griefwork – Holding Space

#14

There was no “Happy Heavenly 21st Birthday, Ryan’ post. There was also no candle lit on September 19th – l literally forgot. Next to it, the effort of making the home cooked Birthday Wish dinner was also not put in (until two days later)…we had Little Caesars Pizza and Breadsticks. Ryan worked there for three years. His first and only job. The twins found it very awesome actually, little wolf also went to town, which overall saved it for me. I even forgot to serve his ice cream and cookies for dessert… Other than that I don’t remember much other than crying and just not feeling it, still the flowers were fresh, the napkins were pretty and the grandparents were here to gather with us.

The kid turned 21. I was upset. I couldn’t do special… It was a mess. A selfish, painful mess that turned into something very beautiful over the next month, actually.

Healing. Never getting over, but some sort of healing and lots of learning.

We are a day away from Ryan’s Two – year Death Anniversary. I am not going to dwell over how it still feels like yesterday. I am not going to sit here and ball my eyes out. I am not going to be mad over the fact that I had no energy or motivation to celebrate his non existing adulthood. And I am definitely not going to fall into the pity party (today ;)). We all know about this already anyways.

We move forward. 21 is the last real milestone to celebrate in his case. The last milestone in relation to age; Arriving at the point where you are fully responsible. Arriving at the point where a parent can’t fix things for one anymore. Now we find partners to create life with – a Life molded by the tools received by the parents and people of influence we have close in our early life. We have kids, we get married, sometimes college, sometimes trade school, sometimes none of it and not necessarily in this, or any socially acceptable order. None of it though, has a certain age requirement nor is it measured by age anymore. So what do we celebrate from now on? A Birthday? A home going day? LIFE! We celebrate Life! That’s what we do.

For the last month there have been thoughts in my head I wish I would have taken notes on then. There were so many good points, aspects, views to compose a blog post with. I didn’t do any of it, nor do I recall them. For some odd reason I didn’t take notes at all. All I knew is I wanted to write and it was past due since his ‘heavenly birthday’ had arrived. No. Not now and not this time. A day away from his death anniversary I sit here, editing what I have started a week ago when letting my fingers run over this keyboard with an empty mind, driven by – not sure what. I will find out when the closing comes (and I did find out, again – a lot…thank’s kid).

I wrote in my “On coming Alive” Journal (by Lexi Behrndt) for the first time in some months. The headlining quote was “Your absence has gone through me like a thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.” – by W.S. Merwin. The writing prompt was: What does that empty place look like? What have you been trying to fill it with? How can you fill it with the love you still share? I won’t share my entry here, however, it guided me to finally write this entry.

Six months after Ryan committing suicide, I was so obsessed with the topic of death and dying, all I wanted to do was be around it. I wanted to be next to it. My children, a then 11 month old and 13 year old twins, were my saving grace. They showed me on a daily basis how much life there is still that needs me – and all of me (I wasn’t suicidal but I was mad, as in upset). I found a balance. I wanted closeness to Death itself and closeness to life – my children, my family, my own life. That’s when I took a course and got certified as Death Doula. Pouring care into the dying and their families as well as celebrating the crossing over during very hard times, next to young and new life parallel to it- all seemed like a wonderful silver lining found. I reclaimed and regrouped my time organization and knocked this out in no time – cause it was death related, unlike the Yoga Teacher Training which took me a whoopin’ two years. I started working through my own pain and hurt to learn how I could help others deal with it during these tough times. It was the beginning of some wonderful unfolding. Everything from this time on happened at its own pace, its own time and apparently, the right time. Then I was still a homesteader, tending a garden, children, animals, etc. my life was grounded. However, the soil needed turned. My hands in it, I dug deep. I dug into the soil to stir it all up. Little did I know how deep I would dig, little did I know what profound new paths would open up, little did I know how much I would learn about ancestors, dying, spirit, my role in all of it and living a life between both worlds. The physical and the spiritual. I can be a bit full of it at times. I am a dreamer…with eyes on a goal. So I was led to working through it. There were tears, not always – but here and there. There were profound moments of AHA effects and there were many lessons uncovered and discovered. There were times I was so upset at my son, I wanted to shake the living crap out of him for just leaving us hanging the way he did…

Fast Forward to today: Life. Now we celebrate Life; Legacy. My son, my mama, my grandparents, my uncle, my family, my bloodlines, the close people I had in life that moved on. Life. It’s this one thing I have that I need to fill with as many things as possible cause I won’t be knocking on the fathers door not having fulfilled my mission. Imagine being shown a life that we could have had but we settled for some mediocre every day rut, cause we got lazy with ourselves. Now that I discover all these things it’s all I want to do. Share it. Instill more and more of it into my children, the people that surround me, acquaintances that call me crazy. Call me stuck, consider me drowning in pity. Nope!

I am and I will: I will celebrate life. I will celebrate Ryans life. I will celebrate my Mamas life, not just once a year for ice cream on her birthday. I will celebrate my family members that crossed over, the people’s lives I cared for, whom crossed over. I will be grateful for still being here. I will use my time wisely to care and pour my love into mine, as well as the greater good. I will educate. I will walk gently on this beautiful earth celebrating time given, love spread and shared, opportunity arising, accomplishments achieved.

Mostly I will celebrate learning, and lessons turned into wonderful opportunities cause they are what they are – nothing more, nothing less. I will apply them. In relations to grief or it’s own sake, any ‘sad or negative’ event has one positive to take from it. When it comes to Ryan, dying at the age of 19 there was a relief of one aspect. I want to say there is never a good in death if we view it from our personal view through the eye of the flesh… But it’s not true to me anymore. When Ryan died, with him went my worry about him. The gut wrenching feeling if my rebel child who was out in the middle of the night was okay. When my Mama died, it was horrific. She was very sick, however, I didn’t think of the many negative repercussions it had, like my children not feeling Granny’s love, me being an unmothered mother, my siblings and I being half orphans, my father being a widower at the age of 42. All that kept floating around in my mind was the fact that she was pain free and at peace. No more suffering for her. No more awful cancer treatments (it adds up if you have the awful disease three times even with being in remission). She was free from it all and that was ‘good’ for me. For years I felt this way and never viewed it in a selfish aspect. Today I know the trauma it caused me. I cried here and there, just like with Ryan. But I never was the uncontrollable sobbing, going bananas not sure how to handle herself type person. I cried. In the worst places did I cry sometimes. This alone (not constantly ugly crying) had me feel a lot of guilt and anger towards the self over many years. My grief was so stuck in me that I am not only working on my unfolding as a bereaved mother but also as daughter. I have the utmost respect for people that can let it all out. Uncontrollably let it out and just do that. I wish I could do that sometimes but it’s not there. And that’s okay and I have learned to respect this for myself. So I write my heart out for all kinds of strangers to read…I cry when I have to and don’t hold it in, it’s just never a lot (*insert shoulder shrug, hm-it just is what it is.) Every single person grieves differently and we should all have respect for the human given right to do so how we find fit for ourselves, without any judgment.

Now, today, I want to keep walking forward. I am being guided to use my unfolding, my grief journey, my death experiences to share, educate and advocate for a positive death. This is my way to celebrate. Celebrate life. With birth comes death. We celebrate Birthdays every year. We are grateful for it, every year. But do we really understand the meaning of life/death, let alone celebrating death? It’s not being happy that someone is gone. It is being happy that someone so meaningful it hurts when they are gone, physically, has been with us for the time we were allowed to have with them. Gratitude. We want to be grateful for so many things,… and life. We literally take breathing for granted; it can be quite the task to just sit and focus on the breath. Celebrating life, doesn’t it mean so much more than just birthdays? It entails Death. Can’t have life without death. We all have individual stories. We all have a set amount of time given on this earth. When loved ones die, we should lift them up and remember their part in our story. We celebrate love. Time. Memories. The lessons. The good, the bad, the ugly….because it had an impact on our story. Every little thing shapes us in some sort of way. Grief is Love. We can find ways to incorporate ‘grief love’ and lost ones’ impact on us, into our lives moving forward. This is how we uphold their legacies. This is how we share the impact their life had on ours. This is how we keep them in our heart. Our soul forever remembers. All is love. Love is all. And I will celebrate them til’ my dying day.

So I conclude this post, an in dept discovery of self in relations to my own grief journey and how to proceed with it in reverting back to the questions of my “On Coming Alive” Journal:

1.What does that empty place look like?

It is filled with hope, love, and understanding. It is filled with appreciation for what once was. It is filled with gratitude for having such a big part in my story. It is not empty but sprinkled with grief -love, joy, sadness, gratitude and sometimes a little madness.

2.What have you been trying to fill it with?

Discoveries: these studies, learnings, schoolings, epiphanies…all of it is how I have been filling this space. The space I pledge to hold.

3.How can you fill it with the love you still share?

Holding Space

**Side note: We all experience grief differently. We all live through it differently. This is merely my personal journey and what I am learning for my self in my story. I am not forcing my belief on anyone nor do I ever want to say this is my way and it is the right way. Everyone should be entitled to their own way of grieving without any form of judgement. I am just sharing mine.

The picture (my very last of him) was taken on Ryans’ 19th Birthday. 5 weeks later to the day, he died by shooting himself in the temple. If you or anyone you know is in need to speak to someone, there is hope and there is help…there is always someone available 24/7 by calling or texting #988. Your story matters!

❤ Elena

#13

Sometimes we are forced into a break by events uncalled for. Events we have no influence over, events very much not anticipated. Yet, they put us to a stop. And that’s a good thing.

Within these catapults to ‘yikes, quite close to home’ there is something triggering a curtain to be pulled open to let the light in -or the dark. Darkness we didn’t let in..or out, not sure yet; Or darkness we shut out because we don’t have time to deal with it, or maybe we don’t have strength left for the emotional strain it has on one’s being. Who knows. I don’t. All I know is, the sh!t ton of bricks I expected to hit a few weeks back, it hit me like a 18 wheeler.

I had nothing left in me. The dishes stayed dirty, the toddler went unbathed, I went unshowered and the fridge is empty. Dinner was a rotisserie chicken and a frozen bag of broccoli boiled in water, with some butter and cheese thrown on top. Not much love in any of it. I couldn’t do jack. Fried. I didn’t take the dog out for a last time before hitting the sheets – thank goodness she didn’t leave me a present for the AM. NOTHING…I just couldn’t. More so, I called out of work and cried. I felt guilty over not saving the call out for when a kid gets sick…I felt guilty because I hate calling out. I love work.-> Brain fuckery at its finest.

My grief journey has been one of ups and downs, like everyone experiencing grief in whichever form…it is never linear. Unpredictable. I felt good the last several weeks. Talking about Ryan like his story is still part of everyday life makes me feel good and keeps him around. The thought of what others think of me when I bring him up, the ‘does she want pity, does she want attention’ is slowly fading away. People I deal or converse with on a regular basis have seemingly fully accepted this. Just a few days ago one of my coworkers asked me how many children I have. I paused, said “well,…” with another short pause, when another one of my coworkers held up her fingers and said “4! You have 4 children. You always will have FOUR children.” And I simply responded “yes, I have four children.” “How old are they?” So I answered this question without hesitation, and added “my oldest would be 20 but he died a little over a year and a half ago.” He said ‘I’m sorry’ and I simply replied ‘thank you’ and we continued our conversation in reference to how it started out. On my drive home I reflected on this brief encounter and realized how much I have been met with acceptance. This is my story. This is who I am. This is what is and has been shaping me…and it’s not just me holding space for my kid, but others holding this space for me. It felt so good! The same scenario happened during the same shift, when I was adding to a conversation about children doing the funniest things in reference to religion, I chimed in how my kid nearly was asked to switch schools because he celebrated Jesus as if he was a Power Ranger in Kindergarten (it was a catholic school because I tried to avoid having him in the school district we lived in at that time). This too was simply that. It felt great. Thanks guys!! You are appreciated more than you know ❤

My “On Coming Alive” – written by Lexi Behrndt ->highly recommended, by truly yours, a grief journal- book with 100 prompts to help you from darkness to light, had me understand how much acceptance and guilt are two things very hard to separate from each other, and likewise, very complex in their own standing. They almost go hand in hand and there isn’t a damn thing one can do about it, it seems.

It was 4.30 am when I poured my coffee, took my dog out in gratitude for not taking a dump next to my chair by the table, when I decided to put the pen to the paper (in that said grief book/journal) for the first time in a long time. Here are a few lines i’d like to share:

…My denial phase lasted until April 25th 2023. Three months ago today. It was the day I finally snapped out of “wanting to believe” Ryan didn’t shoot himself, rather someone killing him. There was acceptance of the truth. Parallel I have accepted then, that he did die so untimely. His story on earth in person may be over. But that’s just that. His part in my story lasts forever. And as my coworker A. said, “you have FOUR kids.” It doesn’t change just because of one aspect changing. So I believe I have passed the Shock- stage, or more so, it shifted to another stage. This was the last day I smoked pot.

Life has become a new normal. Everyday missing him, however, it is a part of my story the same as other everyday things that are no-brainers – like taking out the dog. The emotion shifted; Somehow I wonder if I am losing him. If he is slipping through my fingers. Knowing I have to let his beautiful soul go so it can continue its journey, I want to feel him closer. It’s been a noticeable while since I have felt him. His energy. Since the songs popped up with their “Hey mom, I’m here, I gotchu”- vibe.

Typically when this happens I feel a different type of guilt. Not of me being here still, while he is not. It is more the guilt of doing okay too much. It’s a thing. I am not suffering his death enough…

I cry. It hurts to think this way. I am not supposed to feel this way in his heart. He doesn’t want this for me. Matter of fact, he wants me okay, he wants me happy. He wants me to be as good as I can for his siblings. This is why he retrieves. He steps back for me to heal. He lets me be, he lets me live. I look at his picture every day. Sometimes I walk right by it with the awareness of it hanging there and him looking right at me. Then I feel a different sense of guilt for not having looked at it. However, deep down I know it’s okay. Life has to grow fuller. It doesn’t stop. It continues. The story doesn’t end until my day comes when I see him and my Mama again. There are times I truly long for this to happen with the awareness of not being ready. I have more to fulfill and for this I am grateful. It’s the missing and reuniting with them…

…I have to continue embracing the hard places…Acceptance…mixed with different types of Guilt -kinda like a marble cake…

Then I write about the hard places. The moments I will never forget… cause there are so many. Not just one. How can such an event be limited to one moment…the moment the kid died..? It cannot.

I felt a lot of guilt over not crying 24/7 in the beginning. I cried…but not 24/7. Guilt over the way I should have done more and better. This is a big one for me. Every time I feel this way I try to tell myself I did what I could with what I had. It always falls back to ‘ I had to do better, I had to do more. I didn’t do enough.’ There are so many hard places -too many to bear honestly..like seeing your child intubated, or having to tell his siblings he died- or celebrating holidays and special events, like little wolf saying his name, or the twins going into High School – without him. Maybe that’s why he retrieves and is absent – for what I feel is too long…so I can gather myself, so I can catch a break from the hard places…

I am in a good head space overall. I’m in a good place. Reality is though, it constantly shifts. The need for mental days, Grief days, is extremely important. They are part of this journey. Part of trauma, part of loss. I lost my child. This will always be triggered by different events.These events make sure I open the curtains to let it in. The hurt, the pain, the missing him – and them, my Mama. What would I give to have different scenarios, different episodes and stories. My reality on this journey is simply this. It is what it is. I don’t hate it. I love my path, this life. The main thing though for me for all the rest of my time here on earth is holding my children close, with a healthy balance of setting them free. Life is …good.

While stepping out with my dog, my bare feet on the ground, the clouds opening up, my rooster being loud, the breeze in the air, the goosebumps from it all, the tears streaming down my face…in the midst of all of it there he was. My sweet Ryan boy.

#12

It’s been a while since I journal’d. There are a dozen drafts in my folder I can’t seem to finish. Not sure why. It’s been a numb feeling towards grief overall which, out of experience means the day will come when it hits me like a brick and I will cry my soul out and distance myself to embrace the feeling while sitting in solitude.

Today however, a person’s death is shifting me in a way I needed to find an explanation for. So here I sit, in front of a blank, untitled word document and write to find some light in the darkness:

Yesterday several work friends messaged me about very tragic news within our ER-family. I want to call it family because in our department we all work with so much heart, soul and effort to keep people alive and also making them better than when we first encountered them. We cuss, we laugh, we cry, we sweat…a lot. We grieve for people we don’t even know. This doesn’t mean we are all super close friends, hang out after work constantly or discuss our lives with each other on a regular basis (maybe some more, some less…we do make friends after all at work, right ;)) but we are a team. A damn good one!!!

Yesterday was heavy. My night off. My phone just vibrating away. One of our own people died tragically, very unexpectedly in an accident on her adventures. She was very young, full of life and showed much love through her work as Nurse Practitioner. Personally, I never had much to do with her other than occasional run ins. We were never introduced to each other, it was simply a person I shared the ups and downs of the Emergency Department with during our night shifts here and there. Yet, I feel the extreme weight of hurt and grief of our unit in my heart. I am in absolute disbelief and shock.

Why, though? I never had much to do with her. She sat on one side of the nurses station, I sat on the other, and sometimes when covering phones I would let her know she had a call on line XYZ. That is the only reason I even know her name…she was the one reacting to my blurting out the info into the circle of Doc’s, PA’s and nursing staff, which triggered the thought in my head “Oh, that’s who you are ”, creating basic awareness. As a matter of fact, about 2 weeks ago I acknowledged an order from her (cause now I knew the face to the initials on the track board), did the assignment and wanted to hand it to her as she flew by me with her energetic, life filled march, towards her computer. I didn’t know what she was, only knew her name, so I didn’t want to disrespect and called her ‘Doctor’. She took the paper from my hand without saying a word and kept walking. Me, thinking to myself “hm. Okay?” That was that. Later that night I saw it on her badge that she was a NP. Doc wasn’t the right title. I need to mention, you don’t get introduced to everyone nor do people introduce themselves to you and state their position. So, I get titles wrong often until these little discoveries here and there when I learn their position/occupation/title. All I know is they sit on this side, we, the nurses and CAs sit on the other side. Different pools, one mutual goal, one team!

Very few days ago however, we ran into each other in the kitchen grabbing water. Another work friend and I brought a fun fact about our water fountain to her attention which had us all laughing and she said “ You guys are my heroes for pointing that out to me, I would have never known”. It was a delightful moment. This was one of the very few encounters I had with her where we actually shared words. And it was refreshing and fun.

Today, I am glad I am not at work. I am glad I am at home, feeling the grief from afar vs being there where the world was just turned upside down. Where people are heavy, sick to their stomachs and hearts, from this awful tragedy. I am sad and shook to my core for all of them. For her family. She was at such a tender age, full of life and adventure – you know how I know? I looked her up on social media. Like many other people I didn’t know much of a person and was curious…maybe even nosy. Who was she? I understand why she was loved and so deeply cared for after seeing pictures. I had no dislike, I just simply didn’t know her on a personal level…frankly, people who work together for years have a different type of awareness and relationship of and with each other, than people who have been in the circle for little less than a year- then add the constant question of who is a traveler, who is core staff…? That’s just the nature of it.

I feel remorse for the other day when I had my ‘okay’ thought with some hidden attitude. I feel ashamed …Maybe the fact that I didn’t know her title? Her actual place in our Emergency Room? The judgment of her way of marching right by me taking the papers from my hand? The fact that I didn’t put effort into making conversation here and there to get to know the people I work with a little more? I do make it a point to introduce myself to new faces, to welcome them and say Hi when I see them because I am very aware of how awkward it is to not know someone’s job role. If it’s not reciprocated I stop at some point, but today I regret this. I own a sticker that says “I match energy so you decide how we gonna act.” Today I don’t find it funny anymore, because it really is kinda describing my attitude towards a certain type of people, indecent people -and now I am judging…

So what am I really learning from this untimely death? What is she teaching me indirectly? What am I supposed to take from this? It’s love…the matter is always love. The love for a mutual mission. We save peoples lives together, how much more badass can it get in reference to a mutual goal? The love for life. The love for our friends, and care for acquaintances that may not be friends yet, still we share our passions, goals, dreams,…who knows what all things we share that we are oblivious to. The love for a certain type of comradery. The love for adventure. The love and appreciation for mutual respect, recognition …kindness.

We need openness…less judging, not taking personal. The openness towards the shitty ways our ego is trying to play us. It takes certain types of people for certain types of lifestyles, certain types of occupations and certain types of journeys. If we are in the same environment as others, we have a certain trait in common with whomever we associate with, regardless of how tight knit or not (like in this case) we are. There is something that connects us in every aspect of life. There is something connecting us to the people in our energy field. Our circle ranges wider than we like to anticipate, put effort in, or our human mind lets us grasp. There is something we learn from each and every encounter we have.

For me, today, now, I want to shave off an idea of what or who other people may be. I want to not presume anymore. I want to not prejudge. I want to take and accept as is, observe, be kind and love a lot louder. I want to not always listen to my mind, in fact, the mind lies a lot…we cannot always believe what it feeds us.

A life well lived and filled deserves honor, it deserves recognition and a legacy to be upheld.

I want to pray for her, her loved ones, her family and friends, my work family – because those people we share in our circle, even if we aren’t close…the people hurting for such beautiful soul are going through a profound loss and pain.

And I am so deeply sorry for this loss! Sleep peacefully NK.

#11

The other night at work a nurse asked me if I could take two patients to a different floor. Sure I can. I took out my little notepad and said ‘Hold on, let me write this down.’ They said “Really?” I said “Yes!”

Two patients, all together four room numbers to remember – and they were in the same area. I had to write it down. Like just about everything, including setting alarms to when I need to pick up kids from extra curricular activities. It’s my swiss cheese brain, or Grief Brain – a more official term. Have you heard of pregnancy brain? Yeah, same thing, just the opposite I guess. I didn’t know it was a thing. I forget everything from words to situations, definitions, you name it. The crazy thing about it is, I can observe consciously what is going on. There is a sudden black hole in my brain. It has its limits when it comes to size and it’s pitch black. Like a bubble but shaped more like a cloud. I can ‘see’ it, the forgotten whatever it is that was supposed to be there…At first I thought it was only in regards to short term memory but now, after almost 1.5 (WHAT?!) years I understand it affects the time- and limitless whole.

This is beyond awkward when it happens, while someone is speaking to me or asking me something. This is something we cannot control. I wanted to dissolve in the air. Also, I felt stupid. It wasn’t their intention, but I felt stupid. Why do I have to deal with this sh!t?! I am a smart person. Is this just another ego test? It’s not me. Maybe it is the shifted me? I read it doesn’t last forever, but longer than imaginable. Hmm, I say..Phew?

While I am doing ok with my grief work, my studies, my daily step by step forward in this child loss journey, I am being confronted with so many other things. There are still so many Firsts I never realized would drag out farther than the first year. I had limits for my grief I wasn’t aware of -and was doing okay with where I was emotionally, mentally (not so much physically). For a few weeks now I have been getting back into the flow of things. Movement is coming back, stiffness and ‘cocooning’ are getting less. I danced for the first time at our Holiday Party from work. Darling, did I freaking dance…and it felt heavenly. The force is coming back. The life force, that is. I am grateful for being able to observe these discoveries with awareness. After being knocked to the ground by trauma. I start – from the ground up. I hold the spade to turn the soil.

Grief Brain. It’s real. It’s a lot of emotion and feeling. What am I trying to say? I don’t really know. I would love to wear a sign around my neck that says “Just let me be, I am weird and awkward and it’s making me look a little dumb – but if you stick around you’ll learn there is more to it and really, I’m just a human dealing and handling life with whatever cards were dealt…like you.”

Some People at work know what happened to me. It’s not like I make a secret out of it. In context, I talk about it like if I was mentioning what and how I cooked dinner last night. Talking about it does me well, however, I don’t want to wear the above mentioned sign. I don’t want this to be a looking for pity type thing, or attention. That’s not what it is. But if we’re talking about life and things, it’s a part of it. Here is where it comes out. The keys of my laptop. Here my heart bleeds. When talking about it, I share. I hold space for this part of the story. At home or in my car I hold space for feeling and emotion…or at a cash register in the middle of 15 people- insert eye roll, for my son and mother.

Please be patient with me. Please be patient with us. Bereaved parents are living a different reality. No matter how much effort a person puts into holding space and letting grief happen, working through it, there will always be something we do not know how to control. But, we try-> Every. Single. Day. We do our fu*&ing best. At all times, this, our best, looks different. But we got this…somehow, it just keeps going.

Please, all you wonderful people in life. In this story. Please, bear with us. We are planting new seeds…We will get there…possibly.

All my gratitude.

#10

A Tribute to my Mama!

20 years. So long, so short, suddenly timeless. It was a day after the New Year rang in when I walked along a hospital hallway in Wuerzburg/ Germany, shortly after visiting hours. A nurse stopped me:” Excuse me, where are you heading?”. “I am here to see my mother. She is in room X.” “You know she died 10 minutes ago?!”

That’s how it went down. From a phone call from my cousin (while changing Ryans diaper), which was more like a heads up to prepare myself that anything can be possible, my Mama can be passing in 5 hours or 2 weeks. I dropped everything I did, arranged what needed to be arranged for the 3 month old baby and made my way to her side in what seemed to have been the night with the most rain I have ever witnessed. It was already dark out. The roads were covered in water. The Autobahn seemed to have been the slowest way ever.

This is how I learned about my mothers passing. The last time I saw her alive was Christmas, the 26th to be exact, at my godmothers, her sisters house for our annual family holiday gathering. She was feeling great. So great, she denied my offer to give her a ride home. She was going to walk with her cane. She felt sooo good. Terminal lucidity is what this is called, the surge before death. It’s when a dying person experiences a surge of strength, and/or alertness in the days before passing away. This terminal lucidity kinda gives a false hope of the person getting better again, or so it did for me. Then, I didn’t know….in my mind my mother was still kinda invincible, this is something happening to others.

All this was 20 years ago. I was just 22. Little did I know how much my mothers death would change my life, or me for that sake. For as long as I was mother -except the first three months, I was an unmothered. Tough sh!t, I tell ya’. However, throughout the years I found mothers, many mothers, wise women whom taught me a lot, and so much more. They tought me about mothering, challenges, men, about truths, about many things we need to evolve. My mother, next to me eagerly observing her bringing up my 10 year younger sister, she taught me about intuition. I mean, certainly she taught me way more than that. Many of our ancestral ways were still reflected in how we were raised in our little town. No spiritual jargon – what was that?! We did grow up going to our catholic hometown church every weekend which we kids were not too fond of…and a plethora of books. There was one shelf in our living room which became of recollection when I first ran into this one book “Women who run with the wolves”, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. I picked it up. It was a 1.5 inch soft cover book with the smallest printed letters ever. I read the first page and couldn’t understand 2/3 of what I was reading. I grew up bilingual, the book was written in English. I was in 10th grade, around 1996. I read it the first time cover to cover 15 years after this ocurrance.

“Bauchgefuehl” is a word I heard so many times. Or “Des spuer ich im Urin”…haha it means Gutfeeling, and I can feel it in my urine. Mama constantly used these phrases. My intuition has taken me many places I wanted and needed to be, it has guided me on many passages and journeys, and helped shape a path of staying true to myself. I learned to fight like a woman, to defend my family, to love and work hard. This woman, my mother, Mama, she was strong and brave. She was so fierce. She is everything I strive to be – in my own way. A worrier going after what she wanted with full awareness of what she deserved. She could fight! …Like a wolf. She called me Lenii. (Well, with one I – the second is more to emphasize the pronunciation of eeeee :))

Today, 20 years after her passing and having made the experience of losing Ryan, my first born child, I have learned or realized this one vital thing. While weird to put in words and awkward to label; I don’t know if I feel a long time span, a short time span (which is still a concept my human mind is boggling with)… it appears to be timeless…It doesn’t feel like a time span anymore. It’s just a feeling. A feeling that’s there, right along missing her. It’s kind of a sense of being, a lingering, something that just comes as is. I am glad for this. I am glad for her being my mother and I am glad for the time I had with her. Today I am most grateful for whom she showed me to be. What she taught me without realizing probably and for how much I really am like her. She said:” Who do you think you get it from? You get it from me!”

Losing Mother is hard. Next to losing your child it is the hardest thing to bare. It is not easy to find a way to make it through, and it takes a long time to find a way to make the grief work…to work the grief. For the first year I thought I had to fill her shoes for my family. I cooked for all of us, cleaned, did laundry, took my sister in part time so our father could continue working three shift. I wanted to be there for my Papa and siblings, my family, to not have a void. I pushed her death away while finding myself still dialing her hospital room number for advice, or just a chat, weeks later. Then I hit rock bottom and let myself be daughter, bereaved daughter. I wrote her letters very regularly into a book which I still have. It was my way of working my grief. It felt good. As the years went on these tools of self help shifted. Through guidance from her and others, I found my way. A track I am confident on today, a journey filled with some pot holes, some mud puddles and loads of sh!t turds along…but I found it. All I am saying is, grief sucks. But it’s doable. We are meant to learn to live with grief. We are meant to keep it moving. Grief alters us all very differently. Everyone carries it differently. No Ones grief is ever the same. With Patience, Perseverance, Openness to the New…,much understanding and love from our loved ones we can do it…live and find the balance of pain and gratitude, softly cushioned by eternal love.

All my love to you Mama! I miss you like crazy and I am so glad you’re here. Thanks for taking my kid under your wing ❤

Eternally yours, Lenilein.

*she was 20 years old when birthing me.

#8

September has come to an end. Fall is here…Fall with it’s beautiful ways of showing us how to let go. We choose or not to let go. I want to let go. I want to let go of so much. If I don’t let go I don’t open myself to new things. I am shut in, or off, or maybe down…

It was Ryan’s 20th BornDay. A week after, it was my 42nd. The few weeks leading up to this time period have been a struggle. The fear of what his first Birthday would be without him was a dire dread. Additionally, while always being excited for my Birthdays, 42 was a heavy number for me; a milestone I have been dreading for many, many years. Here is why:

When Ryan was three months old my beloved Mama passed away. This left me an unmothered mother at a young age. I found wise women which have guided me through the last 20 years of my life. Wise women whom have taken me under their wings. Be it my mothers friends, mothers and women I have met throughout my life path, or my preschool teacher. There was guidance all around and there still is, to this day. Some come and go, some are episodes, or even pages in a book, but there is a love I hold for them. But back to my Mama. She was very sick. Not once, not twice, she had cancer three times starting at the tender age of 32. Ten years later she was called home. She was a marvelous woman. She was 42.

Today, it’s October. Thinking back to the month of September, I was, and maybe am still a bit of a train wreck. It was Ryan’s first Birthday without him. It was my 42nd Birthday, my Mothers last, and we as family just started a new chapter, away from everything we knew. I started working in the Emergency Department which consisted and still does, of epic classroom and floor training. I consider it part of my legacy work. Ryan loved the time when I worked in the hospital. Personally, I love/d it too. My Mama was a registered nurse and took me to work here and there, and then I already enjoyed the hospital enviroment. It came as a natural development almost, after my Death Doula certification, to get my foot back in the door at the hospital to eventually work on the oncology or palliative floor. This is where I want to be. It all is taking it’s path and unfolding (Gawd, do I love that word) beautifully. Now that I touched on a little background as to why, where, and how,…September was a nightmare, or so I thought.

We celebrated Ryan on his day. At first I worked day-shift. It felt as if it honored him, not that I had an option, hehe. In the evening, we had his every year wish dinner, meatloaf, mashed pots, cheesy broccoli. Instead of a cookie cake we had chocolate chip cookies with his fave ice cream, cookies and cream, for desert. My in-laws were here, his siblings were given his favorite candies, and his candle lit up the table. We had a very, very nice time. We laughed, we reminisced, we celebrated…and I, I felt joy. I felt a lot of love. Before bed I ugly cried, was held by my kids, and that felt very good too. It was a good day. Good after death looks much different than good before death. How much I miss[ed] him [that day] is beyond obvious. But it was a good day…

My 42nd Birthday is one that’s been on my mind for many years. Every year, age related to my Mama getting sick, I was very conscious about it on my birthday -very, very grateful to say the least. Here I am a healthy, strong, resilient and fierce woman (I get it from her ;)). I get to live this life with my beautiful children. The three I have here walking alongside me, their Mama. And I am healthy! Do you know the thought “What would Mama do now?”, “How would she handle this?”, it is fading. I have arrived at her final age. I have arrived at the point in life where she became a granny, and I have arrived at the time where she was called home (I still have a few months to the actual date but that’s beside the point). I am fully aware what this age feels like now. Even with Ryan’s death having me aged 15 years in the past 12 months, I feel the age for my life to come to an end is far from close. Imagining me being a granny, haha, no where near. There is so much to do, yet. There is so much to accomplish. My kids need me…There is so, so much.

It was Saturday my husbands family came over. The house was filled with kids, laughter, food, and people wanting to make my Birthday good. There was a delicious dinner made by all of them. I didn’t contribute anything. While my sister in law and I hung outside with the kids, my father in law and hubby took the twins and finalized things inside, for me. We all sat together, we ate and were merry. I was happy. I missed Ryan, a freaking lot, but I still was able to be happy. They sang Happy Birthday to me and decorated a delicious Ice Cream cake (from Friendly’s, I bet no one knew this was Ryan and my go to spot before the twins were born <3). It was wonderful. The next morning I woke up to my children. This was my actual Birthday. Once the little guy went down for his nap the twins and hubby cooked up a delicious brunch, while I was laying back in bed with my sister in Germany on the phone. It was so, so good. After hanging out with my SIL that afternoon, I came home and was just happy again. Really weird, but good. My in-laws came back for left over Dinner – which was very nice.

So, to wrap it up – I took almost the entire month of September to grief not only my sons, but also my Mamas death, while starting my own legacy work project. The week leading up to Ryan’s B-day, I fell entirely apart. There was the desperate need to be around my father and siblings. Fortunately I got to speak to all of them during these few days. They are out of the country. I was at the point I thought I needed to check myself in. There was so much pain and an unspeakable amount of agony…There were so many moments of “I can’t do this! I don’t want to do this! I don’t want the time to come!”, that I didn’t realize how much I let myself break apart, just to find a different way. Not necessarily a new way, just different. In hind sight, I understand (or that’s what I like to think currently) how my mind shifted from missing my Mama, which of course is something I will always do, no matter how long it’s been, to just wanting to honor her. I want to live for the both (three) of us. I want to do good for the both (three) of us, and I for sure want to do as She would have done. Now it is up to me to do it for Us. I’m not trying to fill her shoes as they are very hard to fill, however, I will give my best to honor her in my school of life. Frankly I see her every morning in the mirror when brushing my teeth. Thank God!

This past year I have learned an incredible amount of how grief and it’s pain works, or not. One major aspect is the unpredictable. Grief is unpredictable. Still, Grief is nothing but Love. It’s never linear. There are so many ups and downs. Good and not good days, weeks. I come to realize though, no matter how hard I miss my Son or my Mama, they show themselves to me. Not how I ask, not how I wish, not how I expect, but how they see fit. (Note to self: Remember the ray of light and the monarch in the previous post?!) And if they want me to have a great time, maybe even a marvelous time, they make sure I will. They just won’t let me be sad, regardless of how much I embrace it. They let me be happy, they let me be good. They lift me up and carry me, and we dance.

September has come to an end, showing us the beautiful ways of letting go. It’s showing us the incredible art of preparing for the rest and recovery, for slowing down. As I observe these things within myself I can’t help but think of how much they were here in such a subtle way, to let me have loving days to celebrate. It was my peace after a month of sh!t storm built on emotion, heavy repressed grief, and anxiety.

And now, once again, I let go. I let go of the expectations of how I think it should work, and how I think I should feel, and sit with the awareness of how change is the only constant. Welcome October – The month marking Ryan’s one year Anniversary of his untimely death. I want to let go of the anxiety of how this day should or could look. May it come, as is, and however it presents itself. I will welcome it with my whole heart and soul…and then go from there. Happy Fall, my favorite season. I chose to let go of the anticipation of pain and agony, rather I sit with it when it is here, because so many times while sitting with it I witness how the anxiety and stress were all just mindfuckery (yes, I love that word too). Grief is love, not anxiety and stess. Really what needs to be observed is how in a very odd way ‘unbearably okay’ the pain of grief feels when observing it while holding the space and being present within that space.

#7

1000 miles/ 1600 kilometers we moved away from what we called our home for almost ten years. Today 10 months ago was the last time I spoke to my forever 19 year old. 10 months since the awful morning of our dog waking us because of a police officer banging on our door. What a journey. Our move was a shit-show, filled with love. If it wasn’t for our family and very close friends I don’t know what today would look like. But we are here. We are with family and we are not alone. Life is shifting.

1000 miles…in between a mothers worst nightmare. But okay, everyone knows that by now. It’s surely not just a mothers worst nightmare, however, I reserve the right to think so because I, the mother, carried, labored and birthed this boy – with no pain medication or any numbing agent (not that it makes a difference). I pushed the baby out of my vagina just as I was born to do. I was stitched back together without numbing agent…wanna cuss, the FUCK fit’s well here…Like my mother, like my ancestors, I birthed my first born into this life and it was the first time I ever felt what unconditional means. Think what you want. I will reserve this right out of pure love.

1000 miles separate me from where I am still fighting for justice. Justice for my kid. My kid’s life was cut short, nobody asked me for permission. HAHA… I took the liberty, took matters in my own hands and I am fighting. The support is incredible, Starting with my dearest hubby and our family, reaching to friends never leaving our sides no matter the distance. The love is strong. The love is incredible. People have been nothing short from offering help. We are so far away, yet, not alone. I feel I am being held by an unbreakable net. A bond weaved together from love, and probably some anger, too. Anger for us. People are angry with us over the mess.

1000 miles are nothing when it comes to love. Nothing! But may I share what comes with it…the unbearable emotions grief hold in my case…

We live in a place I’d like to consider somewhat close to heaven. There is nothing but trees, trees, never ending trees. The woods have always felt like home. We have arrived. I left WNC with my three kids in tow. My hubs had to stay behind unexpectedly because of sudden vehicle and trailer issues. At the end of the week he was picked up by his father and uncle, with two additional trucks and a trailer to haul our truck. This entire maneuver is a whole separate story for the books. He is here now. The two oldest are still out of state for the summer (I dropped them off on my way to our destination and proceeded the travels with our one year old). I left home to our new home which is where my hubby is from. We were expected to arrive together. But we didn’t.

I can write alot about this one event because there are so many relevant matters tying into why I feel the way I do. It’s hard to stick with the point, especially when the point always is “damnit, my son is dead”. Okay. With that being said, here is my struggle, the hurt, the pain:

I am very much a believer of the after life. In my bones I feel Ryan living a parallel life to this one. Here, on this earth, in a different realm. Imagine it kinda like being on psychedelics, hehe. All these beautiful things you see but in reality, without the altered state of mind you don’t see them. So I imagine the kid living this life parallel to ours. When we lived in NC I felt him a lot, daily. I heard him speak to me. The signs were countless. He was always here. Now, it’s gone. I feel nothing. I have felt Ryan one time since moving away. This was in my mother in laws office where he stayed when we visited. She made him a nice little bed in a cozy nook there. It was before my hubby arrived when our little guy walked into her office, I followed him to guide him out of it- and there it was suddenly. My entire body started tingling. I felt very much held and very warm and protected. He was right there. I closed my eyes and told him how much it meant to me that he made himself noticeable to me. It felt good and it seemed I was on the right track. This was roughly three weeks ago. The little guy left the room again, I went along to follow. With leaving the office Ryan was gone. Since then he has not made himself available to me. I haven’t felt him nor have I really heard him either. All I do is miss him unbearably.

We moved into my hubby’s grandparents farmhouse. A beautiful red brick house built in the early 1900s with a family operated Christmas Tree Farm. I guess beautiful doesn’t really cover it all. However, his ‘Pa’ passed away and right after, we conceived. [When daddy saw the little guy on the ultrasound the first time -during COVID, it all was via FaceTime, our little wolf waved at him while chilling with his legs crossed :)] Personally, I thought it was him. His Pa. Weird stuff, but I chose to believe in it. The little boy loves this house and roams it like he’s known nothing else. Pa passed away here. It is very personal and much filled with meaning to my hubby and I.

But where is Ryan?

Did I forget him? Did he not jump on any of the four rides he could have gotten on to? Is he still on his way here? Is he still working on a different lesson he was given before being able to join us here? Am I too closed up and scared of ‘forgetting my son’? Did he not come? Is he still in WNC? Where did I go wrong? I didn’t hold enough space! I didn’t pray sufficiently! My believes area all wrong! I let my kid down! I failed him again and he’s not even here…

Did I move too soon? Will I ever get closure? Is closure something I even want? Why even? I don’t want to close anything. I don’t want to finish something? I don’t want to come to terms. Honestly, what I want is [obviously next to having my kid as human living with me] a shift. I want a shift in how I perceive things. A shift in the way I label his story ending (why would I want to label this story ending?!?)… A shift in what I don’t want to label, I guess.

I don’t want to think of death being a bad thing. I want to view it as another school. Another school for the soul. We are in different levels of school depending on what we have or have not accomplished, what we have learned – or not, in this experience. Things we have applied or not applied. A parallelism in life, whatever it may look like. I want to feel my son again, I want him close. Maybe a shift in how I view things from whom and what I am, the creation I am. I want to not judge the experience I am making but rather live it as is. Presently.

I think about my Karma from previous lives my soul has experienced. What the fuck have I done? Are my debts paid? I mean, I was really not that great of a teenager – really I was a bit of a jerk, a big ol’ jerk to my rents for sure. I stole money from them, I ran out at night to hang with the others from my town whom didn’t have a curfew…but that does not deserve this kind of Karma? Yet, who am I to judge?! Maybe I was a killer in a past life- well hell, then I must have really learned something during this time period because I find I turned out alright after my teen years. I do however believe that we get what we deserve and that’s when we need it the most or it has the most learning impact.

Fast Forward: I drafted this entry two days ago. Yesterday was a ‘good low’. I am genuinely starting to love shitty oxymorons. I spoke with our dearest Omi. She is the crone in my life. Tears were shed. Doors were opened. Mental shifts occurred in a very unspeakable but profound way. She understands me like no other. When our Skype visit came to a close she sent me outside. Outside where there are no walls, no bounds, no frames, no obstacles, nothing but the mother. Nature. The Whole. The All. And there He was. In the light. In the breeze. In the dandelion. In my 1 year old. In my heart. My soul…In the Monarch accompanying little wolf and I on our walk within the trees. My sweet Ryan. All my love!

#6

“Have you ever loved somebody so much
It makes you cry?
Have you ever needed something so bad
You can’t sleep at night?
Have you ever tried to find the words
But they don’t come out right?
Have you ever? Have you ever?”

This song by Brandy came out in the 90s, my teen years. Today, after all this time it popped into my head and the water works were fully employed. I know it’s a ‘love song’ but the chorus hit home in a hard way, and it fit like a glove.

I’m a sucker for a good love song, but it was always in relation to romance. This part of the song shifted a bit for me this morning and I picked out what I needed, at the given time. Now. This chorus. I have not heard this song in at least a decade.

Many days are good in my world. Very many. I have three more beautiful children I grew in my womb, labored and birthed. Them and my dearest hubby- my family, they are my universe, tight nit and held together by Ryan, now. Really by love, but that’s what Ryan turned into after his soul was leaving the physical world (in my belief). They brighten my days even on the hardest. However, there are some that are just so darn heavy. Like today, or others. You wake up and everything just is. The usual, day by day routines, all is fine. Then suddenly it hits you again -I am aware I say this a lot, it’s just that many times -literally every day… and one of the biggest aspects of grief, I think; the fact that the loved one is never coming back through that door. They boy isn’t home…still. Yes! I have, and I am loving someone so much it makes me cry.

I sleep good. Most of the times. I do. Through the whole night – I found myself measuring my sleep in baby terms. Yay, I slept through the night. Or, I only woke up twice…Or, I didn’t sleep at all. The nights I wake up are either because I feel well rested, but mostly, I am trying to figure out what happened to my son. Where are the lies? Where are the hang ups? My son is gone…forever. No matter how many times he would or would not come out of his room, even if he popped his head out, less than a hand full of times in a day. You could hear him through his room door talking on the phone. Today, I hear his younger brother through the same door thinking Ryan is in it because they sound so much alike, it gives me the chills. But he is not in there, Ryan isn’t. And most of the time, it is at night, I wake up and remember that he isn’t in his room and that it actually isn’t his room anymore….it’s hard for us to realize how much we need our children in return. As adults we like to think they are the ones needing us. I need my kids ALL of them. They are my motivation to live a good, productive life, to pull my weight, be a decent human being, and always believe in myself that no matter what it is, I can do it because they rely on me. I lie awake because I never knew how much I needed my kid, until I couldn’t have him anymore. I need him so bad I can’t sleep at night.

Grief. A mess. Filled with nothing but raw love. That’s grief. That’s love. Like birth and death are one, so are grief and love one. Stages, waves, so many different ways to describe it, but can it actually be covered? The one constant thing about grief is, it is always there- For as long as we love. Finding words to describe this is nearly impossible and everything feels like rambling. It makes no sense. Ever. Only in my mind, no not there…only within me does it make sense. My mind seems too small to grasp it’s magnitude. Are the minds too conditioned to let the unseen in (shrug)? The feels are real but somehow that’s all I know. And that it never goes away. And that it’s a good thing. Maybe we don’t need to find the words for it, rather just embrace what we don’t know. Every time I feel good and have a great day it can change in an instance. It’s hard to say how we feel ‘today’. It is also hard to find the words to say what I mean cause they may just not come out right. Hence, it may seem I am repeating myself, while it all may be in a totally different context. Grief is complex. It is love. Love makes it hard to find words, it’s supposed to be felt. Feeling. It brings me close to Ryan,…because many times I try to find the words, but they just don’t come out right.

Have you ever? Have you ever? …

#5

I get caught up scrolling through my pictures. There is one album dedicated to Ryan where I have collected all snapshots I have found and have been sent from different people from all over Germany, Florida, Pennsylvania,…

But when I look through my own pictures I realize for a very, very long time it was always just us. Ryan and I, 19 years. He basically taught me how to be Mama, next to what I have learned from my Mama with my 10 year younger sister. I am an unmothered mother.

Ryan is basically my teacher from his 19 years of life. Funny how we think this works. While someone dies we realize, how much they taught us. If it wasn’t for him I am not sure what could have influenced my decision and choice making more, than becoming pregnant the first time. And here we are today, I am supposed to learn something again, cause that’s the pattern. I am supposed to learn from Ryan, his death. But what?

OK, there is the fact that this life can be over in an instant, like, right now, I could just drop dead. No kidding. Next, there is a legacy to uphold. A story to continue, just a little different maybe? Somehow there is also a rekindled drive of becoming the best version of myself. His death lit some kind of fire in me. And while I have been having many good and happy days along this new road plastered in grief, today is heavy. But it’s good. I like it. I feel comfort in the weight and dark. It’s a lingering sadness covering me like a veil – elegant, black tulle draped over my head- And I let in, or not, whomever I chose.

The days carrying the most weight are usually the ones after I spoke about the End to his Story. From when the police knocked on my door at 3 am until today. The unfinished business of seeking justice for my boy. I like talking about it and sharing it, and I embrace the days of heaviness immensely. Listening to my body, my mind and soul seems to be the good-est thing to do for me, during that said time…usually with a disgusting amount of chocolate available to my needs.

When you lose your child you hurt so badly, it can’t be described. There are no words for it. There is just feeling and emotion and a lingering pain in the bones and the heart. It doesn’t go away but it get’s easier to carry. We adapt to it, grow around it, fill our life around the traumatic event and move forward. One step at a time. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day….we fill our blank pages of our own story with memories, laughter, sadness, and the life now. The forever changed life. The “After Ryan died”. Grief stays. For as long as we love, grief stays. Grief is the love we hold – from the other side, the physical side. Not related to a person perse, but relating to having and not having something suddenly.

Carl Jung (Jungian here :)) said it so wonderfully; “Embrace your grief. For there, your souls will grow.” I have been journaling about how I process and take the time to Hold Space. The really cool thing about journaling for me is, I find solutions and progress in so many ways that I am realizing how much more it means to embrace grief. The growth it brings with it when actually holding the space for your loved one instead of pushing it away, avoiding the conversation, making everything disappear, is immeasurable. My understanding and belief in death itself has shifted because of certain experiences and encounters I have made and am still making.

Embracing my grief is not letting myself fall in a hole I can’t return from. It is merely working with what I am being made open to. Picking through what I am being made aware of and knowing I wont find it if I’m searching too hard or ignoring the signs. I need to take it when it comes and flow with it, or let it flow. Whatever it decides to do with me at any given point.

And my soul is growing. I am okay-ish, or something like it. Something within me tells me, for as long as I love my child, for as long as I speak of and to him, for as long as I let myself feel all the feels without shame or preconditioned resentment towards death, I am okay because I am holding the space. Holding Space will keep us forever close. Really we are never separated because every single time I think of Ryan, my heart feels his closeness. But Missing him is always the hardest part. Missing him always, in person…cause for the longest time, it was always us.

And I scroll through my pictures, and it was always us…and he is here, and here I cry, I love, I remember…and once again, I will sit with it and feel my sons love from the other side…like on so many other days.

#4

I walk with my little guy, he is about to turn 1 soon. His blonde hair and blue eyes just about make it seem as if I kidnapped the little boy. He looks nothing like me, or the twins but has a lot in common with his oldest Brother Ryan. Next to that, he is all dad. Scottish, Irish, and tough as can be. “Aww, how adorable. Is he your only child? How many kids do you have? How old is your oldest?…”

‘Hmm, I have teen twins…(silently I debate in my head how to answer within a split second, but I never know how), they are 13. My oldest would be 19 but he died a couple of months ago…(and there, I said it again).” People don’t know how to respond. Neither do I though. It must really be a shitty situation having to hear this without expecting it. I feel bad when I don’t mention Ryan, yet awkward for my opponent when I do. He is, was my first born. The boy is, was real, took (and still does) take up space, time, everything a child should, in my world. He is, was my child. Ryan is, will always be my child.

How long will this last though? The constant is/was debate in my head drives me bananas. It’s not like I mention him to get pity, or sympathy. Maybe a little? Because I have realized fast that as soon as you get somebodies sympathy you feel like a little drop of oil just smoothed out a rough spot, kinda like Aloe on a sunburn. People feeling for you while in such pain really makes a big difference. There is a sudden sympathy from a stranger that can literally change and shift the entire day- or maybe hour/s, cause boom- there comes another hit reminding you of the ‘oh, wait, no, he still is not coming home. I feel this is the hardest thing about being a bereaved parent. For an instance everything seems ‘normal’, almost as if you have forgotten that he is not here and then you are being reminded that he will physically stay away – forever. The persons sudden care though however, there is something comforting about it.

The day we had Ryan’s Ceremony of Life, so many people from Germany, my (and Ryan’s) Motherland had messaged me to find out what time it would take place. Germany is 6 hours ahead of us, here in North Carolina (EST). So many friends, family, acquaintances stood awake Sunday in the very late evening, since we didn’t start until 4pm. They thought of us. They lifted us up in prayer, and in thought. I felt held, carried, cared for and deeply loved and this feeling really helped me through a lot of the entire day, and first weeks.

But you don’t ever drop this from your life, your experience, and hopefully no one will ever expect you to. I will always have four kids in my heart. I have carried, labored, and delivered four children. As a mother, I feel it is my right to mention my dead child every time someone asks, because it is part of me. Part of my story. It may not be cool to some, and who knows, it might not be like this forever. I learn more and more that the way I deal with missing Ryan, grieving, it changes daily. It is never the same. Who knows when, but the day will possibly come where I will respond to this question with: “I have teen twins.” But that’s just written in the stars.

As for now, I will unapologetically say his name. It affects me, my emotional, mental, and physical health. Ryan’s death has shifted me and changed my mothering, my being, the way I feel about myself and everything my life contains and consists of. I am grateful for him to chose me as mother, and for him to allow me to be side by side with him for 19 years and 5 weeks. I was his one and only constant for his entire life span. I will say his name for as long as I want. I had four children, now I have three. But Ryan, my little King, He made me Mama. For this I will be forever grateful.