My dad's journal about losing his son 2 and half years ago at
18 years old. My older brother, my hero.
“
INTO OBLIVION
It was hard to see our son slip into oblvion. I'll always
remember how lovingly Natalie held Tegan as he struggled to
breathe. Tegan was taking medicine to erase from his mind oxygen
hunger - without it he would be panicked, breathless, and gasping
for air. It was a medicine of mercy. As Tegan descended further
into the abyss he began taking other medications to erase from
his mind the pain of organ failure and the panic of dying.
We were not prepared for such things; we knew how to make
macaroni and cheese, play UNO and swim in ponds. We knew how to
laugh and play, do homework and tell stories around the kitchen
table. We didn't know how to manage the symptoms of death -
let alone watch our little boy die.
My dear wife demonstrated a bravery and steadiness that humbles
me to my core. She was soft and tender to Tegan and never did
anything to scare him - even though in her heart she was
terrified beyond measure. Occasionally I would find her in out
closet weeping next to a pile of tissues - but around Tegan, she
was steady and sure.
Though my sweet wife and I did our best to prepare for the
holocaust of losing our son, I discovered it wasn't possible
to intellectually or emotionally prepare for such a loss. Yes, I
knew it was coming and I wept in sorrow anticipating the loss of
my son - but, with all the sorrow I knew at the time, I at least
had the hope of another moment. There was always hope of another
something - and that kept the true weight of grief at bay. It
wasn't until Tegan was gone that the true weight of grief
broke every part of me. All of the sorrow I knew before,
anticipating his death, was but a foretaste of a much deeper pain
to come. That was when my heart was hurled into oblivion.
I have learned the true hell of losing a child happpens in the
aftermath, long after flowers and casseroles - that is when
it's the hardest. And it is hard for a long, long time. It
isn't hard for want of sympathy, it is hard because he is
gone. Really gone. Days seem to stretch eternal and night, with
its promise of sleep, is welcomed escape from oblivian and the
heaviness of grief.
For the next year and a half I found myself slipping in and out
of oblivion. The first 12 months were absolute oblivion - there
were more moments of tears than no tears. Thankfully that is not
the case today. I still cry every day, but I no longer cry all
day.
I find myself slipping into oblivian at the most unexpected
times. Although oblvion is no0 longer home to my broken heart, it
is a second home and my heart will take residence there without
any warning at all.
In fact, just yesterday I was in a business meeting discussing
many important topics related to our future as a business. At one
point, without warning or provocation, I was taken over by a
profound sense of loss. "He's gone. Tegan is actually
gone." I found myself quietly gasping for air thinking to
myself, "I can't believe he's gone." It was a
wrestle of the soul. I tried to push those feelings aside so I
wouldn't erupt in tears in the middle of our meeting in front
of the other men. By the time I reached my office and shut my
door, the floodgates opened. I wept as though I just lost
him.
I don't know how to grieve any more than I know how to watch
my child die. I just know how to make macaroni and chesse and
play with my kids. I know how to cuddle by the campfire and dream
up bedtime stories. I don't know how to live without Tegan -
but I dont have a choice in the matter. Each day I take a step
forward- and each day is a little better than the day before.
I miss my son - every moment of every day I miss him. I wish I
didn't have to go through this. And though I find my
heart in oblivion at the most unexpected moments, I'm somehow
able to find my way back to that path of healing, that path of
peace, and thankfully I haven't lost any ground.
Somewhere on the other side of all this hell, is heaven. I seak
after that.
.