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Archive for December, 2010
Trying Hard to Escape
I occasionally like to go back and read some of the things I wrote while in the depths of my despair as a reminder of how far I have come. A reminder that there was a time when I didn’t have hope or peace in my life. I find it hard to believe how deep one can go in their grief to lose all hope in their life. I am so thankful to feel peace and hope in my life again. There was a time when I would chase the buck at all costs, including my own health but I have learned the very hard way that having hope and peace in your life is so much more valuable than any material thing you can acquire. The following was written about 9 months after the death of my son Noah and offers a glimpse into what people experience after the death of a child:
Today is one of those days when I feel like crawling into bed and never coming out. Nothing really seems to matter and my future just seems like something I am being forced into rather than something I am looking forward to. It’s definitely not what I had planned.
I really understand how people lose hope and happiness in this life. I can see how they become bitter. It is easier than becoming better. Becoming better means you have to keep fighting every day. Becoming bitter is something that just happens. I don’t know if I have it in me to keep fighting. It is so exhausting.
It’s like I am paralyzed by this fear. Fear of the future and fear that I will not truly be happy again. Fear that I am just trying really hard to escape and that I will never be able to. I know I have come a long way, but I have a long way to go. I can’t even express how hard this journey is. I know its “normal” based on others I have spoken to that have gone through a loss of a child. I feel some days that I will always be screwed up inside. I don’t want to be that way. I just want to live the rest of my life in peace and I am not sure how to obtain it.
Hope for the Holidays
“That was and still is the great disaster of my life – that lovely, lovely little boy…There’s no tragedy in life like the death of a child. Things never get back to the way they were before.” - Dwight D. Eisenhower (His 3 year old son died from Scarlet Fever in 1921)
There is a lot of truth in those words. Things do not get back to the way they were before. How could they? Everything around us has been forever changed.
- The way we see the world – It’s not as innocent as I once thought it was
- The way we see others – I see pain in others that I never noticed before
- The way we see ourselves – I realize I no longer have the energy or desire to conquer the world.
Whether you like it or not, you have been forever changed. It’s how you respond to that change that defines the new “you”. It took me a couple of years to realize that I had been changed forever.
As part of my healing I started the Grieving Dads Project to help other men through this journey. As many of you already know, the mission behind this project is to
- Develop a resource that brings awareness to the impacts child loss has on fathers and to let society know that it’s okay for a father to openly grieving the loss of a child. A father shouldn’t have to hide his pain or feel ashamed to show his emotions.
I have spent the last year traveling, speaking to and interviewing dads that have experienced the death of a child. One of the things I have learned is that although our circumstances are all different, the actual emotions we experience through the aftermath is very similar.
I have spoken to hundreds of men over the last year. Some of the dads are still very stuck in their grief while others have found hope again. The one thing I have learned from the dads that have found hope again is the fact almost all of them are doing something to create a legacy for their child as a way to honor them and their life.
Living to honor our children’s life can take on many forms. The way we honor our children is very unique and personal to the individual. It’s important to do things to honor our children throughout the year, but it’s especially important during the holiday season.
As you all know, this time of year can be very difficult. I remember a few years back I had experienced a melt down at a local Macy’s department store. I found myself hiding amongst the fake Christmas trees. I was hiding because I was unable to control my crying and I didn’t want others to see me. What triggered it were the pink and blue baby ornaments that they had displayed on the tree. My mind was thinking about the “what if’s”, the “what could have been’s” and the “what will never be”.
These days the holidays have become easier for me. Not easy, but easier.
One of the simple things I do to honor Katie and Noah is to decorate the large pine tree in my backyard with blue and white lights as a way to let them know that I am thinking about them. It’s the only thing I decorate on the outside of my house. However, the small Christmas tree on the inside of my house is decorated with ornaments such as those pink and blue baby ornaments that use to trigger many emotions. No, the Holidays are no longer the same. I have no living children to enjoy the holidays with. All I can do is find ways to let Katie and Noah know that they are with me and find ways to honor them.
I have spoken to many grieving parents regarding how they handle the holidays. Some of the ideas that they have given me include: donating gifts to less fortunate children, sponsoring a family in need, volunteering at a food kitchen, visiting a children’s hospital or a retirement home. These are all excellent ways to honor your child. Some may appeal to you while others may not. If you can, try to find a cause that reminds you of your child. If you’re not feeling strong enough to take on big tasks, you can do something as simple as lighting a candle in their honor. But as hard as it is, try to do something.
I encourage each one of you to:
- Reach out to help someone else this holiday season – it’s a way to honor your child. There is healing in helping others.
- Acknowledge what you have been through – It’s beyond most peoples comprehension
- Be kind to yourself and;
- Most importantly, be patient with yourself. Healthy grieving takes time.
Happy Holiday’s to all of you who celebrate them!
Peace.
Kelly Farley
Trials Do Not Build Character
The following story was sent to me by a fellow grieving dad and friend, Steve Christen. Steve gave me permission to share this with the readers of this blog in hopes that someone can find healing in his story. Steve and I have discussed how other grieving dads need not walk alone in their pain. We both feel it’s important that other grieving dads know that there are other men out there that experience, feel and think the same things and that it’s okay to open up and talk about what you went through. The events that unfolded and how it has devastated your life and turned your world on end. It’s okay to feel vulnerable to the pain. It’s an important part of the healing process. The ability to tell your story, as difficult as it is.
The following is Steve’s account of May 22nd, 2008, the day his beautiful 20-year-old daughter died:
I was on duty the day of May 22nd, 2008 at fire station 10 across from Fort Collins High School. This was the same day of the tornado that ripped through the Colorado Front Range, including the nearby town of Windsor. My engine company had a VERY busy day responding to calls and trying to keep updated on exactly where the tornado was, what damage it was doing and if it was coming our way. There was so much destruction going on, even my daughter Rachel called me on my cell phone while I was returning from a call, (which she never did before) just to see if I was all right and to tell me to be careful. My engine company had responded to many emergency calls that day due to the wind. As the afternoon approached, it finally started to subside.
My crew and I were getting ready for dinner when a call came over the main station radio of a T-bone accident on North Hwy. 287 and Overland Trial, north of station 7 in Laporte. The accident involved a full-sized pickup truck and a car. I knew it would be a bad wreck because I had worked at fire station 7 for three years and was involved in many devastating calls like this one. My crew and I continued to listen to the call on a portable radio packset while we were fixing dinner. The call was a “bad one”, with major damage and several people in the car seriously injured with one possible “code black”. Two engine companies, two truck companies, one battalion chief and 2 medic units responded to the call. My crew and I listened to the entire call on the radio. We were impressed with how competent and professional our fellow PFA firefighters performed. When there’s a death involved, it is always challenging and difficult. When it’s somebody you know, it’s even more so.
At the scene of the accident, my friend Ron was the captain on engine 7 and in charge of the scene; he knew my daughter Rachel since she was a little girl. Since engine 7 was first on scene, they attended to the injured people. Rachel was the driver of the vehicle but Ron did not recognize her. Rachel’s three friends were in the car with minor injuries and each was taken to the ambulance. Ron confirmed that Rachel was a “code black”, still not knowing it was her. Several minutes later, Ron received word from one of his firefighters that the driver of the vehicle was Steve Christen’s daughter, Rachel. Ron walked back over and confirmed that it was Rachel. We found this out later, but Ron stayed on scene for the next several hours until the coroner was finished with his investigation of the accident. He then lifted Rachel out of the car saying to the coroner, “We take care of our own”.
Thirty minutes after the accident, I received a call at the fire station from Roy Quanstrom, a young man from our church youth group. He was panicked! He was calling me from the hospital because his older brother Reese had just been in a serious accident, they would not let Roy see Reese and nobody at the hospital was telling Roy anything. Having just listened to the accident north of town on the portable radio, I immediately called Julie to have her go over to the hospital to see what was happening. Even though Reese and Rachel were best of friends, I had no thought that they could have been together. Then by radio, I contacted my friend Ron who was still on the scene of the accident. I asked him to call me at station 10 at his earliest convenience but he said, “OK, but I’m a little busy right now”. He told me later that he was stalling.
One hour after the accident, the phone rang and my firefighter answered it. As I looked at his face, it went white as he listened and then said, “OK”. I asked him what was wrong and who that was on the phone. He said, “It was the chief…and he’s here”. I don’t remember saying this…but I said, “Oh, this is not good”. I think I said those words because I immediately remembered that Rachel was going to spend the afternoon north of town, up the Poudre Canyon at Picnic Rock, with some friends and Reese definitely would have been one of them. I looked at my firefighter as he hung up the phone and by the look on his face, I knew immediately that the accident north of town somehow involved me. My heart sunk. Just then, I looked out the window of the fire station living room to see the chief’s car pulling into the station parking lot. The chief got out of his car and looked at me through the station window as I looked at him. He walked towards the back door of the station and as he entered the door, I could see clearly that he had tears in his eyes and anguish on his face. Before he could speak, I simple said, “I am so sorry you had to be the one to tell me this news. What do we need to do?” He replied, “We need to get to the hospital”.
We got into his car and sped to the hospital. I called Julie to tell her Rachel had died, and I heard her gasp. As we arrived at the hospital, I could see Julie and Carly just entering the front doors of the ER so I ran to meet them. I gave them a big hug as they cried. We were taken to a private room where we were for the next several hours.
Rachel worked at the hospital as a pre/post operation Tech. and my wife Julie also works there as a part-time labor and delivery nurse. That night, the ER was full of friends from PVH, PFA and our church. The two boys in the car with Rach were treated and released. The girl who was next to Rach had a broken arm and was released a couple of days later. The elderly man who was the driver of the pickup truck that hit them, found out that night that he had cancer and in the following weeks, started chemo.
I have heard it said that trials do not build character; trials simply reveal the character that is already there. I believe that God reveals Himself through His people. It’s all Him! While our journey has been filled with grief and a profound sense of loss, we are not despondent, disillusioned nor in despair. We have been able to “walk through the valley of the shadow of death…and fear no evil”, because we see God on display through it all.
Shortly after Rachel died, we set up a fund and developed a website in honor of her. If you would like to see what a special person she was and what she was all about, go to www.rachelchristen.com .