Somehow, even in the midst of a global pandemic, the second of the month rolls around without fail. If it is anything, it is consistent, as well as the feelings that it brings up. April 2 marks 2 years and 9 months that our Keyan has been in her heavenly home. I find it incredibly hard to wrap my mind around the fact that we are rounding the corner on three years without her in our physical presence.
This pandemic that is COVID-19 is bringing up so much loss. Not only are people dying from this virus but every single person has had life changing shifts. In some respects, I feel like mourning Keyan has prepared my family and I for some of the grief that comes with the loss of what we thought life was. In other ways, I want to scream and say "Enough! Give us all a break!" I know many many people are feeling the same thing.
The forced family time has been such a gift. Jamahl is a senior and will presumedly be headed off to college in the fall. Our household has spent lots and lots of time over the last year doing our best to sort out how we all feel about that. The gift of time with him right now does not go unnoticed by any of us. I watch our girls learning new games and trying new activities just to do it with their big brother. What was supposed to be a spring where I was coaching the girls through the high school water polo season and Jamahl was running his senior track season....meals and family time spent in the car between events, has now become time to just soak each other in. We are creating forever memories living through this time together. We all take turns feeling grumpy about missing our jobs, our friends, our sports, our extended family, and the crazy schedules...and we all need some alone time from time to time, but for the most part, we are cherishing the slower pace and time together.
But the same thing that brings me so much joy is what rubs my raw grief. All of this family time just screams how much she is not here. Keyan would have LOVED all of this "at home" time. Her best days ever were staying in her jammies and being with her siblings at home. She would have read SO many books, watched so much Disney channel and Netflix, and played a million games of Uno. Her absence is so loud right now.
I think for the better part of almost three years we have missed her immensely but our lives have still been happening. In the quiet times at home or in the loud stands of a swim meet I have moments of agony at how my heart feels like it doesn't beat right without her. But the life of a mom with four teenagers in the house is busy and some of that lends itself to distraction. I purposely spent the first 2 years after Keyan died proclaiming that my job was "mourning Keyan and feeling all that came with that." I sat with it, focused a lot of energies on working with the complexities of her life and death. This previous fall I made a very purposeful decision to work part time so that my brain had something else to spin on besides missing Keyan. My teaching job has been the ultimate blessing and gift that I feel is directly from God and Keyan because I find her in my school days all of the time. Now, I find myself with time that forces us all to realize that our family of 6 never feels right. We will always be a family of 7 and I will forever and ever be the mom to 5 kids; quadruplets and a big brother. That is who we are. Team Hogan is made up of an intricate balance of the lives we have led with each other. Team Hogan is feeling the pull of our missing MVP right now more than ever. The difficulty and grief that this virus brings is compounded by the family time never feeling in full balance.
So today, April 2, 2020, I am not going to find the sunshiny spin on this. I am not going to talk about how much worse it could be and I am not going to attempt to quiet the screaming inside of me. I am going to feel it. I had a virtual therapy session where much of it was spent just crying. I will let my tears flow during dinner missing leaving her spot open and desperately wishing that I was disconnecting her from her TPN in the midst of getting dinner on the table. I will feel the anger at the unfairness of the situation and I will feel the terror that trauma could come knocking at any time. If Keyan dying has taught me anything it is that the only way around is through. Through the muck and the mire I will stay on this course of feeling so that I can honor my girl by living with this pain and pure joy.
Paul and I caught the end of a Garth Brooks concert being televised by our local PBS channel. I do not think it was coincidence that the only song we heard in its entirety was "The Dance" I truly am thankful for understanding the meaning of "I could have missed the pain, but I'd of had to miss the dance." Even on the second of this month, I would never have wanted to miss the Dance Keyan. We love you and we miss you and we are clinging to the hope of dancing with you again.
Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared beneath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known you'd ever say goodbye
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I'd have to miss the dance
Holding you I held everything
For a moment wasn't I the king
But if I'd only known how the king would fall
Hey who's to say you know I might have changed it all
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance
Yes my life is better left to chance
I could have missed the pain but I'd of had to miss the dance
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