Vilomah

I have to begin towards the end of my story. My son dying. I can’t believe I even had to type those words. This isn’t how things are supposed to happen. In sanskrit, the word “vilomah” means the white haired buries the black haired. There are no other words to describe a parent who loses a child. But to understand what Ian’s death means, you have to understand his life. He was born on March 15, 2015 in a rather brazen fashion. Ian wasn’t due until the end of April, so when I went into labor, I was in denial. Well, he wasn’t going to wait. I had a very quick, unplanned home delivery, orchestrated by the local fire department. Coming into life this way, I knew there was something about him. He was wild, rambunctious, charming, and naughty. I knew we would end up in the hospital with this kid. However,I could never imagine (actually I thought about it all the time) what would happen. On March 20, 2017 (right after his second birthday) Ian drowned in our pool. I don’t say near drowned, because he stopped breathing and went into cardiac arrest. He was rescued by his father, and miraculously lived. (One day I will go into more detail) However, he suffered a severe traumatic brain injury which left him unable to walk, talk, eat, etc. He was a different boy. The irony in all of this is that I was working as a case manager called Epilepsy-Pralid (that dealt with brain injuries specifically) when Ian was born. A brain injury was my worst nightmare. Having a kid be born disabled is a big enough adjustment, but when that child gets taken away from you and repalced it is simply unfathomable.The pain involved with ambigous grief (I still have him, but did I?) was real. And, a few months after his accident, I had a breakdown. My boy was gone, his care was a lot, how the fuck was I gonna do this? I couldn’t cope. I started drinking all the time, just because I didn’t want to be awake anymore, because I couldn’t face reality. After a few months of being an alcoholic I finally got help. My kids needed me. Enough was a enough. I went inpatient for a month. No shame, I needed it, I went through a horrible expierence that was too much to handle. But, I refused to stay down, I was the expert in my son. Jesus, I knew everything there was to know about brain injuries from my years of experience working with people for brain injuries.And when I got back up (like I always do) I got back up fierce and ready to fight for the best for my son. For the next three years, I was his biggest advocate, caretaker, and loved him so hard (more on being a special needs mom in a later blog). But then on Novemebre 12, 2020, Ian passed away in his sleep from a seizure. I can’t describe this to you right now, its both impossible to convey, and for some reason very private to me. But I will tell you that I couldn’t go on living the way I was. My life didn’t exist anymore. I tried just going back to the way things were: working, appointments, cooking etc. (what planet was I on thinking I could go right back to teaching kindergarten?) And, once again, I had a breakdown (no drinking this time, phew). One day, I felt scared, my vision was blurring, I couldn’t stop my panic attack,and I was afraid I was going to split from reality. I needed help, again. I went inpatient for a month, again. And guess what getting help did? Made me better. Not perfect, but better. I realize people don’t want to admit to this stuff, but my son just died, what was I going to do, throw a parade? I made a promise to Ian, after he died, that I would be the best mom I could be to Emmy and John. And that meant getting and continuing to work on myself. For some reason, society expects us to bounce back from trauma, but the truth is, we become different people. We get smashed to oblivion and have to put the pieces back together to form something that resembles life. And, there is no possible way to do it alone. If you experienced anything like me, I give you permission, Permission to fall apart, permission to change,permission get help if you need it, permission to feel like shit, and permission to stop giving a fuck what others think of you. You (and I ) are the only ones who can figure out what’s best for ourselves, screw anyone who wants to make you feel bad about it. I’m a survior.

Ian Raymond Miner

3/15/2015-11/12/2020