Yesterday was the seventh. Exactly twenty-three months since Ryan’s barbaric attack. Like every month on the seventh, I was sad. It’s the type of despair that weighs heavy. Like a cold, wet blanket. The type of feeling where I become acutely conscious of my breathing. Every breath is noticed and occasionally I must remind myself to exhale. My mind and body were practically begging for a break from the despair, but life was to have none of that. It was awful.
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So, just like every other eighth of the month, I’m pissed. A powder keg of pure and raw emotion. I’ll surely go through my “it’s just not fair” phase today. Eventually conceding to the fact that, yes, it isn’t fair and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it. Oh yes, I accept that life isn’t fair, but why must it be so effin’ cruel? Why! Today, I’ll need to slow my respiration down. It is awful.
I don’t even want to think about next month — the second anniversary — but, I must. If I allow myself to get to that date without mental preparation I’ll certainly crumble all at once. It’s best slowly erode over this time, I suppose. Maybe this is the right approach, maybe not. I’ll get back to you on that in 29 days. It will be awful.
Perhaps I’m more negative than normal. Probably so, but not without cause. My mind is occupied by a recent development with Ryan’s blood pressure. Without warning, it will drop to concerning levels. Two evenings ago it went to as low 76/48. We are able to bring it back up by lowering his head, putting him at a real risk of aspiration. It’s one of those times when we fall back the belief that it is best to treat the present condition in lieu of a potentially worse condition (that we might, in fact, cause). Did I mention life isn’t fair… and cruel?
It’s hard to acknowledge (and accept) his brain stem is still trying to figure things out, sometimes overcompensating. It’s a reminder that Ryan is never truly out of mortal danger.
Never.
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Still here checking in on Ryan. Praying, hoping, caring for a family that is amazing. Miss the updates. Hope all is ok. Beth
Praying here that all is ok. Thinking about the last BP post and worried.
Ken,
Like Colleen said, I hope everything is okay. I keep checking back numerous times every day because it makes me nervous not to hear from you. Praying for Ryan and his continual healing, as well as for you, Sue and Kari. Still here and never leaving your side.
I sure hope everything is ok. Three days with no word and the last post was a tough one. I hope Ryan is ok.
Still here, always here, forever
SHSP, NGA–never far from my thoughts.Love,Annie
Dear Ken, may you feel the love of Team Diviney surround you, and know that during most every hour of every day, someone is lifting up you and your family in prayer…and that we suffer with you
Love, hugs, prayers always, Paula
What’s going on – 2 days without a post makes me very nervous. Hope all is well.
i was thinking the same thing! does anyone have info??? not like ken not to post!
I wish there were something more we could do to make this agony go away, to make everything instantly better so that you wouldn’t have to endure this. In the meantime, may the love, prayers and support from all of us bring some amount of solace and peace to you and your family.
Always Praying for Ryan and your family.
I feel bad that another monthly anniversary of that terrible event has come. We continue our prayers for your family and for Ryan to get better. God bless you.
With you always in thought, prayers, and spirit.
Love, Peggie
I wish I could say or do something that would make it better. The only thing I can say is SHSP.
Always here, never far.
Your pain will not end as long as he is in the state that he is in, but I hesistate to tell you that the pain will become your new norm. I say this with 4 years under my belt (my 4 childrens’ Dad had his TBI on Father’s Day 2007). It is almost like we are so used to him the way his now (hemiplegic, severe personality change, angry, depressed, suicidal), and sometimes I forget who he used to be. Our outcome was the best we could have anticipated according to the doctors, but life as we knew it ended. Every prognosis that the doctors made was wrong. I saw your post about Ryan holding a baseball and that being familiar to him. Andrew was a 3rd degree blackbelt and kept moving his leg and whispering something during the coma (after the trach was removed). We finally figured out that he was saying “front kick” and “sick kick”. Everyone was amazed. We also constantly gave him a ball and moved his arm and released it as to throw. After hundreds of practice times, he began to throw the ball when it was given to him. I knew he “was in there somewhere”. I hope your son finds his way out of that coma. Andrew doesn’t remember anything from his, but he does carry the benefits of all the therapy and love given to him while he was in the coma. He said the time is lost and it is like he had died for a part of his life. Anyway, my family and I wish you the best.
Thinking of all of you, always. SHSP, NGA! Hugs to all of you. Hang tight — we got this!!
Ken, We are always here for you. Not much any of us can say to ease your heartbreak ,but I do feel this too somehow will pass and Ryan will get better Thinking of you all Love Gail Pray his pressure will be normal
This much most of us know: Life is not fair! Some of us know it all too well. Sometimes our thoughts are filled with “if only, what if, why, and especially, I can’t take this anymore!” But somehow we keep on keeping on, thank God. My solution to the unfairness of life is to keep the faith and trust God, eat well (too well, sometimes) and take my vitimins (many). My mom and dad always told me to do my best, keep my chin up, and feel the love that surrounds me. I have tried to live it and pass it on to my own children. Love
Always sending love and prayers to you…