Broken after losing a child: #PTSD #Pray #Heavenbound #amwriting

The Color of Loss is dedicated to my son

Chad Ryan

May 7, 1975 ~ October 14, 2014.

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Not that long ago I was one of the mothers who wondered how parents who’ve lost a child could live through the pain. Well, I can now tell you that we don’t want to live, but there’s only one alternative. While watching the movie Maleficent a couple of days ago when Angelina realizes she lost her wings, I thought, that’s it, that’s exactly how tortured I feel, only without hate and revenge.

There is only so much pain a person can bear and when I awoke the other morning once again overcome by the wretched horror that Chad is gone for good, I realized I may not make it. In a way it’s getting worse. It’s not even one minute at a time, it’s one moment at a time. I have to give it to God all day long. Any parent who has lost a child knows that we live each day with the unbearable pain that our child is gone and there is nothing we can do about it.  I don’t know what people do without faith. One thing that does help me is each night and some mornings I listen to online ministers, and then pray. I’d never get to sleep otherwise. Of course then when I awake in the middle of the night I’m met by what’s happened and I want to die. What makes it even more difficult for me is how it happened and what lead up to his death. Every parent needs to talk about, everything.

When someone dies, we don’t just say, well, it happened and move on. Something always leads up to the point of death whether it’s sickness, going through a traffic light, our driving on ice. It’s a known fact through studies that to bring some semblance of healing we need to talk about every last detail over and over until we come to terms with what happened. Something killed our children, they just didn’t close their eyes and die. There is always a story to their death.

I miss so many things about Chad, and each day there is something more I remember. I miss his face, his voice, his laughter, his wonderful bear hugs, his handsomeness, the way he loved and took care of others, and especially the way he said “I love you mamma.” I miss and love that he was the first one to call me when he knew I was going through something. I love that he was such a caring person, that he was humble, and that he was always the first to say he was sorry, because not one of us are perfect. I’m grateful that he loved Jesus and is in the presence of God all mighty for when we die we are even higher beings than the angels. We will one day be like Christ. Hard to believe, but then that’s why Jesus went through so much suffering at the cross.

*I love you Chaddieboy and no matter how I try, I can never be okay with what happened to you.*