Daily Reality

October already. Time is passing and the pain seems to get more difficult to bear rather than easier. The silence with not having Bryn around is deafening. I'm back at work again after two weeks off but little has changed. It all seems so meaningless now, like we're just going through the motions of doing pointless tasks. I was advised to take more time off but I can't see anything changing with another week, month, year off. This is our new daily reality. Our new lifetime. 

The thing about cemeteries

... is they are so final. 

Sitting here next to you I see your name next to a mound of soil. 

It might be easy to imagine you are still around; at Taekwondo, working, out with Kayla somewhere, anywhere but here. It could still be just a really bad dream.

But I see your name and this mound of soil. It's real and it's final and so unfair and it hurts so much.

One Month On

Today marks the one month anniversary of my son's death. His life support was turned off on July 21st @ 8am and he eventually passed away @ around 9.50am. He was a very healthy and fit young man; a runner, a 2nd level black belt in Taekwondo, he worked out. His heart kept beating and he kept fighting for longer than they anticipated but it was a fight and a race my brave boy was not going to win this time. 

The return to work is proving harder than I imagined it would. People keep asking the innocuous question, "how are you", or "how are things". A lot of the time it's just a greeting; I'm not actually sure that some people even know about my son or what we are going through as a family. Every time it gets asked, however, I freeze. I don't know how to respond. I've started to just say, "okay", and move on quickly. I'm far from okay but my guess is most people don't really want to know. I hate it, but I get it. What really makes me angry though is the people who do know, and who keep asking. I feel no different today than I did yesterday, and will tomorrow. For the most part I just want people to leave me alone. I'm back at work, and it's a start, but I just want to sit in the corner and be ignored. 

Last week was tough as more detail about the accident came to light. We were told, when the paramedic reached into his car, he grabbed her arm. Apparently his eyes didn't open, and he didn't speak, so we assume it was a reflex action. In the four days we spent with him in ICU he would squeeze our hand whenever we held his. The doctors explained it, but it didn't make it any easier. 

None of this seems to be getting any easier. Just when you think you can breathe normally again, something happens. Some additional detail. A memory. Seeing something. Hearing something. A comment someone makes. This morning I feel physically sick in my stomach and I don't really know why. A photo of Bryn and his brother John that I have pinned in my cube, taken in happier times. His cheeky grin and mischievous eyes. A lifetime of blood, sweat and tears raising him to have his own life cut short before he even got a chance to live it. Where is the reason and the purpose in that? 

How can things return to 'Normal' when this isn't 'Normal'

My seventeen year old son, Bryn, died nearly a month ago when his car hit a horse that had got loose from a house close to where we live and strayed onto the road. We live on an acreage, so we're somewhat accustomed to there being a deer or moose on the road occasionally, and we know which roads to look out for. Bryn hit a freakin horse, on a road that rarely has any animals on it. If he had hit a moose or a deer, the result would probably have been the same but it would have made more sense somehow. But someone's horse? It's so twisted. He never did like horses.

I work for a good company and with a lot of kind, considerate people. It doesn't surprise me at all these people are coming to welcome me back after my bereavement leave and ask how I am doing. I wish they would leave me alone though. What do they expect me to say; that I'm fine? I just buried my son. There are reminders of him everywhere. I didn't protect him from injury and I couldn't fix it or make him better. He's dead and it's permanent. I feel screwed up in my head. I'm trying to smile when really I'm struggling not to cry. I have a splitting headache. I don't want to be here. 

Today is my second day back at work since Bryn's accident. Not sure things are going that well. Another challenge just to get through the day when everything work related just seems so meaningless. An invisible force is trying to push me back onto the 'normal' path, back at work, 9 to 5. How can my wife, my oldest son or I get back onto the normal path though? No parent should have to deal with their child's funeral. No nineteen year old should have to deal with their younger brother's death. What part of this is normal? It isn't normal. It isn't the way it's supposed to be. We shouldn't be getting back onto the normal path; everyone else should be getting off it.

Day 1

It's actually not Day 1. It's been nearly a month already since Bryn's accident. Today is my first day back at work and I feel like it's a sign of life trying to return to 'normal'. I'm feeling angry right now at the thought of life returning to normal. People around me are getting on with their work and their lives as if nothing has happened and my blood is boiling. Life can never return to normal for us.

Five years ago my mother passed away suddenly from an aortic aneurysm. I had spoken to her the day before and everything was fine. Everything was normal. I live in Canada and she lived in the UK. I got the call first thing in the morning, as I was getting ready to go to work. I couldn't get to the UK fast enough. She was already gone. No time to say goodbye. No time to tell her one more time that I loved her. No more time. I think it was the suddenness of her death and the distance that I struggled with the most. There was no warning and it was too soon. Selfishly, I wasn't ready. I was aware of other people who had gone through bereavements and felt at the time I was doing it all wrong. It was taking way too long for me to be okay again. I did counselling, but at the time the thing I found most helpful was stumbling upon a blog called One Day At A Time, by Emily Garvin. It was her accounts of her journey after the sudden death of her husband. Even though I hadn't lost my spouse, I could relate easily to the feelings she was describing. She put into words what I was feeling and for some strange reason, it helped me. A lot. Here was someone who understood at the rawest level way more than any counselor could, and she put it into words perfectly. I found myself reading her blog and saying, "Yes, exactly", and it just made it easier to make it through the day. 

So I figured I might do the same this time around. Perhaps putting my feelings into words might help me get through this, or might help others at some point. I'm not sure I will do it as well as Emily did, but it's worth a go. 

What do I mean 'this time around'? Okay, let's step back a month to set the scene, and we'll take it from there and just see where it goes ....

My name is Ed and I am, or was, Bryn's father. Bryn was seventeen years old and had a fatal car accident on July 18th. I'm not exactly sure of the details as we're still waiting on the Police Report. As I understand it he was less than five minutes away from home, heading into town, apparently to meet someone about buying a used paint sprayer to spray his car. Neither his mum nor I were aware he was doing this. Bryn would often do things without telling us, especially if he knew we would object. He wasn't 'bad', he just liked his independence. You might say he was a stubborn teenager who was keen to be an adult. When we went to bed he was still working on his car in the garage. Nothing unusual, just a normal every-day day. 

We got the knock on the door from the Police that every parent dreads. It was just after midnight I think. We both knew when we opened the door what was coming. It was just like a movie, and we were playing the lead roles. 

"Are you the parents..."

An accident in his car, they said. Flown to hospital. 

I can't recall the exact discussion, but I heard the keywords. Accident. Hospital. Flown. It was clearly serious. They don't take people to hospital by helicopter for a broken leg. I recall my wife asking if Bryn was still alive, and the young Police officer replying he didn't know. Did he really just say he didn't know? 

Initially we were sent to the wrong hospital. Apparently the helicopter redirected en-route and I can only assume now this was due to the extent of his injuries. When we got to the correct hospital we were ushered into a private room, again, just like a movie. An emergency room doctor broke the initial news to us that Bryn had suffered head injuries that had damaged his brain and, '...he is unlikely to recover from these injuries... he is going to die'. 

There it was, what my wife and I somehow already knew and feared. Our youngest son was going to die.