Not Nearly the Jackasses We Could Be.

Ryan was born on Father’s Day twenty-eight years ago. We met our mid-wife at the hospital and she shared that she had a Father’s Day picnic to be at by 5 PM so if I could make that happen, that would be splendid. Not a problem, Ryan was born at 4 PM, nearly two weeks early, his birth was an easy event, took us about an hour. A beautiful broad shouldered 8 lb, 13 ounce red head, my Irish/Norse baby. He turned eighteen in Ireland. We sent him off to explore and he navigated airports and international travel seamlessly, wrote us the most delightful emails from his travels.

No small task to walk with your parents through that desolate valley of grief.

At twenty-eight he is still my broad shouldered Irish/Norse lad, has never met a dog he couldn’t talk to, cats are drawn to him like catnip, and he can fix just about anything. I find myself staring at him on our rare visits, schedules and distance keep us physically apart. When he is home, I soak in his presence. My heart catches when I see the shadows of pain on his face that will always be there since Justin’s death. I also see the strength and presence of a mighty oak tree. Strong roots, he has a calm self-confidence, and a wickedly funny wit.

I had mentioned to a friend that we weren’t nearly the jackasses we could be and we had Ryan to thank for that, he has raised us well. She said she never really thought of us as jackasses. See, the boy does good work. He has had to raise us by himself these past four years, almost five, since Justin’s death. No small task to walk with your parents through that desolate valley of grief. Nothing prepares you for the death of a son or brother, in seconds everything you have ever known changes.

…children are the wise ones, the educators, the jackass whisperers.

The older I get the more I realize that children are the wise ones, the educators, the jackass whisperers. They take adults who think they have it altogether and reconstruct their world, not unlike boot camp – tear them down, build them back up. He is our confidant, our reality check, our best friend. He is our first thought in the morning and the smile on our faces. He has become the voice of encouragement,  “Hey Ryan, your dad and I are going to walk the Camino in Spain.” “I think that is great”, he says.

Fear raises its ugly head and captures my imagination as we know that life is fragile and fleeting, how quickly his brother was taken from this life. How quickly Ryan could be taken also. Fear robs us of our opportunity to enjoy the present moment, it pilfers energy reserves. I text him, “Are you dead?” He texts back “I’m okay.” He has extended great patience with us as we learn to let go again, to live with an adventuresome spirit instead of dread and foreboding.

The merriest and happiest of birthdays to you Ryan. My dream and hope for this year is that it is a year of memory making, good memories, that there is laughter, and moments of peaceful solitude. That we have days of coffee and cake, to celebrate who we have become and to commemorate where we have been. It has been one wild ride and we would not have missed a minute of it. We love you.

Mom and Dad