I saw the light!

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Dear Isaac,

I know that was you this morning calling for me from the garden. It took me a few minutes to realize it– to look out the bathroom window and see you on that fence post looking right at me, singing your birdsong. Thank you– I’m sorry my first reaction was to cry. I’m guessing that is why you stopped, flew off. You probably didn’t count on how much it would hurt, you probably just wanted to show a little love and hope on this, the 8 month anniversary since you became something more than my beautiful boy.

I didn’t mean to scare you off…

I’ve been thinking alot about you this week. I mean, I think about you all the time; but this week I have been thinking alot, again, about that morning. The morning you said goodbye. I’ve been trying so hard to imagine what it might have looked like if I had gotten to you sooner, if I had never left Frankfort that morning, if I hadnt been craving that fucking dirty chai from the Blue Caribou. If I hadnt gone to see Grammy and offer my condolences for dear Stanley. If I had only considered more strongly and intuitively the possibility of how you might be feeling after the argument you got into with your love. I wish, when we spoke on the phone, I wouldnt have said “i will be there within the hour”– even though I left almost immediately, even though you knew we were enroute, I cant help but wonder if you thought, in the moment I said “an hour” that I might not have seemed worried enough, or cared enough. I did– I just felt torn, having just arrived at Grammy’s and knowing how sad she was about losing Stanley, I felt bad leaving abruptly. I didnt understand the severity of your hurting; though thinking back, I should have… I should have understood that you had never been in a situation like this and of course you would be overwhelmed! Of course! But in my mind, I sincerely thought it would be ok, we would figure it out together, and all would be well, as soon as I got back to you.

I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. I have no deeper regret than minimizing your worry, dismissing your regret. I guess I just could not conceive that you would be so anguished over an honest mistake. You, over your lifetime, have seen anger play out ridiculously– remember? Remember when I was so mad I kicked the vacuum cleaner, breaking the wheel and my big toe? Or when I yelled at you or Paco or your dad,? Or how about when I threw my nokia on the tile? Or when you broke my lamp! There was nothing you, or I, or anyone could do in anger that was unforgivable, was actually, always, in retrospect, even laughable!!! A learning opportunity, long discussed and apologized over.

Though I knew you were upset, I believed completely– unequivocally, that “this too shall pass”– we would talk it out, we would make it right, we would figure it out.

Although I was worried about your words, once we were heading back towards Frankfort, I was not convinced you were serious. I cannot explain why other than to say that I just didnt think it was a situation worthy of your worry. As an adult, as your mom, I thought that I knew better, knew I would be able to soothe you, knew and believed and trusted that.

But, as I said earlier, Ive been considering what I would have done, had I reached you before you took the irrevocable action that resulted in your death.

…and the truth is, I just dont know. Knowing what i know now, what i have learned, I hope I would have gotten you help. But honestly, I dont know. It is entirely possible that I would have continued to believe you were fine, you were just tired, you needed some food, hug, an ice cream cone. This is how naive I was. I thought that you were perfect. I just could not see you any other way. I am so sorry for this. It was not that I expected you to be perfect– it was that I believed you were. It is not that I could not accept your imperfections, it was that I believed you didnt truly have them. This is how I failed you. This is how I missed this. I was unwilling to see your humanity, fragility, I was afraid to look at the possibility that your spirit was in conflict; I was afraid to see that you might be like me.

I have no idea what else I missed. It was always a compliment in my mind when we called you bubble boy, because I thought being over protective and living in my fantasy world of being blessed with a perfect child was sweet, cute, proof that I was a good and loving mama and you were the best kid ever. When I think of it all now, it just enrages me. I was oblivious. I was a child!!! I was still 20 yrs old with a beautiful and perfect child and no clue what I was doing or what was required to care for the soul of another, entrusted to my care.

Im sorry, Isaac. I believe in my heart that where you are now, you forgive me, you understand my limitations as a human being. It is the one thing that prevents me from going bonkers, now that I have seen the light. I will spend the rest of my life trying to forgive myself, though, for having to learn it the hardest way possible. If I caused you to feel alone or unforgivable, or if I set you up to believe that you were only allowed to be perfect, while you were still here, I am so sorry.

Keep singing your sweet song, spreading your wings, and shining on, kiddo.

With everything I have and everything I am, I love you, bigger than the sky,

–mama❤️

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Published by: christinaryanstoltz

I write to touch the supple center of unguarded ache~ To release myself from the pressure of not knowing how to move forward from the unfathomable loss of my beloved son, my beautiful boy Isaac, to suicide, of not knowing how to release my grip on of the past, both the worshipping of it as well as the beating myself up for it, and letting go of the need to know what I could’ve done or what on earth I will do now. I write to heal.

3 Comments

3 thoughts on “I saw the light!”

  1. this post gutted me. So beautiful and tragic and amazing how you put words to amazingly complex emotions. Sending love your way! xoxo

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  2. Dear, Sweet, Beautiful Christina & Joshua too,
    I sit here with tears for your loss, your words, your pain, your anguish and the love you shared with that beautiful, beautiful boy.

    You are a testament to love, putting one foot in front of the other, getting up each day (even if you never leave the house or put clothes on) and being so open and vulnerable in this whole journey.

    Know that many of us…”hug our kids a little tighter – even when they don’t like it or are too cool for that, MOM”….Love so much deeper and real than ever before…see the rainbows through the storms….accept our limitations and downfalls, but get back up, because that is what you do AND lift you up in prayer, send love and hugs and take each moment at a time, because you never know what the next one holds.

    Love you guys!
    Tara

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