A History of Loss on the Oregon Trail
My son died at birth. On one hand you think, how can you go on, but then after he died there wasn't really a whole lot left that I was afraid of. Life had pretty much doled out her worst shot and even though I might someday hurt AS MUCH as I hurt after losing Dylan, I knew nothing could be WORSE. There is a bizarre freedom in that.
For me, this book began at the tail end of August 1998. On the day I was released from the hospital we all went out to the little country cemetery in Tumalo. I was making decisions on auto pilot. I was drugged up on painkillers and even at my best I was in such a fog that the gravity of what happened had not hit me yet. That would come much later. I remember getting out of Granny's car and following my family across a dirt road and over to the dusty, dry, sticker filled place, that was to be where I would be leaving my son's body. This is where Dylan's grave would be.
Over time, I learned that what I saw at first glance wasn't necessarily all that was there. When you stand under Dylan's juniper tree, one of the first things you see is cheat grass and dust, but of you are still and you look a little closer and deeper, you might also see deer tracks, a few tiny yellow wildflowers and many species of birds. It is so quiet and peaceful underneath that tree. On that day in late August, though, all I could think about was that little cemetery and the land surrounding it, must have been very similar to what the pioneers faced when they lost a loved one. As I stood there among the cheat grass and juniper trees in the tiny country cemetery, I couldn't help but think about the mothers who had buried their children and had to walk away, knowing that more than likely they would never see the grave again. What did it do to those women-- to have buried their hearts and still be expected to continue along the trail? I had always been fascinated with pioneer history and now I mulled over what they must have gone though and I vowed to learn more. What follows, I guess is my way of keeping that promise.
Pioneer women left nearly everything they knew behind and traveled 2,000 miles across the plains, across rivers and over mountains to reach Oregon Territory. Along the way they faced insurmountable loss, but they were strong and it was that grit that kept them going. I have learned that in order to face the loss of my son, I had to look backwards in time to see how other mothers coped. I feel such a kinship to them, a connection that is difficult to explain, but I have studied their diaries and the words they left behind and as a result I have been able to draw some of my own conclusions.
After Dylan's death I turned to books in an attempt to find solace, but all of the many grief books I read just did not give me what I needed. I had to look back in time and see how other people coped and see that they were able to keep going and somehow in that I too, found ways to face each new day. Rather than offering psychological labels, I wanted to find the words our pioneers had left behind, in hope that some of those words might just act as a balm to my own hurt and grief. Although there was no quick fix, over time I have found solace and I offer these passages and words to you in hope that they might help. If you have lost a child, you will never "get over" that loss, but you can find ways to live with it and live around it. You can keep going.
For me, this book began at the tail end of August 1998. On the day I was released from the hospital we all went out to the little country cemetery in Tumalo. I was making decisions on auto pilot. I was drugged up on painkillers and even at my best I was in such a fog that the gravity of what happened had not hit me yet. That would come much later. I remember getting out of Granny's car and following my family across a dirt road and over to the dusty, dry, sticker filled place, that was to be where I would be leaving my son's body. This is where Dylan's grave would be.
Over time, I learned that what I saw at first glance wasn't necessarily all that was there. When you stand under Dylan's juniper tree, one of the first things you see is cheat grass and dust, but of you are still and you look a little closer and deeper, you might also see deer tracks, a few tiny yellow wildflowers and many species of birds. It is so quiet and peaceful underneath that tree. On that day in late August, though, all I could think about was that little cemetery and the land surrounding it, must have been very similar to what the pioneers faced when they lost a loved one. As I stood there among the cheat grass and juniper trees in the tiny country cemetery, I couldn't help but think about the mothers who had buried their children and had to walk away, knowing that more than likely they would never see the grave again. What did it do to those women-- to have buried their hearts and still be expected to continue along the trail? I had always been fascinated with pioneer history and now I mulled over what they must have gone though and I vowed to learn more. What follows, I guess is my way of keeping that promise.
Pioneer women left nearly everything they knew behind and traveled 2,000 miles across the plains, across rivers and over mountains to reach Oregon Territory. Along the way they faced insurmountable loss, but they were strong and it was that grit that kept them going. I have learned that in order to face the loss of my son, I had to look backwards in time to see how other mothers coped. I feel such a kinship to them, a connection that is difficult to explain, but I have studied their diaries and the words they left behind and as a result I have been able to draw some of my own conclusions.
After Dylan's death I turned to books in an attempt to find solace, but all of the many grief books I read just did not give me what I needed. I had to look back in time and see how other people coped and see that they were able to keep going and somehow in that I too, found ways to face each new day. Rather than offering psychological labels, I wanted to find the words our pioneers had left behind, in hope that some of those words might just act as a balm to my own hurt and grief. Although there was no quick fix, over time I have found solace and I offer these passages and words to you in hope that they might help. If you have lost a child, you will never "get over" that loss, but you can find ways to live with it and live around it. You can keep going.