Tomorrow will mark six and one half years since I lost my son, Ryan, in a horrific car accident. There are moments, even days, when I can function as one who has accepted that my baby is no more and that life goes on. After all, I still have my beautiful daughter, Jessica. I have a husband, family and friends that love me. I have all my memories that aren't marred by the regrets that many mothers of teenagers have. And...I have the hope. The hope that I will see my son again in the new world the Bible promises ahead. The world where as Revelation 21:4 says: "death will be no more,neither mourning, outcry or pain. The former things will have passed away." So why are there other times when I can only feel the pain that has ripped my heart open and threatens to consume me?
Most days I can hide it. I've learned that the phrase "It gets easier" only refers to the fact that you get better at hiding it. You learn to smile, to joke, so that others have no need to feel uncomfortable around you. I do my best to function in the real world. Time does not stand still to let me catch up. I go to work, I am a wife and a mother, a sister and a friend. I try very hard every day to keep going and to be a good example of faith to others around me.
But some days I can't function. The pain is so real, so crippling that it would be hard to imagine unless you had lived through it yourself. My nephew turned 22 this past week and I find myself automatically thinking that he's lived 4 years longer than my Ryan. Every birthday marks a catching up or passing Ryan age-wise.
The hardest part is going to my Kingdom Hall and seeing all the kids that have grown up since Ryan has died. Many are even married. His best friends are now busy with families of their own. My world has stood still. There will be no wife to be a mother-in-law to or children to look for Ryan's rosy cheeks on. I will never dance with him at his wedding or see his joy at the birth of his first child. My daughter will never be a sister-in-law or an aunt. My husband will never be able to pass on the mechanical genius he passed on to Ryan to a grandson or a granddaughter from his own son.
It would seem that I continue to mourn. That I merely need to move on. After all, hasn't it been six and a half years?? I feel others concern. How could they understand? They try to comfort me by saying that they've lost a mother, a father, a beloved family pet. Isn't that loss too? Let me just say that I have lost my mother, a father...even my most beloved Mom-Mom but it is not the same. I lost my baby . The special person I carried within my womb for 9 months. I protected him within me, I talked to him and sang softly while I cradled him in my belly.His father would pat on my belly and the baby within would pat back. When he was born and we learned he was a boy, my husband held my hand, tears on his face, and told me "he was beautiful".I nursed him at my breast while I gazed in wonder at this second miracle I had been privileged to have. He was a joy from the first. And such a happy little guy. He was my "Campbell soup kid" and the image of his father at that age! He was a sturdy little thing and we used to call him Bam-Bam. He had white blond curls and no one who met him could forget those rosy cheeks. He adored his big sister and she loved him with all her heart. He captured my heart from the day he was conceived...
So many memories. Yet so many more were supposed to come. You outlast your children, right? You expect to lose your parents, but a child??
I never got to see him after he died. They identified the body through DNA tests. What remained of his body. I was given the comfort of knowing that he died from blunt force trauma rather from the flames that consumed him after the car ignited from a broken gas line. I'm grateful for that. He was cremated but I never saw or held his ashes. My dear sisters took care of his burial in a David Wright Mets jersey Meredith got him for his high school graduation. I didn't want to see the ashes because I knew I would never be able to let them go. Jess and I had toyed with the idea of buying 50 yard line seats at the Linc, home of his beloved Philadelphia Eagles and perhaps, pouring out some of his ashes there. But in the end, I decided to forego that idea and instead keep the memory of him the day he died. My last memory of Ryan was him telling me he was going to a friends house to play RISK with a bunch of the guys.
The evening he was killed and the following days remain a blur in my mind. A true nightmare. The outpouring of love from family, friends and my congregation were unbelievable. I saw firsthand Gods love in the way we were taken care of. The Bible mentions" time and unforeseen occurrence that befall us all". Things happen. It wasn't part of Gods plan. Thus the need for resurrection to life in a world where tragedies like Ryan's will be a thing of the past.
Yet the years pass. This system goes on. I am human, after all, and I wonder "When?" I look at photos and the tears come. I was afraid that after a while, the memories would fade, but now I realize they are all I have. Ryan is more vivid to me now than he ever was. When you love someone the memories don't fade.They still have the power to make you laugh and sometimes the memories bring tears. They open that hole in your heart wide open so that you question whether you can endure it.
Today is one of those days. They come and I accept it now. I struggle each day not to be bitter, yet I know that I resent what comes naturally to those who still have their children and never for a moment realize that it could be taken away from them in an instant.. It is what it is and if some days it hurts me , then I allow myself to hurt. Tomorrow will be another day and I will do better then. I will smile and even laugh...and wait to hold my Ryan again.
