Hallmarks

I'm discovering that the path of grief is full of hallmarks; those moments that stop you in your tracks and suck the air out of your lungs.  Moments like watching Ian's body being wheeled out to the van (since they don't use a hearse anymore, it's a nondescript white van), finding out that his body had been cremated, seeing his death certificate for the first time, reading his obituary in the newspaper, cancelling his cell phone and the other day it was the check for his life insurance arriving in the mail.  Those are moments that tear your soul. 

There are also those moments that turn into treasures like finding a project that Ian had made in school called "The first 3000 lives of Ian M Hassett" filled with his comments about his life, kind words for his friends and what he looked forward to in the future.....it was very Ian.


Every night before I go to bed, I visit Ian's room.  I smell his chemo hat because, for right now, it still smells like him.  Then I start rummaging through his things; I look in his bookshelves to see what other hidden treasures I might find.  Maybe a paper he had written, or his thoughts on a book he read, or a poem or a sketchbook I hadn't seen before.  Last night I realized I go there looking for bits of Ian that I didn't know.  I look for ways for Ian to continue to reveal himself to me, I look for a connection to my son.  Then I realized, I will soon run out of ways to get to know my son better because there will be nothing left to discover.  There will be no more thoughts for him to ponder, no more ideas to sketch; he's done everything he was meant to do here on Earth and I will simply be left with what was and the hope that I will see him again.  For the first time in my life, I understand the phrase, 'yearning for heaven'.  I yearn for a life that is free of pain and suffering and only contains joy and rejoicing.

I don't know if I'll always be sad.  Sometimes I feel like I've been sad for such a long time; I've been crying for almost two years, every since his diagnosis.  Will I remember how I was before?  Cuz I'm sure I was happy a lot more than I was sad.  People tell me it gets better, that your happy memories start to replace your grief - I'm think I'm a long way from that yet.

I don't know if every parent is consumed with the idea that their child not be forgotten.  I would imagine there are more parents like me who feel that way, which is why we hear about parents who have found a way to keep their child's name alive via a memorial fund benefiting some cause. Don't we all want to be remembered after we leave this earth, don't we want our time here to have made a difference somehow, to someone?  Our way of keeping Ian's memory alive is his Art Scholarship.  The donations have come in and all the 'Thank you' notes have been written....what do I do now?  Maybe it's time to keep my promise to Ian and contact that publishing company about publishing Ian's Caring Bridge...he wanted that to happen.  And it's one more way for me to stay connected to Ian.