Delightful Dinner In Memory of Corban Ferris With His Mother, Michelle Ferris
It was a pleasure eating dinner and sharing a bottle of wine with Michelle at the Texas Roadhouse restaurant in Lansing, Michigan on Friday night. Earlier this year, after Michelle, told me that Corban, worked at the restaurant as a busboy and barback before he died, I invited her to dinner next time I was in the Michigan area.
Corban was well-liked by his co-workers and manager. A memorial plaque with Corban’s photo adorns the wall near the front door. After his death, his fellow co-workers hosted a candlelight vigil for him in the restaurant’s parking lot.
Michelle has done a wonderful job managing her grief and moving forward with her life. She also facilitates a local support group for bereaved moms. I feature Michelle’s essay in the first Let’s Talk Grief book, which I included in this blog. The book has been rescheduled for release next month.
I enjoyed getting to know Michelle better and learning more about Corban.
Thank you, Michelle, for making time to share dinner and a bottle of wine with me. And your essay.
A Single Mom’s Successful Grief Backpack Journey.
My grief journey started on some level at the beginning of mic’s life with my divorce. My life was turned upside down. Everything I had known for the last 10 years was torn apart. But there was this new life, the sunshine I needed. I had no idea what I was doing or what would become of my life, but I knew my son was my everything, and I would do my very best to be the best mom I could be.
I hated sharing him with his father, then, in a split family. That wasn’t how this life was supposed to be. And yet, it’s what I had in front of me. And all the things that might have been hard for me along the way, I always operated from the intention of what was best for Corban.
I also realized Corban was really only on loan to me from God. I did not realize I’d have to “return” him so soon, that our time was limited. Whoever thinks that you’ll outlive your child?
My son, Corban Ferris, is my only child. I was his single parent for almost all of his 19 years. Corban was kind, loyal, respectful, funny, faithful, and just had a gentle smile and soul. He liked to help people and didn’t care to boast about it. We had a cozy home and life, just me and him, and our newly adopted rescue dog, Rusty.
On July 4th, 2020, everything changed. My world stopped. We were enjoying a long weekend away in Northern Michigan. Corban and I had a great day the day before, kayaking down the river and spending time with family and friends. Later that morning, we hiked a short trail to Lake Michigan at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. Shortly after we arrived at the beach, Corban swam to a sandbar. On his way back, he struggled and drowned. That was the last time I saw Corban alive.
How could this be real and happen?
I frantically paced on the beach, repeating, “This can’t be happening.” That became the dividing line of my before and after life.
Corban’s absence is loud. Adjusting to life alone without him has left me with many questions. Like, what will become of me?
What is my purpose now?
My life was being Corban’s mom, caring for him and loving him, being there for him. What now?
How do I do this life by myself, without him?
Grieving as a single parent adds extra layers to the already complicated layers of grieving your only child. The realization that I will never be a grandmother or a mother-in-law adds to the heartbreak.
I often wonder what it would be like to have a spouse, the other parent of my son, to grieve together with, to reminisce about memories. It was just Corban and me living our life in our house, and all the memories, silly things we shared, are left to me to recall. I have tried to write things down so I don’t forget, but not having someone to relive those memories with just isn’t the same.
My grief of losing Corban, losing my only child, often has this undertone of feeling like an outsider in life. Corban was my family, me and him, and without him, this world can feel pretty isolating. It often feels like I’m an outsider, an island. An outsider, looking in and looking back. Others can expand their families and create new memories. I’m reminded I can’t. Trying to fit in can be exhausting. It can be uncomfortable and awkward.
People will say “you’re so strong”, “you’re an inspiration”, but it feels more like I’m enduring this life I never asked for. My sense of home was left with Corban's death.
Grief is this big, heavy backpack I now carry forever. In the early days, it took all my energy, and I had to carry it in front of me with both arms, leaving me little capacity or energy to do anything else. All I could see was this heavy grief in front of me.
Slowly, over time, I developed some strength as I did “grief work” and was able to move the grief backpack to one side and carry it with one arm, and was able to give attention to other things with my free arm.
As time has passed and I've done more “strength training” in grief, that backpack has moved to my back, giving me the freedom to use both arms for other things and participate in life a little more easily. All the while, that grief is still there. I’ve just developed the skills and strength to carry it and integrate it into my life.
There are times when it gets extra heavy and intense, and I have that backpack on my side or right out in front of me again, and it’s all I can focus on. And that’s okay. But I know that won’t last. Because I know I have the strength to carry it again on my back, freeing up my arms.
There are several decisions I’ve made that have helped me in my grief of losing Corban. One has been connecting with other bereaved moms. Connection and community have helped me feel not so alone, feeling free to be who we are, share our feelings, whether it be tears or laughter or both at the same time, and not be judged for it.
Another decision that has helped me is to create two projects in Corban’s memory to move forward in this life, honor him, and make him proud. Every year on his birthday, the day I became a mom, I hand out several birthday cards to strangers in the community. It’s my special Mother’s Day celebration with him. The cards include a note explaining who Corban is and why they are receiving this gift, and they also list the amount for the number of years Corban will turn. It’s Corban’s Pay It Forward Birthday Card, and it blesses me while blessing others, keeping Corban’s memory alive.
The other project is “Making Movie Memories,” which I celebrate during Christmas. Corban and I loved going to the movies and did it frequently. Honestly, since Corban has been gone, I have not been able to go but only one time, and that was out of state with a few bereaved mom friends. I created the project to give other families a memory of a fun activity Corban and I enjoyed together that we can no longer do.
I asked my family, friends, and co-workers for donations and advertised it on social media. I also work with a local elementary school. This is my new Christmas. When I assemble these gifts for other families, it feels like I’m wrapping presents for Corban. He’s with me, and I know he’d be smiling about it.
After Corban died, I discovered that the Bible verse Romans 8:28 was an important one to him. It reads, And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. Corban’s purpose continues to be fulfilled even though he is not physically here, and I continue to work on finding my purpose.
In the first days of my grief, I could picture Corban saying these words: “Mom, it’s amazing here; you should see it.” Just hold on, and you’ll see.
I am doing just that… holding on.
Corban’s Mom Forever.
In the next blog, the last stepping stone to breaking the silence and healing with grace, peace, and harmony - Stone #8 Help Other People Heal.
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