For those who have been in my life for a while, they will know I am not one to often share my feelings or emotions. I'm reserved, a bit of an introvert, and mostly just very uncomfortable being vulnerable with others. So why would I start a blog with an intent to openly share how I'm feeling with anyone who happens to find this page? And to do it now when my loss is still so raw and the grief so intense? Well, this first attempt to be vulnerable and share openly will help explain why.
While there are a few contributing factors to how I got here, it started the morning of April 13th, 2024. I had taken the elevator at Children's Hospital from the oncology ward on floor 8 to the lobby and was on my way to grab Starbucks for myself, Sam, Carter, and Sofia. We had been admitted to the hospital a few days earlier, but I hadn't yet had a chance to tell my Dad about the news that Sofia was nearing the end of her life. My Dad and my stepmom, Ginny, were just about to start a cruise from Florida and he had his phone off when I had tried to call him earlier in the week. We would finally connect that morning on my way to Starbucks.
Sofia loved getting Starbucks at the hospital. Her favourite drinks were chocolate milk and hot chocolate. And for snack, a blueberry muffin or cake pop. Ironically, she rarely, if ever, finished her snacks. But for some reason, they were comforting to her. She would often hold onto the bag by her side or in her stroller for hours. In the picture below, if you look closely, you can see a Starbucks pastry bag right next to her left hand. This picture was from the that morning on April 13th. Sofia would pass away less than 24 hours later.
During the week, Children's Hospital is abuzz. The parking lots are jammed full. There are kids, doctors, nurses, parents, volunteers, and visitors everywhere throughout every hall of every floor. But on the weekends, it's intensely quiet. Generally speaking, a hospital is not where one would want to spend their time, but even during our most challenging moments, I found comfort and peace on those weekend days. It felt like life just slowed down a bit and brought our focus to the present. I remember many stroller rides through the halls with Sofia on those peaceful weekend days; just the two of us, focused only on each other.
So here I was on one of those quiet weekend mornings, alone in the halls of Children's Hospital, about to make yet another "toughest phone call of my life". My Dad answered; presumably blissfully unaware of what I was about to tell him. I got right to the point and told him that Sofia's tumor had grown rapidly and we no longer had options to treat the disease; rather, the focus was solely on her comfort now. Sofia, only 3 years old, didn't have many days left. I couldn't see my Dad, and for a moment, I didn't hear him either. I knew he was emotionally devastated by the news and was trying to regroup. My father is one of the strongest and bravest people you will ever meet. And he's also incredibly effective at compartmentalizing his emotions. So, in this exact moment, I presume he pushed his pain to the side and tried to play his role; to be my father and to help me through this. I don't remember much of what he said to me, but I do remember having a fierce reaction in the moment to one thing. I don't remember the exact quote, so I'm paraphrasing, but he said something like "Ryan, I know you'll be fine. You're just like me and you can control your emotions and get through this". I know he had good intentions and he certainly knows me well. But in that moment, I wasn't looking for solutions or reassurance about the future. In fact, there was nothing he could have said in that moment to make me feel better. He was right though. I have always been good at suppressing how I am feeling, pushing it aside, and getting on with life. But on that day as I hung up the phone, I made a promise to myself to be different.
Compartmentalizing my emotions and casting them aside has generally served me well in my life. I've had my share of difficult life events and challenges to overcome, and my ability to push the emotion aside allowed me to keep moving forward and remain composed on even the toughest of days. I'm incredibly capable of dismissing the feelings inside of me and putting on the mask needed for the moment that I found myself in. But I knew, for this moment, for this life event, I would have to be different. For myself. For Samantha, for Carter, for Jacob, for Kaitlynn. How could we overcome this grief together if I wasn't going to be authentic and vulnerable? I knew, too, that I would need support from others this time. From family, from friends, from my community; from counselors. I wouldn't be able to welcome that support if I wasn't first being honest with how I feel and expressing that honestly with others.
So here we are. Not only am I being honest with myself about how I'm feeling, but I'm sharing it openly to all. It's intentional and I think it will help me. I enjoy writing, and I find it to be therapeutic. It's the most effective way for me to articulate the thoughts in my head, and it helps to solidify and affirm what I am feeling. Once it's written in words, I feel lighter.
I don't know how often I will write here. Whenever I feel it will help, I guess. Either myself or someone else. And that is a good transition to a second reason why I chose to do this.
Kaitlynn, my older daughter, asked me a couple of weeks back if I had heard the song "Ronan" by Taylor Swift. She told me it was a song written about a boy who, like Sofia, had passed away from Neuroblastoma. I'd never heard the song before, but I was curious why Taylor would have written a song about him. A quick Google search later, and I found a blog written by Ronan's Mom. What struck me first was that the blog had entries long past when Ronan had passed away. I also noticed a link to a foundation in Ronan's honor. I don't know specifically what I want to do in the months and years ahead, but I do know that honoring Sofia is very important to me and I could immediately tell that honoring Ronan was important to his mother too. So with that, I started all the way at the beginning of her blog and began reading her first entry, "The Journey Begins, August 13, 2010". I have to admit, I've since only advanced a few blog posts. It's too relatable and brings me back so vividly to last summer when Sofia was first diagnosed. While reading the blog was emotionally challenging to consume, it was oddly comforting at the same time. And it was because of that feeling that I ultimately decided that a blog that could exist for others would be the appropriate platform to convey my thoughts and feelings. My intention is not to write a blog that draws interest from tons of people though or one that inspires a pop artist's new song. Its primary intent is to help me to be honest with myself and to share openly, through my written word, with the people who I care for the most. If, along the way, someone finds comfort in what I've written the way I found comfort in Ronan's mother's blog, that would be incredible too.
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