Capture your grief, day 11: creative heartwork

October 11, 2016 / Kade's mom / 1 Comment

I have a pendant that I had made to remember Kade. It’s something I didn’t even know existed before he died: cremation jewelry. A teeny portion of his ashes are within the colorful center “stone.” They are mixed with photo-luminescent powder and faintly glow in the dark. Like a star. The artist, Lynn, helped me come up with a design. She, too, lost a son. She was so kind during the process. She was one of the first other mothers who lost a child that I ever talked to after Kade died.

I love that it is unique, so personal, and that it is somewhat heavy. I wanted big. Substantial. If I could have had a brick hung around my neck in those early days I would have done that.

I wear my Kade pendant nearly every day. Maybe I’ll have Lynn design me a ring…

Our pendants designed by Lynn at StarSeed Gems. Mine is a shooting star and Mom’s is fireflies. 12/2012.

capture your grief, day 10: symbols and signs

October 11, 2016 / Kade's mom / Leave a comment

I’m glad to have a concrete topic for today. I’m just going to talk about symbols and not signs tonight. I’ve written a lot about signs in the past; perhaps I’ll post those writings to my blog one day.

Kade liked birds of prey. There is a local organization called Hawk Quest that put on live bird programs for Cub and Boy Scouts over the years, so I have fond memories of seeing those with Kade. We have red-tailed hawks, golden eagles, and peregrine falcons around here, among other raptors. He knew which one was sailing high overhead. He would say, “Mom, you can tell that’s a red-tailed/Harris’s Hawk by the tail/wings.” I wish I remembered exactly what he was teaching me.

He told me that in Buena Vista, on one street near his dad’s house, vultures would descend at a certain time of year. He said that the number of vultures that roosted was unbelievable, that it was a little creepy, and quite a sight to behold. I think I remember he said that the pavement was white underneath.

After Kade died, I thought of his spirit soaring. I so hoped that his spirit was soaring, unencumbered, and blissful.

The first horrible Christmas without him we drove to Santa Fe. I picked Santa Fe because it had no memories associated with him, and it was within driving distance. Our crazily grieving family that didn’t know what to do with ourselves, rented a mini-van and headed the hell out of town. I kept seeing crows flying alongside the van along the desolate landscape. At the hotel, on our last day I believe, we saw gigantic crows (or were they ravens? Kade would know) alight on top of a large streetlight outside our room. We took pictures (I think my brother took them). Looking at the pictures later, there was the streetlight but no crows. Did they fly away before the picture snapped? We thought we would have noticed that at the time…

“Huge crows”

Birds, raptors, and especially hawks are a symbol of Kade for me.

Another symbol of Kade for me are shooting stars and stars. At the memorial service that his dad had for him in Buena Vista, his dad said: “The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.” That immediately made me think of a shooting star, and the image stuck. I have a pendant that I had designed especially for Kade in the shape of a shooting star. I have shirts, earrings, candles, and pieces of art that I ordered with a shooting star or star shape. (Grieving can be expensive). My mom has given me star bracelets. I had an artist come over and guide girlfriends and me in a canvas oil painting. The picture she designed had mountains and stars. Star pictures and stickers have popped up at meaningful times. I’ve spotted shooting stars (decorations and the real deal) at poignant times when they seem like they’ve been thrown from Kade, like the crow example above.

Our masterpieces

My sweet friends, game for my crazy schemes

We had “Kade stars” made to leave in places we remembered him. This was left on our day of sledding outside of Santa Fe.

My tattoo incorporates a hawk and a shooting star. I think the symbols of hawks and stars will be in my life for years to come. Oh, and flannels, and the color purple, and rivers, and exotic animals, and skateboards, and bass guitars, and skis, and fishing poles, and dinosaurs, and…

capture your grief, day 9: surrender & embrace

October 10, 2016 / Kade's mom / 2 Comments

Early on I learned the phrase, Lean in to your grief. I have a grief counselor who has imparted that the crazy feelings I come in with are OK and normal. I’ve gone to an incredible bereaved parent retreat with a focus on mindfulness and being with your grief.

Does it suck to surrender to the sadness? Is it hard to embrace the emotions? Of course. Is it easier to avoid, and not go there? Yes, and I often do. Well, when I get through the things I need to get through in a day, like being around other people, going to my part-time job, or going to class, I am likely actively avoiding going there. Sometimes I’ve put off journaling for months. It’s been so hard to physically open it up, get my Kleenex, and know the pain that will ensue. But it’s cleansing. It’s…surrendering.

This may sound strange, but at four years out, I schedule time for going there. When I go to Buena Vista for the anniversary, I carve out alone time to journal by his river. When we go on vacation (it’s especially hard because I wish he was with us), I set aside time to journal. When it’s been too long, I crave things like being with my grief friends, going to Kade’s stone, going to a grief retreat, and journaling.

I suppose I crave those things, as a mom craves being near her child.

This topic, Surrender & Embrace, reminds me of other powerful sentiments: You can’t get around it, you have to go through it and If you don’t deal with it, it deals with you.

October 9, 2016, the Front Range at sunset

capture your grief, day 8: beautiful mysteries

October 8, 2016October 8, 2016 / Kade's mom / Leave a comment

In my counseling program we are taught to be OK with ambiguity, that it will be a part of our jobs. We won’t always know the whole backstory. We won’t always know the whys. We won’t always know how it turned out. In class often the answer to a question is, “It depends.” Often there are no black and white answers, even in our ethics class, where I thought for sure there would be black and white answers.

What would Kade be like today? He would be 23, to turn 24 in January (I froze a bit, thinking of what will transpire in the next 3 months: four major holidays and his birthday. Again, even though I don’t want them to be, those times of the year are so impacting. I want to throw up when I see decorations in a store. It’s crazy, but it’s true; for now, anyway.)

At 23-going-on-24, Kade’s prefrontal cortex will not have even completed its growth yet. That is the center for executive function: judgment, inhibitory control, and planning, among others. It will have matured at around age 26. But today, he will have been closer, closer to the days where impulsivity, thrill-seeking, and questionable judgment do not physiologically reign.

He was getting there. Moving away from the city to the mountains to be a whitewater rafting guide, he was getting there. Getting a second job at the behest of his parents, a night job that made him so tired, he was getting there. I learned he talked about going to CSU in the fall with one of his rafting guide friends who went there, to pursue zoology. He was getting there. If only he got there.

Today, in an alternate universe on Saturday, October 8th, 2016, Kade would be a little broader, a little heavier, and in this world of beard popularity, a little hairier. He would whitewater-raft guide in Buena Vista by summer, and perhaps student at community college, Colorado Mountain College, or Colorado State University by fall, winter, and spring.

I wish he would, but I don’t think he would come back home to live in the non-rafting months. He would live with roommates. I would visit him and bring him a coffee, and care packages. He would visit us, and be amused with Asher’s growing so fast. He would try to teach Asher bad words and I would try to keep him from doing it. Asher would adore his great big brother. Instead of Asher bringing Kade’s skateboard up to his room to keep, Kade would teach him to balance on it outside. Instead of Asher asking to strum unguided on guitars on their stands, Kade would teach him a few proper riffs on his bed. Our family pictures would have Kade’s whole, grown, handsome, real self in them instead of a blown-up picture of part of him that we hold.

Family portraits…how adorable would they be with Little Asher and Big Kade? Is it too much to ask that both of my children be in a fucking family portrait? Can you see why anger is a part of grief? Is that too much for a mother to ask? Who thought this was alright, anyway? Who’s in charge here and thought that anything close to this would be alright?

OK, you were just witness to what a griefburst looks like, digitally.

Bitter tears wiped. Worked on a different project for a while. Back to Beautiful Mysteries.

Our relationship wasn’t perfect but it was improving. Kade was growing, as was I. We had lots of family counseling, lots of techniques learned, and I am sure we would continue to learn and grow separately, as well as together. Maybe we would have coffee dates. Maybe he would share more than he did before. Maybe, at 23-going-on-24, things would be distant, shaky, rough, and precarious. Maybe after 26 would our adult relationship start to flourish. Oh God, if we had gotten to 26.

Looking at his friends and their capacity to be loving, deeply pondering, and supporting human beings, I have high hopes for Alternate Universe October 8th, 2016. At 12:54 p.m., instead of writing on a grief blog, I would be heading to the grocery store to get some things to barbeque, and extras to throw in a box for him to take with. Because my son is coming over for dinner.

capture your grief, day 7: myths

October 8, 2016October 8, 2016 / Kade's mom / Leave a comment

The myth that comes to mind is the five stages of grief. Though I see this knowledge becoming more known and disseminated in grief circles, it does not seem to be widely known in popular culture:

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross formulated her five stages of grief for the dying, not for the grieving. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance were stages of a theory, that people who were terminally ill may experience. It’s not so much a myth, as a misapplication.

There. Got that out of the way.

I suppose another myth is that profound grief is finite. Before Kade died I might have thought that losing a child would be a horribly rough road, but that after a period of hell (like a year), one would “get over it” and life would go back to how it was. What I’ve learned is that grief doesn’t end. I have friends 5, 10, 20 years out. They are not negative people, nor are they “stuck.” But they still miss their kids. They still get angry. They still require support sometimes. They still cry. Not in the same manner as the terrible early months, but they are forever changed.

capture your grief – day 5: the unspoken

October 6, 2016 / Kade's mom / Leave a comment

Day 5 is a hard one. Here is CarlyMarie’s description:

Normalizing grief is so important and that I why today I am calling upon those who feel brave enough to speak about the nitty gritty side of grief. Share something about your grief journey that you might feel is strange or not common. It might be something you do to remember your children by or maybe it is something you fear about the future. Often while grieving we have feelings of isolation because we fear judgement that what we are feeling isn’t normal. But it is amazing to see just how many people feel the same way. When others stand up and express how they feel through sharing their experiences, it allows us to say “Hey, I feel that way too!” and the fear of feeling like we are crazy is lifted and in some cases embraced!

There is a lot of nitty gritty of grief. It’s all nitty gritty. That will be a good topic to write on when I have more time to delve into it.

For now, here’s a time that comes to mind when I remember thinking, OK, this might be a bit crazy. It was raining late at night, and I was looking at my phone when I should have been trying to sleep. On the radar map of my weather app, I was “cruising around” the Denver Metro area looking at where it was raining. Then I wondered if it was raining on Kade.

I guided the map to the west, and found the windy road that goes to the top of Mt. Lindo. I made it to the top, and found myself with an eagle’s eye view of the mausoleum up there, the parking lot, and the enormous pine tree above his stone. And the scattering garden where we spread some of his ashes.

There are plenty of times when I feel that my actions could be viewed as crazy—not so much to other bereaved parents, but maybe to others. When I do things like visit Kade’s stone on a rainy night via an app on my phone, or say, “Good morning! I love you, Baby!” to a hawk coasting on an air current, I sort of feel crazy…but sort of feel like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Perhaps leaning a teeny bit toward crazy is taking a screen shot of the top of Mt. Lindo from my weather app, drawing a red arrow to where Kade’s stone is, and posting it here for you to see.

capture your grief – day 4: support circles

October 4, 2016 / Kade's mom / Leave a comment

I can’t say enough about the healing power of a group. The Compassionate Friends chapter meetings that I attend have been a help. (The Compassionate Friends is a nation-wide support for child, grandchild, and sibling loss). It’s good to hear what other people have done in certain situations, and I’ve met friends I can connect with outside of the group.

Early on, I read a book called The Grief Club: The Secret to Getting through All Kinds of Change by Melody Beattie. She lost a son, and has had numerous other losses in her life. It emphasized that you are not alone in what you are going through, even though it might feel isolating. Find those others. There are others. They can offer you the support that no one else can.

A former coworker led me to a smaller group: for moms whose kids died in young adulthood, called Hope for Hurting Moms. It’s always worth the hour drive to let my hair down and be with the smaller group of mamas who get it.

I read another book called Saturday Night Widows: The Adventures of Six Friends Remaking Their Lives. It revealed research that showed that novel and adventurous experiences, which form new neural pathways in the brain, are healing for trauma and grief. This inspired me to start my own little group of bereaved mom friends that I call The Healing Moms. We get out (sometimes a feat in itself) and try new things. Sometimes our new thing is a restaurant we want to check out; this month it’s a hike in Boulder.

The Healing Moms participating in CarlyMarie’s The Mother Hearts “I See You” Project 2016

capture your grief – day 3: what it felt like

October 3, 2016October 4, 2016 / Kade's mom / Leave a comment

At first I thought, How on earth could I relay what it felt like. I thought of words I could use, like horror, pain, and blackness. Severed, distraught, vile, and crippling. Cruel.

Then I remembered something a bereaved mom friend relayed at one of our Compassionate Friends meetings. She told us how she described to a non-bereaved-parent friend of hers what it felt like to lose a child:

She asked her friend,

Do you remember when 9/11 happened? Right after, you couldn’t stop thinking about it…there were no planes flying in the sky…it was surreal…everything was off. That’s sort of the feeling of how life is after your child dies. Like right after 9/11, of everything off, all the time.

capture your grief – day 2: who they are

October 2, 2016 / Kade's mom / 1 Comment

I don’t think it was too long after his death that I asked friends on Facebook to give me one word to describe Kade so that I could make a Kade word cloud. Here it is:

Adventurous is the word that comes to my mind lately. When his friends climb fourteeners in his name I think, THAT is a tribute Kade would dig. He loved the outdoors. Being in the mountains, camping, fishing, skiing, kayaking, whitewater rafting, skateboarding. Didn’t like the city. Didn’t like the heat. Liked mountains, and winter, and cold.

Adventurous.

Today we went to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo. Going with my youngest son is certainly sweet. Going without my oldest, is bitter. At the darling wallaby exhibit area, watching young zoo staffers walk past, my dad said, “Kade would have loved working at a place like this.”

Oh.

Daring to imagine my would-be-23-year-old going to work at the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo put a lump in my throat and a pain in my chest. He’d look so cute in a uniform. I pictured his excitement telling me about his duties and the animals. I dared to think for a moment of the bright future of an animal enthusiast. The whole day at the zoo had ebbed and flowed with happiness and grief, anyway, as so many things do now.

Oh.

Kade Tyson Riefenberg
So much more than his dates
1/24/93 – 6/29/12
Whitewater rafting guide, fisherman, naturalist, skateboarder, bass guitarist, avid reader, best friend to many, son, big brother, grandson, great-grandson, nephew, cousin.

carlymarie capture your grief – day 1: sunrise dedication

October 1, 2016October 4, 2016 / Kade's mom / 2 Comments

I’m participating in Capture Your Grief for my third October.

From CarlyMarie’s website:

WHAT IS CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF?
Capture Your Grief is a mindful healing project for anyone who is grieving the death of a baby or child of any age or gestation There are 31 subjects, one for each day in the month of October. You are invited to explore each subject and share a photo, artwork, video or written word that captures your own journey. Capture Your Grief is about becoming more present and conscious in your grief experience so that you may learn more about yourself and hopefully discover more ways of healing to aid you in your journey of grief and personal growth. It is also my hope that through the magic of social media you will find and connect with new people and make some beautiful friendships. You can join the project at any time of the month and there is no pressure to take part every single day. You can pick and choose your subjects. So do what feels right for you.

Almost sunrise…

Found my spot, waiting…

I did it. I set my alarm and got up at 6:15 a.m. And on a Saturday. No one in our household could be described as a morning person, but after brushing away brief and irrational thoughts of why I shouldn’t get up (Maybe it’s not safe to be out gallivanting around by myself. What if I encounter a mangy rabid coyote?), I did it.

I am so glad for this prompt to get out of bed, be outdoors in the early morning air, and witness a sunrise. This is the third year I’ve driven to Daniels Park—only about 12 minutes from my house—for day 1.

It was a little cool, though not as cool as other years where I’ve grabbed gloves on my way out. My flannel kept me comfortable (what else would I wear for this?). I heard silence, and birds, and best of all, elk bugling (maaaaybe it was coyotes howling, but I’m pretty sure it was elk). The last time I heard bugling was last fall on a morning hike at the Crazy Good Grief Retreat in Tabernash.

Though no human joined me for sunrise photographs, I wasn’t alone this morning. (Well, I hoped I wouldn’t be quite alone, really). After I planted myself on top of a rock a few moments before the sun would crest, who should meander squarely into my frame, directly between my rock and the rising sun? Two horses. Thank you, grey and white horses for enhancing my sunrise photos today!

Daniel’s Park offers not only rugged high prairie landscape for watching the sun rise to the east…but across the road, a view to the freakin’ Rocky Mountains to the west. After shooting pictures of the rising sun, I drove a few yards, walked to the other side of the road, and shot pictures of the pink new sunlight pouring onto the mountains.

The jagged peaks to the left are Devil’s Head Fire Lookout, a favorite hike

Mt. Evans

I was taken in by the beauty, the stillness, the fresh air, and the alone time with Kade. I couldn’t stop stopping my car, getting out, and taking more pictures as I drove out of the Park.