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Archive for December, 2011
“Smothering”
“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?
“‘Tis The Season”
‘Tis the Season
It’s that time of year again, the time of year that bereaved parents struggle with all of the anxiety from the anticipation of what the Holidays will bring in the way of unwanted gifts, Holiday memories. For some it’s the past Holiday memories that cause the pain while others, like me, it’s the lack of memories since both of my children were babies when we lost them.
I come from a Christen background so for me it’s the not knowing what it’s like to take my children to church service on Christmas or watching the excitement from your child as they open gifts on Christmas morning. Since many of the followers of this blog come from different religious backgrounds, I am sure many of you have similar types of Holiday traditions that cause you to reflect more during this time of year than other times.
Regardless of your religious beliefs or lack thereof, this time of year is tough because it also brings the end of another year without your child or it marks the first year without them.
I get a lot of emails from grieving dads this time of year telling me how hard it is or emails asking me for ideas on how to navigate through these 2-3 weeks. I wish I had all of the answers.
The one thing I have learned from the hundreds of conversations I have had with grieving dads is that many of the dads that have found hope in their lives again 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.
I remember the first Christmas following the death of my son Noah; it had been about 6 months since he had died. I was at a locals Macy’s department store when I had a meltdown that came out of nowhere. 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”.
Over the years, the holidays have become easier for me. Not easy, but easier.
I have a large pine tree in my yard and one of the things I do every year is decorate it with blue and white lights as a way to let Katie and Noah know that I am thinking about them. It’s the only thing I decorate on the outside of my house. However, the 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.
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. Try to do something.
Wishing you and your family a peaceful Holiday Season!
What are your plans for the Holiday Season?
“Fear Turns to Panic”
Grief is not just emotional or psychological; it is also physical. It is important to attend to your physical health. Do not hesitate to consult with a trusted physician. Exercise and try to improve your eating habits. It will take time to begin to withdraw yourself from the comfort foods that may have become your staple diet during the first months or years of your grief journey.
The above is one of many truisms written by fellow grieving dad and friend Charlie Schmidtke. I met Charlie about a year and a half ago when I traveled to Buffalo, NY to interview several grieving dads for my upcoming book. At that meeting, Charlie gave me a list of 31 Truisms that he wrote in regards to what he learned from the death of his daughter.
I agree with this particular truism because I can relate with both the psychological and physical pain that sets in during grief. I recently read a statement that says, “mental health is physical health and physical health is mental health”. Both of these go hand in hand. They’re connected and even more pronounced under heavy stress. I was suffering from depression and anxiety (and several types of fears) from psychological standpoint. The physical health equated to chest pains, headaches, inability to eat or hold anything down, hair turning gray and extreme weight loss to name a few. Even through all of the pain, I still managed to work out as a way to control stress. The time running or pedaling gave me a chance to be by myself and process all of the “stuff” going on in my head. The following is something I recently came across in some writings I did during the early days of my journey:
“It’s like being dropped deep into a body of water blindfolded at night, you are alone and in complete silence except for what you hear in your head, you just don’t know which way is up. The fear sets in and you start to experience psychological and physical symptoms you may have never felt before. Fear turns to panic as you try to make sense of it all, grasping for help. Your nervous system has been impacted with almost irreversible damage, trauma, I’ve heard it described. Call it what you will, it doesn’t change the way you feel inside.
After you lose a child, you may no longer recognize the person in the mirror. You look vaguely familiar in physical features only. The look you see in your own eyes displays so much pain, pain that no one on the street recognizes and if they do, they haven’t inquired. That would make them to uncomfortable.”
- How are you attending to your physical health?
- Do you have any physical health issues related to the death of your child?
- What are your thoughts on this topic?
“Fear of Loss”
Fear of Loss
After the death of my son Noah I was stricken with the fear of losing another family member, particularly my wife. Whenever we were not together, I would worry that something bad was going to happen to her. The thought of someone else in my life dying caused me great anxiety because I was convinced I wouldn’t survive it; I still wasn’t sure if I was going to survive the death of my children, adding more to the pile was hard to imagine.
I knew it wasn’t logical thinking, but after the death of a child, logic doesn’t always come into play because your world has been turned inside out. The thought that “bad things only happen to other people” goes away and you start to realize bad things can happen to me or anyone else at any given time. The loss of feeling “in control” is gone and the feeling of “out of control” quickly sets in.
As time progresses, logic starts to come back and the fear of someone else in your life dying goes away. However, you never forget that bad things can and will happen, it’s just a matter of time. It helps you look at life a little different; in a more realistic way, a good way on many levels.
The reason I am writing about this subject matter is the fact that many people experience this after the death of a child. You don’t fear you own death, but you do fear losing someone close to you. This past weekend I had a scare, with someone that I love deeply, was going to die in front of me and the emotions of the fear rushed over me. This someone helped me change my life after the death of my son Noah. They helped pull me out of the despair, depression and grief that had been smothering me for months.
This someone is one of my best friends that wiped away my tears and was always there to pick me up when I wasn’t doing well. I like to refer to him as my furry angel. My dog Buddy. My wife and I never had a dog until we got Buddy about 10 months after the death of my son. He was just a puppy but he would listen to me every morning before I leave for work and was always there to greet me when I got home. He is almost 5 years old and has become a very important part of our lives. We have no living children and my wife jokingly calls Buddy “her third child”.
I think Buddy is going to be fine, but the fear of loss revisited me this week. We were probably overreacting to some of the symptoms he had, but after several tests, our minds are put a little more at rest. I know the death of Buddy wouldn’t be nearly as bad as losing a child, I want to be clear about that. I don’t want anyone to think I am comparing the two, because I am not. But he is loved very deeply. The realization that he will eventually die and my wife and I will have to say goodbye to him stirs up a lot of emotions from the past. A lot of emotions I thought were gone.
Have you experienced the fear of anyone else in your life dying?
