Tuesday, February 16, 2016

I Remember



Kerry Ryan Magann


In the moments immediately following his death, I remember how hard it was to breath. How blood curdling screams emptied my chest and how I sucked... air... in... so that I could scream again.

In the days following his death, I remember the slap of dawn and how I begged to hold on to the night.

In the weeks following his death, I remember how hard it was to eat, drink, bathe, and sleep. How impossible it was to function in a world that did not include him.

I remember how I drove to the beach on my birthday, waited for the tide to rise, and waded towards ripples of darkness. But I couldn't stay under long enough to make the pain go away.

In the months following his death, I remember how hard it was to talk about anything other than my son. I don't remember how I found my way to a grief counseling group but I remember I wore all black. There was one other person in the group - a mother who lost her only son. And I was no longer alone in my grief.

I remember how hard it was to listen. How I would twitch my feet, and shift anxiously in my seat, waiting for my turn to speak. I remember how much she loved her son. And how we cried and screamed and begged and pleaded.

I remember how we blindly stepped into traffic because we didn't want to walk in a world that did not include our sons.

I remember holding on to his scent, his ashes, his clothes, his notebooks. I remember holding on to every tear. And how I was convinced that these things, if held long and hard enough, would bring him back. Because life could not move on without him.

I remember confessing to the police that I killed him. And how they tried to convince me that I did not. I remember discovering his cold, gray, breathless body and how it haunted me for years (it haunts me still).  I remember worrying that as he was letting go, he was scared. And how his eyes, frozen open, pleaded for mercy.

I remember how cancer, and heartbreak, loneliness and fear, pale in comparison to learning how to breath without my son.

He challenges me still.

I remember the moment I decided to live because he could not.

I would watch his son grow. And I too would grow. And all who loved him would grow.

Today, on the 37th anniversary of his birth,  I remember his first breath. I remember how shocked I was that, like his father and my father, he did not have dark hair. I remember how wise and old and wrinkled he looked. I remember how my world changed the moment he was placed in my arms.

I remember so much about my beautiful son. Mostly, I remember how he loved and how deliberately he lived.





xo, MonkeyME



11 comments:

  1. Dear Shannon, your writing is amazingly beautiful, even when it is so painful to read, and must be so painful for you to write. Every time I read what you share about Kerry and his life and death, it breaks my heart and brings me to tears. I can't imagine living through such heartbreak. You are a remarkable woman and I'm honored to be your friend.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. and what a wonderful friend you are Becky. Thank you for reading. xoxo

      Delete
  2. My goodness, that was beautiful.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Jay :(((
      I get so sad sometimes.
      And then, thanks to the kindness and love of good friends, I get happy again.

      Delete
  3. I think that's the worst grief a parent could ever face, but I'm inspired by your journey through it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Crystal. It is an ongoing process. Thank you for reading about my son.

      Delete
  4. You are a beautiful being. Thank you for teaching us about grief through your magnificent writing. Humbled, I remain your friend, Ed

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Ed. I wish we lived on the same coast. You are one of those people I'd love to spend some realtime with. Love and blessings to you, my friend.

      Delete
    2. Maybe someday our real paths will cross. Stranger things have happened.

      :)

      Delete
  5. A beautiful post about your beautiful son, Shannon. I am so glad we found each other in that grief group. How can it be 14 years?? I think of Adam every day and miss him still.

    ReplyDelete
  6. What a moving testament to your grief and your son, and what cruelly-taught wisdom.

    ReplyDelete

Thank you for encouraging my JOY of writing. By reading and commenting you are feeding my soul, stroking my heart, and in the end...making me a better writer.

Thank You For Encouraging My Joy of Writing

Thank You For Encouraging My Joy of Writing
greenmonkeytales@live.com

Shannon E. Kennedy

***

Photo by Joan Harrison