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.

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!

03/01/2014

     Made it through another February. The only remaining dates of significance on the horizon regarding Curtis is this coming Friday, which marks what would have been his 28th birthday, and March 15th, the day of the Curtis Workman Hoops Classic Basketball Tournament. In the early years, we often commemorated his birthday with pizza and cheesecake (two of Curtis's favorite foods) and visits with many of his friends. As the years have rolled by, our focus has shifted more from the day he died to the day he came into our lives. The pain of losing him has diminished to the point where I'm now able to focus more on the good memories and positive legacy he left behind and less on all that we lost when he was taken from us. There will always be that nagging little ache from the empty spot in my life where Curtis should be physically, but the pain that so often threatened to overwhelm me is mostly gone. It still pops up occasionally, oftentimes unpredictably, especially so during this time of the year, but I've learned to better deal with it. It no longer catches me so much by surprise, threatening to incapacitate me. I'm now better equipped to focus more on the positive memories and that wonderful legacy that has become part of our son's life, and ours, as well.
     The basketball tournament has been a source of great comfort to us through the years, especially since it has usually been held during this time of the year, so closely following all the days when it's impossible for us not to focus on our loss. Curtis played in this same tournament when he was a student at Southridge Middle School. His coach, Dave Gabonay, gave one of the eulogies at Curtis's funeral, and dedicated the 2001 Tournament in Curtis's memory. We kind of believed at the time that that probably marked the end of our association with Southridge and Coach Gabonay, but we were wrong. He kept in touch with us during the early months of our journey, and at one point asked us if it would be ok with us if they renamed the tournament in honor of our son. I was overwhelmed with gratitude. It had never really occurred to me that someone would want to honor our son in such a way. As plans for the 2002 Curtis Workman Hoops Classic began to develop, it occurred to us that this might be a good opportunity to raise some money for the Curtis E. Workman Memorial Scholarship that we'd already set-up at Ontario High School. We decided to run the snack bar at the Tournament as a fundraiser for the Scholarship. With the exception of one year when, due to circumstances beyond anyone's control the Tournament could not be held, we have been doing this ever since. We run the snack bar, we provide Tournament T-shirts to the championship teams, we have a chance to address the crowd during the awards presentations, and we see friends and family who have supported us so much through all these difficult years. It can be exhausting at times, but it has also become an exhilarating time for us every year. I don't think that people who have never lost a child can possibly imagine how much it means to us to have our son's life remembered in this way. It still amazes me that after so many the years the Tournament keeps getting better and better. We owe so much to Coach Gabonay. I know that somewhere Curtis is smiling.