Men
and women are different. A very wise buddy, great friend, informed me
when Blake died that I needed to be there for my woman. I took it as I
needed to swallow my rage, suck up my heart break, forget my pain and be
there for her. He was right. I did need to be there for her. But I was
and am, just as broken as your mom.
As men, our first move is to fix things, at least in our culture. It's what we do. There's a problem? I have a pair of channel locks, I can fix this. It's how we survive. Everything.
Then, then the torturous pain of something you can't fix occurs. Something you can't control. Something there's no instructions for. There is no cure on this earth. Yet, it's all we know and it's what we strive to do. An evolutionary reaction.
I tell my buddies, and now you, the same thing he told me, women don't want us to fix this. Mainly, because we can't, but also they want us to be with them in their suffering. To know what their suffering is. Fixing it doesn't mean we understand it, or them. Fixing it doesn't solve it, it's unsolvable. Fixing it doesn't equate to happiness. And with Blake, or any loss, fixing it, again, doesn't exist.
Then, the suffering sets in. You're left without an out. You're in their suffering now. You're completely with them. You have the choice of being completely with them in theirs, as it is yours. Or, you retreat to something more comfortable, and ignore it. Ignore the torture, the pain, the suffering. Your marriage. Your best friend. Your existence.
That's not the choice of those I choose to follow. Those I choose to lead me through. I watch them in awe, in utter complete awe. They accept this suffering. They embrace it. They welcome more. Their physical pain is their emotional release. Their character is on display daily, on the hour, by the minute. I seek their guidance. I embrace their wisdom. I am not that man today. I can tell you what to do, and I do, very well. I'm not that shining example for you yet, son. I am not the man I want to be, for you, for Blake, for mom.
I can't fix my woman. I can't heal her pain. I can't fill her loss. I have to accept that. I have to embrace her pain, as it is my own, and it is. I have to show her strength when she is weak, as she does me. This struggle is ours together. Together is our way through, not out. We will talk of your brother often, it's our way of keeping him with us in the present. You may not understand it now, but I hope you grow to love him, to talk with him, to run with him, to pray to him. This is how I make it through my days. You provide so much joy, laughter, and love. Without Blake here, my heart is incomplete and that's not your fault, I hope you know this and remember it.
I am blessed by those I surround myself with, of whom I can turn to for this lesson. They are my heroes. They are my inspiration. They maintain my sanity, which in turn I can help my woman maintain hers. I cannot fix her, I cannot fix me. With them, I can be better. In turn, I can help her be. Better. More. Daily. In time, I hope to be this example for you. For me. For the next person. This pain is not unbearable, but it is unfathomable, until you're here. When pain comes, draw your inspiration from those around you that lead you in the direction of light, empowerment, improvement.
I watched this lesson was on display with an intensity unlike I've ever seen today. To follow the path that led to an unimaginable heartbreak, to complete the same course, to honor the life in the same manner it was taken, escapes me. It's a pain I've put in the depths of my mind, in hopes of never retrieving it. As I ran it with them, I spoke of pride. Of others, in me and my not being able to understand how someone was able to say that of me these past few months. Then I saw it embodied. In her. In him. I watched in quiet desperation for that same strength. That same hope. Their lessons teach me daily, tomorrow is not guaranteed. Don't wait. Don't hesitate. Don't leave anything on the table. Embrace the pain, it's what we have left of them on this earth. Men and women are different, but when a pain of this magnitude hits our struggle is the same and we retreat to what we know, as men. Fixing it.
Pain can lead you down two separate and equally life-changing paths, son. The first seems like the quickest path to numbness. The second, the second provides torturous terrain, unnavigable obstacles, and experiences only few have set out to take on. The crossroads you may one day find yourself at, is a moment you'll never forget. Mine was the Sunday after Blake passed. It was mid-afternoon, I'd been drunk for six days. It was easy. It was numb. I stopped. I got up and ran the next morning. I broke into tears 500 yards into it. I ran up a hill on the south side of the James as hard as I could until my tears were replaced with gasps for air. I ran a few miles more with a couple of friends who were determined to not let me walk down that other path. Tears continued. I was exhausted. This works for me. This physical release, it eases my pain. It doesn't fix me, but it works to get me through my day. Your mom is not me. It's taken me years to figure this out, and this is a new challenge for her, for us.
Our differences are challenges. In any marriage. Relationship. Organization. Our pain is unifying. Our suffering makes us the same. My channel locks will not fix her. I have no tool available to her, other than my love, support and new found understanding. We're in this together. Together is the only way. I love you, buddy.
As men, our first move is to fix things, at least in our culture. It's what we do. There's a problem? I have a pair of channel locks, I can fix this. It's how we survive. Everything.
Then, then the torturous pain of something you can't fix occurs. Something you can't control. Something there's no instructions for. There is no cure on this earth. Yet, it's all we know and it's what we strive to do. An evolutionary reaction.
I tell my buddies, and now you, the same thing he told me, women don't want us to fix this. Mainly, because we can't, but also they want us to be with them in their suffering. To know what their suffering is. Fixing it doesn't mean we understand it, or them. Fixing it doesn't solve it, it's unsolvable. Fixing it doesn't equate to happiness. And with Blake, or any loss, fixing it, again, doesn't exist.
Then, the suffering sets in. You're left without an out. You're in their suffering now. You're completely with them. You have the choice of being completely with them in theirs, as it is yours. Or, you retreat to something more comfortable, and ignore it. Ignore the torture, the pain, the suffering. Your marriage. Your best friend. Your existence.
That's not the choice of those I choose to follow. Those I choose to lead me through. I watch them in awe, in utter complete awe. They accept this suffering. They embrace it. They welcome more. Their physical pain is their emotional release. Their character is on display daily, on the hour, by the minute. I seek their guidance. I embrace their wisdom. I am not that man today. I can tell you what to do, and I do, very well. I'm not that shining example for you yet, son. I am not the man I want to be, for you, for Blake, for mom.
I can't fix my woman. I can't heal her pain. I can't fill her loss. I have to accept that. I have to embrace her pain, as it is my own, and it is. I have to show her strength when she is weak, as she does me. This struggle is ours together. Together is our way through, not out. We will talk of your brother often, it's our way of keeping him with us in the present. You may not understand it now, but I hope you grow to love him, to talk with him, to run with him, to pray to him. This is how I make it through my days. You provide so much joy, laughter, and love. Without Blake here, my heart is incomplete and that's not your fault, I hope you know this and remember it.
I am blessed by those I surround myself with, of whom I can turn to for this lesson. They are my heroes. They are my inspiration. They maintain my sanity, which in turn I can help my woman maintain hers. I cannot fix her, I cannot fix me. With them, I can be better. In turn, I can help her be. Better. More. Daily. In time, I hope to be this example for you. For me. For the next person. This pain is not unbearable, but it is unfathomable, until you're here. When pain comes, draw your inspiration from those around you that lead you in the direction of light, empowerment, improvement.
I watched this lesson was on display with an intensity unlike I've ever seen today. To follow the path that led to an unimaginable heartbreak, to complete the same course, to honor the life in the same manner it was taken, escapes me. It's a pain I've put in the depths of my mind, in hopes of never retrieving it. As I ran it with them, I spoke of pride. Of others, in me and my not being able to understand how someone was able to say that of me these past few months. Then I saw it embodied. In her. In him. I watched in quiet desperation for that same strength. That same hope. Their lessons teach me daily, tomorrow is not guaranteed. Don't wait. Don't hesitate. Don't leave anything on the table. Embrace the pain, it's what we have left of them on this earth. Men and women are different, but when a pain of this magnitude hits our struggle is the same and we retreat to what we know, as men. Fixing it.
Pain can lead you down two separate and equally life-changing paths, son. The first seems like the quickest path to numbness. The second, the second provides torturous terrain, unnavigable obstacles, and experiences only few have set out to take on. The crossroads you may one day find yourself at, is a moment you'll never forget. Mine was the Sunday after Blake passed. It was mid-afternoon, I'd been drunk for six days. It was easy. It was numb. I stopped. I got up and ran the next morning. I broke into tears 500 yards into it. I ran up a hill on the south side of the James as hard as I could until my tears were replaced with gasps for air. I ran a few miles more with a couple of friends who were determined to not let me walk down that other path. Tears continued. I was exhausted. This works for me. This physical release, it eases my pain. It doesn't fix me, but it works to get me through my day. Your mom is not me. It's taken me years to figure this out, and this is a new challenge for her, for us.
Our differences are challenges. In any marriage. Relationship. Organization. Our pain is unifying. Our suffering makes us the same. My channel locks will not fix her. I have no tool available to her, other than my love, support and new found understanding. We're in this together. Together is the only way. I love you, buddy.
