So, here’s the thing…

it doesn’t get easier, this thing we call “missing Owen”.  It changes.  Certainly, it changes.  It has changed.  And, the depths of despair, of grieving the loss of the young man we knew and loved, of losing my baby, of knowing that each new day will be a day without him here to remind us of the things we haven’t thought of yet — those depths — they only grow deeper.  There’s no “time heals” with our loss of Owen.  Not yet, anyway.

I don’t know, I can’t predict, what might happen in time, in years to come.  I only know that because I don’t know what time is, and because I can’t fathom what time may become (given time, that is), I can’t imagine how I’ll greet each day in the future.  I only know about now. 

Now pretty much sucks.  Do I laugh when I hear something funny?  Yep.  Do I find moments that remind me of happiness?  Yep.  Do I feel happy?  I don’t know.  I’m having a hard time remembering what happiness feels like.  Mostly, I feel desperate.  Desperate to find meaning.  Any meaning. 

I find meaning in my family and friends.  I feel desperate to maintain my relationships with them.  I’m finding those relationships more precious, more prickly, more unpredicatable, and more dependent.  I depend on them to make waking up worthy.  I’m grateful…they do.

There’s one thing they can’t do for me, though.  They can’t make losing Owen less painful.  No one, nothing, seems to do that.  On the one hand, I don’t expect it.  On the other, I wish they could – wish something, anything – could.  Yet, if it was easy, I think I might feel like I hadn’t loved him enough.  So, here’s the thing…

I’ll never stop missing Owen.  I’ll never stop feeling guilty for all the things I did and said, and all the things I didn’t.  I’ll always wish I gave him more, did more, said more.  I’ll always wish he knew how beautiful he was.  I’ll always wish he knew how important he was to Nat, to the rest of us.  I’ll never look forward to a day without remembering him, never look forward to a time when he’s a distant memory.  He’ll never be a distant memory.  How could he be?  He lives in my heart and in my head.  Constantly.  Just beneath the surface…he’s here, he’s there, he’s everywhere. 

I remember a question Owen asked me on more than one occasion:  “If you could come back as any animal, what would it be?”  My answer each and every time, “A cat.”  We always thought that was a good choice, given how much we loved our own cats – except for that licking-as-bath part.  (It was more graphic than that, but not everyone would appreciate our gutter humor.)

If I could have given Owen something more, I would have given him my heart. 

Song for the night:  Hold Out Your Heart, Carly Simon (“…just hold out your heart, my darling…and I will give you all of mine.”)


~ by Linda on July 6, 2008.

9 Responses to “So, here’s the thing…”

  1. Linda , omg i so echo every word you write. pains my heart for you, for us!!!!!! I am always at your side. Miss your daily blogs but certainly understand, wish more people did! Sending big hugs to You & Your family. Lov, Sandy, Shanes mom forever

  2. There’s a change in me, she wrote:
    Because nothing’s changed in you, you see.
    And once the storm of endless night has passed
    Will time’s ripples linger in the dawn
    Of far distant coasts, as yet unseen?

    From where I stand, he said:
    The grainy, wispy cusps may fade
    Below the flood an hour from view
    But come the morning they’ll still grace the shore
    And rip across the beach anew.

  3. Linda —

    I can’t imagine. Glad to see you posted. You are in my thoughts.
    One of the few times I can’t think of anything to say.


  4. Hugs, Linda.

    I think of you often and wonder how you are doing when you don’t post for a while.

    Another hug.

  5. Dear Linda,

    You never forget someone you love, someone who was such an important part of your life, they neve fade from your memory, or get banished into history – but they do find a still quiet part of your mind and your heart to inhabit. A place where you can think of them often, but with less pain and more joy. A place where you can recall the wonderful happy times and enjoy them – and yet not forget the sad, missing them times either – and yet be able to handle it.

    There is no time frame. Each is different. As different as those that we love and lose, as different as each of us are. we cannot rush this process, we cannot make it happen, we cannot stop it hppening either.

    So time will heal – but that does not mean forgetting, or repressing, or denying, or no longer missing, or no longer feeling pain. It means remembering just as much – but from a place of calm – even if at times a calm despair.

  6. Whoever “Author” is – well said, well said! My thoughts in black and white.
    These are strong words…

    Have a bright and shiny day, Linda.

  7. Linda, tears fell as I read this, I am feeling so much of what you writing. You never forget and I always look for and see reminders of his presence. I spent this past weekend in Hot Springs Arkansas. we had reserved a room in the same motel that we had stayed at with Michael a month before his death, when we arrived there was a problem with our reservation and they moved us to another room. When I entered our new room I realized it was the same room that Michael, my husband and I had stayed in before his death. I knew because of a small amount of graffiti on the wall behind the door that Michael had joked about. As I was looking around the room remembering my sons laughter and smile I looked up above the door frame going into the bathroom only to see black greasy hand prints above the frame and I had to laugh out loud as I remembered my son coming into that room 10 months earlier and grabbing the door frame after repairing a broken drive shaft on his 67 Ford Bronco in the parking lot of the motel.
    I knew then that Michael would always be with us….just not in a physical form.

  8. Linda, I think I understand what you mean about how if the pain were less maybe it would mean you loved less…. Still, I know it’s no picnic, the grief, the unrelenting ache.

    I’m sorry I’ve been absent for a while, out of the country as you may have seen on my blog. It is good to be back, though it was also so nice to be in Scandinavia, where at ever turn I saw things that made me understand my beloved grandmother better….

  9. Linda, you GAVE him your heart! Of course, you did! One cannot read this without feeling that! Never think you did not. And remember, the human heart is so complex….so many emotions! But YOU GAVE HIM YOUR HEART!

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