Time Turns To Ash
Jan19th 2023 || 409 Days Without KSCV
Time turns to ash along side those we lose so suddenly and traumatically. It in some way, is the only way I’m surviving. For me time no longer has power, or a place in my life. That is how my grief manifests. Time feels more cruel than giving, more a mocker than an encourager . The past/future no longer hold wisdom, nostalgia or allure. They just are, as I just am. Here because I awoke today, much like my shadow because the sun has risen.
—— I forever now am stuck in the present. I read when you lose a child there isn’t a moment you don’t feel their absence. So far I can attest to that. In my mind runs a constant reel of me asking Kienan if they are ok and to just come back, as if there was choice.
There was the life before Kien died and there is the life after, end of story. It’s sometimes hard for people to hear that and often they will try to find positive ways to approach such loss. Although I am naturally a positive person and have a deep spiritual practice in life, that approach doesn’t work for me. If anything because of those two things for me it actually makes me more aware of the gravity of losing Kienan and what the world has lost. A kind, gentle human who never got angry with anyone, who always made space for the quietest person in the room to speak. One thing that helps me not give in along this grief journey is to take time daily to remeber the positives in how Kienan lived their life and who Kienan was at their core. There is nothing to gain from losing a child there is only the question of who we will become and how we will navigate our lives after such loss. Everyone grieves differently so I don’t blame others for that approach and I no longer try to correct it. It’s hard to explain to someone that I have accepted I will be grieving for the rest of my life and it won’t change. It’s scary for those who have not suffered such loss to think about and I can relate, I felt that way once too. After my parents died I tried to do all the positive thinking I heard around me but it only left me feeling isolated and alone as a young orphan. Not until I was honest with myself did I start to face and live with their deaths.
After we decided to move out of the home we shared with Kienan (it was just too painful for us to stay) and into our new place, a friend asked me casually if we loved our new home. Without thinking I automatically replied what is a home when one of my children will never walk through those doors… We absorbed that raw thought together and cried for a moment and then went back to talking about a new series of paintings I was working on. Sometimes it’s all we can do to acknowledge the truth of a situation and not try to fix it or hide it or, even hold too tightly to it.
For months after Kienan passed I was completely unable to communicate or function properly without lapses in words, judgments, memory. My grief specialist told me if I could try to put into words how I was feeling it could help me get back into my body a bit, gain back some control. I was journalling to keep myself from madness but still I could not put into words the complete anguish I felt. Then one sleepless night I awoke to a memory of Kienan I was so scared would vanish so I got up to write it down and after that came theses words.
Losing you feels as if my bones were slowly fed through a wood chipper. Still I smile, still I walk and talk to all those around me as if I’m intact. As if my splintered bones are not floating around inside my skin piercing every organ that holds onto life.
My therapist was right. The minute I gave my grief a language I was able to interact with it instead of just feeling suffocated by it. With that single act I was able to start to create art again. Exactly what Kienan would want since they were an artist (almost from birth) and loved nothing more then listening to music, filling up sketchbooks, and covering a empty page with color and characters.