Consequences

It’s been a year since I published the last blog. I did publish 2 at once that time.

This one is different as this is number 13. A number that has come to haunt me over and and over. It’s as uncomfortable as every Friday at 5:30pm.

In August, 1000 days passed without Ryan. He just never came back. I’m still in disbelief. And that feeling from the first night here without him, hurts so much to recall the reality that he didn’t come home.

There was a Friday the 13th in October, one month away from the 3 year anniversary of Ryan’s passing. It’s all blurring by so fast. And now the anniversary is here. I haven’t kept up with the blog but I’ve succumbed to my inner writer to connect and share again. Maybe what you read has some repetitive tones from my previous blog posts. Please keep in mind that its only because its still relevant and my reality in all of this.

We have done a lot of things this year. There’s been change of path for Aidan with school and life. We just want him to be happy in his heart, his mind and with his life choices. Lots of travel this year with two tropical vacations including our 25th wedding anniversary which was the most beautiful place we have ever been. Multiple music concerts, family visits, outings, more tattoos, and even a quick trip to Disney World. Then life things like family, friends, the dogs, work, fitness, home stuff and more all in between.

I’m compelled to share the reality that I live in my adjustment with constant grief. Because like everything on social media- probably the broadest way that I see the majority of you, there is a layer of truth that is not often revealed. The happy stuff is posted, the feel good things are shared, proud moments too. It leaves out the sad days and heavy hearts. It’s ok for the bereaved to be happy, smile, laugh which is what you tend to see. That can give one the perception that you are all better now. There’s more to it though. There are consequences to grief over the loss of your child. Even 3 years on from when it happened. These are mine.

Grief brain- brain fog, overload of thoughts of sadness. It affects your memory, concentration and cognition. The impact that grief takes on your brain is real. There is a noticeable void when it comes to focus, whether you like it or not. It’s not as easy to stay self directed as it once was before. I can keep up, it’s just different now. Like you are missing a piece that makes you complete. It manifests itself into forgetfulness, daydreaming, sadness, lethargy and emptiness. Like you are going through the motions blind. I’m constantly asking myself, “What am I forgetting?” There are many studies about the impact grief has on the brain. It’s like something shuts off in a place and is forever dark. If you have been through trauma, and loss like this, you get it. It’s a hard consequence to be left with as its a souvenir of losing Ryan that I don’t want.

I spend countless hours in Ryan’s room working or crafting. The dogs lie on the bed or floor beside me, keeping me company, silently helping me stay focussed and sane. Thank goodness for dogs. And for hobbies. I love creating things, always have and I'm glad that my creative side is still in tact. I seem to appreciate more sentimental things too. There are elements in his room and around us that keep Ryan's memory present.

I keep having thoughts about Sinead O’Connor. I was saddened when she passed away this summer. While there has not been any official statements about the cause of her death up to this time, the comments and sentiments about what she had been dealing with emotionally from the loss of her son to suicide really resonates with me. This woman, already tormented personally for years based on her controversial beliefs, was in pain. The death of her child, in my opinion, broke her. I want to highlight something she quoted.

“I have been living as an undead night creature since, he was the light of my life, the lamp of my soul. We were one soul in two halves.”

That takes my breath away.

Depression, poor self care, deep rooted sadness, isolation, lost focus, are all terrible, horrible consequences when you lose a child. And then some. Some of us are more fortunate than others to come out the other side without being so completely broken that we can manage the ultimate sadness along side of carrying on with daily life. Whatever the reason that Sinead died, my heart goes out to her family, the kids she left behind, her friends and fans. To me, her vocality was crystal clear on her feelings of losing her child. Her pain was a consequence of being left without her child. Unbearable pain.

Loneliness- an unpleasant emotional response to perceived isolation. Another consequence of grief affecting me. It’s troubling and hard. But in some ways, it can be therapeutic. That’s not something that you think would be but owning your thoughts, facing your feelings and admitting them is good. I tend to do a lot of stuff alone. I am mindful to busy my brain. There is a lot of self discovery in loneliness. I’m not seeking comfort in my sentiment about loneliness! I love podcasts, my home gym, walking, meal prepping, driving, crafts, Costco, and I even went to a movie alone. I am sharing this part about my grief because loneliness has other sides. All the things I mentioned are the manageable and coping parts. Being alone is a choice. The troubling side is isolating yourself from situations where there are triggers. In order to stay away from triggers, puts you in a place where you are absent from the world. Not wanting to engage because you feel so sad, removed and even misunderstood sucks. But the fallout and toll that it takes on you can ruin you for days when you are exposed to certain things. It hurts so much when you are set off. It feels like no one can truly understand what this is actually like. Wallowing in your thoughts for long periods of time is detrimental to your grief and your mental health. It’s a fine balance. Loneliness is not harmonious either. Which can be challenging on a marriage. I can be having a productive day, Erik could be in not a great place. And vice versa. We each want space, have outlets and time when we want to. 16% of marriages end after the loss of a child. Another awful consequence of loss. I can see how the loneliness can create such a void between a couple that you simple grow apart. Thankfully that is not a consequence for us.

Socially detached. My Mum told me a story she knew of that always stayed with her. It was about a mother who lost her son. The woman had 3 kids. The child she lost was younger. The woman was so bereft that she became a shell of herself. As the first Christmas came around after her son passed away, she refused to put up the tree in her angst, sadness and grief. And from there, she never put up the Christmas tree and decorations again. She couldn’t bring herself to celebrate without her son. Even though there were other children, she wouldn’t acknowledge the holidays. While that may have been her choice, I am sure the consequences of that must have hurt her other children. As they grew up, they reflected on her decisions and felt it was so unfair to forget about them in the present. And equally hard for them to see her so sad at such a time of togetherness and joy. The consequences of loss affect traditions and rituals. It can either ruin them or force you to create new ones. We try hard to keep up the things that we do for tradition and I couldn’t let Aidan down. But I can identify with how this could swing the other way when withdrawing is a better choice mentally. There are things that do not serve me well as I mentioned the fall out is just too much to recover from and can sometimes take a few days to get back to baseline. I have learned that funerals and hospitals are challenging for me. And other scenarios that I will keep to myself. I hope this gets better with time.

Guilt- feeling self conscious and experiencing a sense of distress about your potential responsibility for a negative outcome. A consequence that doesn’t go away is the guilt associated with my grief. It’s big. Mainly because it’s not just for Ryan’s accident. That will always be THE thing I feel guilty for. I didn’t do enough to learn what Ryan was doing, who he was with, where he was exactly. Maybe if we had said “Come home by 5pm instead of 5:30” that would change what happened. I wasn’t there to make sure he was ok. I feel responsible for the choices he made. As a parent, you look to all the things you wish you could do over. I didn’t say goodbye to him when I left that afternoon. He was online with school and I knew would be back. No goodbye.

Other guilt is for things that mar my memories with Ryan. Small, stupid moments, that completely overshadow so many better things to remember. For example, I can get so stuck on remembering a time where I got angry at Ryan in the car on the way to school because we were late and he forgot his back pack. I hate that. It’s just one memory but the guilt plagues me. I have to try to remember things that made me smile about him

In the days and weeks after Ryan died, I feel guilty for how I coped, acted, managed and conducted myself. Much of it is a blur. Too much drinking, being too social, not asking enough questions, there’s no dress rehearsal for this to know what to do. I was trying to give us all space but I could have been a better support, a better Mom. The day after Ryan died, we had a lot of people here. I indulged too much, and I had brief moment of clarity where I felt so guilty doing that. Thinking what a bad person I was while all these people were here, supporting and showing love to us. My son wasn’t gone for 24 hours and I’m in this social situation not comprehending the gravity of what’s happened. I put this down to shock and being traumatized but I still feel uncomfortable with it. I can't describe my gratitude for our friends and family at the time, this is my own guilt of how I was processing and coping.

When your spouse dies, you become widowed. If a child loses their parents, they are an orphan. But when parents lose a child, what is the term given to that instance? It’s not childless as that’s something different. There isn’t one. Not officially or known in the English language.

Perhaps you are familiar with the term ‘Vilomah’? It came to my attention recently. Its Sanskrit meaning ‘against the natural order’. The term is associated with a parent who has lost their child. Life has its natural order, and in that order, children are supposed to outlive their parents. Children should not precede us in death. If they do, they are vilomahed. This term is not found in the dictionary as Sanskrit is not recognized as modern language although it is the second oldest language in the world, mainly religious and sacred in its text. Even as I type it into the keyboard, spellcheck flags it as not being recognized. While I am not highlighting this to gain a label on our status, words can be a source of support. It can help your identity. And most importantly, it can help connect you to a community of those sharing the same type of loss so you don’t feel completely isolated in the grief. It's especially important when you are fielding awkward scenarios of meeting people who don’t know you and ask ‘Do you have children?’ Something I still stumble over so badly when I am asked. There is no term for this. There is an actual movement and petition at change.org to get this term into the dictionary. To be able to say ‘I am a vilomah’ is important and needed. Parents experiencing child loss need a term for belonging, comfort and understanding. If you want to sign the petition, please go to https://www.change.org/p/oxford-english-dicsonary-get-vilomah-into-the-dictionary and maybe it will help bring this term into everyday language.

My journey of grief has not been linear, it's not arrived in stages or in any prescribed way. The journey is a variety of emotional reflections. Each emotion I feel in my current moment is how I perceive a memory, how I react to it, or when I ruminate about it. And those reflections can repeat themselves or can be totally new. At any time, any place, in the smallest of ways. I could see a child run past our house giggling, and immediately recall Ryan the exact same way. They can come out of nowhere. Then it’s an instant flashback and trigger that conjures immediate sadness and the lump in my throat. This is why getting over grief is impossible. There are happy reflections too, the ones that make you smile like watching Ryan’s video you may recall of the first night with our puppy, Billy. He had pooped on the floor and Erik gave him the task of cleaning it up. It’s gut busting funny. Or his creative videos on YouTube. Reactions to reflections are just so unpredictable and inconsistent but they never go away. They can flood my brain overwhelmingly some days.

So when you ask me how I am doing in regards to my grief and I reply I’m ok, know that behind that statement is this. I’m dealing with grief brain, unbearable emotional pain, loneliness, some detachment, guilt, and am triggered by my reflections of Ryan at any given time. Then sprinkle in the day to day living and breathing of being normal. It’s just too hard to say all that at once. It all depends on the day. The reflection. And the moment. I’m still just taking all this minute by minute.

Ryan on vacation in Punta Cana

A special Christmas memory

A very hard tradition to forget, RIP Figgy

A recent project to remember one of Ryan's favourite shirts