Travis Clayton Rosprim

Hard to believe it's been that long. Half the time I get to my computer I still expect to see you on-line, ready to chat it up. Whoever believes friends over the internet are less real than friends you've made locally is very, very wrong. Thanks again so much for pushing me to go back to college. I graduated Valedictorian, and had the pleasure of making a speech in front of my entire graduating class, their friends, and their families. I hope no one minds if I share it here. "I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who guided and supported me in my effort of going back to school and making something of myself. I'd like to thank my mother for her generous financial support, my sister for flying all the way out here from Houston to be here tonight, and to the numerous teachers who went the extra mile for me. I'd also like to thank someone who couldn't be here tonight -- a true friend. In spite of the fact that all I ever wanted to do was play online games like NexusTK -- where he and I first became pals -- he kept pushing me to go back to school. He told me that I was too smart to keep working dead-end jobs like delivering pizzas and working in bowling alleys, and that I deserved better. Well, here I am. I'm the Valedictorian. True friends are hard to find in this world. When you find them, cherish them and don't ever let go. Unfortunately, the friend I've spoken of passed away not long ago. His name was Travis Clayton Rosprim. Don't ever allow yourself any room for regret, because you might not get a second chance to tell people how much they mean to you. All I can think about now is if I ever told Travis -- or as I knew him, "Aurick" or "Grey Dalan" -- how much his friendship meant to me. This microphone can't possibly amplify my voice loudly enough to reach Travis where he is now; however, hopefully the gratitude I feel in my heart can. Thanks so much, buddy. I'll see you on the other side." I wish the best to all of Travis's surviving family and friends. I'd rather not even think about where I'd be right now without his influence in my life. From what I've read here, it seems he tended to have that effect on people. Having only ever known him through the internet, I can scarcely imagine how great of a person he was in person.

The Yearning is the hardest to handle
Lori Burgstahler

I sit here and think that in a few short months, it will be three years since Taylor has passed. What I have learned is that everything goes back to normal. Except the family. And the smaller the family, the harder it is to recover.

Children are G-d's medicine. They help to take the suffering away. I can say with a full heart that my daughter Brooke has been my antidote and without her I'm afraid I would not have survived this long. Yes, losing a child is that painful.

I have been lucky to be able to express my thoughts and feelings on paper. I hope my forthcoming book will help others, and guide those of you that have not lost a child in your support of the bereaved parent.

Although there are so many emotions experienced (and at a very intense level) the one I'd like to focus on right now is the yearning.

When your child dies and time has passed, one of the hardest things to cope with is the yearning. To me, the yearning has been the hardest part. I yearn so desparately to see my son again. To hear his sweet voice telling me a joke or hearing him giving encouragement to a friend over the telephone.

I yearn to see his thick dark blonde hair and I yearn to walk up behind him like I'd done so many times before and ruffle his hair. To run my hands through his thick hair and announce to him that he is in need of a haircut. And to watch in amazement as his hair would grow back nearly as fast as it was cut off!

I yearn to put my arms around him and hug him. To snuggle with my baby boy (even at 17) and tell him he was my greatest joy. To wrap my small arms around his strong shoulders and tell him that even though he was physically stronger than I was, that I would always be there to take care of him. I'd be there to make things better for him. I'd be his rock, I'd be there no matter what. Because as his mom, I was still strong enough to take care of him and always would be.

I yearn to smell his sweat after a basketball game and to wash his uniform with lots of extra laundry detergent to make sure it was clean and smelled fresh for him for the next time he had to wear it.

I yearn to see him make a "concoction" that he and his father made together with the blender. Running to the store to purchase different kinds of liquid drinks to mix together and to dare each other to go a step further and add in another ingredient. I miss the roar of the blender, the loudness that would rattle the stillness of a lazy sunday afternoon.

I miss having his friends coming over and hanging out. Just hanging out and being boys. Playing video games, laughing about girls and teachers. Watching how intensely they got into the video games and me, the mom; coming into his room to hug and kiss him in the middle of the game, having Taylor try to play around me so he wouldn't lose a point. But he never once told me to leave. He knew it'd only take a second to give him a quick hug and kiss. All his friends would look and and smile, because they knew he was embarrassed, but they knew that their moms probably would be doing the same thing to them if they were at their house. Boys are magical. Son's are magical. My son was magical.

I could go on, but it hurts too much to think about it all. How much I'm missing. How much I will miss him, and how much it hurts.

People who haven't lost a child, especially those in the medical community sometimes claim that parents linger in their pain because they are sad about all the lost opportunities with their child. True, but that isn't nearly what hurts us the most. Nor is it the hardest thing to cope with. For example, having a child who is severely injured and can no longer function, one who will no longer be able to fulfill all their dreams for the future is better than a dead child. Grieving parents would rather have their child sick and disabled than dead. Even if there are all those lost oppotunities to deal with -- they still have their child alive. It is better than having a dead child. Because they have what we don't have -- hope.

When your child is dead, there is no hope for a cure. No hope for a miracle, no hope that they will recover. There is no hope. That is the difference. As a bereaved parent we have lost our hope. And that is what makes the yearning so difficult to handle. Because you know there is no hope in ever seeing your child alive again. And so you yearn. And the yearning becomes stronger each day and eventually becomes overwhelming. Yet you go on -- especially if you have other children, because loving a child who is already alive is such a gift. So you put the yearning for your dead child into your back pocket and carry it with you wherever you travel.

The yearning never goes away. It eats at you like a pirranha nibbling on his meal made from your heart. Bit by bit, the yearning overtakes the constant crying and the urge to die. But the feeling never leaves you and you learn to once again hide this strong emotion from the rest of the world for fear you may make them feel uncomfortable.

The yearning is the hardest part to handle. 

 

Having also lost a child, I extend to all of Travis' family, friends, and those touched by his presence, my heartfelt sympathy. I know firsthand how difficult this is. We will miss Travis and Stephanie, but  they will always be here in our hearts and memories.