It was 7 years ago tonight that Jillian died. I haven't written is some time, but just thought that it was probably a good day to do so. I have received some thoughtful texts and messages from friends and family. Thank you.
I thought I would share with you a speech I gave last weekend at the local Gold Star Family day at Moffet Field - a special event honoring and remembering those sons and daughters that have died in service to our country.
Good Morning Honored Gold Star Families. Good morning General. I am truly humbled to be with you today as our community devotes this time to remember and honor our fallen service members – our loved ones. My heart goes out to every adult and child here today who has suffered the loss of a family member - to each of you I say, I AM SORRY. As the current Executive Director of Kara (a grief support agency here in the Bay Area serving adults, children, families and organizations) I am quite accustomed to saying and hearing those three important words. They were the same three words that were spoken to me by a Kara staff member after the death of my 10 year old daughter seven years ago. Fast forward seven years and I am now leading the agency and striving to ensure that every day we embrace our guiding value of empathy. This important value empowers our mission, and allows us to provide compassionate care to those in our community who desire support. I can still remember quite vividly the initial interview I had with the Kara staff member. As I shared the story of the death of my daughter with her she genuinely offered her heart and kindness and grieved right along with me – and said those three important words.
Every now and then I happen upon a conversation with one of our 150 volunteers about my background. They are often surprised to learn that I served in the military – almost perplexed as if to infer that the military and grief support and compassion can’t co-exist. What they fail to realize is that in a lot of ways the opposite is true. The military ideals of strong community, loyalty, commitment, courage, bravery, teamwork, and putting others first are truly in alignment with the actions of compassion and caring. What I often explain to my friends is that my military training helped prepare me for 10 years of caring for a medically fragile child who died way too young. The demeaning first year as a plebe at West Point, the sleepless nights of Ranger School, meeting the needs of a young soldier’s family going through a divorce or relationship issues – these experiences helped to shape and form me into someone like all of you are here today – you’re loyal, you’re courageous, you’re brave, you’re caring, and you’re compassionate. And you know what it is to suffer real loss. You are part of a special club that you never intended nor desired to join. And when you meet another member of the club, no words are really necessary are they? There is a deep soul-felt connection.
Unfortunately, it’s sometimes the non-club members who can make things difficult. Often having good intentions, they offer platitudes, practical solutions, or sayings for comfort, but don’t understand that just saying “ I AM SORRY”, or sitting with you in silence while you grieve or cry is enough. Or then there are other non-club members who don’t ever mention your family member’s name because they think it might make you upset or sad. My experience in working with many grieving individuals has been quite the contrary. And personally, for me, I want others to say my child’s name, to remember her, to never forget she impacted this world we live in.
Then there are the people who get that they are not “part of the club,” but truly respect it, aren’t afraid of it, and comprehend the sacredness of it. It is the friend who sees your son’s favorite baseball team win the World Series and makes sure to comment on how happy he would have been to see that happen. It’s the friend who sends you a note or email mentioning how a song on the radio reminded her of your wife and how she loved to sing. They offer us compassion. They support our grief journey with us, not at the steering wheel, but as an engaged passenger realizing the important role they play. They understand that the trip is most likely going to be long and windy, but they are still in it for the long hall. They honor and remember our family members. They share memories with us.
And those memories of our loved ones are often bittersweet. I have found this to be quite true. You see, my daughter loved all things orange and especially pumpkins. So when pumpkins start popping up in the local Safeways and Lucky’s my mind fills with the memories of how Jillian loved the Half Moon Bay pumpkin patch and how she insisted on having me carry her on my back up the rope so we could slide down together on the huge inflatable slide. – not once but twice (my military training surely helped with that!). I love that memory of her and I love sharing it with others, but it also reminds me painfully of the Jillian-shaped hole I have in my heart - of her no longer being with me – and of how much I loved her and miss her. But you see, now that memory is in your minds and some of you may hold on to it and know about my daughter even though you never met her. And that makes me happy. And it can make me cry, and that’s perfectly fine.
Honoring and remembering our loved ones - that is what this day is all about. So I encourage each of you, if you feel so inclined to share a special memory today with someone. Maybe it’s how your wife used to always sing that funny song. Perhaps it’s a favorite game your dad used to play with you on the weekend, or a favorite book your mom would read you before bedtime. Possibly it’s the way your husband would make that special breakfast for you on mother’s day, or the way your partner would prepare that anniversary dinner just the way you liked it. Our special memories, either shared, or kept privately to ourselves are a powerful way to truly honor our loved ones.
Thank you again for allowing me to share this day of remembrance with you. You are each incredible and amazing. You are resilient. You realize that life is very short, yet it can be full of amazing lessons and journeys. You wrestle with not being judgmental and often bite your tongues when your friends complain about the little things. You cry with and advocate for other families. You show a great appreciation for life. You understand things and have perspective that is a bit deeper than the average guy or gal getting a cup of Joe at Starbucks.
It is an honor, or as I say when I meet another bereaved parent, it’s an unfortunate honor, and truly special to be with each of you today. Thank You and Keep Well.
