Grief · Hope · wounded healer · wounded Mother

“7 Things I learned from my son”

There’s no way in Hell that I would have considered doing the mommy job of preparing the funeral for my baby boy. Not physically, not mentally, not emotionally, not psychologically, not spiritually, not nothingly. It’ll take everything I’ve got to sit thru it.

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Ryan’s funeral could have been the ‘worst of the worst nights of my life.’

But Ron saved the day. He got his heartbroken self up in front of everyone, and told them the “7 things I learned from my Son.” Let me tell you some of what he said that afternoon.

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“When my son, Ryan, came along, I prided myself on teaching him the alphabet and soccer and flattered myself that I was a good teacher, but as I look back I now see that I was actually still learning and that I was still learning more important lessons than I was teaching.

Lesson 1- Appreciate Life

Lesson 2- Smiles are Infectious

Lesson 3- Explore your world

Lesson 4- Don’t take yourself too seriously

Lesson 5- Don’t confuse intelligence with experience

Lesson 6- Charity means giving when it hurts

Lesson 7- …and the greatest of these is Love.”

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Ryan

 

That, my friends, should tell you the kind of son we enjoyed in Ryan.

dawn

 

Encouragement · wounded healer · wounded Mother

The best day of my life

My dream was not to have children.

Even when I was a little girl, I didn’t play “House.”  I didn’t dream about being somebody’s Mommy. Carrying a baby gets in the way of climbing trees, and my goal was a tree a day. I climbed in the daytime and read under the covers at night.

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I didn’t play with girls and I didn’t chase boys. No dolls, no football, which left me up a tree (literally), but I liked the company I was keeping. I liked being by myself.

So this isn’t going to be the usual story about a girlie-girl raised by her parents. If anybody raised me I raised me.

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The ‘best day of my life’ might have been the day I discovered I liked myself as I was, and that I could do for myself. In other words, I was born a person in my own right. That was one fine day when I figured that out.

Or,

the ‘best day of my life’ might have been when I left home at nineteen, rode the bus to Port Authority in the City of New York. Imagine, a teenager moving to Manhattan and becoming a Playboy bunny.

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By now you’ve noticed that I cannot be categorized, or corraled.

All I knew was that a Playboy bunny wasn’t like any other girl, so I qualified. BTW, if there was a way to set up a bunny reunion tonight, you could go all around the room, asking the other girls about me:

  1. They won’t remember me, or,
  2. I wasn’t like anyone else wearing a tail.

The single ‘best day of my life’ was when my first child was born when I became Ryans Mommy!

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Ryan

 

dawn

(Okay… Next time we meet: “The worst day of my life!”)