Learnings about grief

Here I am, acknowledging the first Friday the thirteenth since Ryan died. 9 months today. And this is the 9th blog. That means 3 months from now, our youngest son will have been out of our lives for a whole year. 12 weeks. 90 days. Away from us. We will never accept this. I keep on referring to our situation as we ‘lost our son’. Like something not possibly real. In my head, my thoughts plays out like we were in a big Hollywood blockbuster movie where its chaotic, the world is ending, we are all trying to survive. A bad thing happens and we suddenly lose Ryan. Our family stays together but how could we have lost him?? Far fetched, I know. Child loss like this is uncommon and the trauma is still so real. Yet, these past 9 months feels like we have moved through a very long, agonizing time frame. A long, drawn out nightmare. Dramatic? Reality. Im still reeling that this happened to our child. We have come through Christmas, 100 days gone, Mothers day, Fathers day, my birthday, Erik’s 50th birthday, and Aidan’s birthday next month. So, although this journey seems long, time has wings. 3 months will be here soon and we are dreading it.

There are good days. And there are dark days. For me, the dark happens when PTSD creeps up. I hear the ER doctor repeat that Ryan passed away.

That never gets easier. It still really vivid. I didn’t think he was going to say that. There are subtle reminders of Ryan that ebb and flow. They can make you smile or very sad. Whenever I hear the band Arkells, I think of Ryan. He never got to go to an actual ticketed concert. We had tickets for Pearl Jam last year but that got cancelled with the pandemic. When Ryan was in grade 5, he attended WE day at the Rogers centre and that band played the event. I loved listening to Ryan describe that trip, he had such a good time. Every time we were in car after that and Arkells came on, he would say, ‘I know that song!’ Same with this summer. Right now we would be in the midst of trekking around Wonderland, Centre Island, K1 go kart racing, maybe some camping? This is a strange adjustment for us. It’s unsettling and foreign. I have no need or desire to go Wonderland anymore. Or other places that Ryan loved. Instead, I look for signs of him, use distractions to stay sane, learn to cope with grief, and keep up my own health so I can be strong and dependable to our family. I may not be a proverbial ‘mess’. I choose to channel my pain by keeping busy and helping others

Pain. What I have learned about grief is that love is pain. Think about it. When you feel love, like for someone else, or feel loved, it is a deep, moving and strong emotion. No one equates love to pain. Love is regarded as happiness, joy, warmth, cuddles, intimacy, ‘I love you’, a happy emotion. Which it is, when it’s good. No one likes to acknowledge the hard side of love. The side that hurts. Falling out of love, love ending, deceit or death. That is the pain side of it. It’s equally strong. It moves the emotion in the opposite direction, it feels awful, its jarring and often physicalizes itself to sickness. I also have learned how much we use our sympathetic nervous system. Fight or flight response. How it protects and prepares our body from physical, emotional stress and imminent danger. It’s fascinating. There are many coping techniques to manage it when it becomes overwhelmed and triggered by traumatic memories.

Grief is not something that can be fixed. You can’t throw money at it to go away. You can’t change it. Nothing is the same, nothing is going back to normal. ‘Moving on’ is not a term I take lightly. Instead, we have to find ways to live along side our loss. I hate that. I just want my son back. I lost him. How? The guilt is horrible even though we are well aware that it was an accident. It’s not our fault. But as a parent, if I said to you, “You will never see your child again in one hour from now” (hypothetical- I don’t wish this on anyone, ok?) Would you not feel like it was your job as a parent to protect, prevent and fight for their survival? And, if you couldn’t, you would feel some sort of guilt for not being their ultimate protector, regardless if you were right there or miles away. Thats how we feel all the time. Failure. Everyday. For the rest of our lives.

Grief is a lonely place. Our situation is isolated. Not a lot of people we know can identify with us. There is no solace in comparing griefs. While we have all experienced grief, you have not experienced our grief. If that makes sense. It’s very personal. Grief is episodic. You can go days without being upset but then get triggered by something you can’t shake. Living with family members who are also experiencing grief in various ways is hard. I could be having a good day and Erik could be having a bad one. He is not afraid to show his emotions. And vice versa. Mood and temperament is a huge factor. We are very honest about our devastation. We make space for it, in our own way. I am not afraid to bring Ryan up or retell a memory about him. I don’t care if it makes people uncomfortable. He’s still a part of us, our family, our memories. That little face. Frozen in time as an eleven year old boy. That is hard. Hearing the bell ring on automatic timer across the street at his school stings. Ryan would be going into grade 8. One more year to high school. Instead, he stays as he was forever. Pictures of him up to he died is what we have to reflect on. That’s the closest we can be to him. I see his friends in the neighbourhood, maturing, growing, and it’s hard because to us, Ryan stays 11.

I know that this particular blog echoes the same feelings I have conveyed in previous blogs. The initial panic has subsided and the trauma is not as intense. Another learning that grief can stay and actually get worse as time goes on. So my feelings in some aspects remain. I haven’t posted in sometime, blogs give you a partial glimpse at what life is like at the moment. And a side of me that you may not see all the time. There is much more to it all. I will aim to complete 12 blogs by Ryan’s birthday. One for every month that Ryan has been gone. I’m not writing as much as I was before. The creativity that I poured into the first few has shifted to other endeavours and work. But as today crept up, I wanted to express my feelings and thoughts. The significance of the day and calendar date of Friday the 13th is typically regarded as unlucky and evil. I cant lie, it lives up to its reputation, I can see it no other way.

Until the next entry.

Leanne

If you are reading this and are experiencing unresolved grief, I highly recommend reading 'Its ok that you are not ok' by Megan Divine

Ryan on Canada day last year

Us at Ellesmere skate park last August