January 27, 2020. The day my son, Timothy John Osborne, called to give us the news of his stage 4 colorectal cancer, metastasized to his liver, diagnosis. That story is here: My Son Has Cancer
Timothy John Osborne September 15, 1982 – August 15, 2022
Sadly, on August 15, 2022, Tim died. Three months ago today. The grief is crushing. The reality that I will never see Tim again on this earth sucks the breath out of me. In an attempt to keep on living, day to day, breath to breath, I’ve decided to return to blogging.
The title of my blog is, Better is Possible. Irony? How does one, whether a mother, a spouse, a child, a sibling, an uncle, an aunt, a cousin, an ex, a grandparent, a friend, get ‘better’ when a loved one dies.
I don’t know.
Tim wrote about living with cancer at Tim’s Blog: Can’t Rec Tim He wrote about his experiences more accurately than I ever could. If you’re interested in reading about his treatments and procedures, including the 9 hour liver surgery, head over to his blog.
Why am I blogging again? Why now? The short answer is because I need to. For the record I’ve also starting going for walks. Yesterday was day 3. And yes, we have snow.
I often think of myself as having a big voice that comes out silent in the vastness of the world. Do you ever have that dream where you’re trying to yell but the sound won’t come out of your mouth. You’re dream screaming, your mouth is moving; but nothing.
Silence all around.
No one hears.
That’s kind of how I feel right now. I’m screaming my lungs out but no one can actually hear me. WHY TIM? WHY MY BOY? WHY DID THE TREATMENT WORK FOR KATE BOWLER AND NOT MY TIM? SURELY IT COULD HAVE BEEN SUCCESSFUL FOR BOTH OF THEM. HE DID TEACH AT A CHRISTIAN SCHOOL! (#sorrykatebowler)
I’m struggling to find peace in knowing that Tim is now at home with Christ. Christ has enough people with Him, he didn’t need my son. In my 66 years of life I can’t remember not having a strong and abiding faith. A belief that God will not let us be crushed. That while we don’t know all His reasoning, He could be trusted. Now I’m not sure. This grief has cracked my core. Why on earth would God create a world with people and things and know that there would so much hurt attached to his creation? If he is such a powerful God couldn’t He have done a better job? Yes, yes, I know, free will! I know all the christian answers. I’ve read the books, I’ve lived the life. But now, with this…I just don’t know. Please don’t judge my unbelief.
I do know that Tim would debate this with me. We’d talk back and forth, both of us interrupting each other, each getting louder and Tim finally saying, “Would you let me talk” and then I’d get all Irmgard pouty and let him talk. Rinse repeat. Tim wouldn’t judge me. He’d probably say, “oh mom, it’s ok. You’ll figure it out. God won’t leave you hanging.”
And friends, this is where I am today. I am so very sad. Sad because I miss my boy. Sad because I can’t fix this. Sad because I can’t take away the hurt for Tim’s wife, his daughter, his brother and sister, his niece and nephews, his extended family, and all his friends. Sad because I know that all the things I hoped for my son’s life will not be happening. We’ll never get to open our joint counselling business: Osborne & Mom, or; Perry & Son. We’ll never know who’d have top billing.
From Tim’s Celebration of Life (September 3, 2022)
On December 28, 2017 I wrote a post titled, Joy and Sorrow.
It included these lines that nudged at my heart today:
(from 2017) Today I sing a broken Hallelujah on behalf of friends in the trenches of sorrow…
May I remain steadfast when the extremes of life collide…
May I hold what needs to be held without breaking, leaking, or collapsing…
Where do these thoughts fit in the midst of my own fresh grief?
Today a granddaughter is coming for a visit, a roast is in the crockpot, my reverend is building a new office. Some days life still has some movement. Movement under the weight of sorrow.
Maybe, just maybe, “I will remain steadfast when the extremes of life collide. Maybe I will be able to hold what needs to be held without [completely] breaking, leaking, or collapsing.” To be honest, it’s still too soon for maybes.
Today is love & grief, bleeding into each other.
Take care,
Carol
Better is Possible 