The Portal: Portal-ity Thoughts

Happy 26th Birthday, John Ryan😢 John, sharing his humor.  He always had us laughing. Today would be John's 26th birthday. So, I thought I would share some of the sentiments and stories about who John was to the people who knew him and/or loved him, or us. Mostly from the sentencing, but some sent in messages. Many of you have told me you've enjoyed getting to know John through my writing and I appreciated hearing who John was to so many of you - hearing your perspective. So here goes. Keep reading after that for an update on the plea agreement, sentencing, and victim impact statements from January 14th. Who was John to you? John was the Best-man in three weddings by the time he was 24 – and probably would have been the best man in several more, had time allowed.  I lost track of how many people said John was their best friend.  He was also a Godfather,  and loved by many dogs, all over the country. John was (it’s still difficult to use pa...

In my last blog post, I wondered if my writing was making any kind of impact.  If I still had something to say, or if your curiosity had been sated.  Maybe the dark details of John's life and death were explained and what I had to say after a year was irrelevant or simply redundant.  I wondered if putting my heart out there and struggling through tears to pen my words was still worth it.  Still impactful. I think everyone who writes struggles with the thought that they don't have anything important to say or their words aren't meaningful or helpful.   As a bereaved parent, it can be a Catch 22 to share our truth.  I can explain how certain things make us feel to help a fellow bereaved parent, and yet, at the same time, alienate someone who feels they might have said something dumb or inappropriate. (Which I do all the time, don't sweat it).  So, while it had been very therapeutic for me to write, I just wasn't sure, that week in particular,...

I've spent the last year trying to explain how it feels to lose a child.  How it feels to have a child who is addicted to opioids.  I've fought for John.  Explained what happened to John.  Went to the court hearings.  I've gone to the Town Hall Meetings on the Opioid Crisis.  I've endured the "helpful" remarks, the awkward conversations, the odd looks, the whispers.  I've defended those who have become dependent on opioids and I've defended John - what happened, the process, the horrible outcome.  But for what?  Honestly, does it even matter?   John matters , but does all this writing matter?  Does it make a difference? Because it's not easy.  Not easy to let people into this terrible time - this terrible loss.  Certainly not for novelty or curiosity. Maybe the awkward lady was right when she blurted out "Life Goes On!"  I guess for the world it does go on. And for the rest of us, it stopped that day and we...

I am a lover of paper.  Of words.  Of journals.  I have so many journals . . .all colors and sizes, and it's been my modus operandi to write for a few days and then stop.  I think as much as I like to document my thoughts and feelings, what would always happen is, I would end up just blathering on about my feelings, venting, or writing about trivial things when I thought the words should be rich and deep. Well, let me encourage you to write, write anything and everything because one day those words will be important.  So important.   I found a journal that I bought in early 2017, with a gift card to Barnes and Noble.  It seemed a bit extravagant, it has a buttery soft leather cover, it's covered in words,  and has thick quality paper. It reminds me of something old and worldly. I didn't want to ruin it by writing once or twice and leaving it in the pile, so I decided to fill it with things I learned, quotes I liked, prayers and res...

John has been gone a year.  367 days without seeing our son.  It's been a hard Fall.  Full of memories, and of loss.  I'm crabby and irritable.  All I want to to do is stay home.  It was a rough weekend, and I'm sure it won't be the last.  Every month, as a bereaved parent, is another awful milestone, that leads to the dreaded one year mark.  Hi, welcome to the twelfth month.  Please relive the horror of that day over and over and over again in your mind.  We'll wait over here. I woke up at 6:30. On the dot.  6:30 was the time John's alarm was set to go off.  When he didn't shut it off, and the puppy was barking, we knew something was wrong.  <Enter life stopping devastation.> So let's recap this year.  For all you glass half full types . . . what good came out of it?  Um, nothing. Nothing good resulted from my son's death.  Sorry to disappoint.  Oh, and guess what, LIFE DIDN'T GO ON. ...