01/06/06

It’s silent right now, and I realize that’s what I needed. No TV, no radio, no It’s silent right now, and I realize that’s what I needed. No TV, no radio, no phone, just silence, and I can breathe.

It’s been two years today, and for a moment, I could hear nothing but the clock ticking on the wall. Two years ago today, at this time, I had found out just an hour earlier that my wife had been killed. I was overwhelmed by the silence. The world had stopped; my senses were in a vacuum, and the world around me was a void. There was nothing but the deafening roar of silence, broken only by the sound of my heart being torn apart.

Today, as I look around, I know that my whole world has changed beyond anything I could have imagined two years ago.

I have been forced to reexamine every thought, every belief, and every action. That has been my experience with the grief process; I have seen a level of introspection I never wanted to. But on this side, I think I am emerging better, different, to be sure, but better. I think I may be becoming who I wanted to be, someone Stacy would have been proud of.

I see enough to know that the process has only begun in the grand scheme of things, but I’m far enough into it to see a change. There is still so much unanswered, so much I don’t know. Most of it, I realize, I may never know the answer to, and I may never understand. I know this, though, as I look around: I am blessed!

Looking back at two years ago, how I felt and what I thought, I realize that saying “I am blessed” is the most shocking, unimaginable thing I could ever say. Yet, it is still the truth. The past two weeks, as usual, I have been a wreck, and I’m sure I have not been pleasant to be around, but today I have some peace. That’s just how it seems to go for me. The anticipation is worse; it always has been, and I guess it always will be.

I have met some amazing people over the past two years. I look back and realize that I have been angry, maybe understandably angry, nonetheless. I have been withdrawn, or “antisocial” is more like it. Even so, in the middle of my anger and despite my best attempts to avoid the world at large, I have met people who love me. I have met people who care and are looking out for me, even when I did not know it. I have met people I’ve known most of my life that I never really knew. All of these people, whether they knew Stacy or not, have had one thing in common: they have handled me with kid gloves. The people who knew Stacy have set their own grief aside to tend to me. For the first time, I see that now.

My focus has always been on the ones who did not do this; I could not see the forest for the trees‌. Despite my lack of perspective, they have loved me just the same.

There is always something new on this road. I never would have chosen it, to be sure, and I will never be glad that I am on it, but it’s nice to be able to see the beauty while I am here. I read a quote a couple of weeks ago by an unknown author:

“Happy is the man who is able to see the beauty even on a detour.”

I hope that is the theme for the year to come. I’m off to a good start because, for the first time in a long time, I have “hope.” I remember clearly the day hope died; it’s nice to feel its resurrection in my heart. It’s scary, this life; I guess the fear is a sign that I am living, though.

I hope to maintain this attitude for some time to come. I really do. There would be no greater way to honor my wife than that. That was how she lived; she always saw the beauty, even on the detours. 

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If you want to know more about how I ended up here doing what I do, maybe check out the book: Fragmented

~ Ryan