in time

Does it get easier?

One hundred twenty-three days.
Two thousand nine hundred fifty-two hours.
One hundred seventy-seven thousand, one hundred twenty minutes.
Ten million, six hundred twenty-seven thousand, two hundred seconds.
That’s how long you have been gone.
I have yet to really go through your things. The clothes are still in the drawer, your boxes that were yet unpacked have been into storage, but still packed, untouched.
Many people have been asking for stuff…your friends, cousins, and aunt.
Actually, one person is quite beside herself because I haven’t given her anything of yours. Sadly, in an effort to upset me, she threw in my face that she doesn’t want anything of yours because, all the sudden, it’s morbid.
As if losing a child isn’t hard enough, there has to be an extremely jealous person throwing around insults.
My emotions already feel so raw. It’s up and down the Richter scale of emotions on any given day. I can be watching TV and fine, then all of a sudden I’m in tears. Grief doesn’t care where you are, what you are doing, who you are with. Out of nowhere, the tears start flowing and my mind is overtaken with you, memories of you. I’m right back there, that early morning, hearing the banging on the door, stumbling out of bed…..
It’s like darkness engulfs me and I can feel my heart breaking. I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to do whatever errands I have for the day. I don’t want to leave my room. I don’t want to do anything…..
I beg and I plead for the pain to stop. I cry and cry, willing the tears to go away. I wonder to myself and wonder out loud. My nerves are so on edge they remind me of a frayed electrical cord hanging dangerously close to a basin of water, ready to spark and electrocute…….
The questions, the doubts, the fears, the concerns, the unspoken words all plague my mind and my heart.
And the anger wells up inside me, it sits there, waiting for an outlet….so I cry some more. This is where I am thankful that school is back in session as the kids are gone all day and don’t have to see me. I am composed by the time school releases in the afternoon. As a stay home mom with not a lot of outside work to keep my mind off of what happened, school is a distraction that I am thankful for.
Jumping back to what was said to me about smelling Darren’s clothes being morbid, anyone who understands grief wouldn’t say such a thing. It’s blatantly obvious that this person is (1) very rude and careless to say something like that, (2) has no understanding of what it’s like for one of your children to……to die. I have to be honest, I stumbled over how to phrase that! But, as for this person’s understanding, I hope she can try to be understanding, and I also hope she never has to personally endure a loss like that. It is not a pain I would wish on even my worst enemy.
Regardless of all of it, the pain doesn’t seem to be lessening. I am beginning to believe that ‘time heals all’ quote is b.s……..
Right now, I am broken…….

Shannon Avard journal entry Sept 2018

This is a journal entry I wrote 4 years ago, 4 months after my 17 y/o son passed away. Reading through some of these entries recently has reminded me that time does not stand still.

Every moment counts.

Every second wasted is a second never recovered so use your seconds wisely and meaningfully.

Wisely? Meaningfully?

This will look different for each person. Everyone has their own idea of what’s important and none of the ideas are wrong – well unless it is illegal.

We cannot judge what is meaningful and wise to someone else. If we were all alike the world would be a boring place.

But this Daily Dose is not about being wise or meaningful.

Actually, it’s about time itself. Four years, four months ago, we lost our 17 y/o son. Much to our dismay, he took his own life. Since that moment, my life has changed. I have changed. My emotions were on a turbulent up & down seesaw for a very long time, but finally seem to be getting on an even keel again.

What is it like for me now – years later?

I function every day. I laugh and play and enjoy my days with my family. I look at my children playing outside – running through the field, hauling all of their toy babies and accessories to the top floor of their playhouse, chasing Billy the goat and all the females (nanny, caramel, pinky, unicorn, and runaway), clammering to feed Zeus and Zelda (our miniature horses), snuggled in bed reading their favorite book/s, trailing on the heels of their dad helping him with chores, etc and I am thankful for these beautiful moments. I am thankful we were blessed with all the great children we have.

But, sometimes, I feel a numbness to my life, almost like I am just breezing through it. I look around me and think to myself, what is all of this for? Why am I still here? However, this brief feeling of numbness quickly dissipates within moments – when the next childhood emergency arises (my doll fell on the ground!, she threw my shoe across the yard!, i can’t find my book!, she won’t push me in the car after I pushed her around!,)

These days, I have climbed out of the darkness and found my way back to my family. The pain of losing my son is always in my heart, but the joy of his life takes front seat to the pain. I will always feel the pain, the heartache, the loss, but I couldn’t let it consume me – or at least, I couldn’t allow myself to stay consumed because make no mistake, it did consume me.

Slowly, I found my way back. Every day is not a battle anymore. And these days, when I think of him, I find joy in my thoughts. Some days, I find sadness again.

But, and this is the most important thing, I am not angry anymore.

They say time heals all wounds. For a long time, I believed that to be B.S. when it came to death especially after we lost our son. I have since learned that yes, time does heal. My heart is healing more and more each day. Although the anger is gone, the sadness remains – always some sadness, some days more than others. Some days it’s only a flicker. Other days, I cry into my pillow at night or into my husband’s shoulder in the moments the sadness overtakes me.

The moments come less and more space between, but come nonetheless. Although this will be the ‘normal’ for the rest of my life, I am grateful for what has been and what will be.

Find your reason to smile & keep smiling

~ Shannon ~