Melodie Hale
There was a huge explosion and the lights went out and we knew something terrible had happened.
We were in my daughter’s apartment watching my grandson, Izaya, and his friend through the living room window. We hadn’t seen them for the last few minutes.
Someone pounded on our door and his friend shouted, “Something horrible has happened to Izaya.” We ran out as fast as we could to find him. Smoke was billowing from the electrical box a block away. We wanted to get to him, but our neighbors held us back. My grandson had come upon the box which was unlocked and open. He looked inside and touched something and was electrocuted instantly, and died.
I’m in a deep dark pit, where I can close out the world, close out whatever life has dealt me. I’m at the bottom of the pit, curled up in a ball, hiding in the darkness because I can’t fathom the beautiful little blue-eyed, blonde haired, five-year-old boy I loved so much was burning. The smoke that was his burning body hovered over me, haunting me.
Eighteen months ago Izaya died and I’m feeling stifled and getting restless. I want out. My finger marks inside the pit tell about the many times I tried to come up but just slid back down.
His death defined my life. I’m confused because this was his experience, his life, his death, and not mine. Who am I without him?
Coming out of the pit means I have to face my pain. I feel eviscerated as if someone slashed me open and everything is falling out. Knowing his beautiful eyes and smiling face are gone makes me feel like my heart is squeezed and ripped out.
I realize the hand squeezing my heart is mine and I want to find ways of letting go a little bit. Remembering how I used to hug him and soak him up always soothed me and reassured me that I was okay. Cherishing my memories with him freed me from my grip.
Coming out of the pit means I have to face my pain. I feel eviscerated as if someone slashed me open and everything is falling out. Knowing his beautiful eyes and smiling face are gone makes me feel like my heart is squeezed and ripped out.
I’m tired of this memory, tired of holding myself back from him. He needs his grandmother and I need him, so in my mind, I push through my neighbors and move towards him on the ground and grab him and hold him tight just like I did in life. I don’t care what he looks like, how badly burned he is – I squeeze him tight and bury my face in him and enjoy every bit of him that’s left.
It gives me great comfort to know I can hold him in this way. The thought of his burning body still frightens me at times, but the image of me loving him always takes over.
I had a dream people were gathered together holding hands. Were these shadows of other children who had died? I’m not sure, but it’s peaceful and tranquil and I feel I belong here with Izaya. In the midst of the sadness of losing him, I feel comforted in this place.
I miss Izaya desperately. But I’m so thankful for the time I had with him. God gave me this little boy for a brief time and Izaya lived life to the fullest in his five years, and I lived it with him. I have been changed because of his life and I just have to thank him for that – I really do.
I’m letting go of Izaya. I’m saying goodbye to his body, his little buoyant boy body that was so beautiful, that I loved so much.
Izaya is no longer in his body and there’s no need for me to put him back together the way he was before he died. He doesn’t need his body anymore. He’s free.
I long to be free and to move beyond my fear, to live my life in new, creative ways and that scares me. I try to hold my desire in, but I can’t.
My life exploded after Izaya’s death and my eyes opened to who I am. I had always been suppressed and afraid to be me, but he wasn’t. He was buoyant and energetic and not afraid. He was himself through and through. I want to be like Izaya.
My life is an open book, with hundreds of threads coming out describing my experiences – jumbled, interwoven, and smudged in a chaotic mix. My life has always been confusing to me and I’ve always been afraid.
My experience after Izaya’s death taught me that I want to be committed to my life, more than I ever thought possible.
I need to zoom in, to focus on taking control of my life.
Izaya died three years ago, and I’m finally emerging from my shadow, a shadow I’ve lived in my whole life. It’s difficult to step out and be seen, to be noticed, but I feel I have no choice now, for I’m compelled to use my gifts, my talents, my creativity as a way of helping myself and touching others.
Out of my wounded heart has come love – love that I never felt confident enough to share, until now.
When Izaya was born, he came into my life like the sun. He came out flying, his eyes bright and blue, and I could never imagine life without him. The lights went out, but I hold on to those five exciting years with him. His voice resonates in my ears and his sunshine keeps me going. He was my little ambassador.
Izaya’s death caused me to clarify my own purpose in life. I look deeper now and see I am an important person, somebody who can affect other people. My opinion counts. The gifts I offer matter.
Do I still fall into the pit of grief? Yes, but the pit is not as deep, and it’s easier to get out. Sometimes I trip and fall unexpectedly with thoughts that he should be here with me, that my life is too hard without him. But I don’t stay there anymore. I’ve built a stairway out of the pit that makes me, not him, responsible for my life.
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