Friday, September 23, 2011

September 23, 1985

Twenty-six years ago today my oldest son was born.

I've spend the last six years ignoring this day, it usually comes and goes without a tear shed, mostly because I am a coward when it comes to grief. I've learned, recently in fact, that by not dealing with it myself I have, I think, irrevocably damaged my other two kids. In not dealing with my own grief, I have not taught them how to deal with theirs. Kevin does pretty well, he is stoic when it comes to Tad, but I think he was the first (and possibly the only) one in our family to really deal with the death of his brother. Jarakah is another story, although I know she is dealing better now.

I did rather well today, ignoring it as I usually do, knowing the date, but keeping the feelings that go with it in the back of my mind, keeping the thoughts and memories stamped down and quiet. But then I told him happy birthday on Facebook, and the posts from others started showing up. Then Jari posted a picture of him, one that was taken just a week or so before he was killed.
This is Tad. I'm not sure if I've ever posted a picture of him here before. I doubt it with the way I avoid all but one of his pictures. I have his senior picture on my microwave, next to his senior prom picture, and his obituary. Even then, my eyes only graze over them except on occasion when I will intentionally look at him, just to see if it still hurts as much. It always does.
Next month, October 25th, will be the anniversary of his death, another date I would rather not acknowledge, and it too usually passes without anything but the stamping of thoughts and memories.
I've only been to his grave three times, he is buried with my Dad, my brother, and my twin nephews who died soon after they were born from lung complications. I have always told myself there is no reason to visit, really. None of them are really there, their souls are elsewhere, there is just a box and dirt. I don't know if I'm just telling myself this to reconcile my inability to deal with death and the reality of it, or if I really believe it.
At any rate, no matter how much I try to ignore the fact that he is no longer physically in my life, he is in my heart and soul, and he always will be. 


Michelle said...

Thank-you for sharing Tad's picture, and your thoughts. Too many people you love populating that cemetery; too many of them died too young. I hope you and your family can someday work through your grief instead of avoiding it at all costs; I think otherwise it stays there, demanding to be acknowledged.

Jody said...

Oh Becky...a child IS a Mother's heart and soul aren't they. I have heard so many stories from people who have 'died' and they say once they leave their bodies that they feel peace and just want to go into the light. It's the ones that are left behind grieving that feel the pain.
Your Tad looked like a lovely young man :-) Hugs.....Jody

Laura said...

It's good for you to visit his grave. It's the only real concrete reminder of him... Yes, it's very sad; yes, it is a terrible tragedy that he was taken so young. But, if it helps you to go there, talk to him and let him know you still love him, it's worth it to you, and to your family (by extension).

Go, talk to your son when you get home - I think you'll be glad you did.

(I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes writing this... No one cries alone in my presence... I'll be thinking of you with love.)

Sharon said...

I have to agree with Jody. Tad has moved on. Loss of the one we love is the hardest thing. I wish I knew how we are supposed to move on.