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They Walk Among Us
I had a unique experience last week while I was at work that took me a little off guard. To give you some background leading up to this experience, it started the Friday before New Year’s weekend and I was on the phone with someone (Mark) I had never spoken to before and we were talking about the possibility of his firm doing some sub-consultant work for a project I was managing.
I am the type of person that is genuinely interested in other people; I think everyone has a story to tell which I find intriguing. Therefore, as with most of my conversations, we started making small talk. The conversation turned to the subject how each of us was planning on spending the New Year’s weekend. Mark shared with me his plans and when it came time for what my plans were, I mentioned that I was writing a book and I was planning on spending most of the weekend putting the finishing touches on one of the last chapters. His question back to me was, “what type of book are you writing.” I then explained to him that I was writing a book for men that have experienced the death of a child. There was a few seconds delay and then he asked me why I was writing this book and if I had experience with the subject matter. I then gave him a brief overview of my losses and what prompted me to write such a book. He then said something that got my attention, he said, “I have experience with that, I lost a baby in the mid-80’s.”
This has happened to me on more than one occasion when a general conversation turns to someone sharing with me that they too have lost a child. Of course I hear from grieving dads daily through my Grieving Dads Project blog, but I am talking about the kind of people in your community that you speak with that you have no idea of what you have been through. I think this goes to show that there are millions of us out there. The problem is we often keep that “secret” to ourselves not really wanting to talk about it or burden others with our experiences. The reality is, if we do not talk about it, we don’t make the connections I made with Mark, who was a stranger before our phone conversation. There are many grieving dads (and moms) that we pass by daily. People that understand and can connect with what we have been through. They may not be people that are newly bereaved; they may be like Mark and be almost 25 years out from their loss, but these people still “get it.” They remember those deep dark early days (years) of grief and how debilitating they are. Not to mention the thoughts we all have about not being able to survive this blow.
I got sidetracked in my story, so let me bring the story back to last week, the firm that Mark is with had planned to come in and do an hour presentation some new technology they were using. I was really looking forward to meeting Mark since this was the first time meeting him face to face. He arrived with two other guys from his firm and I got them set up in a conference room. When I met him, I felt an instant connection with him, a strong connection. We didn’t speak about our losses, but there was an understanding, at least on my part, that this dude knows what I have been through because he has walked the walk.
I know this is going to sound weird, but during his presentation, my mind drifted off from the presentation and I found myself looking at him from a different perspective. Not from a business perspective, but I looked at him as a fellow survivor; a survivor that I know has been through hell, just like me and the many other grieving dads I have met. There was a point where I became emotional thinking about what he has been through and what I have been through. I know this is also going to sound a little weird, but I wanted to get up and walk over to him and put my arm around him. The thought of doing that brought even more emotion and a strong sense of compassion towards him.
This is a common response for me when I meet a fellow grieving dad, but this was the first experience I’ve had with a grieving dad in the business world. There is a brotherhood between all of us and we should try to use it to help each other along this journey.
I never said anything to Mark after his presentation about what I was thinking. I know he occasionally reads this blog so when he reads this story I am sure he is going to think “I thought that guy was looking at me a little weird”.
Out to Lunch
Last week I had an interesting experience when I took a lunch break from work and decided to go out instead of going home to eat lunch. Little did I know that I would get more than I bargained for when I stepped into the restaurant. I was standing in line getting ready to place my order to take home when I heard through the rest of the noise in the restaurant, “Noah, come sit over here”. Hearing those five words caused me to turn my head and take notice of the situation.
When I looked to my left there was a lady about my age with two children. A little girl and a little boy, which I assume was Noah. I would guess he was about 5 years old. He was trying to eat his chips and salsa while his mom was guiding him to her side of the table by placing her hand on his head. He was a cute little blond kid and his little sister was just as cute. I couldn’t help to think about my Katie and Noah and what they would be like today. What would they have been like? I’ll never really know for certain, only in my imagination.
I realized I was smiling towards these little kids and I then realized the mom was looking at me. I then it dawned on me that she is probably wondering why this guy is smile at my kids. If I was her, I would have been thinking it. But the reality was I was thinking about my children while watching hers and she could not have known or understood that I am a grieving dad and that I was just missing my kids at that moment.
I paid for my food and I left for home. It was one of those moments that just came and went, unlike the early days when this type of situation would stay with me for days. I wasn’t even thinking about it when I left. However, later that night I was sitting with my wife listening to music and enjoying a glass of wine. We were talking about our day and the conversation turned to my experience earlier while I was at lunch. When I was telling my wife about what happened, it triggered an emotional response I didn’t expect. My wife smiled at me and I said, “It’s hard” and she said “I know, it is hard.”
The point of this story is these types of experiences will come up and they will trigger certain emotions or thoughts. Even when you’re several years out from the death of a child, you are still vulnerable. It came and it passed a lot quicker than it did before, but it is hard.
Anyone have similar experiences that triggered emotions or thoughts?
“Bad Day”
Many of the posts I write are triggered by thoughts that come to me throughout the day or they are generated by conversations I have with many of the grieving dads I speak with. A few days ago I was having a conversation with a dad that lost his daughter to murder. We were discussing how going through the death of a child changes all aspects of who you once were and it changes many of your core beliefs, some for the better and some for the worse. There is a sense of naivety that you lose after the death of a child. The fact that bad things only happen to other people is one of the beliefs we tell ourselves before tragedy strikes. But we now know that bad things can happen to anyone at any given time and there is not much you can do about it because it comes out of nowhere.
We also discussed how not everything that changes after the death of a child is bad. One of those things is that we have experienced the worst day of our lives (I want to preface that comment with, “that is not an invitation for a test”. I made this statement after the death of my daughter Katie and then 12 months later my son Noah died. I learned not to say that out load without prefacing it first with I am not looking for another challenge to see if my worst day can be beaten by another bad day). After you go through something as profound as the death of a child, you start to not really give a shit what others think or say. There is not much anyone can do to you that is much worse than the death of a child.
I see people at work running around trying to hit deadlines and stressing out like it’s the worst possible things they have to deal with. I don’t let work get to me like I use to, I still do my job, but I don’t stress about letting my boss down or anything along those lines. What’s the worst thing that can happen, I get fired? Let’s see “getting fired or the death of a child?” I am going to go with death of a child for the worst possible thing that can happen.
I use to get pissed off when people would say, “I am having the worst day of my life; I got a flat tire on the way to work.” Or something along those lines. Now I just kind of laugh to myself and say, “you really have no idea what a bad day is.”
We were discussing how this way of thinking is liberating, because you are not out to impress anyone. When you don’t care, it removes the stress of trying to impress others. Actually, this new change in perspective (some would call it a bad attitude, it’s not, and it’s an adjustment in how I see things) has actually made me better at my job. It’s also made me a little more honest than I use to be. I have always spoken my mind, but I tend to do it more now. I see so many people around me afraid of confrontation or having a difficult conversation, but it doesn’t bother me, it’s almost like that filter has been removed. I don’t look for confrontational discussions, but I do prefer honest conversations. I call people on their bullshit (and expect others to do the same to me) or call them out if I don’t like something. I am not trying to be an ass to others, in fact I do it in a very calm and professional way, but I refuse to take shit from anyone else, regardless of who they are.
I hear this issue a lot from other grieving dads. Have you experienced anything similar?
“Smothering”
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 seventh word I chose was:
Smothering: Defined as “a state of being stifled or surpressed”, “a dense fog”, “a confused multitude of things”
There are several meanings to the word ‘smothering’ that I think apply to grief. I felt “stifled and suppressed” for a long time after the death of my children. I felt like I lost hope and often times felt like my recovery was being stifled by the flashbacks, memories and reminders that grief kept throwing in front of me. Not sure if grief ‘suppressed’ my pain, but I think I certainly tried my best to suppress my emotions and pain. I thought by doing this I was being the man I was taught to be when I was a child. Real men don’t show emotions or talk about sad stuff, yeah right. I was fed this bullshit for most of my life so when it came time to really deal with this stuff, I didn’t have the tools to cope. I hear this “real man thing” from a lot of the grieving dads I have met, many feel shame for having normal and natural reactions to something not so normal, the death of a child.
The second definition “a dense fog” really hits home. I felt like I was in a dense fog for most of the time after the death of my children. I think it’s the brains/bodies way of protecting you from something so horrific. I don’t remember what I did at work most days and I would come home exhausted and just sit in my chair to keep myself calm. The night would fly by and I would find myself back at my desk not knowing how I spent the night before. I started to forget things as well. I always had a strong memory, but I would forget names, things that happened or just what I was doing or supposed to be doing at that time.
I think the last definition speaks for itself, “a confused multitude of things”. There are a lot of confusing things that happen to us after the death of a child and the aftermath that follows.
Do you agree that word “smothering” is a good descriptor of grief?
Can you relate with any of the things I described or care to expand on these definitions?