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Archive for June, 2011
“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
“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.
“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?