Why???

Like all toddlers, Zatha and Hans went through that cute kid phase of asking, "Why?" to everything.

You must clean up your toys before you leave. "Why?"

Dogs go to heaven too. "Why?"

Please sit down while you eat your breakfast. "Why?"

Because I don't want you to fall out of your high chair. "Why?"

Because I love you. "Why?"

Because . . .

If one asks the question "Why?" enough, an answer might reveal itself.

I find myself asking myself "Why?" a lot today, moving into our eighth year after Hans's death. I don't have answers.

Why do I have a hard time seeing people?

Any people. Even people who knew Hans well. People around whom I should love to be because they share beautiful memories of our son. Why do I not want to go to parties? Or the store? Or answer the phone? Or receive visitors? All I want to do is hang out with Eric and Zatha and Matt and family.

Why do I not write as much as I used to?

Why have I avoided writing? What do I have to write about? Do people even care about what I write? Why do I care if people care?

Why do I not talk about Hans as much with others?

Why do I not bring him up in conversation, like I would Zatha? Why do others not bring him up in conversation? Why do they rarely ask any questions, even about Zatha? If asked I would tell them that she and her husband are amazing, despite Zatha's pounding grief.

Zatha just finished a stint as an instructor at The Basic School. She has recently transferred, still active duty Marine Corps, to the Office of the Director of National Intelligence as an analyst. She is about to be awarded her Masters Degree in Strategic Intelligence from the National Intelligence University. And she is as sweet and caring and missing her brother as always. Matt, her husband, was just honored with an appointment as a Naval Foreign Area Officer and will be assigned soon to some foreign country. He cherishes Zatha, and she him. So many adventures await them.

BECAUSE

My son, my sister, and my mother have each died prematurely.

We are led to believe that if we eat the right things, read the right things, say the right things, do the right things, pray the right things, pray to the right God, then life will be good. So what did we do wrong?

We are told so much about karma, that people get what they deserve. What did Hans do, I do, we do, to deserve his death? Why do evil, depraved humans get to live and my beautiful son does not?

Why is it so hard to function and enjoy enjoyable things?

Because we just cannot function as we were before he died.

I am in a perpetual state of anxiety knowing that something - something monumental - is always wrong. Hans is dead.

There’s always a grief elephant in my room.

Why is it so hard to face that elephant? Why is it hard to allow people into that room with my grief elephant? Is it because I need to save my energy to be happy for Zatha and Matt and Eric and my dad and family?

Why didn’t we take the hospital up on the offer to be in the operating room with Hans when he failed his final breathing test and died to become an organ donor?

Why didn't I let everyone shovel some dirt into Hans's grave the day he was buried? Why did I hide away until everyone was gone from his gravesite?

WHAT WORKS?

I tried Tai chi in the beginning. But the people were too chatty. I was not ready to engage in idle chatter. I knew the subject of family, children, jobs would come up. It was too difficult to talk about Hans, and I've been told that I am burdening others with my grief if I talk about him too much.

I tried Yoga. But the first time I went, the music playlist had at least three of Hans’s favorite songs – songs from the CDs he made for his Jeep, or from the ‘soundtrack’ from one of his many YouTube movies.

I tried grieving mom groups. This was the most helpful, to know that what I was feeling was normal. But even that went by the wayside as we each kept moving forward with our lives and with more time passing from the death of each of our children.

We tried going to church. Back to our church. But the reminders and good memories are too difficult to face. Good memories don’t always make one feel better.

When Hans first died we rode the initial wave of sympathy with gratefulness. It lifted us out of our complete despair. We can never thank everyone enough for their love and care and sympathy when he died.

But eventually each of our lives ebb into the perpetual low tide of rare empathy -- truly knowing that we are left to mourn Hans alone. We find empathy with mostly just each other, and sometimes fellow grieving families.

We love people who bounce back better than before. We love stories of hardship overcome. We love movies with happy endings after a tragedy.

People want stories of redemption. And I'm sorry -- I don’t have that story. Yet.

Why???