Elements For A Healthier Life Magazine Issue 06 | October 2016 | Page 31

This time of year, when the earth is growing chillier in my neck of the woods, and the sweaters are pulled out of their hiding spaces, I relish, long, sweaty hikes and deep, deep breaths.

October used to be my favorite month of the year – if I were to shut my eyes and imagine a younger version of myself, I would see a person who lived for autumn’s arrival. Sweatshirt weather, the raw crunchy, salty-sweet of a farm fresh apple. Leaf piles, pumpkin carving, cinnamon, and rosy red cheeks after a day filled with play.

These are sweet memories of October’s past.

Two years ago this month, my relationship with October was forever altered.

It was a deeply, beautiful, perfect, October morning. The sky, was cornflower blue. The puffy white clouds, were heavenly.

It changed in a way I’d love to forget. Someone who I loved, deeply, decided to leave us that day.

We lost him, to suicide, and when considering the sensory overload of just those words, contextualized with the stunning reality of that crisp, and forever picturesque autumn morning, I know that the psychological scarring is what makes it seem like October is different.

October changed, and so did I. My relationship with myself, my heart, my pain and confusion. My relationship to the depth of my grief. All around me, were the sad eyes and broken hearts of my family, friends and community. We were all dumbstruck. We were all hurting. Our relationships changed. Our way of viewing life and death changed, and our way of living changed.

Honoring the anniversaries in our lives is a personal decision. Some anniversaries are celebratory and others are perhaps, like the one my family and community are about to encounter, less so. As I look back on the sadness, confusion, anger, guilt, deep grief, pain, love, healing, opening, and continued curiosity of the past almost two years, I acknowledge moments of deep peace. Many have suggested that time heals all wounds, and I can reflect back today, knowing that the tender, swollen mass of the wound in my heart that is this loss, looked much differently a year ago. It seems, of late, because of some very specific and intentional healing work, that a scar is actually forming. At least for now, my wound is not open or infected, like it once was.

I am going to continue to tend to my broken heart, and that of my loved ones, and those who loved our boy. My relationship with this tragedy ebbs and flows, just like my relationship with every last thing I can think of. I acknowledge, without a doubt, my steadfast love for the life that was, and for whatever his life energy happens to be now. I acknowledge, without a doubt, my commitment to a life of love and loving, as best I can, in honor of him.

With love to all who navigate challenging relationships in this life, and in tribute to a dear, sweet boy, Isaac Julian Ryan-McKinnonAugust 30, 1996 to October 25, 2014.

By Jenn Ryan

“Those who love & are loved know life’s true riches lie in the moments spent with family & friends. In loving memory of those who are forever in our hearts.” - unknown

“Those we love don’t go away, they walk beside us every day… unseen, unheard, but always near, still loved, still missed and very dear.” - unknown