Reflections From The Wreckage

I had a conversation with someone recently about my grief. They told me that Men and women grieve differently. I knew this, men and women do a lot of things differently. What they said next kind of took me by surprise. ‘’You grieve as a protector because you’re a father. Your jobs is to provide for and protect your family. You grieve because you couldn’t protect him this time. You couldn’t stop what was happening or what ultimately did happen.’’ I think that is mostly true for a father when a child dies. I also think it’s true for a mother in the same scenario.

We spend the majority of our lives as parents putting all kinds of rules, parameters, safeguards etc around our children to keep them safe. We put measures in place and think about the worst possible scenarios in regards to how we would respond. One of the many lessons losing Jacob taught me was I’m not in control like I think I am. I couldn’t see this coming, no one could have. There were no signs until it had happened and was staring me in the face. I couldn’t protect him from this. No matter what I did or said I couldn’t stop it from happening. I’m not in control like I thought I was. As human beings we can control a lot that goes on in life but there are still things that come out of left field we cannot control. That was and still is a very tough lesson for me to learn, to come to terms with.

In a lot of ways I think I have bent the knee to what everyone expected of me in the days, weeks and months since Jacob passed away. I kicked and screamed and cried like I had never cried before in my life. I shouted from the rooftops for someone to just sit and listen. This wasn’t a job that I lost, money squandered or taken away, a pet that died, a business deal gone wrong. THIS WAS MY SON. MY SON IS DEAD, HES GONE! Seemingly the world kept moving. Bills kept coming, the kids still had to go to school and eat meals, work wasn’t going to keep waiting. So I put my head down and I started moving. Slowly, very slowly. There’s movement and there’s productivity at times but the pilot is nowhere to be found. I do what I’ve always done, I suppress and bury it until it comes bubbling out at the most inopportune times.

That’s the thing about grief it always seems to be the most inopportune times. A picture, a phrase, a place, a scent, a food, drink, movie, tv show, quote or a passing thought. You are completely and totally undone. I’ve talked to family members and to family friends. I’ve listened to their grief and pain. I come away with the same thought ‘’I can’t look my own wife and kids in the eyes to tell them everything will be alright. I absolutely will not try to convince you the same.’’ I have sat or laid with my wife when she cries herself to sleep or cries until she’s exhausted herself. I have no words or magic elixir to cure the pain theirs, yours or my own.

Fortunately enough I find times during the day and evening where I can just be. I can grieve and I can reflect. For me I knew early on that I had to allow myself to feel this. I had to feel the weightiness of it all. I had to just plant my feet in the sand and let the tsunami crash over me. I am able to keep myself under control when I need to. Sometimes but not all the time. It’s the little seemingly insignificant things for me that trigger or unleash the flood. It’s picking up or loading a nerf gun, making certain foods or snacks, seeing superhero movies or costumes, hearing a song, being in familiar places or out in social gatherings. But I try to keep it together for my family, for employment purposes. You try and try and try some more to not let grief consume you. Losing Jacob has me staring into the abyss most days and forcing/convincing myself to come back.

Jacob was a big kid with an even bigger heart and larger than life itself personality. Naturally the journey of life without him, the grief that comes along is all consuming and larger than life. So I guess to put a bow on these thoughts, we aren’t in control like we think we are. Losing a child is hard and dads are not immune to grief.