September 17, 2013
34 weeks
Hey buddy,
It's been a few weeks since I've written. Life really REALLY hurts lately. We're all struggling. There are more tears, more sadness. We have to try a lot harder to smile, to laugh, to find joy. I don't know if it's because with school starting up again it's harder to think that you're really truly gone, and not just at scout camp, or a friend's house, or Grammy's, or working for Uncle Birdie...you're gone. And you're not coming home. That reality, nearly 9 months in the making, really really stinks. I'm not a fan. :(
Although no one has said it out loud, probably because they're afraid what level of crazy I'd hit if they did, we get the feeling that our story is getting old. People are tired of our sadness. Tired of our grief. Tired of us not being ourselves. Oh how I wish we could explain this feeling of emptiness...how I wish that no parent ever had to feel this. To live this. My heart will never be the same. For the rest of my life I will walk around with 2/3 of my heart.
Several friends have shown up lately with random treats, or sent texts at just the right time. They, gratefully, remember, honor, and love us even with all of our crazy, with all of our random tears. We're so grateful. So blessed. Just the other day I had a really incredible experience at Best Buy. I'll forever remember employee Tennessee with a smile in my heart. I shared that experience on my personal Facebook page. I'll share it here another time.
Exactly one year ago Saturday was one of our last family fun days as an earthly family of 4. We spent the whole day out and about. We went to the Air Force Museum. We ate at Famous Dave's. We wandered the streets of Ogden looking at the painted horses...
Saturday, we attempted a family fun day. We had a pretty good day, considering it was just the three of us. We are doing as you asked and continuing to do fun things with McKayslin. I guess we're mostly succeeding since McKayslin told us thanks for not being old boring parents. We went on the Ferris Wheel at Scheel's. Last December we were all going to go, but you weren't feeling so well. We went on Saturday. Daddy had a panic attack at the top. White knuckles, forgetting to breathe, lots of fun. I shouldn't have teased him so much because later, as we were driving into SLC, turning in on 400 South, I had the same thing happen. Oh yeah, lots of fun.
On the way home, with tears in his voice, Daddy said, "I hate driving this road at night...it reminds me of the last time I brought Kenton back to the hospital..." And we cried. We do that a lot. Cry. Hurt.
I've been thinking about your journey from diagnosis through the end, and realizing that in that time, I only heard you complain just a few times. Sure, you were freaked out, and they thought you had an underlying panic disorder. That was weird. But you only complained just a few times. How did you do that? How did you take that crappy diagnosis and just roll with it? How did you manage to continue to be so awesome in the midst of something so horrible, so painful, so utterly devastating?
I need to go back and write about so many things that happened on this journey. Maybe then I'll be able to start looking forward. Maybe then I'll be able to go a whole day without breaking into the ugly cry.
You're just such an amazing kid. Your sister is such an amazing kid. And I'm just this ordinary Mom entrusted with parenting such amazing spirits. Stick with me, son. I need your help.
I miss you. I still look into your room every night to check on you. I still tell you goodnight. I still talk to you. I sound a bit crazy. I feel a bit crazy. I guess this level of grief is going to lead to a little bit of crazy. The goal is to keep it at a little bit of crazy.
Love you, handsome!
Thanks for being awesome!
Love you!!
Mom
4 comments:
Your posts are beautiful. There's no right way to mourn. We all just do the best we can. You have the courage to share your deepest feelings with people. What you share is helping people you don't even know. You're a missionary, your son is a missionary, as are your husband and daughter. I've only met you once-at the temple-but you made an impression on me. We pray for your family. I know you have faith. It's in everything you write. The very fact that you write shows great faith. Thank you for sharing.
There is no timeline for grief. The way you mourn is different from the way that I mourn, and the way that I mourn is different from the way my neighbor mourns. The Savior said to "mourn with those that mourn, comfort those that stand in need of comfort". Yes, your posts are sad, but your heart has been broken. Honestly, it is sometimes hard for me to read them because your grief and your sadness come pouring out in your words, and that's okay. You are walking a journey that none of us ever want to walk...the loss of a child. I am continually in awe of your strength, your testimony, and your faith. You and your family are doing the best you can. Some days are harder than others, and that's ok.
Sharing your journey through this blog helps those of us who have not had to travel the same journey, to be more compassionate to those who have. You give insight and awareness. You have deep faith, and deep pain. And we learn from you. You are a gifted writer. Not many could put into words what you have been able to share.
Karen S.
Logan
Oh, friend. I wish you could know how many lives your family has touched and how much we love you. You are still grieving. You need to know that it is ok. There is no timeline you should be following other than the one in your heart. There are no rules for this. None. You pour your heart out in this little space and I love that you are brave enough to do so.
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