<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><rss xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" version="2.0"><channel><title><![CDATA[Ryan's Journey]]></title><description><![CDATA[This site is dedicated to sharing my personal grief journey following the tragic death of my son, Ryan Benke, in a car accident on May 29th, 2026. It aims to provide support and resources for others experiencing loss and to honor Ryan's memory.]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/blog</link><generator>RSS for Node</generator><lastBuildDate>Wed, 29 Jul 2026 02:25:38 GMT</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://www.grievingryan.com/blog-feed.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title><![CDATA[The Bereved Father, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[Try not to judge the bereaved father. He comes in many forms. He is breathing, but part of him died in May. He may look steady, but inside he is unrecognizable to himself. He answers when you speak to him, but half his mind is at a desk, on "the call" at 11:39, forever. He goes to work, he eats, he sleeps, he exists  but existing and living are not the same thing anymore. He is standing in front of you, but he is also standing at a casket, and he will be standing there for the rest of his life.]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/the-bereved-father-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a67f910b59210289e96ffd0</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Tue, 28 Jul 2026 00:39:55 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_d6b3d2d7ba084586b4f1ca8ca96b5d9c~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Time]]></title><description><![CDATA[June 26, 2026 We finally received the crash report and the medical examiner's report. I don't know what I was expecting. The only good thing... the injury would have caused him to lose consciousness almost immediately. Unsurvivable within minutes. He did not suffer. I was hoping for something else. Like, why did he swerve. But even if they knew... what does it change? Nothing. My boy is gone. That's it. Why is it so hard to accept that fact? It's been 2 months. I've never gone this long...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/_time</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a6606411f684d97f844dc49</guid><category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category><pubDate>Sun, 26 Jul 2026 13:10:02 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_ca8886ecfc064dd3ab260f2b1c70c702~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_1000,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Living in 2 worlds]]></title><description><![CDATA[July 25, 2026 I wake up every morning into a world that expects me to keep living... while part of my heart never left the day Ryan died. One world is the one everyone else sees. The world where I somehow keep going. I answer messages. I run errands. I pay bills. I smile when someone says hello. I do all the things life still demands... even though something in me stopped the day my son died. Even though most days I don't want to keep going at all. The other world is invisible. And it's the...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/living-in-2-worlds</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a640811424f5a9980a9bbc9</guid><category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category><pubDate>Sat, 25 Jul 2026 00:54:00 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_02d8679767f347588b46fc0f78d49d02~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_1000,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[1 step forward, 2 steps back]]></title><description><![CDATA[July 24, 2026 I've been working on managing my grief by making room, little by little, for life outside this unrelenting pain. I have a lot of responsibilities. So I started with work. I'm fortunate enough to truly enjoy what I do. Since Ryan passed, I haven't experienced joy... only fleeting glimpses here and there. A strategy from grief counseling: build a "bridge" before and after work. A mental note. An affirmation I say out loud before I start. Something like... "I'm starting work now. I...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/1-step-forward-2-steps-back</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a63ba58334c7e6fe2a06f19</guid><category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category><pubDate>Fri, 24 Jul 2026 19:22:54 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_fc621592f14e49538bd771b7ade68e10~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_768,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Unimaginable, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[People say "I can't imagine." We couldn't either. We were you once... hearing about someone else's tragedy... hugging our kids a little tighter that night... grateful, quietly, that it wasn't us. Then one morning we woke up inside it. No warning. No permission asked. Just... inside it. We've been living in the unimaginable ever since. Learning its rooms. Its hours. The way it changes shape but never leaves. And somehow... we're still here. Not because we imagined it. Not because we're...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/unimaginable-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a633ab4302df2035dc6b3b7</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Fri, 24 Jul 2026 10:18:18 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_498c9067f8ec421099900a1d4dfd56cd~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_768,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[The Endless Barrage of Thoughts, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[The thoughts don't start, they're just suddenly there, already spinning, already mid-sentence, like they never stopped. A memory of your laugh turns into how you died turns into what if I'd called turns into your voice turns into nothing. No order to it. No first thought, no last thought, just a wheel that keeps turning without a hand on it. I try to follow one thread... it disappears into another into another into you, gone. Round and round. Not building to anything. Not landing anywhere....]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/the-endless-barrage-of-thoughts-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a61fab421af5c246d0112ae</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Thu, 23 Jul 2026 11:31:33 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_52447acaba1040ec9aa2b682c5937bb3~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_768,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Circling, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[I don't know which way I'm moving anymore. Some days the ground falls away and I think I'm rising... lighter, clearer, almost through. Then the same turn comes back and I'm lower than before, same view, wrong direction. Up. Down. I can't tell anymore. I just know I keep returning to the same place, different weight. This is a spiral, I've learned... not a line, not a hill, just a shape that keeps finding itself again. I keep circling him... closer some turns, further others, never landing,...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/circling</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a614c8d424f5a9980a26bb9</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Wed, 22 Jul 2026 23:07:55 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_f062a65ed45c4180a7f669a655b18000~mv2.png/v1/fit/w_1000,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Ryan's Birthday]]></title><description><![CDATA[July 21, 2026 A synopsis of the day Written by Robin: Tonight we gathered as a family to celebrate you, Ryan. There was nothing formal or perfectly planned, just family and friends coming together to celebrate your 21 years of life. Today you would have turned 22. I keep thinking back to our conversations about your future. We were looking at IKEA couches for your apartment in San Diego and already planning our trip to visit you in the fall. Life changed so drastically. There are still...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/ryan-s-birthday</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a60addaecd5559e9ceee0b2</guid><category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category><pubDate>Tue, 21 Jul 2026 04:00:00 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_97d65df51ba94fed922fda3407b5a858~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Under Fire, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[Every minute, every day I'm under fire. The relentless assault of emotions doesn't stop for sleep, doesn't stop for morning coffee, doesn't stop at all. The loss is so deep it has no bottom. Not the loss of what was. The loss of what would have been. I should have booked the ticket to San Diego. Should have helped you carry boxes into a new place, should have sat with you over coffee talking through which classes to take, what you wanted to do with your life, who you wanted to become. We...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/under-fire-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a5e07e01931e2c8467705af</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Mon, 20 Jul 2026 11:40:14 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_d8ae818e41964754b923ffae288b4be3~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_768,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[How to Be With Me Right Now]]></title><description><![CDATA[July 18, 2026 The worst thing that could happen to me has already happened. That's not a metaphor, it's just fact now. And once the worst thing has already happened, it leaves behind this strange, heavy apathy that sits on top of everything else. Nothing feels urgent. Nothing feels like it matters the way it used to. When you've already survived the worst phone call of your life, it's hard to work up fear, or excitement, or care, about much else. Everything in my world changed overnight....]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/how-to-be-with-me-right-now</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a5c0c745e7d848635e2a7b4</guid><category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category><pubDate>Sat, 18 Jul 2026 23:43:38 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_0192df218c274a9b864f12005dc74735~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_768,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Not Even Two Months, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[It hasn't even been two months. But people move on. I understand. I don't blame them. Before I lost my son, that's exactly what I did, too. Somebody else's grief, and I moved on from it, because that's what you do when it isn't yours. I can't move on. There's nothing to move on to. Move on implies a next place. I don't have one of those yet. I just have here, and here is unbearable, and I have to rebuild something before there's anywhere to move toward. That takes time. Nobody tells you how...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/not-even-two-months-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a5b6f145e7d848635e16a16</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Sat, 18 Jul 2026 12:23:48 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_c9b8356d93aa416abb407ef0f9fbee6c~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_768,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[The spark]]></title><description><![CDATA[July 16, 2026 Ryan's birthday is next week. The week after that marks two months since his life was cut short. I don't know how to hold both of those at once. A birthday and an anniversary, seven days apart, for the rest of my life. I guess I'm about to find out. This grief is so intense, and almost entirely internal. The outside world hasn't changed. The same streets, the same office, the same people saying the same things they always said. But none of it is familiar anymore. Not the way it...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/the-spark</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a59673e0ff39938e1cd1b5d</guid><category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category><pubDate>Thu, 16 Jul 2026 23:24:50 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_cea2f9b75d5d423cabc24d7453a944e2~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_768,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[How much I miss you, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[I miss your voice. Already going soft at the edges in my memory, and that terrifies me more than the missing does. I miss your laugh. That goofy, unmistakable laugh. The one that made a room feel like it was allowed to be lighter. I'd know it anywhere. I'll never hear it again. I miss your hugs. The bear hugs. The kind that meant it. The kind that said everything we didn't have to say out loud. My arms remember the shape of you and don't understand yet that they won't get to hold it again. I...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/how-much-i-miss-you-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a58b0db4098fe30f457a898</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Thu, 16 Jul 2026 10:29:24 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_bf0705fdbe684c8480214050f6b6c6f0~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[The Mask, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[You can't see it from the outside. That's the point of the mask. Down at the core, I am hurting. Lost. Alone. Angry one minute, sad the next. I can't remember what joy feels like. I'm not sure I'd recognize it if it walked back in. But out here, in the world, you say I'm handling it well. I smile when I need to. I laugh, sometimes, at the right moments. I show up. I do the things. I can hold a conversation about almost anything, like before. It's bullshit. I'm falling to pieces behind my own...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/the-mask-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a5784a5ebe12eb9f28d0e08</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Wed, 15 Jul 2026 13:04:49 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_5599536cc6a84363886e54cb0202b20f~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_683,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[The why that no longer exists]]></title><description><![CDATA[June 14, 2026 Imagine a world without your child. Your only child. It's a horrible thought. Most parents can't even begin to go there. Understandably. The mind protects itself from it. It won't let you finish the sentence. I don't have to imagine it. I used to know why I got up in the morning. I don't anymore. Not because I forgot. Because the reason is gone. It died with Ryan. Every plan I made, without even noticing I was making it, had him standing somewhere inside it. Retirement. Legacy....]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/the-why-that-no-longer-exists</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a561dd5634028a56f49a804</guid><category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category><pubDate>Tue, 14 Jul 2026 11:40:03 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_c1f25bda84564df9bc3be74a31d9478a~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_854,h_640,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[And life still goes on..., a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[The birds didn't know. They kept singing the same songs outside a window I couldn't look out of. The grass kept growing. Somebody, somewhere, mowed a lawn that morning. As if that was still a normal thing to do. The shoppers kept shopping. Carts full of milk and bread and small decisions like the biggest one hadn't just been made without them. Traffic lights kept changing. Red, yellow, green. Nobody stopped to ask if they should. I'm standing still. The world didn't check with me first. It...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/and-life-still-goes-on-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a54e7c5870c7bdb8f403753</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Mon, 13 Jul 2026 13:30:04 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_400f33701073477385285ff5ad6005a2~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_768,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[What Should Have Been, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[I wasn't ready to stop counting. There was a college graduation I already pictured. There was a first real job I never got to hear about. Practicing your interview.. The phone call. The excitement in your voice "Dad, I got the job!". Me pretending I wasn't already telling everyone I knew. There was a call about a lease you needed me to look over. A call about a car that made a noise you didn't trust. A call just to ask if I thought you were making the right choice. There was advice I never...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/what-should-have-been-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a537d721f3b88f8a4ebdaa0</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Sun, 12 Jul 2026 11:48:42 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_6564c5176a4f41f2bf915e7e30d454f0~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_768,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Not Worse]]></title><description><![CDATA[July 11, 2026 I used to think in terms of better and worse. Good days, bad days. That was the language before. Now there's a line in the sand, and everything gets measured against it. May 28th was the best day. The day before I knew. The last day of the world where my son was still in it. Since then... better isn't a word I understand anymore. I can't reach for it. It's a shape I don't recognize, a language I used to speak. But not worse... that I understand. That I can hold. Not worse...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/not-worse</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a52a5c3bf4eff0effd73a85</guid><category><![CDATA[Journal]]></category><pubDate>Sat, 11 Jul 2026 20:27:19 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_044cfb2e9e054bc3bc725dd9b47a929f~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_277,h_185,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[The Dark Heavy Blanket, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[Every morning I put it on like a coat I never asked for... heavy... dark... draped over everything I used to be. I move through the day. I answer. I smile. I nod. Fine, I say. I'm fine. The blanket says nothing. It doesn't have to. Underneath it I am fear... fear that the phone will ring again, fear that love is just a loan the world can call in whenever it wants. Underneath it I am anger... my son, my present, my whole imagined future... taken. Just... taken. Underneath it I am sadness......]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/the-dark-heavy-blanket-a-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a529e0e5c421b82021d7ae5</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Fri, 10 Jul 2026 19:52:27 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_006808c8ba8d4732b6baab2cc790f547~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_337,h_253,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Missing Piece, a poem]]></title><description><![CDATA[People say I'm still here... still living... still moving forward. But they don't see the part of me that never left that moment. It stayed with you... in the last place you existed. in the last breath I remember. in the last version of life that made sense. I didn't lose you completely. I lost the part of me that belonged with you. And I don't know how to get it back. I'm not sure I want to. Because getting it back means leaving you further behind. So I carry both... the living and the...]]></description><link>https://www.grievingryan.com/post/missing-piece-poem</link><guid isPermaLink="false">6a5190e6514c7342ec7d01ac</guid><category><![CDATA[Poems]]></category><pubDate>Thu, 09 Jul 2026 00:42:48 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/d785d3_8ed68750a07a47c48977ff2b418c0629~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_1000,h_1000,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>Eric Benke</dc:creator></item></channel></rss>