May 23, 2009
I made it.
I had doubts. Serious doubts.
One year ago I did not know how I would continue living so thinking a year out was impossible when I was having trouble making it hour by hour. Words really cannot describe the emotions I went through after losing our son. The only people who knew these feelings were others who had lost a child, parent, or spouse.
It was horrific.
It was physically painful.
It was, can’t catch my breath, scary.
It was nauseatingly saddening.
It was lonely.
It was bitterness.
It was full of guilt; full of anger.
I felt what I refer to as, losing my mind crazy.
I recently went back over my (way too public) journal from this time to reflect on how far I have come and to see if I recognized the person I was one year ago. It is pretty obvious I was seemingly neurotic with my emotions, which is exactly what the reality was. Only one entry seemed to encapsulate the level feelings and not surprisingly it was after two months of “crazy”.
Other women told me I would never be the same person. I would learn to live with the new me and unfortunately Randy would have to as well. I won’t lie. It has been the most excruciatingly thorny year of our lives. It has only been the last couple months when I became confident that we were going to be okay. We would make it through this.
I give credit to some very specific people in my life for getting me through this. I am sure they don’t know it but they were my only life vest through it all. They provided a sanctuary when I had no one to turn to, including Randy. It is a warm and pleasing feeling to find out that the people you chose to bring into your life have to ability to show up in exactly the way you need it, when you need it the most. They have been great teachers to me. I am certain these kinds of things are not a coincidence.
I am different in many ways and I hope better for the most part. I feel like I am at the anniversary of the worst chapter in my life which led to a rediscovery of myself. I made a list of some of those changes.
I know what it means to “show up” for someone.
I no longer fear death for myself. I do still fear leaving my children motherless.
I have seen and lived the worst part of me. I found a dark and ugly side that I have learned to tame. I now know what it means to not recognize myself in the mirror.
I am more aware of who I want to be and how to get there.
I’ve explored my spiritual beliefs like never before.
I know what pain is when it can’t be medicated away.
I am able to stop sweating the small stuff.
I love more.
I accept that I cannot control everything.
I renewed my love for music.
I see people; really see people.
---------------------------------------------------------
At the end of last year I found a photo Dylan had taken of me on June 2, 2008. I felt my heart stop for a second when I realized what I was looking at. I thought how sad and pitiful. This is what my children saw when they looked at me. I have no memory of how Dane and Dylan got fed, bathed, put to bed, laundry done, etc. the few weeks after Declan died. I remember feeling like a zombie unable to function, wandering around dazed. Apparently, when I moved back home and people were coming and going in our house Dylan was amusing himself by taking pictures of people and objects. Before leaving for Destin, Randy took all the photos from that photo card and put them in one file on the computer for us to later go through. It was a haunting experience viewing the photos that told a clear story of reality. When I think back at that difficult season in my life I am reminded of that image of me. I will never forget it.
When I viewed the photos of me with my girls last weekend I was delighted to see the new me staring back at me.
Don’t misunderstand. I still want my son back. I still ache for him. I still loathe what happened and am plagued with the heaviness it brings. I don’t know what else to do but embrace what he brought me. I had to choose. Let it destroy me or let it grow me.
This is the last photo we took together on May 23, 2008 before his spirit left this Earth.
I made it.
I had doubts. Serious doubts.
One year ago I did not know how I would continue living so thinking a year out was impossible when I was having trouble making it hour by hour. Words really cannot describe the emotions I went through after losing our son. The only people who knew these feelings were others who had lost a child, parent, or spouse.
It was horrific.
It was physically painful.
It was, can’t catch my breath, scary.
It was nauseatingly saddening.
It was lonely.
It was bitterness.
It was full of guilt; full of anger.
I felt what I refer to as, losing my mind crazy.
I recently went back over my (way too public) journal from this time to reflect on how far I have come and to see if I recognized the person I was one year ago. It is pretty obvious I was seemingly neurotic with my emotions, which is exactly what the reality was. Only one entry seemed to encapsulate the level feelings and not surprisingly it was after two months of “crazy”.
Other women told me I would never be the same person. I would learn to live with the new me and unfortunately Randy would have to as well. I won’t lie. It has been the most excruciatingly thorny year of our lives. It has only been the last couple months when I became confident that we were going to be okay. We would make it through this.
I give credit to some very specific people in my life for getting me through this. I am sure they don’t know it but they were my only life vest through it all. They provided a sanctuary when I had no one to turn to, including Randy. It is a warm and pleasing feeling to find out that the people you chose to bring into your life have to ability to show up in exactly the way you need it, when you need it the most. They have been great teachers to me. I am certain these kinds of things are not a coincidence.
I am different in many ways and I hope better for the most part. I feel like I am at the anniversary of the worst chapter in my life which led to a rediscovery of myself. I made a list of some of those changes.
I know what it means to “show up” for someone.
I no longer fear death for myself. I do still fear leaving my children motherless.
I have seen and lived the worst part of me. I found a dark and ugly side that I have learned to tame. I now know what it means to not recognize myself in the mirror.
I am more aware of who I want to be and how to get there.
I’ve explored my spiritual beliefs like never before.
I know what pain is when it can’t be medicated away.
I am able to stop sweating the small stuff.
I love more.
I accept that I cannot control everything.
I renewed my love for music.
I see people; really see people.
---------------------------------------------------------
At the end of last year I found a photo Dylan had taken of me on June 2, 2008. I felt my heart stop for a second when I realized what I was looking at. I thought how sad and pitiful. This is what my children saw when they looked at me. I have no memory of how Dane and Dylan got fed, bathed, put to bed, laundry done, etc. the few weeks after Declan died. I remember feeling like a zombie unable to function, wandering around dazed. Apparently, when I moved back home and people were coming and going in our house Dylan was amusing himself by taking pictures of people and objects. Before leaving for Destin, Randy took all the photos from that photo card and put them in one file on the computer for us to later go through. It was a haunting experience viewing the photos that told a clear story of reality. When I think back at that difficult season in my life I am reminded of that image of me. I will never forget it.
When I viewed the photos of me with my girls last weekend I was delighted to see the new me staring back at me.
Don’t misunderstand. I still want my son back. I still ache for him. I still loathe what happened and am plagued with the heaviness it brings. I don’t know what else to do but embrace what he brought me. I had to choose. Let it destroy me or let it grow me.
This is the last photo we took together on May 23, 2008 before his spirit left this Earth.
May 23, 2009
I am holding you close in my heart today, in spirit. Your view in this year is wisdom and beauty sharpened and refined by all the love and hurt that's poured out of your soul during this horrific experience. Your beauty shines through your words in ways that amaze me. You are a true blessing and an inspiration to have made it this far. It's the scariest thing to watch a dear friend suffer and not know how to help, what to do, or what to say to ease the pain. I'm so thankful for you, for your growth, for your example as a mother, for your love as a friend. I pray I can be there for you in ways that you need the most. I love you girl!!