“Brokenness” by Kelly Farley

Written by another grieving Dad. His story is at once heartbreaking and inspiring. He captures the essence of how the tragic deaths of our children leaves us. “Violently separated into parts or pieces. not working properly: damaged” Yes, we are all damaged to one extent or another. It is up to us to pick up the pieces and arrange them in whatever fashion we can, to get the machine going again. It will never function the same, but it is not yet ready for the scrap heap.

Grieving Dads: To the Brink and Back


After a long winter here in Chicago I found myself trying to get motivated to “do something” but couldn’t seem to find the energy or desire. The bitter cold and constant gray put me on an emotional roller coaster that sucked away a lot of my energy. As part of that, I decided to get out of the house and join a men’s group. It was only scheduled for a few weeks which gave me time to see if I enjoyed the group or not.

The first meeting was discussion of a book that the group had been reading and the topic was life’s hurts. Of course I shared my story and received the usual “holy shit that’s bad” look from the group, many of which have healthy living children. At the end of the meeting one of the guys who seemed to be really struggling with some life…

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About edcol52

The Infinite Fountain of Love and Loss flows unceasingly into the pool of memory and sorrow. I created this blog in response to the most dreadful tragedy every parent fears, the death of a child, our 24 year old son, Jake. We are now on an unimagined journey along this road of grief and recovery. If you can find some comfort within these pages, than I will have succeeded in some small measure.
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4 Responses to “Brokenness” by Kelly Farley

  1. After four years of grieving, and being active out in the world, I find myself unable to leave my house again. Have to take myself in hand as I am not enjoying the world of friendship and activity. My new pain dr. recommended a therapist and I’ve begun working with her, hoping I can resume my own space in my own life. This journey has steps forward and traps backward. It’s easy to get into a cycle of brooding and solitude. Hoping that I can break out of it again.]

    • edcol52 says:

      Abby- I empathize with you. I can already see how this ebbs and flows after only five months. There are days where I can go out and actually seek friendship and activity, and those days where all I want to do is sleep. I don’t yet have any insights or ideas as how to combat that. Therapy sounds like a good idea, you need something to break the cycle. I know that this will be a life-long struggle, I hear from people that even after 10 or more years there are still ‘those days’. We can only hope to learn how to minimize them, and, paraphrasing your words above, find a way to “resume our own spaces in our own lives”. thank you for visiting and commenting. I am sure you will find your way.

  2. CiM says:

    I have been violently separated into parts and pieces, millions of them. I need to realize I don’t work properly because as hard as I try to take those millions of pieces and put them back together again, I can’t get them to go together like they were…


    Violently separated. Violently separated. Violently separated
    those words
    say what won’t
    be said
    but must
    be said
    but still
    don’t cover
    the missingness

    So often struggling
    hard against
    life I think
    Jake and about
    you and
    the bitterness of what
    you are enduring
    with me – but
    not at all

    Only a tiny tiny
    taste of what it
    is you
    only a tiny one.
    If grief
    could be shared
    and somehow that
    burden made less…!
    But that is not
    the way
    sorrow goes.

    Still reading, always reading. Sometimes it feels like sacrilege to speak even one word. Because there are no words to bring your boy back.

    Jake remembered here – and infinitely more, there.


    • edcol52 says:

      Cathy, your beautiful comments always touch me deeply. I am grateful that you find some meaning in my words, and that you take the time to remind me that Jake’s legacy stretches far beyond anything I can imagine. Please don’t think your words are sacrilegious, that is all we have left of him now, words, memories, and some physical artifacts that he owned. Lots of those, boxes and boxes of the most random stuff he collected. It is the words that we share that help ease the sharpness of the pain, recall his spirit, and insure he will never be forgotten. I am humbled by your sincerity, and truly wish you could have met him. You would have loved him. I wish you peace and strength in your own struggles.

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