When you lose a child there are so many milestones in the grieving process. Phases.
Just writing about the lose is making my heart race mostly because it's like peeling a band-aid off a large gaping wound. Always there because there is no cure, no treatment that can ever make it go away. Always dealing with it. It took a long time before I even had the courage to write about Trent. A phase.
Saturday, my husband and I began a conversation that I thought I would never have since the day we lost Trent.
It all started when we tossed around some ideas of home improvements. Then it shifted to talk about Trent's bedroom. Should we open it up to give us more living room and dinning space? Should we open part of it up and make part of it into a spare room to keep his things in? Should we box up Trent's belongings? Should we just leave it as is?
My heart dropped!
Brad said, "It's not like he's going to come home."
"I know." I reply.
Brad said, "Weill, I'm comfortable too just like we are. Do we really need more room?"
When Trent passed away, NO ONE was allowed to touch his bedroom. My well meaning sister began to clean his room and I thought I was going to blow a cork. How dare she touch Trent's stuff as if, now that he was gone that his belongings should be packed up where no one has to look at them. It wasn't her fault she really had no idea and frankly I hoped she never could understand. His room probably looked like any other typical 15 year old, trashed! But it still smelled like him and it looked like he would come home any moment. The night he was killed his lamp was on and I left it on until it burned out a few years later. That was a depressing day. Another phase.
Two years after his accident I finally could bring myself to clean it. Another phase. My husband couldn't help so it was up to me. While cleaning I buried my head in his clothes hoping to smell his scent of cologne or Axe bodywash that he liked but it was faded away. I kept everything, throwing nothing away, scraps of paper, unfinished class assignments, electronics, well ANYTHING! I just tidied it up. When it was done I accepted that it would have to be different. Another phase.
His room is in the most difficult spot in the house. Everyone has no choice but to walk by it to go into the kitchen or family room. With the door open you can look in to see that it is still decorated as Trent had it. I purposely did that. A closed door meant that I was ok with moving on and forgetting that Trent was ever part of us. I was not ok with forgetting. Stop sign on the wall, posters of snowmobiles and farm equipment, farm toys displayed, his backpack hanging on a hook, deer head , ball caps hanging from the antlers. Some walk by quickly, some look in, some don't even notice or chose not to. I am sure thinking that we can't accept or move on.
A few years ago my daughter got married and with that came two step-children and we needed a place to hold the toys for them to play with when they came over. Another phase. Now, that our daughter's family is bigger more room on the main floor would be nice but could I handle the change?
It's not the same nor will it ever be because Trent's not ever coming to our home he has a new home.
I often sit in there when I miss him. Just looking around. Thinking. Wishing.
I'm torn!
I'm scared!
Another phase.
We'll see.
That light. It's not out. You let it burn with every story you tell at lunch and every memory your share. It burns in that necklace you wear everyday and it shines. The bulb may have stopped but the light goes on.
ReplyDeleteThank you for bravely sharing this slice. I feel like I have met Trent now. And I can feel your loneliness. And I also see your amazing courage to keep going on while honoring the life of your son and doing little things to keep his memory alive. Thanks for sharing your sadness. May writing continue to help you as you live phase, by phase.
ReplyDeleteKris, your Trent stories are always my favorite. I can't imagine the hole his loss made in you but you share your love for him in every word of every story. Betsy is right, Trent's light goes on.
ReplyDeleteNo one truly understands your grief but you. No one can set the pace for your grief but you. We can all try to connect in some way, say some things we wish would help you, and maybe we do. I think you will know when the time is right to move to another phase. Or not. And if you decide to and you get scared, you can change your mind if you aren't quite as ready as you thought you were. It's all baby steps. Trent may have a new home, but his real home is in your heart.
ReplyDeleteKris, Thank you. Thank you for telling your story. My Mama heart raced just reading it and aches for you and your family as you transition through difficult phase. Big hugs.
ReplyDeleteSuch a brave post, putting your grief to paper. You are paying your respects with this story of a mother's love. From phase to phase, you are making your way forward. Just know that moving on is not the same as forgetting; I cannot imagine the latter even a possibility for a grieving mother.
ReplyDeleteThe loss of a child. No one understands exactly how it effects your life, even if, they too, lost a child. I lost my 15 month old baby. My baby would be 31 in August and even though the pain has eased, it remains. Having a 17 year old son, my heart aches for you. Someone told me that when you loose a child, everything you feel, EVERYTHING, is normal, natural and necessary. Your phases. Your son, I think, is so proud of you. Proud with every phase. The last thing our kids want for us is suffering. I'm proud of you writing through, despite and because of your pain. ❤️ Trent has a fine mother.
ReplyDeleteI am so sorry. Thank you for sharing this very powerful post.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing such a hard part of your story. What a beautiful story it is even though it's has a few difficult chapters. My thoughts are with you.
ReplyDeleteThank you for this brave post. The light in the room may have gone out, but the light in your heart is a constant. It sounds like you have many memories to share about Trent. Perhaps writing could help. Written words make our memories permanent. May you find comfort as you continue to work through your grief.
ReplyDeletes you've opened the door to Trent's room to allow yourself to grieve and honor his memory, you continue to open other doors as you grieve. May you continue to find peace and solace with your memories of Trent as well as with your loved ones now.
ReplyDeleteI too want to thank you for sharing the story of your loss, and also telling us a little bit about your son. As many wrote, there is no set of instructions for how to feel while grieving, no expectation of "should be/should do". Your naming phases feels helpful, and I hope it is to you. My husband passed away a little over three years ago, not the same at all as your loss, but grief and sadness, and phases. I did share finally about him in this group, and I felt good to write about him, about my feelings too. I would like to know more about your son, and wonder if it will help you to tell us more? My thoughts and prayers go to you.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing. So powerful and sad..I can't aging what it must be like. I love the idea of phases. Prayers and love to you.
ReplyDeleteKris,
ReplyDeleteI can't imagine what your loss must feel like, but your words provide a picture of the raw feelings you still have, and will probably always have, about your son. No one can tell you what is the best thing to do at this time. Maybe, whatever needs to happen with your son's room will happen over time, naturally. Maybe his room will transform into a space to store your grandchildren's toys? Maybe that is the new special iteration for your son's room? A memory, a tribute, another phase? Thinking of you.
Your words are courageous and a comfort for those who have survived such as loss. As I shared with my friend there are no rights or wrongs, no rules, Grief has its own path.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing about Trent. I am so sorry for your unending loss. You have written so beautifully.
ReplyDeleteKris, Thank you for sharing this post - I can't even imagine your pain and loss. I love how you accept each phase - no judgment of yourself or others. This is your path to walk and you are creating it as you walk. Your writing is beautiful as is your heart. You have given us a gift - a reminder to slow down, not worry about the messy room, the light left on, the food left on the floor - a reminder to embrace the day, give an extra hug and be thankful for those in our lives. I know I will slow down today and think of you and Trent.
ReplyDeleteClare
Thank you for sharing your vulnerability with us all. As a young widow I think I feel some of your pain and loss, but I know to it is different. So much to comprehend and deal with and only time can tell. You will know when it is time.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing your vulnerability with us all. As a young widow I think I feel some of your pain and loss, but I know to it is different. So much to comprehend and deal with and only time can tell. You will know when it is time.
ReplyDeleteGod bless you for writing this. How brave it is that you shared this unimaginable raw pain and thought processing with the world. My heart aches for you. I cried for you. The description of how he left his room, the light on, his decorating. The smell. Oh my. I'm so sorry for your loss but so thankful that you write and let others in to know, you will keep breathing. Powerful slice.
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