here I am.

375298_10200248207271756_1445974525_nMy Son,

You were like a dream. I search back through the memories and you were just always golden.

Lucky was a word made for me.

I’m so grateful for that~ if it had to end, I’m so grateful that at least I had the most beautiful boy and relationship I could ever have dreamed. I wasn’t just proud of you, I was mesmerized by you. Sometimes my breath would catch observing you in the world. You were supernatural, it seemed. I imagine all parents carry that sense of wonder. How many times I just watched you.

I have thought many times of what I would do if you appeared before my eyes again. I think I would hold you as close as I could, stare into those endless brown eyes, smile, and be very, very quiet. Knowing us, this would turn to laughter or you would say “Awkward”. But I would hold on to that moment for as long as possible. I would just take all of you in, I would drink you up like holy wine. I’m sure I would cry as hard as ever, but I would try my best not to take my eyes off you, or my hand from yours.

I’m just not the same without you. I’m guessing you didn’t consider this part of your choice. I learn more and more about the laser like focus on relief for those in desperate despair, and it leads me to trust that you weren’t considering the impact this would have on any of us. You were clearly in a pain I can barely imagine and for this I ache for you alone. But damn. This has really fucked me up, Isaac.

I pray everyday that you experience freedom, peace of mind, and joy at all times and that you are enjoying the unveiled mysteries of eternity. When I consider your happiness, I am just so happy. It is difficult to explain, even to myself, but I have sincere joy and relief for what I imagine is now your path.

Like any earthling, and perhaps especially like any childless mother, I experience lows of grief that make survival feel improbable. A depth of unbearable ache where only silence can breathe, animalistic and pulsating with the heaving of my solar plexus and the quiver of my chin. My eyes seem hollow when I am in this place. My facial muscles twitch and tighten and scrunch. A metallic taste coats my tongue. Intentional and focused breathing is the only thing that gets me out of there. Slow and steady, I have to stay with myself, holding on to the slightest limb of hope that breath will return me to sanity, despite the roiling and heaving in my chest, throat, & belly. The physical maladies that grief activates is fascinating. I am in near constant pain, in my neck, chest and shoulder blades, my ribs feel beat up, I have lost track of when my body felt good. I can eat again, atleast most days, and there are some i think I could never stop~ trying to dull the ache, numb out, but I seem most attuned to restricting food, pleasure, comfort. And socially? Forget about it. If you thought I was a weirdo before, you would really get a kick out of the new me. What a mess, right? I don’t mean to complain, Isaac. I’m just simply acknowledging that losing you has made normal feel like an unrealistic and unattainable goal. I’m just watching life from the sidelines, torn between wanting to jump in and wanting to sit it out. I will find myself, often, lost in a hypothetical manifestation of either option and I’m all in, and then, a paralyzing sensation comes over me, and I cannot speak or breathe. My face gets hot. my eyes weep. Those new weird noises rise out from me.

I’m just tired. I know that I will carry this around with me forever. I get it. it’s just heavy and I’m tired. Some have suggested that grief is equivalent to love and if that’s the case, I am fucked.

But I will tell you one thing that has remained untouched, unchanged. And that is my love for you. I couldn’t have loved you more, then, I couldn’t love you more, now, I wouldn’t have wanted to love you less to hurt less. And for that, I still feel so dang lucky. You surpassed all my wildest imaginings. And even having lost you, I am eternally infinitely unequivocally grateful that I ever had you. At the end of every day, every tear, every ache, at the end of every question, this remains. I love you bigger than the sky.

“Pain is a pesky part of being human, I’ve learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something I wish we could all do without, in our lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can’t be escaped. But then I have also learned that because of pain, I can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.” C. Joybell C

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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.

2 Comments

2 thoughts on “here I am.”

  1. Oh Christina, your words, your thoughts, I just cannot tell you, how I ache fou you, Josh, jenn, your family. I know it is coming up upon the day, and how hard all theses firsts, and forever dates, are. Please know I care, and wish I could do more.

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