On Father's Day - Remembering My Daughter's Appreciation

Navigating the loss of a child is quite the journey.  Though I can honestly say that the intense acute pain and grief I first encountered has slowly subsided, there are days and sometimes weeks where that pain makes its way back into my bones. I noticed that happening over the past few days and on a few occasions my eyes filled up with tears. Perhaps it is the knowledge that Father's Day is tomorrow, or the fact that I recently added another pet to our home. When it happens, I don't get too riveted on trying to figure out why, I just go with it - as it reminds me all the more of how much I love my little girl. I often think about the small things that she did that made me laugh.  I don't often remember (unless I force myself too) the difficult times she had in her life - with all her medical issues - but now often find myself thinking about the great days she had or the short day trips that we did with her.  Sometimes out of nowhere I will think of something she did or liked and my mind will embrace that memory and it gives me the added inspiration to keep on living my life to the fullest. 

So tomorrow society will celebrate Father's Day.  A day in which we get to say thanks to our dad's for all they have done for us.  I know that some won't be able to do so (be it distance due to a strained relationship or the distance caused by loss).  But for those that are able, be sure to make the most of it.  Write a card, make a phone call, send a text.  Above all else, let your father know the thing you most appreciate about him.

Becoming  and being a father to Jillian was the greatest gift I ever received.  Caring for and loving her gave me the greatest feeling of happiness I have ever encountered.   And Jillian showed her appreciation to me in so many ways; by always wanting me to be around, by having me read her favourite book to her over and over and over, by bringing me my reading glasses when she saw me working on the monthly bills, and by making sure we got some special time together during those last few weeks before she died. Some were little ways, others were huge.  In everything she did, even as I sat with her during the last hours of her life she continued to show me how much she appreciated me being her daddy and how much she loved me. 

So tomorrow I will remember that.  Though she won't be here physically to write me a card or give me a kiss, I will think about the many ways in which she showed me how much she loved me and for that I will be incredibly grateful.  There will most likely be tears, but tears of both sadness and happiness.  As the writer Gibran says, "When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."  I hope to take in a hike and spend the time with my wife and nature and revel in thinking about how being Jillian's dad was the most delightful experience I could ever have asked for in my lifetime, even though I miss her dearly.  To the other dad's out there who have suffered the death of your child, I encourage you to  try and do the same....

An Unfortunate Honor

It has now been 132 weeks since Jillian left this world.  Much has transpired since that time.  I have gotten myself involved in many great non-profit groups focusing on the care of children and families going through similar situations that I have experienced.  I have investigated, applied to and been accepted to a graduate program in social work.  I have changed jobs after working for essentially the same organization for 19 plus years.  I have started a new job in a company with a mission of meeting the needs of families and kids.  I have taken up hiking and even started playing softball again.  I have gone to the state capital and took part in a lobby day for pediatric palliative care. I have gone on long walks and spent numerous hours writing in this and other journals about my feelings and thoughts about Jillian’s death and my own journey through grief and life.  It has been rewarding to do all these things.  Perhaps that is what Jillian intended for me upon her departure.  I feel as though I have actually become a new person in a lot of ways, but there is still a lot ahead of me. I look forward to it as much as I look forward to seeing Jillian again.  

But through all of this, over the last nearly 1,000 days, the most significant element of all of this is the people who I have met.  There have been so many.  Many are other parents who have lost a child as well - and labeled as bereaved parents just like me.  These parents have a special place in my heart.  I think about them often and have forged great friendships with many of them. 

As a parent who has lost a child, what do you say when you meet another parent or couple whose child has died?  I have wrestled with this concept.  What is appropriate in this politically correct focused world? To me it isn't at all about political correctness, but it's about honor and respect.  It's about breaching the sacred.  It's about our children and the pain we both feel because of their absence.

Most times when I meet a new person and I am genuinely glad to have met them, I usually say, “It is a pleasure to meet you, or I am glad to meet you.”  But when you meet another parent who has lost a child is it really a pleasure? “I’m glad to meet you” just doesn’t seem like the right thing to say.  After all, the only reason your meeting is because both of you have lost children.  Both would certainly choose to have their child back instead of meeting this new acquaintance.    The rub though is that after you meet, my experience has been that it was almost as if it was set up from the get go.  The parents I have met are incredible and amazing. They have lost a child, and they are still standing.  They are resilient. Their outlook on life is deeper.  They understand and value things from a different perspective.  They realize that life is very short, yet can be full of amazing lessons and journeys.  They wrestle with not being judgmental and often bite their tongues when their friends with living children complain about the little things.  They advocate for other parents and families who have experienced or will endure similar loss.  They get sad and cry in the middle of the day when they remember a special thing about their child.  They understand respect and boundaries. They cry for others who experience loss.  They show a great appreciation for life and have a deep compassion for others. They understand things a bit deeper than the average joe getting a cup of coffee at Starbucks.

It is truly a pleasure and an honor to meet these parents. Yet at the same time, your meeting is based on an incredibly unfortunate set of circumstances – the death of your children. It is a paradox that I certainly won’t figure out in my lifetime, but do think it gives me insight into choosing the most appropriate greeting. So, here’s what I will say from now on:  It’s an unfortunate honor to meet you.  I think that just about sums up the entire sacredness and truism of meeting another bereaved parent. An unfortunate honor.

No Pain....no Gain, Really?

Yesterday marked 125 weeks since Jillian left this world.  Whenever Friday comes around, I calculate in my mind the time that she has been gone.  Initially it was days, and now it has become weeks. At one point in the future I realize it will become months, and then eventually years. 


That's sort of how we live our lives....marching time by minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years....We go to work at a certain time, counting the minutes and hours down until we get to leave for home.  Sometimes we forgot that as time continues to march on, we too are growing in ways that we may not even be aware of.  There are certain times that we in fact stop and realize that we have gone through a growing period.  Often when we are young, we go through growth spurts physically. Our friends, family and people around us say, 'why look how 'Jimmy' has grown!  That's of course natural for most, but how often do we really look at the growth spurts we go through emotionally, spiritually, and relationally. 


When is the last time you actually took time out to look at this closely.  Navigating the death of Jillian has certainly forced me do to such a thing. Often when someone goes through a challenging time there is growth.  It is a common perspective in many many cultures, religions and societies.....as young athletes, our favorite slogan was always....'no pain, no gain'.  But is that an absolute?  I have come to realize that pain is a relative term.  Someone who loses a job experiences pain, but is that the same pain as someone who gets cancer or loses a child.  My judgmental self says absolutely not.  My daughter not only died, but prior to that she had cancer, lived with heart failure and was born with a "dismissed by society" genetic disorder and had disabilities.  Certainly my pain is worse than these other two examples.  But wait, what about the pain of a parent who loses two children in a car accident suddenly?  Isn't their pain worse than mine?  It must be right?  No brainer?  Maybe, mabye not,.......absolutely...not really sure???


See, the issue isn't whos pain is worse.  From the receiver of the pain point of view....it all is devastating, and it doesn't really matter what is going on with others around you and their pain - you just feel your pain.  The real issue is what you do with that pain.  See, the saying is correct....'no pain, no gain', but for a different reason than most of us think. Most see that phrase or idea as a cause and effect perspective.  If you feel pain you will gain.  But the reality of it is this:  when you experience pain due to loss, though it is difficult and challenging on levels that others may not have yet experienced, you can decide to learn from it and grow. You can come out to the valley or pit of loss at a 'higher' level than that which you entered it.  But you see, it's not an automatic thing.....it's really a decision that starts with awareness of the pain itself - that is what starts the possibility of growth and 'gain'  You need to stare" the pain and loss in the face" and take it on.  There's a great story about this in one of my favorite books "Swallowed by a Snake". At the end of the day, growth is really about awareness, unfortunately something that most guys, me leading the way, usually are not too good at.  That is being too nice - most guys deliberately run away from it


So as I think about the time since Jillian has gone, I try to think about how her loss has helped me to grow - how my pain has given me the opportunity to gain.  I think there's a long way to go, but I think I have at least recognized that being aware of where I am at on a daily basis is the first step, and though I often fall short of this goal, isn't being aware of that very fact a step in the right direction....Hopefully with the passage of time, I will be able to really look back and clearly see the gains that I have made over the months and years..  But for now, I can only measure it in weeks.....125 to be exact.  

Publish Post

Birthday Thoughts

I haven't gotten too good at keeping this post updated, so if anyone is actually reading this, my apologies.  But the reality is simply that I need to write my thoughts, feelings and ideas down, but just don't make the time for it.  Every time I do so, it is an opportunity to truly investigate what I am feeling inside. So I press on....

I recently celebrated another birthday (that is 3 now without Jillian).  I am not sure if celebration is the correct word any more when it comes to birthdays - especially as I get older - perhaps a better word is acknowledged or appreciated?  I definitely believe that acknowledging that another year has passed and that you are now a year older is important.  Hopefully you have learned another year's worth of 'stuff' and 'things.'  Hopefully you have impacted the world and made it a little better. Perhaps not.  Those are the things I think about at birthdays now. I look back over this last year, and realize that I have learned a lot about myself in realizing that I have a long way to go in developing into the person I am supposed to be - still don't go deep enough with my feelings, and shy away from really putting the work in that is needed to do so...But at the same time I also believe I have left a positive mark in many people's lives and have helped people along the way. 

I also look at each year now as one year closer to seeing my daughter again - not in a depressed, can't wait for that day, kill me now state, but in a more realistic, I have got a lot of things left to do on this earth perspective, but also can't wait for the day I get re-united with Jillian.  Perhaps is it strange to look at life in this way, but if you  have lost a child, you get it - especially if it was an only child.  She is not coming back here, at least not physically, so I will have to go to her, eventually. 

I often wonder what she is doing in the spiritual realm and my intuition says that she is actually quite busy with many 'other than this world' duties.  Perhaps she has been assigned to look over and encourage some sick children in a hospital or perhaps she is on a special mission helping a poor family in a third world country.  I like to think that knowing her, she is volunteering for the most complex and intricate of cosmic assignments.  And, every so often she gets some time off and stops by to visit - and shows herself to me in subtle ways.  Here's an example:  As I was driving home from work on my birthday last week, I was wondering how (or if) she might surprise me with something.  I thought to myself...keep your eyes open.  And wouldn't you know, as I crested the hill of an area of the highway that overlooks the entire bay area, off in the distance was the large blimp that we have come to associate with Jillian (remember - she loved balloons and this very blimp showed itself on the day we had her memorial service in the bay area).  I know beyond a doubt that Jillian made sure that I saw that blimp as a nice gift to me on my birthday.  When I saw the blimp, I chuckled and said out loud - "thanks for remembering my birthday Jillian", as a tear ran down my cheek.  It reminded me how truly unselfish Jillian was in her life, and in her death is still being so.  I have continued to try and follow here example.

So as I acknowledge and appreciate another year turning on my birthday calendar, I look forward to seeing what new journeys I will be involved in, what new people I will meet, what new ideas I will wrap my brain around, and how all the different aspects of my life will be weaved together.

Transition.........

Since my last post, nearly a month has gone by.  I have been preparing for a major transition in my life that can honestly only have been orchestrated by Jillian.  Perhaps some background is in order first.

Since Jillian's death, I have wrestled with what the 'man upstairs' had in store for me going forward. I have talked with many a father and mother after the death of their child, and I can say without a doubt that pretty much every one of them experienced this same wrestling match.  For some, it may have been more subtle, but there always seems to be an investigation or search for what direction you are supposed to go in. I am not sure why, but staying in the 'same place' almost seems like a cruel and unusual form of punishment.  Through my reading (see my list on the right) there is a familiar theme that stands out in people who have navigated what is often considered as the worse type of loss a person can come face to face with.  I have met interesting people along this grief journey who have referred to dying as the transition. Often their reference is toward the one who has died.  But what is equally true is that when someone you love so dearly dies, you too go through a powerful (some times overwhelming and unbearable) transition as well. Navigating the transition takes plenty of patience. Trying to figure out what you feel, what you want to do, what's important now, what your values are, who your relationships need to be, etc... So it was with me. 

After Jillian died, I knew I was supposed to do something else.  I had been working for a great faith based non-profit organization as an operations guy since my resignation from the Army in 1991. It was a wonderful job, that certainly supported our family as we did our best to give Jillian a good quality of life. But as I went back to work after Jillian left us, it was really hard to focus and get really excited about what I was doing. I didn't know what yet, but I knew I was supposed to be headed in a new direction.  I new a transition was coming. The key, however, was to be patient, and let it play out in front of me.

I invested in getting help with my grief journey from a great organization called Kara, and then decided to begin volunteering for organization that help kid and families.  I also was able to get involved in speaking at different events and organizations that promote the same.  I decided to apply to graduate school with the hopes of getting an advanced degree in social work.  I began writing about lessons I have learned as a dad to Jillian with the hope of one day having something published.  Having done all that during this transition time, I began to form an idea and get a glimpse of how I was supposed to serve society going forward. So when I learned on the last day of October last year that I was being laid off at the end of the year, I wasn't saddened or disappointed, but in a strange way was happy.  I knew it was a sign that the 'meditation' part of my transition was over and the action part was about to begin.  In my next post I will tell you all about my exciting month of January doing my volunteer work, but this past Monday, on January 24th I began a new position as an operations guy with a new non-profit that focuses primarily on 'helping kids and finding answers for families'. The story of how I got this job is the most important part.  I will write about that in my next post.

But why have I rambled on about this whole transition thing?  To help you understand about the transition - that it is long and oftentimes directionless.  The last 2 plus years have been walking in a cloud, trying to figure out how to get to where I was going.  Now the cloud is actually starting to get some clarity, but there is still a ways to go. I feel like the end of the beginning of my transition is complete,and now the heart of my transition is just starting.

the origin of the word transition is as follows:
1551, from L. transitionem  (nom. transitio ) "a going across or over," noun of action from transire  "go or cross over"


Jillian has crossed over. I feel like I am in the middle of 'going across'.  I am looking forward to what this new year has in store for me.

Grievingdads.com Project

GrievingDads.com Project is a blog that you need to visit.  Kelly is doing some great work in this area and has recently started a petition to have the FMLA changed to include time off after the death of a child.  Excellent idea.  Please support it.

Slowly.....slowly.....slowly.

After Jillian's death, life seemed like it could not go on.  I felt purposeless and like I was a wanderer.   I wrestled with my belief system.....'do I really believe what I believe about God, eternity, etc', wrestled with my purpose in life, wrestled with just getting out of bed in the morning, and wrestled with a long list of 'what ifs'.  Every Friday (the day Jillian passed) was emotional for me (and still is, though the sadness now is more of a presence than a deep sorrow).  However, I engrossed myself in reading as many books about losing a child and grief as possible.

Slowly....slowly....I started to regain a sense of purpose and reason of what I need to be doing with my life now that Jillian was no longer a physical part of it.  It has now been over 2 years (27 months) and I now feel like life can continue, but on a higher plane than it was before.  My perspective about life is quite different now. Yet, there are still many days when I recount memories of Jillian or look at pictures of her and I doing something, and the acute pain returns and tears flow.  I believe this will always be the case.  Shouldn't it be?

Society seems to want us to 'move on' and take back control of our lives.  But in reality, we are never in control, only just part of a much bigger picture where everything is weaved together.  This week I was offered a new job.  It was due to the weaving circumstances of Jillian's death that even allowed me this opportunity. I am super excited about it and know that through Jillian's death I have this amazing new opportunity.

To keep things in perspective, I often think of Kahlil Gibran's writing in the Prophet about "children"....

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You can read many of his other writings from his work 'The Prophet' here.

Grief is a process - a journey that is ongoing.  I like to think that I am growing in my understanding of this journey.  I hope you are too...