Monday, June 23, 2008


Tomorrow is the day, 6 years ago, that my son Seth died. He was twenty-five. I still cry every day. I can now weed the garden or do the laundry while I cry; you learn what you have to learn. But I would do anything to bring him back, to let him have the rest of his life.
Anything.

12 comments:

azang said...

I've attended one of your workshops at the SCBWI LA conference. The next year, I was looking forward to another workshop of yours when we were told why you weren't attending that year. My heart broke for you, I'm so sorry. Please, know that I send you my very best wishes. I have two sons, I'm going to go and give them extra hugs.
Warmly,
Angela

Ruth McNally Barshaw said...

When looking back on the painful effects of loss on the loved ones' survivors, the most sense I can make of anything is this: the world keeps turning, whether you want it to or not. The world is oblivious, but not necessarily uncaring, to the deep pain so many go through.
Most people will know significant loss at some point in their lives, but most won't lose a son or daughter.
You've been forced to take the hardest path there is, in the whole world, I believe. I want to believe you'll be rewarded in equal measure, but I am not sure my faith is that strong.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

Just remember that many understand.
And while the pain doesn't really ease, you get used to it. It doesn't stab quite as deep, in time -- but it might be a long time.
It's good that you put him in your stories. That's a loving and fitting tribute.

janni said...

Hugs, Kathleen. I'll be thinking about you and Seth this week, and sending what good thoughts I can your way.

kathleen duey said...

Thank you all so much. It is a very hard thing, and it's nice when people care. Janni, you are a peach. I wish you could have known Seth. He wrote some interesting poetry.

Ruth, I can't figure anything out when it comes to the unfairness of life. I am all right, more or less. Anne Lamott says you learn to dance with the limp. That's how it feels for me.


Yes, please Angela, do give your kids more kisses and hugs. One of the most consoling things for me was to know that I didn't have any unsettled issues with my son. We were close and always talked easily about our feelings--and everything else.
thank you allfor writing me....
k

janni said...

I very much wish I could have known Seth, too.

kathleen duey said...

You would have liked him. He was sunny.

sally apokedak said...

How sad. I'm sorry for you.

And yet, I suspect, it has made you a better writer. Not that anyone would make that trade--I just mean that it's good that instead of curling up and dying, you went on living and creating. That's a small blessing in the midst of agony.

My husband was a quadriplegic for 22 years before he died of colon cancer. He was a happy man and when I looked at him I was always amazed at how human beings are able to adapt to agony and go on "dancing with the limp" as you quoted.

kathleen duey said...

Sally,

It re-set my yardstick for what matters and what doesn't, that's certain. And I didn't crawl into a hole or take pills or hide. But I am changed.

I would love to have met your husband. I have a two friends who live in constant pain. I admire them for their fortitude, and their insistence on normalcy.
They amaze me.

It is an inspiration to me, what humans are capable of surviving.

thank you for writing.
k

Anonymous said...

Kathleen,

Anniversaries are hard, and so is the every dayness. Tears are expansive and they can't remain inside, so I think you are right to let them out every day. I cry every day because I only have half custody of my 4 year old, a torturous and joyous death and rebirth every few days. I am so sorry you miss your boy.

hugs and dancing,
Thalia

kathleen duey said...

Thalia,

That must be very hard. A child so young--the bond is so strong.

Rereading this little thread of comments--women are so sturdy. I sometimes think about the mothers in Iraq or the Sudan.I know the vast majority of them are coping: Feeding and protecting their kids, and making the household work somehow, some way.

k

Anonymous said...

i miss him so much ~ aissa

kathleen duey said...

Me,too, Aissa. Every day, every day, every day.

love,

k