Shattered Glass

Another rough day. Grief has shown itself again, but not to me. At least not directly.  Dawn, my wife, is really struggling. This afternoon has been especially difficult. Lots of powerful emotions. Despair and anger seem to be the most prevalent. It’s all very raw. Visceral. Dawn’s heart is absolutely shattered. And her mind is struggling to make any sense of it. How can it? It wasn’t supposed to play out like this. And nothing - nothing! - in life prepares you for this possibility… I’m doing what I can to prop Dawn up, but it doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough. I hold on. I tell her I love her, that I’m here for her. Asking her if she is ok knowing that she isn’t. I make lunch. And dinner. I make promises that I am and will be here for her as long as she needs me. And then some. Whatever it takes.  I’m beginning to see grief as kind an insidious adversary. Like a really patient and dedicated guerrilla fighter who mostly hides in the shadows. And then, when your guard is down ...

Death. It's all around us. Not in the physical sense – notable exception granted to those who work in a funeral home, hospital, hospice or morgue - but the ever present portrayal of death in the media and entertainment.  In the last few weeks, I've become hyperaware of the many forms death takes in what we watch, read, and  even listen to. The death of a character (major or minor) to advance the story; the death of a loved one or close friend or acquaintance as part of a character's back story; dialogue related to death or the act of dying - some of it serious, most of it not; songs lamenting the loss of someone;  the omnipresent news headlines about homicides, suicides, fatal accidents, and whatever else that "bleeds" and therefore "leads". And on. And on. And on... Does it bother me? I think it does a little, yeah. For two reasons.  1. Portrayals of death have become a bit of a trigger for me. Not all of them, but definitely some of them. The ones that...

7 weeks. That’s how long I’ve been in the after. I’m so very tired of being here…

When Damian was around 4 years old, the 3 of us (Dawn, Damian and I) went to the beach in South Carolina for a long weekend. I believe the place was called Ocean Isle. The first night we were there, we went out to dinner. The restaurant was busy enough that we had to wait about 30 to 40 minutes before we got seated. While we waited for our table, we each had something to drink. Non-alcoholic for Damian and I, probably wine for Dawn.  Not long after we sat down and had placed our dinner order, Damian said that he had to go the bathroom. Dawn looked at me and said, “Your turn”.  “No problem.” I thought, “I got this”. And off we went.  When we got into the mens room, the water closet was occupied but the urinal was available. The only problem was that it was high enough off the ground that Damian was not going to be able to reach it without assistance. Fortunately, there was a step stool under the sink which I grabbed and placed in front of the urinal. As I turned to help Da...

Feeling better today. Stronger. Yesterday was...excruciating. For the first time, I believe, I experienced  real sorrow and grief. I say this because what I felt yesterday was something new - raw and horrible. It felt like the weight of the world was bearing down on me and that it was never going to let up.  I was despondent, unconsolable, weeping uncontrollably. I felt like there was no hope for me, for a better tomorrow. I don’t want to experience another day like it, but I’m told by my grief counselor (Andrea) that, as much as it hurts, it’s actually a good thing in the long run. I’m still trying to make sense out of that one, but for now I place my faith in her and her abilities to guide me through. But make no mistake, the depths of grief and despair are truly awful places to live.  Today I spoke to a friend who is going through his own personal hell. He has a child (older teen) that suffers from addiction and has been in numerous treatment facilities during the...

Like a yo-yo. That's what this journey feels like. One minute you're in a neutral position - never would I describe it as "up" -  then all of a sudden I bottom out, then, eventually, back to neutral or somewhere in between.  Then the process repeats, the only aspects of which are unknown are the time I will spend at any particular level of the grief continuum before moving to the next or in which direction my grief will travel from my present position - downward or upward, back to neutral. The constant ebb and flow of emotions is, at best, difficult to endure; at worst, it's debilitating.  The last 24 hours have been especially tough. Dealing again with the permanence of it all. So much so that I question now whether the trip to New Mexico was a blessing or a curse. Yes, I was able to escape for a few days from the constant reminders of what has happened but now they have all come roaring back with a force that feels much greater than when I left. Maybe I would ha...

 First day back at home after our trip to New Mexico. Things were going ok until this afternoon.  The first stumble came after I stopped by Damian's school to pick up a check for the unused portion of this year's tuition. I should have been happy to get it, but receiving the check had the opposite effect. It's just another reminder that a) this is not a dream and b) Damian is never coming back. These thoughts put a lump in my throat as we drove the short distance from school to the office of our grief counselor  As we pulled into the parking lot Harry Chapin's Cats in the Cradle came on which brought tears almost instantly. Second stumble. I didn't pick up on it at first, but on the way home (after counseling) Dawn was spiraling downward pretty fast. She snapped at me a couple of times in the grocery store but I didn't think much of it. She blamed it on being hungry, but I'm learning what the signs of a broken heart look like. And hers is obviously shattere...

Feeling out of sorts today. I have mixed emotions about going home. Think a lot of it has to do with the realization that when we get home the nightmare of the past 6 weeks will still be upon us. Damian still won’t be there; only the ghost of him persists.  It was easier being away. I have no memories of him here, in New Mexico. But at home, in our house, it’s nothing but. It’s these memories of him that I dread returning to. Not because I don’t love the memories themselves - I do - but because each one reminds me that is all I will ever have.  On the drive to the airport this afternoon I wrestled (again) with questions of my purpose in this world. I have to admit that my life, today, feels pointless – without meaning or significance. Dawn told me that I’ll find a new purpose to my life. I hope she’s right and I can soon figure out what it is. This is not a good headspace to be in. My heart is heavy. 

Our last full day in New Mexico and we crammed a lot into it.  I was thinking about Damian off and on throughout the day, his absence weighing heavily on my heart and mind. I’m still struggling with the question of “is this all real?” Like I wrote a few days ago, I know it is, at least clinically, but acceptance, true acceptance, hasn’t happened yet. Reaching this state of mind will likely be one of the longest legs of my journey. I miss my dogs; I’m ready to fly back home and see them wag their tails when they look at me. It feels good to be adored.

Having a bit of an identity crisis today. This is not new - I remember having others in the days immediately following Damian’s death - but today it was more acute. Driving today from Santa Fe to Taos, via the “high road”, I was thinking about who I am as a person now that Damian is gone. It feels like his death now defines me more than anything else.  Maybe yes, maybe no - probably depends on your perspective - but the thought of it weighs me down. Like a lead-lined blanket. The heaviness of it is something that I’ve never before experienced.  Today marks another anniversary - 6 weeks! - but I didn’t know that when I woke up to the sound of Dawn’s grieving. As we lay there, my arms wrapped around her, I kept asking her to tell me what she was feeling. It was only later that I connected the dots. I felt so dumb, so insensitive. How did I not know what today was?!   So many different feelings, it’s hard to process them all. Maybe this contributes to my ongoing questioning ...

I’m eating too much. Alas, the perils of vacation travel. I may have to  walk home to Atlanta to offset the caloric surplus I’ve splurged in. The highlight of today was a Jeep tour into the highlands west of Santa Fe. The scenery was, as expected, gorgeous. Got a really cool pic taken of Dawn and I standing at the entrance to Diablo Canyon. To one side of us (in the picture) is a vertical rock face that towers 250 to 300 feet up from the canyon floor. While we were there, a small group (8 to 10) of mountain climbers were practicing their skills. Seeing them from below gives me a new appreciation of the fearlessness required to climb mountains. Yikes.  After our stop at the canyon, we continued on to the Rio Grande river - the same Rio Grande that separates parts of the US from Mexico. According to our guides, the headwater of the RG is just a couple of hours north in Colorado. Our driver and guide, Andrew, was nice - a bit chatty but very knowledgeable.  After our excursi...

 I’m in New Mexico. Santa Fe to be more precise. Dawn and I flew here this morning. It’s been several years since I was here last -  call it 8.  The drive from Albuquerque to Santa Fe is awe-inspiring. There are mountain ranges to the right, center and left all connected by sweeping vistas, you can literally see for miles in all directions. It’s beautiful in an austere way, majestic; but the scale of it did make me feel small, insignificant.  As we were leaving Albuquerque I told Dawn that for the duration of our trip I am going to try to a) relax, b) enjoy myself and c) not feel guilty for doing either (relaxing on having some fun). I did add that I am not likely to be 100% successful, but I am committed to making every effort to do so. The grandeur and beauty of the New Mexican topography that came shortly thereafter already put this to the test.  As we were taking it all in, my sadness returned.. I think it was because I realized that Damian never had a chanc...

What makes a person "great" in the eyes of others? Is the measure of one's greatness tied to what they gave to society, their contributions to history, art, science, medicine or sport; or is it a measure of who they were as a person?  I've been mulling over these questions in recent weeks. It's my observation that we - either as a society or, possibly, as a species - tend to exalt accomplishment much more than exceptional humanity.  Examples of people who did great things are easy to come by: Henry Ford, Winston Churchill, Earnest Hemingway, Michael Jordon, Steve Jobs, Elon Musk, etc. This is an easy list to add names to. Much easier than adding names to a list of people who were (or are) known for being exceptional human beings: Mother Teresa is the first name that pops into my head.  And about the only one. With a little more effort I come up with Morrie Schwartz, the focal point of Mitch Albom's nonfiction work Tuesdays with Morrie and John Madden, the foot...

Today has been a "reminder" day. That's what I'm calling it.  Putting aside what happened to Damian momentarily, there was nothing unusual or different about how the first half of my day started. I got up, took a shower, made some coffee and breakfast and headed to my office (in the basement). After logging in, I checked email, did some prep for demos that were scheduled for today and then got onto my first call / demo of the day at 9. This call lasted 2 hours; then I had to drop for another call / demo at 11. Just after noon I went upstairs for lunch. All very routine stuff.  It was while I was having lunch that I had to stop and remind (?) myself that Damian is gone...and never coming back. I had to do it 3 or 4 times. Each time it felt wrong. Out of place. Like what had happened didn't comport with my perception of reality. At least not today. I think the reason for the disconnect is due to how normal the rest of my day had been. Today's routine was identic...

Triggers. I'm assuming we all have them. Just like everyone supposedly has a 'tell'. Here in the after I'm learning what my new triggers are. Like melancholy songs.  Yesterday afternoon I watched the pilot episode of the Kevin Kostner series Yellowstone. Towards the end of the episode there was a touching moment where Kevin Kostner's character, John Dutton, the Dutton family patriarch, is alone with his oldest son who had hours before been shot and killed. As Dutton pulls his son's limp body toward him he sits down under a tree, holding his son and starts talking to him. About what I don't know. Before Dutton got out any words a flood of emotion came over me. Something about the way he lovingly held his son's body brought me back to my last moment's with Damian. When I found his body...and new in an instant that he was gone.   New trigger - touching father / son goodbyes - check. I'm ok with this. I don't feel any shame in leaning into my gri...

Life goes on. Even for me. It's not the same life that I had in the before, but it's still my life. And it continues to go on. Today, I put up trim around some new doors that my father-in-law and I installed over the holidays. I think I did a respectable job considering that I drive a desk for a living. The best part is that I was able to solve a particular problem that didn't have an obvious solution. And by "obvious" I mean that I couldn't buy my way out of it. I had to create something new...using parts that I did buy. But the solution was my idea and...it worked! Like a champ. Yeah, me.  Next up: replacing the microwave. I won't start that for a couple of weeks. Next weekend Dawn and I will be in New Mexico. Where it will be cold and, probably, snowy. Yikes.  As forecast, we had our snow event here today in North Georgia. Fortunately, we did not get as much as ice as predicted so no problems with the power going out or trees coming down. Good thing, to...

One thing that life doesn't prepare you for is "the lasts". As in: "the last time we...."  The last time Damian and I went sailing together was a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving. We had just taken possession of a new boat; this was our first time taking the boat out after getting her rigged. We had fun but the wind was lighter than we would have liked. But we did have big plans and this was just the start of what was going to be an epic year of travel regattas. Florida, South Carolina, New York - we were going to go everywhere. Never did the thought occur to me that this would be our last time together on a boat.  The last time Damian and I had a father / son field day was the last day of his summer vacation. That Friday, the 2 of us rented dirt bikes and rode for several hours. It was something we hadn't done in quite some time due to COVID and my recovery from a motorcycle accident in 2019. We had a great day that day. What sticks out is how much faste...

The forecast for this Sunday calls for cold temps with rain in the morning changing over to accumulating ice and snow in the afternoon. One to three inches are expected. We haven't had a weather event like this in Georgia for 3 or 4 years so we're overdue for a visit from old man winter.  I was commiserating with Dawn earlier today that Damian would have been excited by the forecast. More accurately, he would have been excited by what the forecast portends: no school on Monday, or the gods willing, maybe even no school for 2 or 3 days. (We live in Georgia so it doesn't take much more than a snowflake or two, or the threat thereof, to shut down....everything.) When we realized that Monday is Martin Luther King Day and that schools around the country will be closed anyway, we both laughed. Damian would have been furious that what should have been an unplanned free day thanks to the snow was going to be wasted thanks to unfortunate timing. Even without MLK Day, he would have b...

I am a member of a tribe: Parents Who Have Lost A Child. This tribe has a select membership. Only a few, mercifully, are chosen each year. Refusing to join, once chosen, is not an option. Tribal membership is for life. Today, a fellow member of my tribe reached out.  Her name is Liz. She lost a son, Peter, when he was 22. I do not know Liz, but she took the time to write to me and Dawn and express her sadness at our loss. More importantly, she acknowledged our grief for what it is - ours - and for what it needs to be - whatever we need it to be. Liz has the wisdom of insight that comes from having been a member of the tribe much longer than we have. I do not know Liz, but I respect her insight and the stamina she has had to persevere in face of her own devastating loss. By all accounts, Liz (and her husband) has gone on to live a full life since the death of her son Peter. Her letter gives me hope that Dawn and I will be able to do the same. In time.  Later this afternoon, Daw...

I was thinking about old worries today. From the before. I used to worry about what life for Damian was going to be like as he got older.  How old was he going to be before life as he knew it turned to crap? The day where the superficial concerns of today are replaced with very real concerns about basic needs. Survival. Not "Where can I get a drink?", but "Where I can I find clean water? Food?" I believe that climate change is real. I believe climate change is the direct result of nearly 2 centuries of the burning of fossil fuels. I believe that humanity is ultimately doomed. Since we can't even all get on the same page and do what's necessary to stop the spread of COVID I have zero confidence that we will make the drastic changes necessary to not turn Earth, humanity's home, into a desert hellscape. It's not a question of "if" but "when".  In the coming years, we will see more drought-fueled famines, wild fires, mass die-off of m...

I'm in a dark place right now. Started around 5:30 this evening while I was working out. I was ok and then I wasn't. Not instantaneous but it did happen quickly. By the time I noticed what was happening, I was going downhill fast.  My day started off with some quality grief counseling, followed by the running of errands that had been put off for a while, e.g., a run to the DMV, a stop at the post office, a swing by the service department at the car dealership, and a stop for lunch. And not necessarily in that order. After we got back home, I went to my basement office, logged onto my computer and got to work. Real work. The kind that pays the bills.  A little after 5, I decided to get a work out in. I had planned to do so yesterday but my schedule took a couple of unexpected turns so had to punt and try again today. Which I did.  After working out for 15 or 20 minutes I realized that I had zero interest in continuing, but I stuck it out for another 2 or 3 sets. And I was ...

Today marked an important 'first' for me: I told someone who doesn't know me well that "...my son passed away two weeks before Christmas." Yeah, I went there.  I dropped a nuke on an unsuspecting soul.  I had gone to see my chiropractor because my neck and upper back have been super stiff the last 2 or 3 days. We don't know each other that well, my chiro and me; I've only seen her a handful of times over the last 3 years, give or take. After some initial pleasantries - "How were your holidays?", "Terrible.", "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." - she started asking about possible causes for the stiffness. I offered stress as the likely culprit. She agreed that stress could definitely do it and then proceeded to do her best to help my muscles relax. After a few minutes she stopped, acknowledged that I was "super tight" and then asked if the cause of my stress was going to be short lived or sustained. Rather than tip toe ...

Today started out with a rough edge. Not sure I would call it the wrong side of the bed, more of me being in an unhappy frame of mind but not looking to lash out.  I woke up thinking about Damian. The thoughts were of the day he died. The discovery, the hours leading up to it including the night before, the hours that followed. The dinner that we had together, the three of us; feelings of stress about my job, the panic of not being able to find Damian; the horror of finding him; the indescribable agony and anguish that instantly came with it.   I'm still plagued by the questions of "why?". Why him? Why not me? Why did this have to happen? The last week or so, these questions have mostly been reduced to background noise, but this morning they were loud and surrounding. Not deafening, but impossible to ignore just the same.  In order to put some distance between me and this mad chorus I downloaded a new book onto my Kindle. It's a travel diary from two men, actors and ...

Ghosts. I see them now. Not the astral projections of a hapless soul trapped in purgatory, but visions of my son from the before.  This morning Dawn and I went out for breakfast. The last time we went to this restaurant it was Mother's Day and Damian was with us. As I sat there today I could see the booth we occupied last May as a family, the three of us, and I could see Damian's face as he ordered his latte and crepe. The vision was clear. Like I could walk over to that booth and tell him "hi".  Later in the day, we went to a high school robotics tournament in which Damian's school team was competing. We went so we could see Damian's former teammates and coach. It was good that we went, but it was strange. Throughout most of the afternoon, as I saw Damian's teammates milling about, my eyes would dart around the gymnasium seeking out my son. My tall, lanky red headed son. The one most likely not wearing a COVID mask. There were times when I could see him ...

When words will not suffice all we should do is hold on. Firmly but with gentleness.  I've known my wife for the better part of 35 years. Dawn and I were first acquainted in the summer of 1987 but didn't start dating until the fall of '88. We were married in 1993 and enjoyed 12 good years as DINKs before Damian was born in 2006.  Because we had waited as long as we did to have Damian, Dawn and I had the luxury of her being a stay-at-home mom, a role which she absolutely relished and excelled at. Dawn arranged play dates and parties, took Damian to all his appointments, drove him to school and picked him up, ditto for sports activities including out of town sailing events, volunteered at many of his schools, and, yeah, wow. They were inseparable for the first few years of his life.  While I missed the extra income, I was happy that they had this time together. In truth, I was envious. I like to think that I would have enjoyed being a stay-at-home dad, but what I really wan...

I miss my son. I miss everything about him. His smile. His red hair. His infectious laugh. His "teen" speak. (Can I get a "brah" or a "hey, boomer"?) What I wouldn't give to have him back.  There are a lot of great memories crammed into the 15 years, 8 months, and 18 days that I got to spend with him. I remember... He spent the first 10 days of his life in Neonatal ICU because he was 5 1/2 weeks premature. But he weighed over 7 pounds when he was born! He would treat me like a rock star when I would come home from work. My wife would get jealous because he was never like that with her since they got to spend all day together.  The thing he wanted most for Christmas the year he was 4 (2010) was a sport jacket and tie. He wanted to be like me.  Building a rocket ship in the basement that we would sit inside of and travel to the far corners of the galaxy. I went to RadioShack and bought a bunch of knobs and switches that I mounted on the rocket's cont...

Music. That is my emotional kryptonite. I found that out earlier today. I was in the car with my wife listening to vintage rock - my choice! - when on comes Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here".... "How I wish, how I wish you were here  We're just two lost souls   Swimming in a fish bowl Year after year Running over the same old ground What have we found? The same old fears Wish you were here"   ...and I. Lost. It.  I just started sobbing in the car. The wave of grief came over me like it was shot out of a cannon. I didn't see or feel it coming. It just hit me right square in the chest and the dam burst.  It didn't last long, maybe 2 minutes, and left almost as quickly as it showed up. Even though the feelings of loss and sorrow were excruciating, it was a relief to finally connect with my emotions. Granted, it wasn't a deep connection, but it was a connection nonetheless. And right now I consider that a win.           

Highly unmotivated. That about sums up how I feel. I don't want to do much of anything today...which is unusual.  I usually have problems sitting still, at least for long stretches. But today, I'm content to not do anything. Although a part of me does feel guilty for not being productive - there is lots of stuff I could be doing. Probably should be doing - but the part of me that wants to do absolutely nothing is yelling the loudest so here I sit. At my computer. Typing. Watching videos on YouTube.  I wonder how long this is going to last...

This morning, I had a small emotional breakthrough. I got teary-eyed! On the way to see my grief counselor listening to old 70s folk songs in the car - my wife's choice! - Harry Chapin's "Cat's in the Cradle" came on. I hadn't heard the song in a very long time. As I sat there listening, I let the lyrics wash over me. It's all about the relationship between a father and his son, told from the father's perspective. As his son grows up and gets busier with his own life, the father is torn between letting go and wanting to hang on. But no matter the circumstances of his son's life, Chapin's love for his son is always in the forefront. Overlaying Chapin's lyrics onto my own life was bittersweet.  Sweet from the standpoint that I could look back and remember all the time I had with Damian; the front row seat that I had to his life as he grew, both physically and emotionally, over nearly 16 years. Bitter because our song ended way too soon. Long ...

Unwinding a life takes work. Even one that was cut tragically short.  I haven't had to do this before. When my dad died (10 years ago) my mom handled it – the decisions of what to keep, what to pass on, what to donate, what to throw away. I didn't appreciate how much work this is until I started doing it.  I've been in Damian's bedroom a few times since he died. It's going to take time to sort through all of his possessions as he had a lot of stuff. I've spent a little time doing so already and haven't made much of dent. Some decisions are easy, but I expect there will be many moments of doubt and debate (?) as we go through everything.   Keep, pass on, sell, donate or throw away. These are the options in front of me. In front of us. 

New Years day. The first day of 2022. Forgive me if I don't celebrate. And forgive my cynicism. 2022 will not be as bad as 2021, that much I know, but I still think it's going to suck. Like royally.  Here are just a few events in 2022 that I have to not look forward to: Melges 15 regatta - January 7th, 8th and 9th (in Sarasota); our first regatta with the new boat; Damian was registered to be the skipper, I was to be his crew  Damian's birthday - March 23. He was going to turn 16. I'm sure he would have insisted on getting his driver's license the day after. He was so ready to drive on his own.   Last day of 10th grade - end of May.    First day of 11th grade - end of August   Thanksgiving   The one year anniversary of his death   Christmas On these days, I have license to feel extra sad and depressed. In between, I just get to feel normal sad and depressed. You know, "normal" for someone who has lost a child.  Wow. T...