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Archive for August, 2011
“An Unfortunate Honor”
An Unfortunate Honor
By Jim Santucci
It has now been 150 weeks since Jillian left this world. Much has transpired since that time. I have gotten myself involved in many great non-profit groups focusing on the care of children and families going through similar situations that I have experienced. I have investigated, applied to and been accepted to a graduate program in social work. I have changed jobs after working for essentially the same organization for 19 plus years. I have started a new job in a company with a mission of meeting the needs of families and kids. I have taken up hiking and even started playing softball again. I have gone to the state capital and took part in a lobby day for pediatric palliative care. I have gone on long walks and spent numerous hours writing in this and other journals about my feelings and thoughts about Jillian’s death and my own journey through grief and life. It has been rewarding to do all these things. Perhaps that is what Jillian intended for me upon her departure. I feel as though I have actually become a new person in a lot of ways, but there is still a lot ahead of me. I look forward to it as much as I look forward to seeing Jillian again.
But through all of this, over the last 1,000+ days, the most significant element of all of this is the people who I have met. There have been so many. Many are other parents who have lost a child as well – and labeled as bereaved parents just like me. These parents have a special place in my heart. I think about them often and have forged great friendships with many of them.
As a parent who has lost a child, what do you say when you meet another parent or couple whose child has died? I have wrestled with this concept. What is appropriate in this politically correct focused world? To me it isn’t at all about political correctness, but it’s about honor and respect. It’s about breaching the sacred. It’s about our children and the pain we both feel because of their absence.
Most times when I meet a new person and I am genuinely glad to have met them, I usually say, “It is a pleasure to meet you, or I am glad to meet you.” But when you meet another parent who has lost a child is it really a pleasure? “I’m glad to meet you” just doesn’t seem like the right thing to say. After all, the only reason your meeting is because both of you have lost children. Both would certainly choose to have their child back instead of meeting this new acquaintance. The rub though is that after you meet, my experience has been that it was almost as if it was set up from the get go. The parents I have met are incredible and amazing. They have lost a child, and they are still standing. They are resilient. Their outlook on life is deeper. They understand and value things from a different perspective. They realize that life is very short, yet can be full of amazing lessons and journeys. They wrestle with not being judgmental and often bite their tongues when their friends with living children complain about the little things. They advocate for other parents and families who have experienced or will endure similar loss. They get sad and cry in the middle of the day when they remember a special thing about their child. They understand respect and boundaries. They cry for others who experience loss. They show a great appreciation for life and have a deep compassion for others. They understand things a bit deeper than the average joe getting a cup of coffee at Starbucks.
It is truly a pleasure and an honor to meet these parents. Yet at the same time, your meeting is based on an incredibly unfortunate set of circumstances – the death of your children. It is a paradox that I certainly won’t figure out in my lifetime, but do think it gives me insight into choosing the most appropriate greeting. So, here’s what I will say from now on: It’s an unfortunate honor to meet you. I think that just about sums up the entire sacredness and truism of meeting another bereaved parent. An unfortunate honor.
The above was sent to me by a fellow grieving dad and friend Jim Santucci. I met Jim about a year ago as part of the grieving dads project. I thought this would be an excellent article to share with all of you.
Thoughts, feedback or opinions?
“Dragonflies”
“Dragonflies”
It must have been a couple of weeks after the death of my son Noah when I first noticed the dragonflies. It was mid-June 2006 and I had already been off work for several weeks. I had called my office to let them know that I wasn’t going to be in for a while. At the time I didn’t know what “a while” meant and thankfully they didn’t ask. I spent most of my days doing small tasks around the house, just to keep my mind occupied. The rest of the time I hung out with my wife, worked out and made lunch on the grill every day. I was still trying to process what had happened to us and really hadn’t started to feel the full impact of the depth of my pain from the death of my son and my daughter just 18 months prior.
This particular day I decided I was going to start staining my fence. I wasn’t in a hurry because I knew I didn’t have anything else that had to be done anytime soon. So I just took my time and tried to enjoy the beautiful summer day. This was the first summer I had off from working or college since I was probably 14 years old. I had forgotten how nice it was to be able to get up when you wanted to and spend the day doing what you wanted to do versus what you had to do. However, I was still trying to comprehend what had happened to my wife and me. The loss of two children over 18 months had inflicted major depression and anxiety that wouldn’t allow me to do much of anything other than small tasks. Even the small tasks were exhausting.
While I was taking a break sitting under the shade on my patio, I noticed two dragonflies hovering around my backyard. They were not just passing through my yard; they seemed to be hanging out for a while. I don’t live near water and I had never noticed them before, but I enjoyed watching them that day.
The next day I got up around 9 o’clock, which was typical for that summer. I was usually up until about midnight and obviously needed the sleep to cope with the pain I was dealing with inside. When I went outside to start working on my fence, the dragonflies were there to greet me. The dragonflies and I spent the rest of the summer hanging out in my backyard.
I started to have other experiences with dragonflies during this same time. I live near a bike path that leads to a local forest preserve and would often ride the 12 mile loop as part of my daily workout. There were times when I would be riding and thinking about my son when a dragonfly would appear out of nowhere and would fly along with me at the same speed. He would fly about 3 or 4 feet away from me, but would stay with me for a while. I would just smile because I thought it was Noah letting me know he was ok.
It’s been just over 5 years since the loss of Noah, but because of these experiences, I think of Noah every time I see a dragonfly and I just smile. On a recent bike ride on that same trail I came upon a swarm of dragonflies, the big ones with the double wings. There must have been over a hundred of them in a fifty foot radius anywhere from 4’ to 12’ off the ground. I stopped my bike and I just stood there in the middle of this swarm. They were beautiful.
They must of known I was there because they would stop 2-3’ in front of me and look at me. They would fly slowly by to let me know they were aware of my presence. This had to be one of my best experiences in a long time. I must have stood there for about 15-20 minutes watching them. I even called my wife to tell her about what I was experiencing. I felt close to Noah when I was standing there with those dragonflies. I think it was just his way of visiting his daddy and to let me know he was thinking of me.
I have met several grieving dads over the last 2 years that also have similar personal stories when it comes to our children visiting us. There have been other signs from Noah, but this particular one was spectacular.
Does your child send you signs? If so, what are they? If not, do you keep yourself open to seeing signs?
Progress
It’s been 8 months since fellow grieving dad Barry Kluger and myself launched the Farley-Kluger Petition to amend the Family Medical Leave Act of 1993 to include the death of a child. With over 12,000 signatures from all 50 states and support from many grieving parents and others that believe that it’s the right thing to do.
In July, Senator Jon Tester (MT) introduced S1358, the Parental Bereavement Leave Act of 2011. His staff members explained to us that the proposed legislation is a direct result of our efforts. As they explained in a recent phone conversation, Sen. Tester felt compelled to respond to Montanans who have suffered the loss of a child and petitioned him to do what he can.
We are traveling to DC the week of September 12 and have already confirmed several meetings with Senators and Representatives to encourage them to support Senator Tester’s bill. I encourage all of you to reach out to your Senators and Representatives to let them know how you feel about the importance of this bill.
I know there are many opinions on this bill and the issue with “more government” involvement. All this bill will do is allow any bereaved parent to take the 12 weeks of unpaid leave allowed under the FMLA without fear of losing their job. It’s not mandatory/required that you take the time. Some will need it while others want to go back to work right a way to get their mind off of it. There is no right answer, but to have the option to take the time is needed.
This is one way I have chosen to provide support for future grieving parents. Thanks for all of your support. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without everyone’s involvement.