Why There Are No Calendars for Bereaved Mothers

With my son’s one-year mark closing in, I am reminded of exactly how short-lived our time here on Earth really is. I can’t believe a whole year has almost come and gone. That’s 365 grief-stricken days since my husband and I lay in his hospital bed with my head on his rattling chest, as he struggled to breathe and we said our final goodbyes. I held his little hands in mine, wiping the tears steadily falling from my eyes away with his tiny fingers. I had so much I wanted to say to him, but so little time to say it. I just kept telling him over and over again how sorry I was, how much I love him, and how we would be together again soon.

Most days I feel as though the world is moving on without me. No matter how much time passes, it’s like I’m still in room 548 on the 5th floor of the Hasbro Children’s Hospital, the clock on the wall still reads 5:45 a.m. and I can’t seem to pick myself up off that cold, hard floor and put my life back together.

It’s as if the world has forgotten about me; it has left me behind. It seems the more things change, the more they stay the same. I just wish I could tell my heart what my mind already knows. But sometimes, I still can’t believe he’s really gone.

I never pictured my life this way. These kind of things only happen in the movies or to other people. Not to me. Not to my family. Not to my blonde-haired, blue-eyed, freckled-nosed little boy. I’m completely frozen in time.

Honestly, I feel like I haven’t taken a whole breath since he took his last one.

My calendars aren’t marked by birthdays and anniversaries anymore. Those happy days are long gone. I have two days out of a whole year that mean anything at all to me. August 31st, a day that used to be a celebration, the day Rylan was born. Now the only significance it holds is a reminder that he will be 8 years old forever. He will never make another wish and blow out his candles. There will be no more parties or presents. It’s just a sad day to sit along side his grave and grieve for what could have been. Then there’s September 24th, a day that needs no calendar to mark its place. It’s forever embedded in my mind. The day my soul was ripped from my body and the life was sucked out of me. The day my family fell apart, and a day I will relive for the remainder of my entirety here on this Earth. The day Rylan died.

It’s hard for me to remember what my life was like before Rylan came along. I’m sure it was just as empty as it is now that he’s gone. I can’t recall a single memory without him in it.

See, when you lose a child, what was a 12-month calendar now consists of just those two days.

We just survive every one in between.

I mean, how can you move forward when so much of you is missing? 

Follow this journey on the Remembering Rylan Blog

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