“A Curious Thing”

A curious thing happened this past Sunday. I’m not quite sure how to describe it, but here goes:

I’ve wanted a wood shop for many years, but we’ve never been in a position to afford one. In September, 2010, we lived about 100 miles from our daughter, Allison and her husband, who were renting from us the house she grew up in since high school. We decided to purchase a house closer to the kids as we knew they were wanting to start a family.

When we moved into our present house in early December, 2010, it came equipped with a detached garage that could be converted into the shop of my dreams and I couldn’t wait to get started. As Christmas approached, we became busy with all things attendant to the holidays, so the shop was put on the back burner. On 29 December, Allison passed away, and I lost all interest in the shop.

This past Sunday I decided to go out there and clean it up a bit. I hadn’t been out there in quite some time, so it was pretty dirty. I managed to get the floor swept and rearrange a few things to get it a little closer to what I wanted it to be.

I noticed “it” after I started cleaning out the shop.

Just like I had decided to head back out to the shop to attend to it, Cindy, my wife, started cleaning up her new glass “studio” in the house. Neither of us had said anything to each other about our plans for that day, but it was almost as if God had told each of us that it was time to get back to doing the things we each enjoyed doing, or at least preparing the spaces where our hobbies took place. It was a very cool moment for me when I realized that both of us were starting to “come back to life” so to speak.

It was after that little epiphany that I decided to take out my golf clubs and hit a few balls in the backyard…forget the shop, just stop and smell the roses. I have some special golf balls that are not quite like whiffle balls, but are supposed to allow you to hit the balls with close to a real swing without sending it into the neighbors yard four houses down. I spent the next couple of hours chipping balls on the newly mowed grass and just generally enjoying a typical lazy Sunday afternoon. I haven’t done that for quite some time.

All in all, it was a good, very good Sunday, and while I can’t say I don’t have worries, I can say I don’t feel as stressed as I had prior to that day. Allison’s husband has decided he can no longer live in the house Allison died in, so we’ve put that house on the market. Now we wait and see what happens. In the meantime, I’ll continue with trying to get my shop into shape, Cindy will continue with her stained glass projects, and we’ll both generally live life as it comes, but without a certain stress factor I can’t describe.

The above was sent to me by Mr. John Wolfe, I friend and fellow grieving dad.

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“What Pisses You Off?”

What Pisses You Off?

I think I have been fighting a little depression lately.  Over the last month or so I have found myself worrying about things, becoming agitated and quick to anger.  I feel exhausted every morning.  I so desperately want to change my career to something more rewarding.  I am pursuing a Masters in Counseling so I can work with parents that have lost a child, but there are times that it seems so far away and I need a change now.  I need to learn to relax and realize that it will happen; I just need to slow down and enjoy the ride.  Not easy for someone that needs change quickly.  My focus has been blurred and I need to keep my sights on the end which has been easier said than done lately.

I have also noticed lately that my patience have worn very thin with people and things that normally wouldn’t impact me.  For example, I was approaching an intersection today and the light turned yellow before I arrived.  Instead of just stopping and waiting for the green light, I decided I was going to let this irritate me to the point I had screamed out “mother fucker” just to let the anger/tension out.  I could feel my blood pressure go up and my face become flush.  I have always been short on patience but this was another sign that things are not quite right with me.

I think the problem is that I have been pushing myself pretty hard recently and have taken on way more than I can possible handle so I let the frustration get the best of me as times.  Frustrated with the fact I am not the same person I was before the death of my children.  I use to be able to handle several things at one time, but I just can’t seem to do it anymore.

I never experienced depression before the death of my children and as much as I know I am not the same person, it still pisses me off.

As a grieving dad (or mom), what pisses you off?

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“Impacted by Memorial Day?”

I am not sure about the rest of the readers here on this blog, but I do not make the connection of Memorial Day and the death of my children. I was visiting my mom this past weekend and she kept asking me how my wife and I were doing with Memorial Day. I thought it was kind of a weird question until she told me that she had been thinking about Katie and Noah a lot. I told her that I have always attributed Memorial Day to the loss of service members and that I really didn’t feel much of anything regarding Memorial Day and the death of Katie and Noah.

How does everyone else feel about Memorial Day and the connection to the death your child? Did you spend time on this day (more so than others) thinking about them? Did you visit the cemetery and place flowers?

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“Heroin”

Heroin

Heroin took my son took him far away
I found him on his bed so dead as he lay
Eyes closed in sleep spoon on night stand
Bloody foam in mouth with needle in his hand
This vision haunts my dreams keeps me from sleep
What sin did I commit that this is what I reap
It’s hard to close my eyes so many tears I’ve cried
Thought I was a good dad and know I really tried
Where did it all go wrong that I must feel this pain
I’d give up my own life just to see him once again
To hold him in my arms and tell him of my dreams
Tell him how I love him in frustration I do scream
There’s no turning back these cruel hands of time
How stupid I must be trying to capture this in rhyme
There’s just no explaining the feelings in my heart
I want to live again but don’t know where to start

Written 02/18/10 by: Thomas Patrick Calvert

This poem captures many of the things that dads feel or experience after the death of a child, regardless of the circumstances.

Trauma: We have all experienced the effects of trauma from either finding our child dead, receiving that phone call or being with our child when they died.  The death of a child is trauma and it has major impacts on our lives and our ability to cope.

Questioning:  We all have experienced and ask ourselves questions like “what did I do to disserve this?”, “why couldn’t I protect my child?” or “why them?”.  The list of questioning is endless.

Picking up the pieces:  We all are tying to put our lives back together after being shattered.  Unfortunately the pieces don’t fit together like they use to.  How could they?  When we do manage to construct something, they look nothing like they did before.  We are forever changed and the ability to accept that is hard but it must be processed if we have any hope of living again.

Thank you to my friend Tom Calvert for sharing this poem with everyone here.  There is a lot honesty is this poem.

“Ways to Support a Grieving Dad”

I was recently asked to write a short article on ways to support a grieving dad and thought I would share the article here on this blog.

Positive Ways to Support a Grieving Dad

I often hear from grieving dads that tell me they feel alone in their grief after the death of their child. It amazes me that after going through something as profound as the death of a child, that these men feel so alone and isolated. As much as it amazes me, I can relate because I too felt alone after the death of my two children.

I felt so alone that I would go online and search for other grieving dads that were out there. However, I didn’t find what I was looking for or needed at that point in my grief. I didn’t find it because most men do not feel like they have permission to tell their story or to share how they are feeling out of fear of being looked at as less than a man or weak. We all know that society is not comfortable with an openly grieving person, but they are even more uncomfortable with a man showing his emotions.

This problem comes from men being taught at a young age that we should not show “weakness” and that we have to “be strong”. As a result of these “lessons” we do everything we can to hide our pain. We try to take on the role of protector. We feel it is our role to help our wives through the loss and to keep everything operating in the household. This approach only prolongs the grief process and can delay it for years.

Because most people in society feel uncomfortable with a grieving parent’s pain, they want to try to solve their problem, but they can’t. This isn’t something you can give a pep talk for and expect the person to walk away feeling differently. You cannot solve this problem.

It took me a long time and a lot of internal pain to realize I had to address my own pain before I could help my wife through hers. I realized it was important that we should travel this journey together, helping each other when we can. Once I realized I need to address my own pain, I started to open myself up to others that were there to help me.

Once I started to address my pain, I made it my mission to reach out to other grieving dads and so I started the Grieving Dads Project as a way to create a resource for men and provide a location where these dads can go to speak honestly and openly about what they are dealing with. This blog is a place where these men can go and not feel so alone and to realize that other men are thinking and feeling the same way.

As part of building the Grieving Dads Project, I have traveled the last year conducting workshops and speaking to child loss support groups as well as conducting one-on-one interviews with grieving dads. These interviews were designed to help me capture the rawness of this profound grief. The information I learned and the stories I heard will be told with brutal honesty in a book that will provide a glimpse into the aftermath of what grieving dads deal with when a child dies.

As a result of the Grieving Dads Project, I have spoken to hundreds of grieving dads and the one thing I have learned is people need to tell their story. Not only do they need to tell their story, they need to be allowed to share their emotions while telling their story. The following are a few ways to provide support to the Grieving Dads you may know:

1. Encourage them to talk about what they are feeling and thinking (even the really dark stuff).

2. Remind them that they are not alone.

3. Let them speak openly about their pain.

4. Do not try to solve their problems and be a good listener.

5. Encourage them to find support groups for men. These groups could be grief related or a group of men that are all dealing with various life struggles.

6. Do not push them through their grief and allow them to tell their stories.

7. Allow them the time to process what has happen to them.

8. Allow them to turn to or away from their faith as needed.

9. If they start to cry, let them, it helps cleanse the soul.

10. Let them know you are there for them at anytime of the day, and mean it.

Keep in mind that people who are grieving are ultra sensitive so it is important to think before you speak. Understand how your words may be interrupted by the receiver. If you really don’t know what to say, say nothing. There is healing in silence so it is better to sit quietly and listen than to fill the air with words that are not helpful.

Any other suggestions on how to help a grieving dad (or mom)?

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“Crying As I Write This”

“Crying as I Write This”

My wife and I found out that she was pregnant on Mother’s day of 2010.  We were both very excited and very scared at the same time. The thought of a second child did what I am sure it does to lots of people…makes you wonder about everything…how will my daughter react to a new baby…am I ready for this all over again…well, there goes my sleep…and the list goes on and on. None the less, we were still excited. Fast forward about 4 or 5 months during one of the many, and I mean many, check-ups and sonograms…we find out that our baby may not have a kidney. So we go for more regular check-ups and sonograms and eventually find out that even if our child has only one kidney, he will be fine. Whew! (We later found out he had two healthy kidneys)

Fast forward again to the day of his birth. It was January 2, 2011 at just past 7 p.m. My wife went into labor just 2 hours before, and hard labor lasted only about 45 minutes. It was a whirlwind. Colin Emanuel Stuart was born that day, a beautiful little boy. Now we had one of each and were very happy to see all the new things a boy would bring.  It made a new baby even more fun since we had no idea how to raise a son. We were starting to get the hang of raising a daughter, but a boy would bring new challenges. Now…STOP…WAIT…they rushed Colin to NICU because, as we found out later, the placenta tore, the cord was around his neck, and his birth weight was very low…a mere 4 lbs, 13 oz. NICU was a tough experience to live with, but after only four days, little Colin came home.

At home, Colin was a great baby, and all the fears and trepidation left when the most important thing (at least to me) happened…his big sister loved him immediately. She was so gentle and sweet and always made sure to kiss his little head before naps and bed time. Other than the normal sleep deprivation and occasionally getting peed on by the little guy, life was great. My wife nursed him and pumped when she had to so I could feed him now and again. After a few weeks, the little guy was over 5 pounds. A few more weeks and he was close to 7, a month later, he was a healthy and chunky 8 pounds and some change. He started to get those chubby baby cheeks. We were in the clear and Colin was going to be a normal, healthy boy.

This abbreviated version of the story then changes tone….quickly! My wife took Colin to the doctor the morning of March 2, 2011. He was just going for his check-up and vaccinations. It was routine at this point. They came home, my wife called; he was grumpy and fussy from the shots. Finally he settled down and went to sleep. Not long after, I picked my daughter up from day care and we went home to be a family…just like every other family…just like every other day. Normal things happened, dinner, tubby time for the kids, reading stories to my daughter before bed, etc. Life was blissfully boring. When Colin wouldn’t settle down for sleep, I took him downstairs so my wife could get some rest. It was my night for the early shift, and she would take over for the middle of the night feeding. The next night we would switch. Again, all normally routine stuff. Colin laid down on my chest that night and we dozed off together for about 30-45 mins. I woke up; he was in the same position as when he fell asleep. I sat up, cuddled him in my arms and immediately know something was wrong…he was no longer breathing. I screamed in a panic for my wife. She called 911, did the CPR, rode in the ambulance to the hospital as I talked to the police and held my daughter tightly. Then I got the call…it was 12:11 in the morning of March 2, 2011…Colin is dead.

In the hours, days, weeks, and now a few months that have followed, I (and my family) have been on an emotional roller coaster. It took 8 weeks for the medical examiner’s office to give us an official cause of death. It was ruled SIDS. The news was bittersweet since we now knew that there was nothing we could have done or not have done to save his little life. We were not horrible parents. The fact that he died on my chest that horrible night made me feel like I contributed somehow to his death. Now I could breathe again knowing I did not.  Life, at least for me took a turn toward “better” a little after that.  There was some peace in knowing that it just happened, he did not suffer, and for all eternity, our Colin would be perfect. Today is May 10, 2011 and I am crying as I write this, but the world should know the all too short life of a truly perfect soul…Colin Emanuel Stuart.

I will end this story with a message of hope. Colin was physically alive for only two months, but if the number of people who attended his funeral mass is any indication, he will live forever in the hearts, minds, and souls of a great many people forever, especially his Daddy, Mommy, and Big Sister!

I love you and miss you, son.

Daddy

Thank you to Steven for opening his heart, telling his story and allowing me to post it here on this blog to share it with all of you.  I can feel the pain in his words.  His story gives me flashbacks to those “moments in time” that all of us expereinced regardless of the circumstances.  Moments forever burned into our memory.  Peace.  Kelly

 

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“Give Yourself Permission” – Truisms About Grief

I have been posting a series of “Truisms About Grief” that I received from fellow grieving dad and friend, Charlie Schmidtke.  I met Charlie as part of this grieving dads project.  Please share your thoughts or stories regarding this subject.

Grieving is a time to give yourself permission to follow your heart and accept the reprioritizing of your life.  My wife has been working very hard at getting me to reorient my attitude in life away from living by all the “shoulds” that seem to control what, when, and how I “ought to” behave.  It’s okay to cry; it’s okay to relax: it’s okay to do that chore tomorrow; it’s okay to do nothing.  It’s okay to have this attitude!  It’s also okay to deeply feel that anxiety that attends to the unknown.  We really do not have all the answers about who our children are now becoming and what their transformed life is all about.  These issues will remain a mystery for us, even as we develop theories, beliefs and explanations to try and help assuage our anxieties.  It is okay to have some level of anxiety; just prevent it from becoming an overpowering dread that consumes and destroys your capacity for continuing to live and have meaning in your life.

This is something I struggled with early in my grief.  Giving myself permission or a “pass” to adjust things in my life didn’t seem acceptable.  I had always been driven, and had always kept 2-3 separate to do lists; one for work, one for home and one for my personal life goals.  I had things to do and enjoyed crossing things off my list.  It gave me satisfaction to know that I was getting things accomplished.

Prior to my losses, I would put a lot of pressure on myself to perform to the highest level.  I had gotten to the point where I would wake up in the middle of the night with anxiety attacks and even found myself in the hospital on one occasion because I thought I was having a heart attack.  I was caught up in the rat race of life and my priorities were way out of line.

After the loss of my daughter Katie, my first loss, I thought I could go back to the person I was prior to her death.  I tried suppressing the pain and was successful at it for about a year before anger and depression started to take over.  A few months later, I lost my son Noah.  These two losses forced me to reevaluate my life and how I approached it.

During my grief I met a lady which became a very dear friend. I was looking to hire her to do some real estate consulting for my small business.  She had invited me to her home office for the meeting.  During our meeting our conversation turned to my recent losses.  She then shared with me that her hair was a wig and she was currently going through her third battle with breast cancer.  We sat there for 3 hours crying and telling each other our stories.  It was a gift that we had given each other.  After our meeting she sent me an email saying that our meeting that day was not by accident and that she believed we were supposed to meet that day for a reason, to provide comfort to each other when we both needed it.  She would continue to check in on me over the next several months, when I needed it most.  On one occasion I told her that I was feeling depressed because I didn’t have the drive or desire to go back to the person I was before.   Her response to me was “Kelly, there are no “should’s” in your life right now unless you put them there.  Allow yourself to grieve and allow your wounds time to heal”.  Her words really hit home with me.  I started to reflect on my life up until this point.  I realized I had been chasing things in life that really didn’t matter.  What really mattered was the love I have for my wife and my children.  At the end of the day and when you look back on your life, no one will remember all of the tasks that were checked off the “to do” list that was completed or the deadlines you were able to meet for work because you worked all weekend to get it done. 

The message I took from this truism is:  Give yourself permission to reevaluate your life and make the necessary adjustments in order to cope with what you have been through.  You will never be the same person you were before the loss.  To be honest with you, after I spent the much needed time reflecting, I realized that I didn’t want to be the same person I was before the loss.  It was a hectic and empty life filled with deadlines and unrealistic expectations I placed on myself.  I wasn’t living, I was surviving.  Allow yourself to learn to live again.

My dear friend has since lost her battle with breast cancer but her words and wisdom will always stay with me.  Thank you Lynda for being there for me and for being my dear friend.

“Me Rambling”

I am not sure if it’s the cloudy, rainy and cool spring here in the upper Midwest or something else that’s causing the rut I have been in for the last 2-3 weeks.  Either way, I hate this feeling. 

This time of year is also difficult for me for a couple different reasons other than desperate need for spring to arrive.  It generally starts with April 23^rd.  This day is my daughter Katie’s birthday.  She would have been 6 this year and just finishing up kindergarten.  This year, April 23^rd fell on Easter weekend.  Easter always makes me think about my kids and how we would have spent this day.  Maybe attending church service in their new Easter clothes and spending the afternoon looking for Easter eggs hidden around the yard after Easter brunch.  I feel cheated that I never was able to enjoy these kinds of days with my beautiful babies.

This year on Katie’s’ birthday my wife’s aunt, uncle and cousin were visiting for Easter.  I think they were a little surprised when we mentioned that we were celebrating Katie’s birthday with cake and a balloon release that we do every year.  We all stood in our backyard and released 6 pink balloons and watched them until they disappeared.  Our final release was a single blue balloon for my son Noah.  We didn’t want him to feel left out of the party.  However, when we released the blue balloon I started to weep.  It usually hits me when we sing Happy Birthday, but this year I made it to the balloon release.  I also noticed that everyone standing around me was also crying.  Not that I want others to feel my pain, but it was nice to see others participate in this ritual and find it as powerful and moving as my wife and I do. 

Of course Mother’s Day is a difficult day for me.  Mainly because I know that my wife really struggles with it.  I want to acknowledge her as the wonderful loving mommy that she is, but I also do not want to inflict pain on her by making too big of a deal over the day.  I usually ask her how she wants me to approach it.  It is always tough for me to go to the local card shop and try to find a Mother’s Day card that is vague in nature.  I usually sign it from me, both of our angel babies (Katie and Noah) and our dog Buddy.  Yesterday was that day and we survived it by hanging out together, making dinner, having a few glasses of wine and just talking.  We even went and bought a Bose iPod docking system for the house.  I think she tricked me into that Mother’s Day gift.  She said it’s also part of my Father’s Day gift. 

In addition to these difficult dates, I have been obsessing over and stressing out about not being able to find a publisher for the Grieving Dads book that I have been working on for the last year.  I am tired of hearing from all of the publishers and literary agents that say “men don’t typically buy these types of books”.  How do they know that?  There isn’t anything on the market like this book.  Not to mention, I think a lot of women will also buy this book.  This book is a collection of candid face to face discussions between two men who have experienced life’s most profound events and survived it; somehow, someway.

The reality is publishers want to make money, the content of the book doesn’t matter to them, it’s all about the bottom line.  I understand this, but with upwards of 1 million newly bereaved parents in the U.S. every year alone, I would think the numbers would be there for them.   

Because of the publishers/agents responses, I have been second guessing whether or not this book is supposed to happen.  Seems like every time I start to think along those lines I receive an email or phone call from a grieving dad (or mom) that thanks me and tells me how much this blog helps them.  These messages reenergize me and give me the motivation to continue on and to not give up.  In the last week I have made a commitment to rewrite a couple of chapters, change the title and do another round of query letters to the literary agents.  For those of you that I have interviewed or those who have been waiting for this book, hang in there a little longer.  I will make this happen one way or another.  I may have to self-publish this book, but it will happen.

“Daddy is Broken”

The following poem was sent to me today by fellow grieving dad and friend Steven Stuart.  Steven lost his son Colin to SIDS on March 2.  Thank you to Steven for having the courage to write this poem to his son and for sharing it with other grieving dads.

“Daddy is Broken”

Where to start
What to say
My dearest Colin
Where are you today

My arms hold you not
My eyes no longer see
You are nowhere to be found
You are no longer with me

Dearest boy, I miss you so
Words escape me
Thoughts betray me
Daddy is broken
His soul torn apart
But you are forever in his heart
––
Colin Emanuel Stuart
January 2, 2011 – March 2, 2011
You are loved and missed my son!

“Brotherhood”

The following was sent to me by Deb Kosmer.  Deb is a published writer and social worker and works as a Hospice Bereavement Coordinator.  She is also a bereaved parent, sibling, and daughter.  She started a men’s only grief support group 5 years ago and wrote the following based on her observations after the first night.  She was kind enough to share it with all of us.

Last night I sat in a room filled with grieving men.
Some missing a parent or sibling but most a spouse
For once not a minority sandwiched within a
group of women, but a part of a group connected to
one another by gender, death, and heartache.

This morning as I looked into the eyes of my
14 month old grandson I couldn`t help but think
of those men who once were little boys and who
still carry many of their little boy hurts in their
grown-up hearts and adult sized bodies.

The pain I heard and felt in that room last night
was real, as was their voiced confusion,
questions, and doubts about themselves
and their future.  The tears they let fall
did not look any different than mine.

They spoke of losses both past and present
Many of which they`d never grieved
Of being told they must be strong
That big boys don`t cry, tears were for
the weak, the sissies, and the girls.

This morning I saw my smiling grandson
run and fall and tears start to come
I gathered him in my arms and gave
him a hug as I remembered last night’s
men who as boys were told not to cry.

And my heart ached for them then and now

Deb Kosmer (2006)

I have spoken to many grieving dads over the last year from the many seminars and workshops I have conducted as well as the many men that have either emailed or called me.  I can assure you that the pain I have heard from these courageous men, that decided to make a conscious effort to tell their story, is very real.

I do believe as bereaved dads, we are all connected by the death of our children and by how society thinks we should respond after our child has died.  We are all a part of a brotherhood of men that are trying to put the pieces of our lives back together after having them shattered.  My mission as part of this Grieving Dads Project is to not only help other grieving dads, but to also educate society about how men are also impacted by the death of their child and that although we may not always show it externally, we are most certainly feeling internally.