From Zero to Sixty…

I find it true that engaging the mind and body in totally new environments does facilitate the movement of memories and thoughts, it gently coaxes the brain in new directions under the guise of learning or experiencing something new.

How paradoxical that one of those avenues for thought has been my introduction to sports cars.  Since 1992 I have driven nothing but mini-vans and been quite content, in fact still driving a mini-van.  I remember the first time Ryan took me out in the 3000GT, sleek, fast, a surprisingly comfortable passenger seat. I was nervous, being in any vehicle brings back memories of Justin’s accident, visions of crushed metal and shattered glass. Choking anxiety creeps up your throat, but the desire to be out in the sunshine overrides the train wreck in my head.  As I remember to breathe,  I sense how well weighted and balanced the car is, how she holds the road, and in spite of myself I smile. I can start to ask Ryan questions about what makes her tick. The anxiety is still there, but it is no match for blue sky and a full tank of gas.

When I was offered a ride in the Supra, I had little to no angst, just the thrill of another brilliant blue sky and the promise of a ride and lunch with our surviving child. The Supra is different that the GT, lighter – I didn’t have that sense of weight in the frame.  I sorta missed the GT, but was willing to give the Supra a chance, although being a female myself, I was not so easily enchanted with her curves and pretty face.

She is quiet, purrs more than roars, smooth. We are able to let her out a little, I remember being somewhat disappointed with the transition from a full stop to second gear – the GT roared a bit, but the Supra was quieter, didn’t seem as fast. I wrestled with how to phrase the question to Ryan about her sluggishness in second gear, I didn’t want to seem as if I was being critical. Unable to do so, I just spit it out that she didn’t seem as nimble as the GT, Ryan looked over and smiled “Mom, that was 60 in second gear.”  “Oh” says I, duly humbled and impressed.  I snuggle down in the passenger seat, I still miss the GT but am more than content to explore the road in the Supra.

…zero to 60 in seconds. The parental brain on grief.

I think of what Ryan said everyday, couple of times a day…zero to 60 in seconds.  Yes, it was a charming and humorous moment, but it stuck for another reason. I realized this week that it describes the parental brain on grief. I fight to not become physically sick when I don’t hear from Ryan, and allow me to share that he touches base at least once a day.  His awareness and attentiveness to our hearts is gift and blessing. But should a longer day pass, the constrictions start around my heart and move through my body.  I naturally assume that he is dead. There is no gradual incline, no lag in gears. We go straight from zero to sixty, from breathing normal to Oh, God…not him, please not him. We move from emptying the dishwasher to making plans to find his body.  Don’t laugh…don’t shake your head, and don’t even say “you know, they make a pill for that.”  This is normal, uncomfortable, but normal. I am not the only parent who experiences the above, we learn to live with the reality that our children can die…alone…not to be found for hours after their death. I find myself so angry with those who quip “well, you just have to trust”, or “you have to have faith.”

Faith and trust. This dance with God, sometimes it is free and flowing, sometimes I circle warily, body tensed, half-crouched waiting for His next move.  Not a dance partner at all, but now my adversary.  Everything I trusted Him with, every prayer, every Mass, every thought, every small offering…in my heart He turned a deaf ear and took the one person that each of us needed in our lives. Took him brutally, alone, abandoned to float dead in a car.  “just have faith”…

Trust and faith. When a child dies, you are not handed an exemption card, you are not granted safe passage for the rest of your life from burying another. Death does strike the same place, the same family, we have talked to those families, we know that it happens.  “you just have to trust”…

I smile, I bite my lip so I don’t cry, and my heart takes a picture.

I tear my eyes from the scenery as we cruise along, catch a glimpse of Ryan’s profile.  I smile, I bite my lip so I don’t cry and my heart takes a picture.  I breathe in that sense of contentment that comes from a healthy dose of Ryan.  He tells me that anytime I am ready, I am more than welcome to drive the Supra, but I am happy to be ensconced in the passenger seat, learning to listen to for the second turbo…trying to envision what is happening in the engine.  The mental exercise clears a path for clarity  of thought.

I wonder if I will ever dance again with God like I once did, or will I hold back…prefer to keep my back to the wall rather than exposed?  Will He woo me back out unto the dance floor, or make me come to Him…will it ever be the same?  Do I have to start over from the beginning, to learn how to trust, to define what faith is, do I perhaps meet my divine dance partner for the first time?  Was our first dance the dance of youth, eager, brashly promising my heart to whatever His will held for me?  Now I take His hand older, tired, knowing what surrender means, what it means to let God lead the dance, it is both old and new, eternal yet temporal.  I step all over His feet, but there is compassion in His eyes, are they even wet?…does His heart hurt as well with the new steps I now have to learn?  He doesn’t expect me to learn the new steps in zero to 60, He is content for me to be slowly trying…He reminds me to look up, don’t look at your feet…shoulders back, there you go…try again.

The keys to the Supra catch my eye…I smile. Plenty of days until winter.