My Son

Share thoughts, poetry, feelings about the loss of a loved one (pets included).
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TabiBookaholic
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My Son

Post by TabiBookaholic »

I am rapidly approaching the 13 year anniversary of my son's passing. I have two living children, a boy and a girl, and one boy who was born in between them who only lived to be 10 days old.

His name is Tanner Ryan.

Image

The following is part of a paper I wrote in college.

After almost a week of this, I had become used to the routine. The nurse was the same each day, but I had to show my wristband to see my son in the NICU. Every day after seeing it, she would ask my name and take her time writing it down before finally unlocking the doors. Tanner is nine days old and six of those days have been in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. I keep my eyes on the floor as I walk down the hallway because it’s easier. If I look to the left, I will see all those happy families with babies who are thriving.

The ones who are going to make it home. I can hear them grow quieter with each step. They know me, and they know my son is in the room at the end. It’s the room set apart to make it easier to grieve the living as they die. In his doorway, a nurse calls me, “Miss? The doctor would like to speak with you in the big conference room. This way, please.” She promptly turns and leads me down another hallway.

Between the chill in the air and her aversion to meet my eyes, I know something big has happened. I can feel the panic rising in my chest and the moment I walk in the room grows quiet. I am standing before a whole crowd. There are at least three doctors, four or five nurses, and two people in plain clothes. “I am sorry to inform you that we have officially agreed on your son’s condition which now is described as brain death.” For the next hour, we talk about what it means to be brain dead, whether I am willing to allow them to take pieces of my son to save others. We begin planning his funeral. What he will wear, where he will go, how he will get there.

There is a process for all of this, one that we are rewriting as we go. This is their first time handling an Interrupted Sudden Unexpected Infant Death Syndrome case fully within their own walls. We talk about how the three neurosurgeons (adult, adolescent, and neonatal) all had to agree and about donating his heart valves. I no longer let myself cry or even think. There is no time for tears, only blurred faces, and forgotten names. I make these final arraignments for my son; it is all I cling to now.

My night is sleepless and filled with nightmares that don’t go away when the sun rises. It is fitting though to feel this way like I deserve it. In the bright morning light as I walk to the hospital the next morning, I look around and feel almost alien. I am no longer of this world but set apart from it. One-half of my heart is already beginning its journey to the unknown territory that is death. My body and mind alternate between feeling too much and being too numb. Entering Tanner’s room feels entirely surreal.

I am presented with gift bags filled with ways to remember my son. Plaster molds of hands and feet are made as well as prints to remember each tiny line on his toes. Four nurses attend both Tanner and I as we make memories to take home in his place. We bath him carefully and dress him in the outfit I selected. It is a winter outfit covered in bears made complete with a matching teddy bear to bury alongside him. The furry ears on the hood feel like butter as I smooth them into place. It is not a somber outfit, but it was the best that we could find.

Every time I’d feel my heart shattering more the women would hold me, give me time to process, and then strengthen me for we need to do next. My mother sits in the window, staying to herself. She can’t cope and so is treating the day as any other. Before we know it, the time has come, and the room is emptied as if our grieving will be so large that it will fill the room completely. They quickly remove all his tubes and monitors. Tanner is placed in my arms for the last time and for just a moment I let myself forget why I am holding him.

His blonde hair looks like peach fuzz poking out from his hood. I envision his whole life from learning to walk and talk to marrying his high school sweetheart. I can taste the cake at his wedding and feel the feather lightweight of his college diploma as he hands it to me. Then my eyes clear and I am faced with reality. The only ones in the room are Tanner, my mother, and I.

He had been born a month early but for three days, three beautiful days he had been fine. March 12, 2007, at 2 a.m. that all changed when the night nurse stopped in to do quick vitals check and found him literally blue. That was my 19th birthday, and I spent it waiting for a chance to see my son again, which didn’t happen until about six o’clock in the evening. Calling loved ones and praying to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in. Every day after that was like riding a sailboat in the middle of a hurricane; just when I thought the coast was in sight, another wave would crash in. Each moment felt like both a mere second and eternity wrapped in one.

I held Tanner’s hand and whispered in his ear that I loved him to many times to count. The nurse and my mother both encouraged me to tell him it was okay to go. That was one thing I couldn’t do, I am selfish, and it was not okay. At seven-fifteen the evening of March 19, 2007, the doctor declared him dead. His body was rushed away for his organ donation, and I had to leave him behind to prepare the funeral home for his arrival. I spent the two-hour drive home explaining my full medical history to a Life Share representative so that the donation wouldn’t be in vain. It wasn’t until my mother parked the car in her driveway and I caught a glimpse of his empty car seat in the back that I fully fell apart.


Thank you for taking the time to honor Tanner by reading a small part of his story. His birthday was really tough for me this year and I expect his death day won't exactly be easy. So I'm posting now to have a place to talk him both as it approaches and after it passes. Just a small corner, hidden from my family, to send my love and pain into the void.

Feel free to post but I don't know that I'll fully reply. It's difficult to without fully breaking down.

Also, I plan to write more of his story in later posts. I want to warn anyone reading now that Tanner's death is not the only triggering thing, there was an abusive relationship, depression, as well as stalking and kidnapping. It is not a tale for the kind-hearted nor for those easily upset. I'm sorry. Once a year I have to let it out and I have no other options right now that doesn't upset or worry my family.
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Re: My Son

Post by NeverMoonAWerewolf »

This is a terrible thing to have happened. There is nothing anyone could ever say to make it better. The healing has to come from inside yourself.

13 is a magical number. I would encourage you to make this the year to begin healing yourself. I'm not saying to "let go" what has happened, I think when people say this they ignore that everything we experience becomes a part of us and if we "let go" we lose a part of ourselves. I am encouraging you to transform what has happened, though. There is magic which helps, rituals to remember with less pain, and connecting with the part of you that has died with Tanner.

I am guessing your family has long since moved on, which is why you can't talk to them. Or maybe you want to spare them the grief. Do you talk to your other children about him? Do you have a shrine for his memory?

I don't want to intrude but I can feel your pain all through the post almost as a physical presence. It makes me want to reach out and hug you.
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TabiBookaholic
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Re: My Son

Post by TabiBookaholic »

In the week following my son's funeral, I hunted for a good 'grief counselor' because I had recently heard a news story about a woman who had a breakdown after a miscarriage and killed her 5 older children. I knew my past struggles with mental health and wanted to be careful.

The thing I didn't consider is the fact that I am in the bible belt. The counselor everyone pointed me to was extremely religious and extremely busy with patients. I suffered through weeks of trying to spill my heart out to him only for him to in return give me idiotic nuggets of fools gold such as, "You are so young! You will surely have many more sons." And, "It was just meant to happen, God took him home to make him an angel." I was already having some pretty bad issues with anger and I basically blew up at him. He called my son by the wrong name and I lost it, I told him to shove his training up where the sun doesn't shine in much less nice terms and then never went back.

The following year was a steady decline into pure rage and alcoholism for me. I kept telling myself it was better than the alternative. The alternative being my suicidal ideation returning. My life was falling apart around me.

One day months later I was a puddle of emotions when my older son, then about 3 years old, hugged me and said something about Momma missing bubba. He said I loved bubba more and it was okay, to not cry. I have never cried harder in my life than I did then. I couldn't imagine him growing up thinking I loved his brother more and realized just how much I needed to pull myself together.

I have not touched whiskey since that day, though I have rewarded myself with a single glass of wine every one or two years.

Until this year it had been getting steadily easier to handle. Not that it hurt less but I understood the pain more and knew what to expect and how to manage it. Because of my past mental health issues though even simple posts, I make or comments or Tanner are met with obvious panic from my close family. My sister immediately goes into her speech about how my living children need me, my mother begins listing local psychiatrists. They believe if I talk about him at all then I am depressed and thus suicidal or needing strong intervention.

If I am truly upset when I say or post anything then they do more than comment or call. They descend upon my household like some sort of twisted captain save-a-ho squad. It can take days to escape them. Sometimes they mean well, generally they just do it for appearance's sake.

My older son knows all about his brother. He has mourned him, loved him, and grown up with a good idea of everything that happened as well as photos of his own to keep his brother. My daughter knows, sort of. She doesn't really care and honestly, that is completely okay. She doesn't feel emotionally connected to the situation and only knows I sometimes cry. I have photos of my Tanner in our living room, they are all I have left. All those trinkets and memories from his last day burnt with my home just after the funeral. I suspect it was their father who set the fire but that's a whole drama of its own for another day.

The pain of losing Tanner has never just been in my mind or my heart. It has always been a palpable physical thing. My arms ache, my chest tightens up, my stomach churns, the list could go on. I have just been able to get used to it. I have yet to have found anything ever that actually helped distance myself from the pain. I can't shake the guilt I feel which doesn't exactly help.

I think this year was so rough because of the number 13. It was major to me when I hit that age. It's monumental to be a teenager officially and it brings about so many changes.
NeverMoonAWerewolf wrote:I don't want to intrude but I can feel your pain all through the post almost as a physical presence. It makes me want to reach out and hug you.
You are most definitely not intruding and thank you for reading this and caring enough to post. I fully appreciate you and happily accept internet-sent-hugs.
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Firebird
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Re: My Son

Post by Firebird »

I am sorry for your loss.
Anniversaries can be real hard.
TabiBookaholic wrote: My sister immediately goes into her speech about how my living children need me, my mother begins listing local psychiatrists. They believe if I talk about him at all then I am depressed and thus suicidal or needing strong intervention. If I am truly upset when I say or post anything then they do more than comment or call. They descend upon my household like some sort of twisted captain save-a-ho squad.
They are clearly very concerned for you and their advise of finding a therapist isn't horrible. Grief is very weird, it can jump up at any time. You are processing. Someone who would listen better than your family might help. Are you still in the bible belt area? Finding pagans to celebrate the seasons would also facilitate the process could give some fellowship and perspective.

Blessed be, FF
“There are things known and things unknown and in between are the Doors.”
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TabiBookaholic
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Re: My Son

Post by TabiBookaholic »

Thank you firebirdflys, I appreciate you.

Yes, still here in the bible belt. I'm in a small area in South-Eastern Oklahoma called Ada. We are in between Dallas/Fort Worth, TX and Oklahoma City, OK with no real claim to fame other than our local police force's uncanny ability to lock up the wrong people. (See Dreams of Ada, or Innocent Man.)

My selection of knowledgable assistance in my area that doesn't get sidetracked with my Narcolepsy or my PTSD has dried up. I will try asking around again though. I have absolutely nothing against professional help... So long as they actually help lol.

There is a very small very quiet group on facebook I found of pagans in my area. Everyone is scared of saying much on there though and thus far not a soul has mentioned meeting up. Maybe I could try to plan something small and quick for the Spring Equinox? It is in just a few days though. Perhaps Beltane instead.

Thank you for your input, I will definitely look into it!
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Re: My Son

Post by SnowCat »

Thank you for sharing your story. Small town Oklahoma is definitely conservative, regardless of the domestic violence and drug use that happens. I spent Labor Day weekend in Oklahoma three years ago, along with my daughter and grandkids. My ex had died, so we packed up and drive down for the funeral. His aunt got really wound up telling everyone that they needed to be reading their bible every night. It was quite the scene.
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Re: My Son

Post by TabiBookaholic »

That is exactly the sort of thing I deal with on a daily SnowCat! My ex's whole family knew what he was doing when we were together and did nothing, except their best to ignore it. After I got away, sort of, they would help him in tracking me. Once his sister ran me off the road while calling him to ensure he'd be able to grab me before I fled. It seems ridiculous but the police actually acted like I needed to just do as he wanted and quit 'egging him on'. You know, by wanting to leave him and be safe and such. Just go home, get pregnant again, and serve up those sammiches.

They always said I didn't have enough proof of him being any trouble. Broken bones, wrecked cars and trucks, threatening voicemails, witnesses, pregnancy from rape, it was never enough. To this day I panic when I see a truck like his or when the lights flicker off. He's around still, I have just been lucky enough to avoid him for the last few years. Thus my PTSD.

It's 2020 everywhere else but closer to 1692 here if you mention anything but the approved churches. Luckily I have always had an out for not living up to the 'Christian standard'. As a narcoleptic I typically barely make it through work on weekdays with the help of stimulants and weekends it's a toss between being fully awake for several days or sleeping it all away. Either way, I am no good around others during that and people get that pretty quickly when they see me fall asleep standing up and not even lose my balance lol.

It makes it really difficult to connect with others when there is a constant fear of being found out in so many more ways than one.
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SnowCat
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Re: My Son

Post by SnowCat »

Oklahoma had a law, until sometime around 1985, stating that a woman was the legal property of her husband. Too many men there think that's still true. Not all of them, fortunately. My stepson in Bartlesville is an absolute wonder.
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Re: My Son

Post by SapphireRoad »

Hey Tabi, you have my sympathies and condolences too.
TabiBookaholic wrote:They always said I didn't have enough proof of him being any trouble. Broken bones, wrecked cars and trucks, threatening voicemails, witnesses, pregnancy from rape, it was never enough. To this day I panic when I see a truck like his or when the lights flicker off. He's around still, I have just been lucky enough to avoid him for the last few years. Thus my PTSD.
Sounds like the worst kind of experience, I don't know what to say. I hope you can find new joy in your life.
SnowCat wrote:Oklahoma had a law, until sometime around 1985, stating that a woman was the legal property of her husband. Too many men there think that's still true. Not all of them, fortunately.
Good to know the context.
We live in place where bribed cops and deceit full scale endures. I'd like to claim we respected women more but that might have got 'covered up' up to this day as well.
Only 'perk' of socialism was the forced atheism in that short history. Extreme that cleansed folks from the church mentality.
Now people are mostly atheists and if someone carries a cross to work, they don't laugh at such people, yet still consider them as some sort of 'whackos'.

If you ever need to defend against dogmatic idiots I can provide you some quotes even from that 200x times rewritten book so as to enforce them shutting up speechless. Just let me know if you find yourselves in position where reasonable speech can provide a solution.
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Re: My Son

Post by Firebird »

>hugs< how you doing today?
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TabiBookaholic
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Re: My Son

Post by TabiBookaholic »

Yes, SnowCat. While the law is no longer in place technically, most here still act like it's a thing. I was terrified of all men for a long time after. I started out not even being able to look people in the eye much. Eventually, I got a little better. Now I can generally be okay if alone with a man I really trust. My gyno whom I've known since 2011, a therapist who was kind enough to allow me to work up to private sessions over several months, etc.

Unfortunately, my attempt at dating several years down the road left me with one ex who just wasn't a good match (we still talk as friends), and another ex just like my first only not nearly so crazy. He just did a bit of stalking at work.

I've given up since then. I'm good alone. It's easier alone.

SapphireRoad! I would love those quotes! I have a very mixed up religious background and so I grew up with a mentality of looking into many, but only skimming the top. I have read the book... Just didn't retain enough or take good enough notes lol.

firebirdflys *hugs* ty for asking. <3 Today is better. I pretty much have just been sleeping through as much as I possibly can. Not the healthiest way to cope, but much easier on my heart. Long baths for time to cry and self-care. The quarantine has actually been really good for this honestly.
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Re: My Son

Post by SapphireRoad »

TabiBookaholic wrote:and another ex just like my first only not nearly so crazy. He just did a bit of stalking at work.
I've given up since then. I'm good alone. It's easier alone.


Well for a bit of journey it is indeed better to develop self. If I understood correctly he was stalking you at work after you broke up? Such concludes that you must be quite pretty, so brighten up :fairy:
TabiBookaholic wrote:SapphireRoad! I would love those quotes!


Well it requires them being of at least a slight bit of intelligence. In Old Testament there is a passage of God offended by ritual offerings being of sick animals while people eat all the good ones. The principle of witchcraft offering at altar.

Matthew 17:13 (17:12-14) Where Jesus speaks about Eliah is a refference to reincarnation, even in this 200x times revised version.

There'd be way more... Ezekiel starts with "people of this world have stone, severe faces... so you'll be carrying one as well" lol reminds me of faces of dogmatic people.
I think almost no Christians like readings of Jesus ben Sirach, but that is practical occult to be applied "don't overlook the needy ones so that you don't get their curse attached to your back." It is part of the bible.
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