What I’m Feeling

Shawn VanHorn

Long post. I apologize in advance. Wrote this so maybe people will know what I’m feeling since Duncan’s death.

”I feel ya”, ”I understand”, ”I’ve been there”, I know where you’re coming from”, and ”I know how you feel” spill as easily from our lips as water from an inverted pitcher. How often have we heard these words? How often have we chosen to speak these words hoping to either ingratiate ourselves or imply that we are somehow connected to someone by our common experiences? What do we hope the outcome will be when we utter them? Will their utterance establish a bond between thee and me that may never be broken?

We have experienced the same things; therefore, we are alike and ought to relate to one another on a deeper spiritual, emotional, or psychological level. Perhaps, as a result of a latent subconscious vanity, we elicit these expressions as a means of one-upping the individuals we are speaking with. Like a tennis player volleying the ball over the net to their opponent, we all too often mindlessly respond to an individual’s dilemmas, situations, or woes by lobbing back at them an ill-thought out, ”I feel ya.” 

I hope you are never awakened by your spouse who is shouting that there is something wrong with your child.

…you never have to assist as your child is  lifted from their bed onto a stretcher.

…you never have to watch as the paramedics remove your child’s clothing in preparation for medical treatment.

…you never have to watch someone struggle  to place a tube down your child’s throat in hopes that they may have breathe.

…you never have to speed down the highway to keep up with the ambulance that is carrying your child.

…you never have to wait anxiously in an ER waiting room praying for your child’s wellbeing.

…you never have to sit in a tiny room, being told by an unfamiliar doctor that your child is no longer living.

…you never have to tell your family that their brother, grandson, cousin, and nephew has died.

…you never have to try to be ‘strong’ so you can plan a funeral while holding back your tears.

…you never have to doubt yourself nor your efforts to help your child overcome their physical, emotional, and psychological struggles.

…you never have to try to explain to someone how or why your child has died.

…you never feel like  there’s a hole in the center of your being because your child has died.

…you never have to feel guilty for receiving blessings while your child is lying in a grave.

…you know you need to continue on with your life, but all you want to do is curl up into a ball somewhere and wither away.

   …your photos and recordings of your child are poor substitutions for your child’s presence.

   …you never have to try to put into words that which cannot be put into words.