My Dear Isaac

My boy. I miss you. I am bereft without you here. All your friends are turning 21, some are entering into their senior year of college in the fall. You are still my sunny boy, forever 18. When you were here, I could never imagine you as a grown up. I know that frustrated you, my sunny sonny. Maybe you see it all now, maybe you understand that I was just so damn mesmerized by you that I never wanted our time together to end. I couldn’t imagine you leaving the house one day because I loved having you there. I loved being your mom, yes, its true. But I loved being with you, more than anything. I loved us.

Before you, with you, and after you. The impact of your life & death upon me is astounding. My life can be measured in thirds, with you at the heart center of it all. Since you’ve been gone I would say I am floundering a bit, like a fish out of water. I am searching for something solid to hold on to, and discovering more everyday how utterly impossible that is. I suppose a wiser woman might have hitched her wagon to something less fleeting than the childhood of her only offspring, for meaning or purpose in life. But wisdom often comes from hard lessons, so I am learning now. You should see me! Everyday, I am learning how to walk when I want to crawl. I am learning to smile when I want to scream. But I am also learning how to stay instead of run, when I am scared. I am learning how to say “I am in pain”. I am learning how to show up in the world when I want to hide. I am learning how to survive what I thought I could not. I am learning how to carry this. It takes some time to learn, but I am. Maybe someday something will come after this. Maybe my life will be measured in 4ths.

I still keep trying to rewrite history. I cannot seem to stop living in the past. I will play out this fantasy where we reach you in time and I envelop you with my whole body, I hug you into the fetal position, both of us. You are crying but slowly my love infuses you and you begin to relax and breathe and I’m wailing out all the words that could save you. I say “Nothing you could ever do would ever cause me to stop loving you”. And I say “I know this seems like a big damn deal right now but I think it will feel better after you get a little rest and a snack” And sometimes in this fantasy I say “I love you beyond the depths of reason!  You can have my car and all my money! Sophie can stay the night whenever you want! I will help you pay for college! You can eat candy all day! I’m sorry for every time I was impatient, stubborn, judgmental, snarky, demanding and I’m sorry I relied on you for my happiness and self worth! I’m sorry I encouraged you to be a good boy! I’m sorry I never showed you how to handle stress very well and I’m sorry I never told you about my depression, about your family history.” And then, right in the middle of this fantasy, I will be struck with the feeling that even now, I am dismissing your pain and making it about me. And I will cry and cry and cry and beg for another chance. I will think about how silly it is to think a snack and a hug could make you want to stay. I will wonder again and again if I ever really listened to or saw you. I will wonder over & over what I missed.

Even though they suck, these fantasies are far superior to the truth or the times I recreate your final moments and the aftermath–things I heard but did not see–yet somehow have managed to create a visual that haunts me as if it were real. This image, and the idea of you in so much emotional pain, and the horror of your violent death and the utter disbelief that all of this is real, they are why you may notice me frequently slapping my forehead or driving down the road screaming and crying, or stopping in the middle of a trail trying to stop from convulsing or making that weird noise at night when the house is too quiet and i cant find any peace. In case you wondered if I had developed a seizure disorder, it is just the side effects of chronic whatthefuckness.

I love you beyond the depths of reason–


I love us!

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.


6 thoughts on “My Dear Isaac”

  1. Love you, Christina. I think of you often. I wish I knew what to say, but don’t – and know I can’t make this better. But I’m listening. Hope to see you soon. Annie

    Sent from my iPhone



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