Remembering Our Angel
Today is the one-year anniversary of the loss of our son, Ryan Matthew Donahue.
I miss him every day.
He was stillborn at 20 weeks on Sept. 5, 2012. I held him in my arms that morning in the hospital and wished by some miracle that he could have survived. But we were not granted a miracle.
I miss talking about him in the present tense, like my wife Dawn and I did when she was still pregnant with him. I miss talking about what we had planned for him. Little things, like the theme of his nursery, to big things, like what religion he would be taught. Beforehand, I had imagined what it would be like to take him to school, toss a football to him at a park, read my favorite kid’s books to him, and watch him smile, learn and grow.
Our loss was understandably devastating. Things like this typically tear a couple apart or bring them closer together. There were times when I thought that Dawn and I would not survive the loss, and I’m sure she felt the same way. We are still together today and I hope we have many years ahead of us. But we had to endure intense suffering that no one can understand unless they have lost a child of their own.
My wife channeled her pain into a poignant book titled Because I am Ryan’s Mommy. In it, she shares her grief and her healing in heartbreaking and inspiring detail. She is stronger than she realizes, and her strength grows each day. I am stronger for having known her.
Time hasn’t healed us yet. Maybe it never will. We have planted a tree in Ryan’s memory. I hope it grows into a sturdy being, its branches reaching toward the sky. I like to think his spirit is around us everyday, that he is watching over us they way we would have watched over him.
I miss my son and if there is a Heaven, I look forward to seeing him again someday.
I miss him every day.
He was stillborn at 20 weeks on Sept. 5, 2012. I held him in my arms that morning in the hospital and wished by some miracle that he could have survived. But we were not granted a miracle.
I miss talking about him in the present tense, like my wife Dawn and I did when she was still pregnant with him. I miss talking about what we had planned for him. Little things, like the theme of his nursery, to big things, like what religion he would be taught. Beforehand, I had imagined what it would be like to take him to school, toss a football to him at a park, read my favorite kid’s books to him, and watch him smile, learn and grow.
Our loss was understandably devastating. Things like this typically tear a couple apart or bring them closer together. There were times when I thought that Dawn and I would not survive the loss, and I’m sure she felt the same way. We are still together today and I hope we have many years ahead of us. But we had to endure intense suffering that no one can understand unless they have lost a child of their own.
My wife channeled her pain into a poignant book titled Because I am Ryan’s Mommy. In it, she shares her grief and her healing in heartbreaking and inspiring detail. She is stronger than she realizes, and her strength grows each day. I am stronger for having known her.
Time hasn’t healed us yet. Maybe it never will. We have planted a tree in Ryan’s memory. I hope it grows into a sturdy being, its branches reaching toward the sky. I like to think his spirit is around us everyday, that he is watching over us they way we would have watched over him.
I miss my son and if there is a Heaven, I look forward to seeing him again someday.
date
newest »
newest »
message 1:
by
K.A.
(new)
Sep 05, 2013 06:03AM
I lost my son Roland on January 2nd, 2006. I am so, so sorry for your loss. It never goes away but the day will come when you realize that you have gone the whole day without that pain, or without Ryan himself, being at the forefront of your mind. The first couple of times that happens, you will feel guilty. Eventually you will understand that it is part of continuing to live. After that it will get easier. I'll be praying for you.
reply
|
flag
Babe, this is beautifully written. I never thought losing Ryan would tear us apart except for initially. When I finally accepted that people grieve in different ways, especially men and women, I knew we would make it! We have a very strong, very secure marriage, and I thank God everyday for you. You kept ME going. Losing Ryan was, no IS, the most devastating thing and we are surviving. We carry him in our hearts until we can see him and all ther ones we lost before him again in heaven. We have a very large family, we just have to be patient and wait before we get to meet them. Ryan came to visit me last night. We were playing on the slide and swings at a playground and running through a sprinkler. He was laughing and I was happy. Then I woke up suddenly an for a split second, I saw our little boy standing near my side of the bed. Once awake, I realized it was just my laundry hamper piled with clean clothes. But it was also 4:36am. 4 minutes before Ryan was born. He was here this morning. He is all around us, always. He loves us and misses us as much as we love and miss him. And I love you so much more than words can say. Thank you for writing this and making me see, as I do often, why I married you!
Books and Stuff
A unique look at books, sports, politics, and life in general from a indie writer with strong opinions.
- Steven Donahue's profile
- 22 followers
