It was early December 2010, just under a month since Ryan was beaten. He was still in a daily struggle… just to survive. His brain stem sprung a hemorrhage that caused him to be rushed back into surgery. We learned there was nothing that could be done. It would either clot on its own or he would die within a day. I remember the doctor telling us, just as a matter-of-fact as it could be, “these things tend to go downhill quickly”.
That night, I sat in the ICU, scared beyond words. I was numb. The room was dim, with nothing more than a small flourescent casting an antiseptic glow. The only sounds were Ryan’s breath and the repetitious beep from a monitor that matched his heart beat. He was in peril and the dawn of a new day might find him no longer with us.
More than a few times I held my breath waiting to hear it life-confirming beep again. I cradled his sunken head against mine. I felt his warm breath against my face and treasured each one. Then, I told him he must decide if he wants to lay his burden aside. I assured him I, and everyone else, would understand. I kissed his forward and waited.
What could I say to capture the terror of it all? A fear that repeated itself after every beat of his heart. Nothing would do, so I posted a message to FaceBook that simply said “Just when you reach the end of your rope, it starts stretching on you”.
Yes, it was that early on that I was at the end. How would I possibly hold on even another minute, let alone another day? A month would be unthinkable. Two years… well… that’s just crazy talk. It was that night that I made a pact with myself to live in the moment. I learned that the moment is all we have. People tell me to tie a knot and hang on, but how is this possible when I always must keep one hand off the rope to hold up Ryan?
<via http://tundraprisoner.blogspot.com/>
Really, what exactly is this “rope” anyhow? Resolve? Hope? Foolishness? Probably all these… and more. These are, perhaps, the strands that are braided together, giving a false sense of strenth. Here’s the thing, this rope not only stretches, it frays. I can practically see the fibers weaken and hear each thread snap. Then, when I find myself looking at a rope that is nothing more than a hair-thin thread, I must muster every ounce of strength to lift myself above the fray. Only the rope begins immediately stretching again as it bears the force of the situation, with the added weight of relying on others to carry the responsibility and accountability that should be the attackers. This rope not only stretches and frays, it also shortens.
I’d be fooling myself if I hadn’t wonder what it would feel like to just let go. Yes, just not even think about it and spread my fingers. Would it hurt when I hit the ground or would it stop the pain? Or would I just keep falling into some black, bottomless abyss, eternally cursing myself for not holding on? Truth is, I’ll never know the answer to this. I refuse to let go… letting go is giving up.
<via http://www.duhaime.org/>
As I hold on, I experience every emotion. I’ve lived at the extremes of both ends of love and hate, hope and despair, and gratitude and resentment. Hell, often in all places at the same time. It’s like being emotionally drawn-and-quartered. Every emotion is my body is screaming for it to just stop. Please, no more. Not only is this intense, it’s sustained. For over two years… intense and unrelenting.
It’s the epitome of mental torture. What EVER could be worse?
May the Lord continue to bless and strengthen you – your courageous struggle has strengthen my faith; and your love for your son is very inspiring!
prayerfully,
It is with great trepidation that I write this.
In the past year, I watched 11 friends fall. In the past three years, I have buried my mother, my sister and a lifelong childhood friend. Add Ryan to the mix and it’s has been one hell of a run.
I have asked myself many times how much tragedy can one man witness or take on before he reaches his breaking point. Ryan has impacted me as much, and in some ways more than the death of my mother and my sister. Losing Mom left me as the head of the Clan…not a job I wanted or applied for. Losing Lynn is leaving me with an emotional hole in the very fiber of my being. It’s bad.
This is all minor, when compared to Ryan’s situation and here’s my point………
When Lynn got ill, I thought of Ryan.
When she needed to have a feeding tube installed, I thought about Ryan and all of the time and energy you put towards his nutrition. When she could no longer take food on her own, I sought out your advice and had a feeding pump introduced (a minor godsend).
When Lynn’s condition really began to deteriorate and we had to do more and more for Lynn, I thought of Ryan and all of the care that you have been providing to him for such a long time.
I may have mentioned that Ryan was never far from my thoughts, no matter how consumed I became. When I became consumed, I thought about what you are going through with Ryan and drew strength. One foot in front of the other, brother. Some days that’s all I had to offer.
I know that there are inherent differences in our experiences and here’s my point. I’m not even sure that this will help…….
Thank you for being there for me, despite all that you have on your plate.
I have gained a better understanding of care from you and applied it to make my Sister much more comfortable.
I gained strength from Ryan and from you. Who couldn’t? Not a “someone has it worse than me”. More like “If he can do that dammit, I can do this”.
I got a bit hardened, which served me well as I needed to be the rock for everyone. You are a good “rock” role model. I was able to manage my emotions and keep to the task at hand.
Not saying any of this is fair or good. It sucks and is completely unfair.
What I am saying is thanks Ken!
From the bottom of my heart.
No one should have to bear this pain alone, thank God for your good neighbors, family and friends to help you. Always thinking and praying for you.
Ken, hang in there. You are doing a fantastic job. Without you, Ryan would have to rely on help from others which in no way could be of the quality and dedication that you provide. We pray that God provide you the strength and support you need to carry on each day. We are praying for you guys and you are in our thoughts.
Ken,
Not one of us following your family can truly understand the depth and intensity of your pain. Not one of us knows for we have not lived the day to day experiences you have endured for over 2 years.
We do know what it means to love so the best that we can do is imagine the roller coaster of emotions that you experience day by day and sometimes minute by minute.
We are so, so, very sorry that such violence was inflicted upon your son. It’s beyond unfair.
The one gift we can give you is to stay with you, Sue, Ryan, and Kari. To support you by listening to you, to continue to be attentive listeners so that you can always express your hopes, dreams, fears, anger, confusion, memories, pain, joy and faith. While your faith has been destroyed, I do pray that it will one day be restored. Evil did not have the final say. Love did-you show that everyday in the way you care for Ryan.
Collectively we have many resources to share with your family and we must do so. Keep informing this body of the specific needs your family has so we can meet them.
May you experience some comfort knowing that there are so very many people that care and will not abandon your family.
Yeah, what she said : )
Ken, I don’t know how you do it.
Ken,
I still remember the post that said that Ryan’s brain stem was hemorrhaging. I told Nin to call up her Bible study friends for an emergency prayer meeting. We all sat around on my family room floor and prayed and prayed and prayed. I prayed until I pictured in my head that it had clotted. I remember those days well.
I never in a million years would’ve thought that Ryan would be where he is today. Honestly, back then, I couldn’t begin to picture two years ahead. Only day by day. And each day that he stormed was heartbreaking. I remember those storming days getting behind us once he came back home. I would smile with each post of Duke snuggling up against Ryan, or of Sue sitting playfully in Ryan’s thing that hoists him up (word for that? escapes me right now). The picture of you and Kari and Sue in scrubs not long after the Today show. The picture of Kari laying on Ryan’s chest in the hospital, and Sue looking beautiful at the Declutter for the Divineys (And Peter looked good in that dress!). Ryan yumming down Thanksgiving tastes on the video, and Grace and Faith singing Christmas carols with Mr. Ken at the Mediterranean Breeze karaoke.
So much pain to endure, and yet, every once in a while, a little bit of life shows up. A little bit of hope. A reason to keep on keeping on.
If you ever feel like letting go, Ken, I understand. It’s just too much for one man to carry. And if you do, I know of a God who will catch you when you fall.
Sending lots of love to you and Sue and Kari and Ryan, Cass
It gives me so much hope knowing that people like you and the Diviney’s are out there – so inspiring, thoughtful, selfless, and relentless with your hope. Thank you!
What could be worse? Feeling nothing…no hate, no remorse, no love…You can’t feel love without feeling all of the rest. And, because you feel the rest, your love is intense. Your love is so intense. Try to receive it as intensely. That’s what brings the peace.
Ken, We are here always and trying to hold you and Sue up. Ryan is so strong, and even when you feel like you do, you are VERY strong too… Hang on , Ryan will surprise you. Love ,and have to say praying for all.
Gail
To say it’s not fair sounds incredibly inadequate. No parent should have to experience the things you and Sue go through on a daily basis. All I can say is I’m sorry and I try to send you folks strong positive thoughts on a regular basis. Try to stay strong and hang on to the rope. Still here.
Ken, not only are you a gift to your son and family, but you have a beautiful gift of writing. We are ever grateful for you sharing your raw emotions and innermost feelings with us. Sending love to you, Ryan, Sue & Keri. SHSP, NGA!
Ken we are all holding on tight to Ryan and your family. The strength you provide and the love you give is the reason why Ryan keeps holding on too. One day the miracle will happen and Ryan will be able to thank you for the strength you have.
On another note, read an article in the News & Messenger today… another reason why we LOVE Michael & Sons. They fixed a heating and air conditioning system for FREE for family with a son that has muscular dystrophy. Much love to them!
http://www2.insidenova.com/news/2012/feb/03/dumfries-family-home-repairs-surprise-eagles-vick-ar-1656950/
As parents we should put our children first. But all to often you see parents who are unwilling to even spend time with their child, let alone devoting their life helping them survive. But, Ken, you and Sue are doing this day in and day out. What a true testament to the love of family. While I don’t think any of us can feel the unending pain you are experiencing know that Ryan’s ability to fight through each life-threatening battle shows he, like you, is not giving up. And who could blame him. Any of us would give anything to have parents like you and a sister like Kari. Stay strong.
Ken, We are holding on with you. Your grief is ours, your joys shared as well. We will hang on as long as you can. Much love, Jen
Diviney family, you are an inspiration to myself and so many families that have struggled with the question whether to give up because it would be “easier”! Stay strong with your faith and know we are rallying with you with unending prayers! God bless you!
Your pain is unfathomable, but our hope is unending. Praying with expectancy for the miracle we know will come. Love you Diviney family. ♥