I Have Officially Moved

As of 8/8/2011, I have officially moved the Grieving Dads Project  blog to www.GrievingDads.com.  Please make note of this change and visit me at the new location.  All previous posts and comments have been moved to this new blog.  I look forward to continuing on with this all important project.  Thanks to all of you that have made this project the success that it has become. 

Back from Break – Important Notice

Some of you may have noticed that my activity on this blog was limited during the month of July. I have a good reason, I have been spending a lot of time redesigning a new Grieving Dads blog that will replace this one. It will still be located at the same domain www.GrievingDads.com and will be even more user-friendly. The transistion will occur by August 6th.  Thanks to all of you, I have outgrown this blog and will continue to develop even more resources to help the many grieving parents that visit this site.

Although I have been absent, I have been writing some great articles that I will be posting over the coming weeks.  I hope you will be able to relate with them on some level. I also have fantastic news regarding our efforts to amend the Family Medical Leave Act to include the death of a child. I will be sharing this news within the next week. I have missed all of you. Please stay tuned!

NOTE: Because of the transition, it was not possible to transfer all of the WordPress subscribers. All of the email subscribers will be transferred one by one. I say this so if you do not receive any blog posting notices within next week, please let me know or sign up again. Please let me know if you have any questions. Look forward to moving ahead with this blog.

Peace.

Kelly Farley

“Cleaning Out My Closet”

This past weekend I was putting some clean laundry away in my closet and I noticed a couple of the tee shirts I use for working out were starting to look worn out.  I had just recently bought a couple of new “high performance” wicking tee shirts to replace the old shirts but had not yet disposed of the old ones.  I held on to the old cotton tee shirts because I like them better than the wicking material on the new style.  However, I knew it was time to let them go and move on.

I decided that since I was in the mode of cleaning out my closet, I would just go through all of my cloths and decide which ones to keep, throw out or donate.  I have always enjoyed being organized, it gives me peace.  Some would call this enjoyment obsessive, but it gives me peace of mind.   So getting rid of clutter and disposing of things I no longer need or use really doesn’t feel like a chore to me.

As I was going through my closet, I was tossing all kind of old shirts and pants; I was making a lot of progress.  Many of the items were still in very good condition and only worn a few times for whatever reason.  It made me feel good to know that I was going to be able to donate these items to Goodwill and that someone was going to be able to use them. 

All of this progress came to an end when I came upon a blue and white striped long sleeve shirt that I purchased at Gap back in October of 2004.  I typically do not remember specific days and times when I purchase things, especially almost 7 years ago, however this shirt was different.

I remember the day I purchased this shirt because my wife and I were out shopping for maternity clothes for her and decided to make a quick stop into the Gap.  We had been out earlier that day looking for a crib and other furniture to create a nursery for our beautiful baby that was coming home soon.   We had gone through extensive fertility treatments to get to this point and we were excited about all of the things that go along with being a first time parent.

Within about 3 weeks of that day, we lost our beautiful sweet baby girl Katie.  Every time I see that shirt I think of her and what could have been.  I think about how much her mother and I were robbed from a lifetime with her.  I think of her often, but that shirt always reminds me of that time when we had all of the hopes and dreams of what our lives with her would be like.

Needless to say, that shirt is still hanging in my closet today and will never be donated or given away.  It may eventually make its way to a keepsake box we that we have for her, but not yet, not today.

Do you have items in your “closet” that you do not want to part with?

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“Telling Your Sorrow”

Telling Ones sorrow often brings comfort – Pierre Corneille (circa 1640)

Telling ones sorrow seems to be such a simple concept but one we all struggle with. It’s not easy to go to the pain and relive our experiences. It took me a long time before I could openly tell my story. I probably had a million reasons why I wouldn’t talk about it, but here are a couple of main reasons why I wouldn’t tell my story:

1. I truly thought if I didn’t talk about it I could tuck it away into a dark corner of my mind and it would just go away.

2. It hurt too much.

3. I thought I was being weak and I should be able to control my pain.

4. I never really discussed other difficult things in my life, no reason to start now.

5. I felt a lot of guilt and I really didn’t want to let others know how “terrible” of a dad I must be by not being able to protect my children.

6. I was taught to deal with “stuff” on my own.

7. I didn’t think there was anyone out there that was willing to listen to my problems.

8. I didn’t want to burden other people with the issues I was having.

9. Talking about my children’s death wouldn’t change the fact that it really happened.

10. I was embarrassed that I would start weeping in front of others when I spoke of the losses.

These are just a few of the reasons that come to mind today. Like I said above, I am sure I had many many reasons for not sharing.

I have since learned that this quote is very true. Telling your story is an important part of releasing the pain the goes to the core. Pain I never realized existed. Pain that cannot be explained with words. You have to walk in the shoes of a grieving parent to understand this pain.

Do you have excuses for not telling your story?

Do you have ideas you would like to share with other on how to start telling their story?

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“Father’s Day” by Joe Dambach

Father’s Day
Written by Joe Dambach (2011)

“The parent child relationship never ends. A mother or father will always remain a parent regardless of the age of the child at the time of death or the reason the child is no longer present.

Time may bring more sophisticated coping strategies but the absence of the loved child lingers in the heart of the parent and remains there for their entire lives.”
                                           -from Journey Through Loss by Julie Siri

So true. It’s been nearly 19 months since Luke’s passing. It might as well have been yesterday. We’ve been grieving ever since and it has not been easy, despite any outward appearances. Father’s Day (along with Mother’s Day) is one of the hardest days.

I find myself going into deep reflection; thinking of the good and happy times with Luke, but also the difficult times.  Words cannot describe the pain since his death.  It’s hard to separate the good memories from the pain, as if you can’t have one without the other.  They are woven together, balled up into one big tangled mess of mixed emotions.

It’s 4:40am, and I’m listening to the birds talk and sing and play.  I think about the difference between mourning and grief.  Mourning being a public display of grief.  I think about how everyone grieves differently and that there are no shortcuts.  It comes in bursts and waves and sometimes I just want to wallow in its wake.  

Grief cannot be avoided.  Like the lines in the children’s book, Going on a Bear Hunt, where they say, “We can’t go over it, we can’t go under it, we’ll have to go through it.”  You have to go through grief, in order to be able to manage it.  To deal with it.  There is no way around it.  

I think of the times I would sit outside with Luke, on the side of the house, in the shade, reading a book while Luke would feel the light breeze blowing on his face, his eyes squinting, hair flowing.  He’d get that glow of happiness that could transcend his disabilities.  I think of lying in bed with him, when I used to take him out of the crib and lay him next to me.  We’d both sleep and wake and sleep and just enjoy relaxing together, suction machine always within arms reach.

I think of the painful and haunting memories.  I think of the worst night of my life, when Luke died.  I think about how we had to leave the hospital, leave without him.  No going back.  It was 3:30am when we drove off into the darkness.  

We’re still in the darkness.  

It’s 5:01am and I can hear the birds.  A distant wah-hooo, hoo hoo – the call of the mourning dove.  I can see the glow of the mourning light.

By Joe Dambach

Thank you to fellow grieving dad and friend Joe Dambach for sharing this piece with us.  He was kind enough to share some of his thoughts, emotions and reflections regarding the loss of his beautiful little boy Luke. 

“Exhausting”

This post is a continuation of my generated list of 30 words that could be used to describe grief. Obviously this list relates to my experience with grief, so I am interested to see if anyone else can relate with some of these words. I plan on continuing this series of postings that will not only define these words, but expand on why I thought they would be good descriptors.

The fourth word I chose is:

Exhausting: Defined as “tending to produce fatigue, weariness, or the like”

It’s been almost seven years since the death of my daughter Katie and just at 5 years for the death of my son Noah. I can honestly say that there are still days that I feel exhausted. I use to be able to survive 16 hour work days and feel refreshed the next day. I have lost my ability to work long hours, mainly because my ability to handle high levels of stress has also gone away. I would suspect that it also has to do with the fact I look at life differently now. I try not to rush through my day like I use to before the deaths of my children. My desire to get the slap on the back “at a boy” that I use to strive for has also disappeared.

I remember shortly after the death of my son Noah my wife and I took 3 months off of work to start the healing process. During this time, we would often fall asleep holding hands because we didn’t want the other person to let go of us out of fear of one of us slipping away. We were not sure we could survive the loss of another child. We were still dealing with the first death, and now we had to find a way to survive this one. When we did finally fall asleep, we would sleep for almost 10 hours every night. We woke up when we wanted to. We didn’t have to be anywhere in particular since we had taken the 3 months off. I really don’t remember a whole lot from the summer of 2006, but I to remember I wasn’t able to do much. The only thing I remember is that I would bike and run almost every day or take on a small home project that would take me days to complete. I felt exhausted most of the time. I suppose my body was using all of its energy to help me cope with the death of Noah and Katie and it didn’t leave me much energy to do anything else.

Another issue that I have experienced as part of this grief and I guess it could fall under “exhaustion” is the fact that I have a difficult time staying focused. I have always joked about having Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), but the level of my inability to focus has become a lot more pronounced since losing my children. I can sit at my desk for hours and go home at the end of the day and not know what I really accomplished at work that day. It has gotten much better over time, but I still have those days from time to time.

The good thing is that when I am working on the Grieving Dads Project or taking classes to become a counselor, it invigorates me. Mainly because I know that I am helping others that are trying to survive the death of a child.

Anyone else experience levels of exhaustion as part of grief?

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“96 Photographs”

The following was sent to me by fellow grieving dad and friend Steven Stuart.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  I can relate with all of these points on some level.  I think what we have been through makes us stop and assess our lives; where we have been, where we are and where we are going.

 

96 Photographs

 

It dawned on me the other day…we adults measure life in such silly ways sometimes. We worry about trivial stuff like keeping up with the “Joneses”, climbing the corporate ladder in order to better support a family we wind up seeing less and less, and just trying to always be number one in everything we do, except in our own lives. We always seem to forget that if we do not take care of ourselves properly, we will never be number one in anything or with anyone because we have neglected ourselves.

 

It also dawned on me that the simplest things are often the most important. I was looking at pictures of my son Colin that my wife asked me to print. There were 12 to choose from to frame and put around the house, and I thought…”how many pictures of Colin do we actually have, and I counted 96. That moment, two things hit me…we ONLY have 96 pictures of Colin, and we HAVE 96 pictures of Colin. It was just that measuring a life in less than 100 pictures made me realize that I needed to adjust how I measured my life and where I want to go with it from this day forward, and that is in the most positive direction I can.

 

Below is some food for thought…hopefully #6 will resonant more than the other 5 combined.

 

1. Chronological Age

 

The most common measurement of life is chronological age, and people can become famous simply by living long enough.

 

2. Material Wealth

 

Although not many will openly admit to this, many people measure success by the size of their house, their car, their paychecks, and their bank accounts.

 

3. Achievements

 

There are many whose lives were brief and yet made a huge impact on the world and the world remembers them for who they were and what they did.

 

4. Legacy

 

Some homes are filled with family photographs as a powerful reminder that you have created a family. For some, this is their life work – to raise a child, to leave behind a family when you’re gone. When you speak to the dying, you know that they find great comfort in knowing that although they will soon be no more, they have left something behind that will outlive them.

 

5. Personal Creed

 

You can decide your own measure of success in a personal creed and live by this every day of your life. I strongly recommend this as we are all created different and are on earth to fulfill our individual purpose. Your life has a meaning that no other life has, and you alone can decide what living well means for you.

 

6. Transcend Measurement

 

There are two ways to think about life – as an obligation, or as pure gift. If you regard life as an obligation, like a job where you are put in a certain position to perform a certain function, you will need to measure how well you are performing.

 

Life as pure gift does not need to be measured at all. It just is. You just are. You could do nothing with your life and it would still mean something, because you existed and that is good enough. In philosophical terms, existence is not a means but an end in itself. “I AM” is the only meaning there is.

 

Of course, one of life’s paradoxes is that it can be a bit of both. It is a gift, but we also want to use this gift in a meaningful way. Each day you wake up and find yourself alive is a gift, but you can also choose to make that day count. Whatever measure you choose, live well, and your life, and the life of your child, will mean something.

 

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“Happy Fathers Day”

I hope you can find a moment of peace today as you reflect on the child you have lost and the precious time you were able to spend with them.  Know you are not alone in your pain today.  If you have living children, hug them and love them.

Happy Fathers Day!

Peace.

Kelly Farley
The Grieving Dads Project

“Father’s Day Plans”

Father’s Day Plans

Last Friday night I was fortunate enough to be invited to speak at a local chapter of the Compassionate Friends. I conducted my “Father’s…..The Forgotten Parent” workshop in front of about thirty bereaved parents. Although I speak to bereaved parents quite often, it still breaks my heart when they go around the room for introductions and to tell their story. The pain is raw and it is real. People are just looking for some sign of hope. Maybe it is something someone says that evening that will give them something to hold on to until the next meeting. These are people at their most humbled moment. There is no ego or one-upmanship going on. Just people who are sad and hurting and wanting someone to help them out of the despair they find themselves in.

My workshop is set up to be interactive so it is not just me speaking; the idea is to get others comfortable with telling their story and to talk about some of the issues they are dealing with. However, in order for people to become comfortable with me, I have to be transparent with my thoughts and experiences. So I will often tell my stories, some will bring tears and other will bring a smile or laughter when I talk about some of the crazy things I did during my really dark days. Things most people in the room can relate with on some level.

As part of this workshop I usually will have a “discussion” session about a particular topic. At this particular workshop I asked the question “What are you plans for Father’s Day?”. I was surprised to hear silence in the room. Many of the parents are newly bereaved and this is their first Father’s day without their child. A lot of them haven’t allowed themselves to even think about that question. While others haven’t given it much thought, hoping the day will just come and go.

The discussion then unexpectedly turned to me. An elderly lady that was there said that was a great question and then ask me “what are you doing for Father’s Day?”. It kind of took me off guard and I laughed and told her “only I can ask the questions”. I really didn’t have an answer other than just spending time with my wife. I personally want people to acknowledge me as a father on this day, but I know most people (other than my wife) will not. I don’t expect them to. Most people are afraid that a Happy Father’s Day wish will upset someone that has lost a child. This could be the case with some, but not me.

Here are a couple of questions for you to think about as we approach Father’s Day. Please share your thoughts.

What do plan on doing for Father’s Day?

How to you want others to handle you on Father’s Day?

Do you want a card and well wishes?

Will you go to breakfast with family?

Do you want to embrace the day as a father or try to avoid the pain of the loss?

Will you reach out to a child that doesn’t have a father?

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“Journey Towards Fathers Day”

A Journey Towards Father’s Day

It’s that time of year again, a time for renewal.  It’s time to say goodbye to the dark, gray, cold days of winter and hello to spring.  In late February/early March I start to search desperately for the first signs of hope; hope that spring is right around the corner.  The first Winter Crocus to peak through the ground or spotting the first Robin after a long winter is a welcoming sign that winter is leaving ever so slowly.   By the end of March, the days become a little longer and a little brighter, bringing with it new growth and color.  I love the smell of spring in the air, the beautiful spring flowers, fresh cut grass and the sound of a spring thunderstorm washing away the winter gray.

However, for me, the excitement of spring turns to uneasy anticipation in April as I face a series of dates I don’t really want to deal with.  The days of naively enjoying the spring are gone, they have been gone since the spring of 2004.  Can’t I just enjoy the spring for what it is?  Unfortunately, the answer to that questions is “no”. 

With the arrival of April comes Easter and the reminders; the reminders that my daughter Katie and my son Noah are not here.  No Easter dress for my sweet Katie and no smiles on Noah’s face as he finds the Easter eggs hidden around the yard.  I was never fortunate enough to have experienced these events with my children before they died, but they do play out in my head as to the “what if” and “what should have been”.  I keep most of these thoughts to myself and don’t really say much about them to anyone else.  I don’t want to upset my wife by saying them out loud, even though I am sure she is thinking the same things I am during this time.

Late April brings Katie’s original due date.  This year would have been her fifth birthday.  As we do every year on her due date, we order a cake, sing her Happy Birthday and blow out the candles.  Then we head to the park to release balloons and watch them until they disappear.  Some would think this is a sad and depressing way to remember your child’s birthday.  But for me, it isn’t, it’s my way to let her know that I love her and I miss her and look forward to the day of holding her in my arms. 

I am sure that many of the people that know my wife and I think we should just move on, to let her go, but I really don’t take much stock in what they think because it wouldn’t be fair of me to ask them to understand.  How could they unless they themselves have lost a child?

The month of May brings another uneasy day, Mother’s Day.  Though I still go through the motions of calling my mom to wish her well, I have been given the burden of watching my wife’s face turn to sorrow as this day approaches.  It’s just another reminder that she doesn’t have a living child to call her mommy.  She never got to experience the love and hugs of a living child, only the heartbreaking feeling of being a mom to two beautiful babies that have died.  As her husband, I want to take away her pain and replace it with all of the joys of motherhood, but that’s not possible.

The first couple of years after the losses, my wife didn’t even want to acknowledge that it was Mother’s Day.  I wasn’t sure if I should get her a card or not.  In my mind she is a mother to two beautiful children, but I also understand her pain and realization that she is the mother of two beautiful children that have died.  I remember the first year that she had hinted that it would be okay for others to celebrate Mother’s Day with her.  On top of buying her a gift to memorialize Katie and Noah, I wanted to get her a Mother’s Day card.  I remember standing in the aisle of the local Hallmark store looking for a Mother’s Day card for mothers that have lost a child.  Certainly we can’t be the only parents that have lost a child, so why isn’t there a card that acknowledges these parents.  When I told the lady behind the counter that I was looking for a Mother’s Day card for my wife that has lost two children, she paused, absorbed what I just said and replied, “I am so sorry for your losses”.  It took me off guard since most people either act like you didn’t just say that or they acknowledge the pain of the mother, not so much the dad.

It’s finally June and the last difficult month for a while.  Once I get past Father’s Day, I’ll be in the clear until the Holiday Season starts again in November.  Early June brings the day we lost our sweet baby Noah.  It has been five years since we lost Noah and the day of his death is permanently burned into my memory.  I know it’s a wound that has healed with time, but it left a scar that remains forever.  We spent his Birthday together and just like Katie’s, filled with cake, songs, smiles, tears and balloons. 

The day that Noah died was the day that I realized I was a father.  A father that didn’t try to run from or deny the pain I had festering inside of me since the loss of Katie.  With Katie I tried to bury the pain by keeping my mind occupied with work and anything else that would distract me from what I was feeling inside.  I responded like most men are expected to respond.  You put your head down and keep moving.  But I found out that doesn’t work for very long.  The day that Noah died was the day I realized I needed to deal with two losses.  The one I had been trying to avoid for the last 18 months and the one that was right there in front of me that day in early June 2006.

It took me a while to fully grasp the concept of being a father to a child that has died.  It’s tough to accept that I will not be getting any hugs or kisses from my babies on Fathers Day.  There are times where I feel like I have been cheated because I know that I will never experience the “traditional” role of fatherhood.  I’ve lost the experience of being their daddy, someone to hold and protect them when they are scared and someone to spend time with and share my life with.  I know that there will be no first steps or words, no dance recitals, no bike rides without training wheels, no playing catch, no Christmas mornings, no first dates, no graduations, no college, no weddings and no grandchildren.

But I can’t change any of this.  I wouldn’t even if I could, doing so would deny their existence.  No matter how short a time I had with them, I would never give up the opportunity and privilege to be their dad.  So as difficult as it is on Father’s Day, I know I have been given a gift from them.  A gift you can’t buy in a store.  They gave me the most precious gift I have ever received, the gift of a father’s love for their child.  A love I never understood until they came into my life.

Should I celebrate Fathers Day, should I not?  Not really sure how to approach this day.  But as Father’s Day approaches this year, I am still trying to learn to embrace this day and embrace my role as their father.  The uneasy anticipation has lifted over the last couple of years and has continued to be replaced with feelings of hope and renewal.

This year I’ll spend Father’s Day with my wife and my dear friend and dog, Buddy.  Other than my wife, I probably won’t hear well wishes for a Happy Father’s Day.  Most people don’t know what to say or if they should say anything, so they don’t.  I’ll spend most of my day thinking about Katie and Noah, but not with a heavy heart like some would suspect, but with a heart filled with love for my children and compassion for all of the other grieving dads that are trying to cope and survive this difficult day.

Written by:
Kelly D. Farley

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