This year marks the five year anniversary of Konnor’s passing. As November creeps in I again begin to feel moody, emotional, tired. Death anniversaries force grievers to re-live the events of the worst day of their lives. The loss already haunts us, the anniversary opens the wound. No matter how long ago it was the anniversary is torture to our hearts and souls.
My family and I carry a love for Konnor that is timeless. He is deeply missed. His silliness, his laughter. The way he would cling to those he loved, so full of affection he needed to be in your lap and even that was not close enough. He was kind, sweet. He was a lover of Super-Heros. He was clumsy. He was pure joy. With his passing it felt as if I would never feel joy like that again. Searching for ways to cope this anniversary I reflected on my writing, how Konnor’s Lullaby helped me grieve and to heal. Writing allowed me to talk about what I was feeling when I thought no one was listening. I was suffering, mourning. The grief I expressed was raw yet honest. When crying, praying and distraction were not enough, my writing enabled me to express the sorrow that raged within me. And for those that read my blog and shared my grief, thank you.
While reading my blogs I noticed the changes in my writing as I changed. My writings at the start of my blog appear uncertain, guarded. The words didn’t match how I feeling. In the immediate months following his death the force of the emotions was unbearable, I was incapable of describing the thoughts in my head or the depth of my pain. I had hoped that by trying to release the thoughts in my head I could cope but grief left me feeling as if I was outside of my body. I became crippled. I wasn’t able to function, I couldn’t work, I couldn’t socialize. Sleep was difficult, eating was impossible and simply making it through the day was a challenge. I struggled, wanting the pain to stop but not knowing how. I needed to express the sadness I was experiencing. I wanted to do anything I could to stop the agony yet I learned nothing but time could do that for me.
I was grieving out loud. I became better at releasing the emotion and describing how I felt. I wrote about love and loss from my own perspective, how losing Konnor was the hardest thing I have ever had to live with. My blog documents my struggle to come to grips with my new reality. How difficult it is to move forward after the loss and how painfully slow healing is. It is a story of my journey to survive grief.
The blog was as much for Konnor as it was for me. Someone, somewhere will grieve for their loved one and search for comfort on the internet. They, like me, will need to find someone who understands how they feel and offer ways to cope. They will find a blog named “Konnor’s Lullaby” and they will read about a boy who meant the world to his grandmother, so much so that she wrote a blog about the struggle to live without him. He will continue to do what he did best here on earth, he will offer comfort and hope.
I haven’t stopped composing blogs because I have healed, I don’t believe we ever truly heal. We come through, we move forward. We may not be who we once were but we do come through. Konnor’s Lullaby enabled my grief to have a voice and with that I found comfort in numbers. I had created a cathartic platform to share my struggles and in the process learned the agony of loss would eventually lessen and I would and could live again. I could move forward in this new person I had become and find peace.
I continue to grieve for Konnor, I will forever be haunted by his loss. Nothing has been the same since November 22, 2015. Every year on this date I will recall the events of that horrible day. I weep for my beautiful grandson that I miss so much. Nothing I write can change that. However, in grief I have learned that acceptance is a journey. Acceptance of the loss, acceptance of the new normal and acceptance of the changes within me.
Thank you for following me in this journey.
In Loving Memory
Konnor Mason Schilling March 9, 2007 – November 22, 2015