I thought I would share a story regarding birthdays for our children gone too soon. It makes me realise that it’s hard for people to understand the ways of bereaved parents and how they individually do what they feel is right for them at the time, which possibly would and does, vary from year to year as our grief ‘evolves’.
www.clint-reagan.memory-of.com
This article was originally published on October 14, 2008, in www.opentohope.com, a website whose mission is to help those who have suffered a loss to cope with their pain and invest in the future.
When the first Halloween arrived soon after our son’s death, I could hardly bear to think of it. Clint loved fall and Halloween. He took such joy in the season: football games, corn mazes, haunted houses and parties. It almost felt like a betrayal of sorts for me to hate the season now, but I couldn’t help it. In the beginning, everything about it brought me pain.
Last week was my son Joel’s 5th anniversary and we had a small gathering of family and friends at the private memorial garden where Joel was laid to rest. We included a butterfly release as part of the day and it was wonderful. We released 12 butterflies and while most flew off straight away, a couple stayed around on the bushes and one stayed on the box I was holding for a long time.
Joel, it’s four years and three months since that unbelievable day you left us. Unbelievable, but I have to believe it, because it happened. Where has the time gone? Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago, and other times it feels like yesterday.
Well, call me crazy, but I’m on the other side of that dreaded day. I unlocked the fire safe box that holds Sawyer’s ashes and found a little stuffed penguin I had put in there at Christmas, which I had forgotten. He loved penguins, and Christmas always had several once he let me know his favorite ornament was a penguin I had given him. I picked up the baby blanket wrapped box and made my way to the living room to get Curious George. Then on the back-porch I unwrapped the box and opened the lid. With sad eyes I looked at and touched the clear plastic bag of ashes. I cried as memories of that horrible day flooded my mind and my heart.
I was asked to write a story about my personal grief journey. It took me a while because I realized this is not something I openly discuss with people other than my husband/best friend who is riding this same roller coaster with me. An emotion I often push down inside of me on most days. Perhaps sharing my story will help others who are on this same journey. After all, everyone in life will experience grief in their lifetime. It is inevitable, though it’s not easy – parents die, grandparents die, but kids….your kids are not supposed to die before you. That is not the natural order. The grief experienced by the loss of your child, the loss of their future, the loss of your life plans you had for your family, is a very, very different kind of loss, one that cannot be compared to any other loss. I have chosen to share my story and my journey (so far) with you.
Alan and I made a trip to the same beach where we had taken many family vacations with our sons. On the third day while we were sitting and gazing upon the waves hitting the beach, I became filled with thoughts of our deceased son, Clint. I didn’t say anything to Alan about my thoughts, but I did ask him if he ever wished we could turn back time.
I used to love the summer.
It was my favorite season.
I hated to be cold.
Originally posted on Debra’s memorial site: www.clint-reagan.memory-of.com
Dearest Mothers,
In the beginning, it mattered to me the hows and whys of Clint’s death. My heart and my head argued. My heart keep saying, “He can’t be gone, we still have so much love to give him.” In a strange unfair twist, this love was even greater because it was not hindered with all the stress and chaos involved with dealing with someone struggling with mental illness and drug addiction. This wasn’t fair. I became angry. I had done everything I thought was right. I had been a stay at home mom up until middle school. We were an intact family. Clint had experienced some privileges in his life. We were there for him every step of the way. We tried to handle what we knew and what we understood.
Three. The Triad—heaven-human-earth; past-present-future—the number three is significant as a prime number in mathematics, the spatial dimensions of science, the Holy Trinity of Christianity. For me, the number three represents the third day in October of my son’s birth and the third anniversary of his death. And it also became a gift.