An Evolutionary Reaction

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.

36 Days Since, How Do We Define His Legacy?

It’s been 36 days now since you left us, Blake. I wonder where your spirit is. The memory of you sitting up between my knees, smiling while I make you dance along to the terrible singing that drives your brother nuts! It’s what I see now. It’s what I choose to remember. The rest is too painful. Maybe one day. I miss our easy time together, you’d cry, I’d get frustrated, but it was easier the second time around with you. I didn’t worry as much, I almost knew what I was doing. I’d get you to calm down, but I couldn’t keep up with your brother and you yet. Two on one was just too much for an inexperienced dad. I was told before Keller was born, by a good friend, “you don’t have to know how to parent, just make your decisions with love in mind”. I still hear it to this day. I’d throw you on my shoulder and you were content as long as I was moving. I wasn’t worried as much about you as I was with Keller, you were the tough one, you were the big one, putting on weight, your bowels seemed better than his, but your mom did most of work with you. I relegated myself to caring for Keller. It was easier, I know him, his quirks, his needs. He could talk and tell me too. Somewhere around five or six weeks though, you and I started hitting it off. We were becoming buddies. I don’t know how to let go of the hope that we’ll have that chance again. I don’t think I have to. That hope makes this more tolerable.

I see patients at work every day. They tell me that if there’s a small chance something can go wrong, they’re the ones it’s going to happen to. Everything bad happens to them. I never thought that way. I don’t want Keller to have to, or to grow up thinking that way either. Bad things happen. We choose how we respond to them. We cannot control what happens to us, only our response.

I won’t let Keller go through life thinking he’s a victim. He is not. Optimism. Contentment. Opportunities. There are enough people in this world that fail to see any good even in the brightest light. I search daily, hourly, sometimes moment to moment still, for that bigger picture of why you were forced to leave us. We must remain optimistic, without hope there is no faith, no belief. Contentment, we have what we need: love. We’ll figure the rest out as needed. Opportunities, with every disaster there is an end, and a response. We choose what that is. There are so many things we can learn from this time to help become better parents, friends, moms, dads, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters.

That’s not to say the bad moments don’t take hold. The easiest path to take is to run. There are days I want to run away, far and fast. However, my mother, your grandmother, taught me over the years that there will be days where I have to eat shit. I just need to be thankful I’m full. That’s optimism. I’ve swallowed a lot in the past 36 days. I watch my friends who go through this daily struggle, strive to be better each day, to put purpose to a life that no longer beats from a single heart, but thousands of ours. It gives me hope that I’m showing you these things, Keller. That you’ll be a better human because of all this. Because of us. Because of Blake.

I know this pain is a permanent one. I’ve been struggling to accept this for the past few weeks. I can look to new friends now and see that the pain doesn’t have to be incapacitating, that we can keep putting one foot in front of the other. Eventually, they won’t be as heavy, and we can lead others down this path too. There will be more. They will know it too. That’s realism, but it provides an opportunity to put our strength on display to comfort them when it’s their time in need.

Keller you’re headed to the beach this weekend. You’ll have your grannies and your papas. Your life is so amazing, watching you experience the world just makes my heart smile. I hope you’re able to find this love one day. It’s unlike any other. I’m headed to the mountains to be with Blake. I’ve been missing him so much lately, I want to talk to him. I thought a church would offer that, but I don’t belong in a church right now. My anger with the belief system of our culture prevents me from that privilege. I’m going to the highest point I can find, I’ll carry pieces of him with me. I need to catch him up on what he’s missed. I hope to catch up on what I’ve missed.

That day was 36 days ago. The world never stopped. In fact, it’s sped up. I couldn’t put that moment on hold. I couldn’t bring you back. For a while that day, I remember thinking that it just couldn’t be real. That these things don’t happen to us. They do. They do indeed. Our response determines Blake’s legacy, Keller. It’s up to us to determine what that is. I love you, buddy.