I have had a rough few weeks emotionally. It started with thinking I’d lost a bag of Ryan’s ashes that I wanted to spread in Indiana while stopping there. Luckily, I found them (put away safely, that is always a mistake, isn’t it?) Then on our visit to my hometown, no one there mentioned Ryan, so it didn’t feel right to bring up sprinkling ashes.
We didn’t have a funeral for Ryan due to quarantine. At the time, I was too wrecked to care, and was almost glad that I didn’t have to deal with it. But over the last year, I have begun to feel as if Ryan was cheated out of something he deserved. He spent his life quietly in the background without many people knowing just what a great guy he was. Was not having a ceremony another instance of Ryan fading into the background? And is it too late now to have one?
Part of Rich’s family had a small ceremony at the Lake House last summer, and I treasure the wind chimes we made together as each person had something to say about Ry and clipped their piece of the chime together. It was lovely, and so thoughtful of them. I didn’t realize how much we had needed that at the time.
Thinking that I’d misplaced the ash made me remember every single bad mom incident throughout my boys’ childhood.
Then, I was overwhelmed by having a shivery cold snap hit us after three weeks of camping and needing to winterize the camper to prevent frozen pipes (while still traveling with it). We had to scramble to find alternate lodgings and between Easter weekend and spring break, plus traveling with three dogs, there just weren’t any to be found.
Seriously, it wasn’t a big problem, and it got solved, but I was irrationally upset about it, beyond the scope of the actual problem itself. Since then, my attitude had been getting worse, and my sadness was building too.
The anniversary of Ryan’s death looming over me has been almost more than I could handle and I let other stressors feed on that pain.
This might sound silly, but watching the season finale of the Walking Dead without him and knowing the series was ending soon, about wrecked me. A new season of Top Chef starting, without RyGuy next to me to watch it was rough too. The shows we watched together were important to us. We’d pick apart details of the programs on our walks and talk about what we thought should happen next, who should be eaten by a zombie or pack their knives and go.
Thinking of the soon to be born litter of pups coming without Ryan by my side had been causing me torment instead of the joy I should have anticipating all those sweet babies due soon, too. It was beginning to feel like everything was a reminder of how sad I was.
Everyone needs time to grieve and to acknowledge those raw emotions. But letting them take over was not healthy, and I needed to get control of my world again.
I will always miss my boy, nothing will change that. Living with grief will be something I cannot change. But dealing with grief and loss by appreciating what I have is something I can do. Letting my raw nerves run my life certainly wasn’t helpful.
So I took action.
I had a sincere talk about issues that had come up with someone I cared about, who also had major worries of her own.
I wrote a long, long letter to Ryan. For months after he died, I filled his urn with notes and messages, but had gotten away from “talking” to him that way. I gave myself a full day of just missing him, looking through the journal I’d made for him, (hugging it tightly against me and sobbing), watching shows he loved, writing to him and going for a walk like we used to together. Instead of letting that underlying unhappiness brew inside me and make me antsy and sad, I let it rise to the top of my emotions and didn’t try to hide it or pretend I was fine.
I painted. And painted. Pour paints are sooooo soothing. Watching those colors glide and swirl is good for the soul.
I made plans with friends and family. I’m sharing a paint pour day with friends, having a craft day, and having a family dinner night with my fairy flock.
Most of all, I honored Ryan by just missing him. And missing him a lot. We both loved springtime, but he isn’t here to enjoy it, I’ll need to show my appreciation for the season enough for both of us.
My husband took a trip to Omaha to watch his nephew compete in jr college wrestling nationals, and I used that time to organize the studio and garage, gather supplies, mix up paints, and then dove deeply into swirling those colors around on a few canvases.
Acrylic paint pouring is an expensive hobby, but such a relaxing one. I look forward to having a couple play dates with family and with friends. It will be just as mesmerizing to watch them tilt and twirl the paint around. I find the process healing.
Grief will never leave. But how I choose to have it in my life is up to me.
