it's like to want something so badly and at the same time know that you will never, ever have it?  Nothing you do, no matter how hard you strive, no matter the prayers, the begging and pleading, the good deeds or simply asking, it will never ever be.  We go insane from things of this nature…I’ve seen it happen, I feel it in my soul. Enter the Cuckoo's Nest, my lair of nefarious thoughts and ill repose, replete with danger, fraught with fear and horrific dreams; no longer free to live this life, I fight to be. I don’t want to be, not here, not now.   I’ve no future, I’ve no hope, I’ve no dreams, I’ve nothing, nothing at all…

February 14th is a day most people associate with love, Valentines Day.  Filled with flowers, candy, teddy bears, little red hearts and chocolate. This year, it's a little different for me.  I reflect back upon this day in history. In 1946, my grandfather died on February 14th.  My father was with him and as a 17 year old boy, had to call his mother and sisters to tell them about the unexpected and fatal heart attack. This year, our second together as a couple without our only child began as a non-descript, uneventful day.  No gifts, no candy or little sweet teddy bears; just the two of us. Around 9:30 the evening of this February 14th, I received a text.  My first cousin's daughter had a baby boy.  The following morning I received a call.  My elderly cousin had died around 9:30 the previous night. While I grieve the death of my elderly cousin, I rejoice at the birth of the new child. His name is Wyatt, after my son....

For months I tried to busy myself with different things...watercolor, pottery, writing, poetry, gardening, stained glass, counseling sessions, support groups, blogging. Suffice it to say, I spent a good chunk of change to keep myself in the world of the living.  I'll consider it an investment in life, my life.  Not that I wanted to make that investment, but it kept me alive over the last year. Now, it seems I'm suspended in the loop of time.  There is no driving force to compel me to go do anything...instead, I'd rather rest. I want to stop, look around and take it all in. Unfortunately for me, that rest is complicated by the memories it allows to surface. It's one of the reasons why I did so much...some of my memories are haunting, dangerous, treacherous waters. Memories are the door to a host of complicated emotions, they give knowledge about why I am where I am.  Memories are one of those things to which I've developed a love-hate relationship. However...

I wasn't much into celebrating my birthday, what was the purpose, I'm just another year older, or as one person put it, another year closer to being reunited with my child. Jim's birthday was however a big one, you know ending in "5" or "0" and it deserved celebration. Not only because it was a big birthday, but because he is a wonderful and kindhearted man and we decided Wyatt would want a celebration. We had a wonderful party, friends from all segments of our lives shared in the joy of the day.  We ate, drank, chatted, took photographs, hugged, cried and laughed. The day was filled with life, love and friendship and we relished every moment. Then the door closed. The people were gone.  We sat together and quickly realized without words how very alone we were; how Wyatt's absence from this day, this celebration, cut into our very souls. He should be here. We yearn for him. We cherish the person he was and the man he was becoming. We want him in our ...