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I was never a jealous person. Until I lost Ryan.

Jealousy and envy are such unattractive emotions and rarely in my 49 years had I felt them. Maybe it was because I was so very lucky. In most ways, I had it all. I hadn’t always had it all but over my adult life I had gathered it all. Beautiful family; strong marriage; lucrative career; lovely home; nice cars, clothes, jewelry, artwork, stuff of all sorts; many good friends; travel budget; respect in my community, good health, able body, etc.

My childhood was less than idyllic but even through those difficult years I always had an inner strength and confidence in my abilities. I had hope that I was going to make something of myself and rise above my poor East Texas roots. And I did. By the time Ryan died, my life looked pretty near story book perfect from the outside looking in and in most ways it really was. But then that beautiful life shattered like a piece of priceless china. And for the first time in my life, I began to feel jealousy and envy. I still had all the material things but those didn’t matter any more. My son was dead. My hopes and dreams for the future were gone. My family was no longer intact – and like poor old Humpty Dumpty, it could never be put back together again.

Ron and I shared those feelings of jealousy and envy as we watched our friends send their kids off to college; visit them for Parents Weekends; follow their progress through Rush and study trips abroad. We have “airport envy” as our friends wait at baggage claim for their kids returning from college for holiday breaks. We talked about these feelings with one of our therapists because it feels so icky. Bernie, the therapist, advised us to think of it as “longing” rather than envy. Evidently envy is wishing for the other person not to have something if you can’t have it too. That certainly isn’t the case. We are just so darn sad we don’t have it too.

I just returned from a conference in New York. I was among 3400 people I didn’t know. Standing in groups, as I would hear someone mention their college age sons or daughters, I would literally walk away from the group. It’s still that painful for me. And we parents of exceptional children are boastful types. I was one too. I now realize how painful it is for the wounded bystanders and eavesdroppers to hear.

2 ½ years into this loss, I know there are many “jealous moments’ yet to come – college graduations; weddings, grandchildren. Things we thought were in our future but now may never be. I’m working on being a bigger and better person; working on not feeling jealousy or envy; working on keeping my “longings” in check and counting my blessings for what I have left rather than what I have lost.

It’s a work in progress but I’m trying my hardest.