08/11/2015

  Another vital realization about dealing with grief is that change is an inevitable result of a grief-inducing event. It has to be. Oh, we can try to deny grief's impact on us, we can pretend that it really doesn't bother us, we can try to rationalize it away, we can try to hide from it in some way, but sooner or later, if we are truly to begin the healing process, we must accept the unwanted changes that are threatening to take over our life whether or not we choose to acknowledge them. As I struggled to deal with these changes in my life following the death of my son, I often had to admit that I felt a little foolish at times. Of course, it was beyond obvious that my life had drastically changed and not for the better. It was also an indisputable fact that, for the most part, these changes could never be undone. They were permanent. What I could change, at least to a certain degree, was how I reacted and responded to these life-altering changes. I could go on either pretending they weren't such a big deal or I could search for ways to begin to face up to them. If I was to begin to heal on this journey I knew which course I had to follow.

07/30/2015

   One thing I realized fairly early on in my grief journey (thank goodness) was that in spite of my great concern for how my wife and surviving son and daughter were dealing with what had happened to Curtis, I really couldn't be of much help to them until I started to help myself. Indeed, since all of us were trying to figure things out in our own ways it was often impossible to truly understand each other's
perspective. One thing I had to accept (whether I wanted to or not) was that what I was feeling was entirely normal. The chaos, the anger, the confusion, the uncertainty, the hopelessness, the sorrow, and all the other things grief had suddenly unleashed on my life were completely normal and understandable. My life was not normal, and never would be again, but what I was feeling was normal.
Once I began to accept that truism, I was able to stop being so hard on myself. I realized that I didn't have to try to be in control of an absolutely uncontrollable situation. My problem was not going to go away easily, if ever. There were no quick fixes, no easy solutions, no short-cuts, no magic spells. I had to just take things one step at a time. As I was able to allow myself this freedom, I found myself in a better place to be able to help the rest of my family as well. I didn't expect my journey to be much easier, but I hoped I was becoming a little more prepared for what lay ahead. There would still be much to learn.

07/27/2015

   How does a man learn to deal with grief? It's been almost a year since I posed that question at the end of my last blog entry. I'm again not sure why I have not been writing for so long, except to say that I was so focused on work and other issues that I just didn't have the energy to write. Oftentimes, my writing about grief takes me back in time to those first horrible days following Curtis's death, dredging up emotions and memories I thought were long gone. I realize at such times that there are still residual issues with which I am not finished dealing or now may need to deal with in a different way. I also understand that it is ultimately to my long-term benefit to face such things as they arise. Even all these years later, there are still ways I can help myself continue to move forward with my life. This situation again points to one of the most difficult aspects of grief-its unpredictability. I think as human beings (especially as men) it's this characteristic of grief that is so maddening-the uncertainty of it all. We may realize intellectually that each person involved in the same situation will grieve in their own way and follow their own timeframe, but emotionally, men find this to be a most frustrating factor of grief. We like to know how long something will last. We like to know how much time and energy we need to invest in this whole process. We don't like to think there may be no end to this entire thing. We don't like to think there may be times when we believe we have reached some kind of ending only to have to deal with the same things over and over again. The thought that we may never feel "normal" again terrifies us. We begin to feel paralyzed and hopeless that we will ever feel anything close to normalcy again. Why can't we fix this? Why can't we just make it all go away? Where is the magic spell or magic fairy dust that could make me feel like myself again? Dealing with grief may be the most emotionally, spiritually, and mentally challenging thing we may ever face in life. It can even leave us physically drained years after the initial event. So, after all these months between posts, the question remains: how does a man learn to deal with grief?

08/17/2014

   As a society, we Americans are not particularly well-prepared to deal with grief. Some cultures don't  even expect a grieving person to be ready to re-enter society in any meaningful way for up to a year or more. The person or family is given that much time to process and deal with all the numbing effects of grief. I went back to work three weeks to the day after my son's death. Mostly I did that because I was afraid that the longer I delayed the inevitable, the harder it would become to ever go back. I also wanted  something besides grief to occupy my time and energy. I had been back only a couple of weeks when it was time on our school calendar to hold Parent-Teacher conferences. All of the parents with whom I met were sympathetic to a point, but one parent remarked that I must be over it all since I was back teaching. I was incredulous. It took all of my self-control to not scream at her. This was my son's death we were dealing with not a pet goldfish. How insensitive could she be? In hindsight, it was probably much too soon for me to have to deal with people in that kind of setting, but, again, our culture does not look favorably on grieving for too long, especially not for men. We are raised to be strong, physically and emotionally. We are the providers, the guardians, the protectors. We are taught from an early age that big boys don't cry, that we should get over it (whatever "it" is) and move on. We are supposed to "fix" whatever is wrong and move forward. These kinds of attitudes are especially not helpful when men are dealing with grief. They are among the reasons that many men seem to get "stuck" in one spot
many different times in their journey through grief. Often when I would be faced with a new obstacle
grief had set in my way, my first reaction was to avoid it somehow, to try and go around it or pretend it wasn't there. I tried to lose myself in work. I tried to pretend that I wasn't really feeling what I was feeling. I would try to push away what was making me feel so bad. That only made things worse. As I stated previously, grief demands to be dealt with, but much of the time, I didn't know how to do that. I was feeling guilty that I had failed to protect my son in the first place, and now I was constantly faced with a situation I could not fix, not for myself, not for my wife, not for my surviving children. I was frustrated and angry about the entire thing. How does a man learn to deal with grief?

08/10/2014

   As I mentioned previously, for me the first step to surviving was the realization that I needed to allow the people around me to just love me. Many of the people closest to us felt an almost overwhelming need to do something, anything, for us in an attempt to somehow help us through this ordeal. However, often what these well-meaning people needed for themselves was not what was particularly helpful to me. Still, I slowly began to realize that we were surrounded by the love, concern, and prayers of many people, some of which we did not even directly know.
   It also began to be apparent that even with all this support around us, in many ways, my journey through grief was going to be a lonely one. While grief demands to be dealt with, it is not on a set timeline. While many people are familiar with the various stages of grief (i.e. denial, anger, bargaining,
acceptance, etc.) such stages are extremely fluid. They do not conform to a neatly set pattern or timeline. What I was experiencing or feeling at a particular moment was not what my wife or children were experiencing. What I felt I needed at a certain moment in time did not often conform to their needs. In short, everyone's journey through grief is highly personal. It ebbs and flows from day to day and often from moment to moment. This aspect of grief makes it very difficult to stay on an even keel.
Many times I would feel like I was making good progress one day, only to feel like I had taken 10 steps backward the next.
   I often became frustrated with myself because I too often felt like I had to keep dealing with the same things over and over again. Why didn't I get the message the first time? Why did I have to go through the same things again and again? Grief is like that. Make no mistake: grief must be dealt with. You can try to run away or hide from it, but it will track you down. It will slowly and methodically follow you like a stalker or a spy pursuing their quarry. Its presence will not always be overtly apparent, but you will always know it is there, lurking in the shadows, waiting patiently to strike until you least expect it, usually when you are the most vulnerable. Again, it is this relentlessly uncertain characteristic of grief that consistently serves to confound and confuse us in our journey. Yes, grief demands our attention. How we respond to that demand can make a world of difference in our journey.

08/02/14

   Sooner or later grief comes to us all in one way or another. It is no respecter of status or station in life.  It comes to rich and poor alike. It cares not if a person is famous, powerful or well-connected. It cannot be bargained away, nor can you hire someone else to handle it for you. It strikes viciously, often without warning, with a ferocity unlike anything else we experience. It throws our lives into utter chaos, bringing into question the very principals by which we have been leading our lives. It completely disrupts our belief systems, especially when it involves the death of a young person such as a child, which seems to totally violate the natural order of things: parents are not supposed to outlive their children. Grief absolutely turns our lives upside down. Everything changes, often not for the better. We are forced to realize some very unpleasant things about our lives on this planet. We are left searching for answers to questions we never expected to have to face. We often feel lost, hopeless and alone. We want someone to explain to us why this had to happen to us. How can we survive this situation? When will our lives return to normal? When will we feel like ourselves again? We want someone to give us answers to questions which have no answers. We feel like everything in our lives has changed in the blink of an eye, and we are spinning helplessly out of control. How do we survive?

07/29/2014

   At the risk of stating the obvious, there are few emotions we experience as humans that can be compared with grief. By its very nature it is devastating and overwhelming like nothing else. It cannot be planned for, it strikes without warning giving us no time to prepare. Even when the loss involves an older person or someone who has been very ill, we may feel prepared for grief. Intellectually, we may accept the death, but emotionally we are never ready to have to live without the person's physical presence in our lives. In my case, to have my healthy, talented, loving, beautiful son ripped away from me in a matter of seconds sent me spinning. I don't think men in general are particularly well-suited to deal with such an emotional cataclysm. Most men are raised to be strong, not just physically, but also emotionally. We are taught to keep a tight rein on our emotions, with the possible exception of anger. It's usually deemed acceptable for men to show anger, at least righteous anger, anyway, but most other emotions are kept in check. Many men believe that overt shows of emotions such as fear, sorrow, or doubt are unacceptable both to others and to themselves. Besides, when dealing with something as powerful as grief what good will it do anyone to fall apart? That's not going to solve the problem. That's not going to bring my son back. That's not going to help my wife and children.
   I had experienced loss many times before in my life: my oldest brother died when I was 12, but he had been born with cerebral palsy and never had a so-called normal life , and two of my grandparents had died at about the same time. Over the years I lost my other grandparents, aunts, uncles, and a cousin, as well, so I thought I was at least somewhat acquainted with grief. However, all of those losses rolled together did not prepare me for the loss of my son.
   Those early days of grief reminded me of a time when I was young. We had gone to the beach for the day. It was not my first visit to the beach, and I felt I was prepared for the waves, but the surf was especially strong that day. A wave knocked me down and took me beneath the surface of the water. I struggled to get my head above the surface to breath. As soon as I did so another wave would again roll over my head, and I'd again find myself struggling to get my head above water. This went on for what to me seemed like forever, but was probably only a few seconds. I eventually was able to regain my feet and get out of the water.
   Grief was making me feel like I was drowning. It struck with such sudden violence that my entire life went into a state of shock. I was feeling overwhelmed and whenever I did feel like I was regaining my footing another wave would smash over me, driving me beneath the surface. This went on for months. At times I felt helpless to do anything about it. The chaos and hopelessness that grief had brought into my life seemed impossible to deal with. Would I ever feel anything else?
 

07/24/2014

   I realize now that in addition to learning how to take things one step at a time, in the early days literally sometimes taking things one breath at a time, there were other things that helped me overcome the various fears that threatened to engulf me.
   I learned that much of the time my feelings and emotions were transitory and that what I might be experiencing at a certain moment would soon be changing. I realized that what I often needed to do was actually the exact opposite of what my emotions were tempting me to do. For example, there were many times when what I really wanted to do was to curl up into a little ball, find an isolated corner in which to hide myself, and wait for the storm to pass. What I discovered I needed to do was to lean more heavily than ever on the people closest to me, especially my wife and children. In this case, I don't mean leaning on them in a sense of dragging them down at such a horrible time, but rather to mean keeping myself available to them, leaning on each other, supporting each other as much as we possibly could to survive together. If we could not stick together and find ways to help each other through something so absolutely horrible, who else was going to help us?
   Unfortunately, we did discover during those early days that some people we thought would always be there for us, could not find it within themselves to do so. We came to realize that many people just felt so uncomfortable around us that they fell by the wayside, some early on in our journey, and others as time went by. Whether it was because they felt helpless not knowing what to say or do or how to comfort us, or because our situation brought the fear and anxiety that if something this awful could happen to a family like ours it could also happen to them, the fact remained that these people were not able to be there for us.
   Conversely, there were other people who actually surprised us with the level of on-going, consistent support they gave to us. In many cases, these people are still with us today. Of course, there is another group of people who we believed would always be there for us, and indeed they have been, every moment of every day and every step of the way. Besides holding on to my wife and children for support, I learned to let these other people who were so concerned about us all, help us in whatever ways they could. Their timing wasn't always perfectly corresponding to what I might have been feeling at a given moment, but I learned to accept that everything they were doing was done out of true love and concern for us. I discovered again that the moments when I most felt like isolating myself from the entire world were often actually the moments when I most needed to allow people to simply love me.

07/09/2014

   After we were given the horrific news that our precious son was gone forever, another emotion that  soon came to the forefront, along with anger, was fear. Fear about what such a drastic change would mean to my life and the lives of my wife and surviving children. Fear about what would happen to us, as individuals and as a family. Fear about how, or even if, we could possibly navigate through something so horrible. Fear for the survival of our marriage. Fear of failing to help our surviving children get through such a loss when we were struggling so much ourselves. Fear that this terrible, all-encompassing fog would never lift. Fear that I would never again be able to laugh, smile, feel joy, happiness or peace. Fear that I would never feel normal again. Fearful of a future stretching years ahead of me-a future that would never include my beloved son. Fearful that I had, for some reason been forsaken by God.

   All of these various fears, and probably others, as well, that I've neglected to mention, if taken as a package, would have been impossible to conquer. They would have been just too overwhelming. We realized early on that the only way we could deal with all that was happening to us was to simply take things one step at a time as each day came. Yes, my life had changed-it had been shaken to its core-and much would never be the same again.  However, in spite of the absolutely mind-numbing loss of Curtis, and all the myriad ways that loss has affected my life, there have been many positive aspects that have developed, as well. I will never, ever be able to say that my life is better without my son, perish the thought! I am, however, grateful that I have learned how to better appreciate the positives and dwell less on the negatives. That is not always easy to do, even after all these years. I think that of all the fears I felt in those early days of my journey, that fear was the most pervasive-that I would never again in my life be free of grief, and all that results from that emotion. I feared that I would not be able to find the strength to help my wife or children because of the grief; that I would not be able to function as a person with any degree of consistency because of my grief; that everything I had been and everything I had done would be lost forever because of my grief; that the way I was feeling because of my grief was the way I would feel every single second for the rest of my life; that I would let Curtis, who had loved life so much, down, by not living my life in a positive way because of my grief; that in some perverse way the man who had taken my son from me would win if I gave up because of my grief. I couldn't let those things happen. I had to find a way out of this debilitating fog that swirled all around me. As I tried to deal with only one thing at a time, putting one foot in front of the other, taking in one breath at a time, I slowly began to find my way, sometimes very slowly.

07/07/2014

   I don't mean to imply that I have completely figured out why my son had to leave us at such a young age, nor do I want people to think that I have entirely accepted this reality. I only relate what I have come to believe, specifically that my son had a mission on this Earth and once it was accomplished he was called home where his spirit continues to exist in a place of ultimate peace and joy. It may be a fraudulent rationalization to some, but it brings me great comfort because I believe it to be true with all my heart. It would drive me insane to think that this life is all there is, that our existence is purely random, and that there is no possibility that I will ever see my son again. How utterly pointless and desperately hopeless life would be. In spite of all the agonizing pain and moments of deep anger and depression my son's death has brought into my life, I totally believe that there is some greater purpose in all of this, and while I don't understand it all, I do believe that ultimately love must win out.
   A few months from now we will be facing the fact that Curtis has been gone from us as long as he was here with us-14 years. There are still moments where I find it hard to believe he's really gone, and harder still to believe I've survived this long without him. When I think back to those first horrible days after his death, it's amazing to me that we have not just survived, but have been able to actually thrive in many ways. I never would have thought that was possible. It was only when I opened myself up again to receiving love that I was able to let go of the darkness that had enveloped my life. Once I realized that my son still loved me, that he hadn't left me because he didn't love me anymore, I could begin to love myself again. Once I realized that my son was OK where he was, I could love others, and allow them to love me. What a burden was lifted off my shoulders! What an amazing thing-my 14-year old son was still teaching me life lessons about the importance of love!

06/24/2014

   What was this great secret that was to finally move me to give up my anger? After all, it was an anger that I had carried for so long that it felt to me like I had always been angry. It seemed like it was the only true emotion I knew-that it was all that was allowing me to keep putting one foot in front of the other, as if it had become the driving energy of my life. I was afraid that if I stopped feeling anger, I would instead feel nothing at all. That worried me more than being angry. At least anger seemed to keep me going. It prompted me to keep fighting for justice for my son and his friends in court, and to keep looking for ways to honor my son's life and memory.

   Alongside the anger, there was another thought always at the forefront of my mind: why had my son had to die so young? Gradually, as I pondered this question and my mind went back over some of the conversations we'd had with other people, I remembered the words of one of the young Mormon missionaries who had ministered to us in those early days of our journey, "Your son's mission on this earth was done. It was his time to go home." When I first heard those words, I didn't want to accept them. That was not a good enough reason for my son to leave us! But as time has gone by and my wife and I have discussed this concept many times, and I've learned about other people's experiences, I've come to believe with all my heart that every person has a mission on this planet and a time given to accomplish that mission. I know that to some people that must sound like the rationalization of a grieving father desperately trying to make some sense out of a senseless situation, and perhaps it is, but to me it's the only explanation that makes any sense at all. My son had a mission. He had fulfilled that mission even though he was only 14 years old. His time on Earth was done. It was time for him to go home. Am I totally at peace with this notion? No, of course not. I would still much rather have my son here with us, but I am enough at peace with it that I've been able to release the anger that was poisoning my life and replace it with what I believe Curtis had learned as part of his mission here. I believe that, while I still don't understand everything about why my son died so young, God has chosen to give me a small glimpse into the secret that Curtis discovered-that what we are here to learn is love-how to love ourselves, how to love others, how to allow others to love us, and how to love our God. In short, that life is love, and love is life. How did he learn that in only 14 years?

06/20/2014

   Many times when I sit down to write I have no idea what I will say at that moment. Perhaps that's another reason I didn't write for so long-I feared I was running out of things to say or was becoming redundant. But virtually each time I write, the words begin to flow, often giving me the sense that I'm not really the one doing the thinking and writing.
   In the days, months, weeks, and years following Curtis's death I experienced a great many emotions, most of which I was unaccustomed to feeling and didn't know what to do with. Perhaps the most intense of these emotions, and the one I was most reluctant to give up, was anger. I felt an overwhelming, intense, violent anger unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I was angry at everyone and everything. Why couldn't my son had just stayed home that night? Why hadn't they left a little earlier or a little later? Why hadn't I or my wife driven them? Were the neighbors really being careful with their driving? Why couldn't the other driver had left his house a little earlier or a little later? Why couldn't the neighbors or the other driver taken a different route? Why couldn't the man just follow the traffic rules and not speed through a red light? Where was God anyway while all this was taking place? IF He's so all-knowing, all-loving, and all-powerful, why had He allowed this to happen? I prayed every morning for God to protect my family. Why hadn't He? Why were we being punished like this?  Why had my son left us so soon?  I was angry at the world, but especially I was angry at God. I felt betrayed. I had never been so angry about anything in my life. For the next several years I experienced what Richard Paul Evans described in his book, The Four Doors, as a "spiritual eclipse." I felt as if the entire world had become a place of complete and utter darkness. I  felt incredibly isolated from life. There was no light left anywhere in the world, except a small point of light that I could only see when I looked back to where my life used to be. When I looked ahead I could see nothing because there was no light before me. Fortunately for me, this state of life was not to be permanent. There was a way out, but it took me awhile to discover the secret, which was really not a secret at all.
 

06/15/2014

   I'm not exactly sure why it's been so long since my last posting, but today, Father's Day, seems to be an appropriate day to resume. I think partly I was feeling overwhelmed by some of the emotions I was feeling (even after all these years) as I was attempting to blog for the first time through the months of February and March. Many of the feelings of those first dark days without Curtis came flooding back, and I found myself still not wanting to deal with some of those things all over again. Also, my back pain really flared up just after the tournament (a related issue?) and my class at school became very difficult to deal with. All in all, I found it difficult sometimes to focus on other things, including my blog.
   We made it through what would have been Curtis's 28th birthday. As I've mentioned before, as time has passed, we have consciously attempted to focus more on the day Curtis came into our lives, rather than on the day he left us. I found myself wondering again what our son and his life would be like at such an age. Would he have his own family? Would we be grandparents? What kind of work would he be doing? Where would he be living? Obviously, such questions have no answers, but I can't help sometimes thinking about these things.
   This year's Curtis Workman Hoops Classic Basketball Tournament was another big success. As always a great big "thank you" to Coach Dave Gabonay, the staff and students of Southridge Middle School, the staff of the Fontana Unified School District, and the staff and leadership of the City of Fontana Community Services Department for making it possible for the tournament to not only continue on every year, but to keep getting bigger and better. It means so much to us. It has become a tremendous highlight of every year to us.
   The tournament also makes it possible for us to continue awarding the Curtis E. Workman Memorial Scholarship each year to a deserving student from the Ontario HIgh School instrumental music program. As usual, we received many excellent applications. It's always difficult to narrow it down to one person, but we were again pleased to be able to recognize a deserving student. It brings us an amazing feeling of pride and satisfaction to be able to help a student continue their education. It's wonderful to be able to honor our son's memory in this way. It keeps alive for us and others what Curtis's life was all about.
   As I reflect today on my life as a father, I actually feel a great sense of peace, finally, after so many years of turmoil since Curtis's death. I am so proud of my surviving son and daughter. They are both amazing people and are continuing to work at making all of their dreams come true. They've each traveled their own difficult road to where they are today. I regret to say that I haven't always been there for them in the way they deserved me to be in these last years, but I hope to make up for that as we journey onward. I've made a kind of peace with my loss of Curtis, at least most of the time. I believe very strongly that, for whatever reason, his mission on this earth was done, although, in many ways, he still has a very positive influence on the lives of people he touched while he was here. I'm now able to be grateful for the time he was with us, for all the wonderful memories he left behind, for the positive way he touched (and continues to touch) so many lives, and just for the incredible honor and privilege it was to be his father. Although he is gone from us physically, he is always with me, every moment of every day. I will always be Curtis's father, forever. The honor is all mine. I love you, Curtis.

02/17/2014

     Well, we made it through another February 15th. It actually turned out to be an OK day. My wife and I went to the cemetery to put flowers on the kids' graves and to clean their headstones. In the evening we built a fire in the portable fire pit, set it out in the driveway, and spent about four hours around the flames. This was one of the things the kids enjoyed doing when they were alive, and we've tried to continue the tradition as a way of remembrance whenever we can. A couple of our dearest and most supportive friends came by to spent part of the evening with us. It was a very positive time. We received many messages of remembrance and support through social media and phone calls during the day. It's still amazing to realize in how many different ways people were connected to Curtis. Even after all this time we are still learning about new connections people had with our son, and what a positive impact he continues to have on the lives of so many. It's also amazing to me that while many of the milestones that have come and gone during my grief journey are somewhat jumbled to me as to what happened when, the events of that terrible first week are indelibly seared into my memory. Of course, there was the first night when the accident occurred. The following day was when we went to the mortuary and cemetery to make arrangements, and the memorial prayer service was held that evening. The next day was Saturday when the nurse came by our house to tell us she had stopped at the scene to try to help. This was also the day when the parents who had been driving the car that night were released from the hospital and came back to the neighborhood. Sunday was when we first contacted the minister at the Methodist Church about having Curtis's service at his church. We also went back to the cemetery to see if it would be possible to have the children buried together. Tuesday night was the viewing service for the first of the kids, and we met with the minister to discuss details of Curtis's service. Wednesday afternoon was the first of the funerals, and Curtis's viewing service was that evening. Curtis's funeral was Thursday, one week to the day since the accident. The final funeral was the next day, Friday. I think I remember more details, with greater clarity, from that first week than from all the rest of my journey combined. But while I remember so much from that horrible time, I don't find myself dwelling on those details like I did before. When I do think of that week, I no longer feel the burning pain that so often threatened to overwhelm me. I'm now able to focus more on the positive aspects of those days: how so many people provided us with unconditional love and support, how kind and generous people were, how I began to realize, in a very real sense for the first time, how incredibly special our son really was to so many different kinds of people. As I continue my journey through this anniversary week of our loss, I'm able to find comfort and warmth in the thought that Curtis is still loved and missed by so many people. That brings true joy to my heart.

02/01/2014

     Ah, February has come again. I have come to hate this month. It is true that the passage of time has diminished the painful memories, but I still usually wish that I could go to sleep on January 31st and not wake up until March 1st. Sometimes it seems that nothing good for me has ever happened in February, although I know that is not really true. It's just that the last 13 Februarys have been so filled with painful, incomprehensible memories that it is difficult to remember there was ever anything else good about this month. Even Valentine's Day is bittersweet since it's always the day before my son was taken from us. It's still hard to see the store displays, the commercials, etc. and realize that while much of the rest of the world is celebrating the spirit of love, I often have found myself transported back in time to that horrible February of 2001. I remember that this side-by-side existence of people going about their normal lives while I was melting into a puddle of unrelenting pain and anguish was one of the first and most difficult aspects of those early days of my journey. How was it possible that the rest of the world could just go merrily on while my world was crumbling? I still find that question bubbling to the surface during these days leading up to Valentine's Day. I realize that there's never a good time for someone to die, but it somehow seems worse when it comes tied to some significant national or global date that never changes from year to year. It's just another aspect of this whole situation that we obviously have no control over. Through the years we have found ourselves dwelling less on the day Curtis was taken from us and thinking more about the day he came into our lives and all the marvelous, amazing, common, normal, frustrating, wondrous days in between. Yes, time has dimmed the pain of our loss and helped me focus on and appreciate the positive presence Curtis was in our lives and the lives of everyone who knew him. We are all richer for having known him.

1/19/2014

It's been exactly one month to the day since my last posting. This is my first post of the new year. Happy New Year to all. We have just gone through our 13th holiday season without Curtis being physically present. We had him for 15 holiday seasons before he was taken from us. This time of year has gotten decidedly easier as time has passed, but the holidays will never be what they once were. We have tried hard to keep some traditions alive and added some new ones along the way, but there will always be an empty spot where Curtis should be. Time has most assuredly eased the intensity of the pain, but even the passage of the years cannot dim it entirely. I think that's why I haven't been able to blog lately. Curtis loved the holidays-all the way from Halloween through New Year's-and it is still a difficult time of year for me to face. Coming on the horizon is the 13th anniversary of his death on February 15th. I never know how I will feel until the day arrives. Their have been years where I felt strong and in control in the days leading up to Feb. 15th only to fall apart when the day actually came.
There have been other years where I would be extremely agitated and practically non-functioning on the days prior to the 15th, only to feel an almost miraculous sense of peace and tranquillity on the actual day. I do know, however, that, generally speaking, time has worked its magic in this area as well. After having endured those first few anniversary dates I was not sure I could face that situation once a year, every year, for the rest of my life without losing my mind. Of course, I hadn't been sure I could face any of this without going crazy, but over time, with the support and love of my wonderful wife, my family and friends, a sensitive counselor, and a lot of hard, painful, one-step-at-a-time work, I found myself recovering some semblance of my "normal" self. It was, however, a self that had been so greatly changed that it would become necessary to reacquaint myself with this new person I had become.

12/19/2013

     My first reaction was to run-just run away and keep running. Run as far and as fast as I could for as long as I could. Run until I found a place where what I just heard would not be true. Run myself into oblivion. I didn't care about anything or anyone else. I had to find a place where children don't die before their parents. A place where parents get to finish the job they were given-get to finish raising their children to adulthood. These feelings only lasted until the police dropped us off at our neighbor's house after we'd been told the terrible news. When I looked into the stricken faces of my son and daughter, and saw how my wife had seemed to age years in the last few minutes, I realized that I was not the only one impacted by what had just happened. Even the looks on our neighbor's faces hinted at how far-reaching our son's death would become. On that first night I wasn't sure how it would happen, but I knew I needed to find a way through this breaking storm. Fortunately, the body has a way of going into a state of functioning shock-a kind of auto-pilot system when confronted with something as unthinkable as the death of a child. In this state I was able to adequately function and help my wife take care of business and make decisions I never expected to have to make, but decisions that now were so vitally important. The problem was that such a state, which helps us function at a time when normally we would be unable to do so, doesn't last forever. I thought I was doing quite well handling this new situation, but when the shock began to wear off, to be replaced by a gradual dawning of true realization, I knew as a man, a father  and a husband I was ill-equipped to deal with the truth.

12/15/2013

     And make no mistake, it has been a horrible journey. Anyone who says otherwise is either still in the midst of major denial issues, is mentally ill or lying. There are positive ways to try to deal with such a horrendous loss just as there are negative ways, but it must be dealt with one way or another. We did the best we could at the time to deal with each aspect as it arose. Sometimes our efforts were successful, other times less so. Now, almost thirteen years after our loss, we are survivors. Did we always do everything right? No. Did we sometimes veer offtrack? Yes. Are there things we could or should have done differently? Of course. Are we always 100 percent well now? Absolutely not. But we have survived and are continuing to do so, some days more successfully than others. The basketball tournament that is held annually in our son's memory at his middle school has grown bigger and better every year. The tournament enables us to continue to award a scholarship in his name every year at his high school. We still are in contact with many of his friends, classmates and teammates and are constantly amazed at what a positive and enduring impact Curtis has had on the lives of so many people in his short 14 years of life. But with all the positives we've found to hold on to through the years, the fact remains that they only exist because we lost our son. And we lost our son due to the negligence of one unthinking, uncaring person at one very horrible moment in time. We never got to see our son graduate from high school or college, never got to see him marry the woman of his dreams and raise his own family, never got to spoil his children as grandparents, never got to finish raising him and share his grown-up life. The children of our surviving son and daughter will never have the joy of getting to know their Uncle Curtis and what an amazing person he truly was.  Every time there's a family gathering there's always someone missing-and he will always be missing, at least in a physical sense. All those things, and so much more, were stolen from us on that terrible night. Over these many years I've made a kind of peace with it all. I had to, but it hasn't been easy. I wish with all my heart that it was a journey I never had to go on, but I'm grateful to be where I am now.

11/30/2013

   As time went by in our journey and milestones were reached and surpassed, life began to settle into our new "normal". Of course, our lives would never really be what they were before. How could they be? There was a constant, massive, unfillable space in our lives where Curtis had once been. In the early days, I had doubted that I could survive what we were being forced to endure. That feeling persisted off and on for the first several months. There was no great single moment of  enlightenment that changed that feeling. It was more a gradual realization that I was surviving day by day, moment by moment, milestone by milestone. I realize now that with every day that passed and every new challenge that we faced and overcame I got just a little bit stronger.  Enduring Curtis's first birthday, my first days back at work, all the first holidays without him, the court business, the counseling sessions, the day to day aspects of life without him, all served to strengthen my resolve to make Curtis proud. I couldn't let the man who had taken Curtis from us do any more damage to me or my family. It certainly helped when all the legal issues were done. I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders that day. The counseling sessions definitely helped, although at the time I didn't always feel that way. All the support we received from family, friends, colleagues, and even strangers served to remind us how many lives Curtis had impacted in his short life. Our sessions with the medium also brought me great comfort. The most important factor, however, in my survival comes down to one thing-love. Without the love of my amazing wife I'm pretty sure I would not be in the place I am today. She's an absolutely incredible woman. I realized that as horrible as life felt without Curtis, I could survive it because my wife loved me, and I loved her. We also had the love we felt for our surviving children and how important they were to us. They were suffering, too. How could I possibly do anything to make their lives even worse? There were many times that we actually just cocooned ourselves within that love and held on to each other for dear life as the storms raged around us. I don't mean to minimize all the support and love we received from the outside, but as we grieved we were constantly aware that as much as people tried to be there for us, they could not possibly truly understand what we were enduring as a family and as individuals. Only we knew that. It became very clear to me that only as long as we held onto that love and held on to each other could we survive this horrible journey.

11/29/2013

   I wasn't sure about all of this communicating with the dead business, but I was sure that I wanted to know our son was all right. We met the medium and settled in for our session. I was prepared to be very skeptical about the whole thing, which I'm sure colored how I received her first few comments. I won't go into the details of what we were told, but I heard enough things from the medium to begin to change my mind about the validity of this whole process. She was telling us things that she could not possibly have known from any other source except if she was talking directly to our son-details about our family, what kind of person Curtis was, what our house was like, what our family was like. I know many people say that with the internet people can find out just about anything they want to know about people nowadays, but this was information that no one else outside our immediate family could have possibly known. I thought later that maybe I heard things the way I wanted to hear them, since I was so desperate to hear positive information about my son, but since the session was recorded for us by the medium I have been able to listen to the tape several times over the years. I'm still amazed by what she was able to tell us, and I'm still convinced that she was communicating directly with our son. Once upon a time in my life I would never have been able to say that I believed in such things, but now it brings me comfort to know that my son is OK on the other side. If that makes me feeble-minded or a poor Christian, then so be it. The Bible itself is full of such kinds of stories. I don't know what has made modern society so arrogant as to think that  God could not or would not still choose to communicate with His people in this way and give this special ability to some of His children.