Today marks three years since I lost my first-born son, Brendan Bjørn. He was 17 years, 7 months and 17 days old. In less than an hour it will be the exact time he took his last breath at 7:44am. I held his right hand. His brother, Declan, held his left hand. The three of us alone in our individual life journeys, which were so intertwined they were one in the same, forming a circle of connectedness with our holding of hands.
Those last breaths. That last breath. The guttural wail which escaped my soul as there were no more breaths to be seen. The boy I gave life to, whose fragile and medically complex life I fought to save day in, day out, for all those years, was gone. Gone.
Some things are seared into a person’s memory like no other.
Some things are seared into a person’s soul, never to be healed.
I’m watching the clock as I type this, conscious of that time and well aware that time will arrive and depart and it won’t actually make a difference to anything. It’s just a marker. Like today. It’s just a marker. For I think of my son, Brendan Bjørn, every single day without fail. Today marks sadness, devastating loss, and truly indescribable pain. It also marks chaos and a change of trajectory in my life, and that of my other son, which I am still trying to figure out but it would seem of late, and apparently without much success.
Some things are seared into a person’s soul, never to be healed.
It’s now 7:11am. I’m not sure what I will do to mark the day. Later today there is bringing Declan to a friend’s birthday celebration. I think Brendan Bjørn would be happy to see his little brother smiling with friends. For me, I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’ll try to light a candle somewhere. I’ll look for beauty somewhere. And I’ll try to remember this is just a marker of a day, though it may often feel like the weight of the world. To be honest, pretty much every day lately has felt like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. But that’s another story for another day.
7:24am now. I’m going to stop watching the clock, finish typing, post this blog entry, and hold my breath until that time passes.
Some things are seared into a person’s soul, never to be healed.
three years.
