Jake’s Birthday

Posted on August 20, 2014 by edcol52

Yesterday was Jake’s 25th birthday. Somehow we made it through without imploding, vaporizing, or disintegrating. We went for juicy pastrami sandwiches dripping with coleslaw on fresh crusty rye for lunch at Langer’s, an old-school deli in downtown LA. Jake would have definitely approved of the place and the sandwiches. Inexplicably, I had never eaten there in spite of growing up in LA and spending nearly 40 years here after my return. Perhaps he ate there sometime; there is much of his life these past several years that remain a mystery. He seemed to know about every restaurant, chef, cooking technique, and foodstuff, so I expect he had.

I fully anticipated I’d be more melancholy, sadder, more introspective, but the day slid by without much drama. At times, that flat, empty feeling pushed up against me, but I managed to keep it at bay most of the time. We had a small gathering at our home in the evening. Just a couple of Jake’s closest friends from school, my Mom, and one of our friends who knew Jake well. We sat on our deck in the gathering darkness eating cookies, munching on melon, and shared story after story of Jake. J– and S– , two of his best friends from High School, regaled us with tales, some of which we knew, some of which we had forgotten, and some that were news to us. We laughed together as we remembered some of his more flamboyant exploits. We acknowledged his boundless energy and loyalty to his friends.

We shared memories around the table of moments that epitomized Jake’s caring, his encyclopedic knowledge and interests, and how he was able to transform any experience, no matter how mundane at the outset, into the most improbable adventure. How he managed to convince his new girlfriend’s mother to hire him to tutor her in Chemistry. How somehow, he managed to talk an airline gate agent into letting him take his cooking knives in his carry-on baggage from Italy to England at the age of 15. He was like a Jedi Knight; in that he could induce people to do things they had no intention of doing at the outset of their encounter. He was comfortable in any social circle, in any circumstance, with his peers, his peers parents, and even total strangers. He charmed everyone he met.

Terry baked a deep fudgy chocolate cake filled with raspberry jam, whipped cream and strawberries, iced with whipped cream, and decorated with fresh raspberries. The cake she baked for him on many birthdays. We toasted his exploits together, and I took comfort in knowing his memory will never fade from the hearts and minds of the people who loved him. These are the people who keep Jake alive. The group of his friends who have remained in contact with us, who have insisted they be a part of our lives. Many of his friends live in other places, other cities, other states, but they make a point of calling and stopping by whenever they are in town. It touches us deeply that they want to stay connected, want to help us keep Jake alive in spirit. We are grateful that they do. There are hundreds of other friends who help keep Jake’s memory alive too; many I know, many I know of, there are probably many I don’t know. He touched so many lives, everyone he met. He lived a lifetime in just 24 short years.

Here are some of the wishes his friends posted these past few days.

Hey Jakey. Happiest of birthdays. I wish you could be here to celebrate. I honestly don’t even know of any words that can begin to touch on how much I wish you were here. If you were, we could go spend a ridiculous amount of money at top quality Bristol Farms sea food, we’d make a mess in the kitchen, you’d allow me to do a minimal amount of dicing because you’d finish the rest before I’d get to it, you’d stir up this sea food gumbo type pasta sauce (without any recipes around) ask us if we had some random spice I wouldn’t have ever thought of using, and then we’d sit in my backyard and we’d have the most interesting conversation about things that I never knew mattered, or that people could even talk about for hours, and I’d somehow feel smarter after it was over. So, I hope your birthday where you are goes something like that. I love you. I miss you.

 •  •  •

You would have been 25 years young. I have never met anyone like you. Just a few things about you. You loved your jazz music, and cooking amazing Italian food, you also loved to take pictures and you have the best parents anyone could ask for! I’m not sure where you are celebrating your 25th birthday Jake but I have no doubts you are doing it with great taste & style. Tomorrow will be filled with laughter and tears as I both remember you and celebrate your life. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you and I really really miss you and I am still struggling with this.. Happy 25th Birthday Jake!

 •  •  •

Happy birthday Jake! be happy up there for two great parents that never forget to celebrate your birth and departure, for awesome parents that became stronger in their faith rather than succumb to their anger. yes they are mad like hell with God that he could not have waited for you just a bit longer, but they love him just because he loves you and he has you with him now. so be happy up there and continue sending signs of love and virtual seals of approvals to these great parents like you have been. if not for nothing then just so that your dad can enjoy a good pasta once in a while.

 •  •  •

Love. Peace, however you come to define it. And profound thanks for hosting a rare comet. We hamsters barely grasp the shape of this universe, let alone its purposes, but Jake is and will remain a force in all the lives he touched.

 •  •  •

Really thinking of Jake and celebrating him today as I know so many others are too.

Of course, thinking of you both too – with love and prayers..

My heart is full and empty at the same time.

My heart yearns for Jake and aches for all he’s left behind –

Still, I’m grateful for the spaces he’s filled in my heart and memory…  for the joy he’s brought to me and to so many others.

I am remembering him INVOLVED in life and how he enjoyed everything he did.

And today, I remember him enjoying his first chocolate, birthday cake!

Fully experiencing and engaged in all that he did.  I remember Jake that way.

We miss him so and will celebrate him today and all days.

We will be visiting the butterflies and remembering Jake flitting about touching so many people and things along the way.

We’re going to eat pizza (real pizza!) and gelato and we’ll be with you in spirit while you eat ‘Jake cake’ tonight.

 •  •  •  •  •  •  •

Today was a bit of a let down. As if I expected Jake to show up at the door last night, grinning his grin, and with his clear, open smile say, “Hi Pops, how’s it going?” But he didn’t. Won’t ever again. I try not to dwell on that, but it still crashes through the fragile truce I have forged with this world, though not so often, nor as violently as it did months ago. Yes, months ago. Nearly eight of them now. And while I have cycled through those ‘stages of grief’, while I have arrived at a form of “acceptance” (I mean what choice do I have. It happened, I can’t deny Jake is gone. Maybe acceptance is not the correct word, more like a resignation to this new reality and don’t give me that “new normal” crap), I still can’t quite believe that this is really happening. It is all so surreal. I stand in our yard in the dark and talk to Jake. I ask him why, why he had to leave us. I ask him the questions I have asked thousands of times since December 28th, why, of all the things he could have done, of all the things he could have been, of all the roads he could have taken, of all the things that could have happened, this is the one that did. Still no answers; I expect there never will be.

So I make what peace I can with the world, day by day, grope my way through the fog, one foot in front of the other, and somehow have to trust that this fog will lift, will at least thin out enough so I can see where I am going. Right now, I still haven’t a clue.

Posted in Coping, Daily Ramblings, Food, Friends and Family, Healing, Honoring Jake, Jake Colman, Jake's Spirit, Memory | 6 Comments

Two Birthdays

Posted on August 18, 2014 by edcol52

One of the perks of being Jewish is that you have two birthdays. The calendar we are most familiar, actually called the Gregorian calendar, is a solar-based calendar and divides each year up into the familiar 365 days, 52 weeks, and 12  months. The Jewish calendar is lunisolar in that the months are based on lunar months, but the years are based on solar years. Each month begins on the New Moon and lasts 29 or 30 days. Because the lunar year is 11 days shorter than the solar year, the Jewish New Year begins on different days relative to the Gregorian calendar every year. Plus every couple of years, they throw in an extra month to keep the two calendars roughly synchronized. Confused yet? Because of that, dates of the Jewish calendar drift around with relation to the dates on the Gregorian calendar, so in any given year, you could, and usually do, have two different “birth days.” This year, Jake’s Hebrew birthday, the 18th of Av, was on Thursday, August 14. His “regular” birthday is August 19th, tomorrow, even though when he was born in 1989, those two dates coincided.

We went out to dinner on Thursday to celebrate my Mom’s birthday without quite realizing it was Jake’s Jewish birthday. We had dinner in the restaurant at which we celebrated Terry’s birthday last year, and where we dined on our Anniversary this year. (The same restaurant where I broke a tooth a year ago, but that is another saga.) Actually, the only reasons we went back at all, is that they gave me a gift certificate because of the broken tooth, because my Mom was also at that dinner, but mostly because the restaurant has been very, very good. Up till now.

The food wasn’t as good as it should have been; the pasta dish I ordered was so salty it was inedible. And of course there was Jake’s voice in my head, “Dad, send it back”, which I did. It came back just as salty so I sent it back. Again. Jake would have approved; he was there with us after all. There were other issues with the meal and the service, I won’t go into details, as these can truly be filed under “First World Problems”, but when you are at a top-tier restaurant that is as expensive as this one, one expects the service and food to be top-tier as well. I guess the only reason I relate this is because whenever we dine out, whether at a five-star restaurant, a neighborhood curry house, a Chinese joint for a luncheon special, or just a slice of pizza, Jake is always there with us. We invariably compare the food to his standards, (actually ours are pretty high too), and God help the establishment who’s food doesn’t live up to them. Somehow we made it through dinner without too many tears, just a few silent drops as we sat over our dessert and coffee.

•  •  •

The Torah, (Five Books of Moses) is divided into 54 portions or Parshas. Each week one (sometimes two … that whole extra month thing) is read during the Shabbat service. Each Parsha also has a passage from the Prophets that accompanies it called the Haftarah. Your Jewish birthday determines which Parsha and Haftarah is “yours”; it is the one that falls on the Shabbat of your birthday week. When a boy or girl is bar or bat (bar for boys, bat for girls) mitzvahed, he or she reads the Haftarah of that particular Parsha. Jake’s Parsha, Eikev was read this past Saturday. I asked our dear friend Yakov if he would read the Haftarah in honor of Jake. I would have done it except I don’t read Hebrew that well, and even if I did I surely wouldn’t have made it through without completely breaking down. As it is, my emotions are always perilously close to the surface whenever I am in shul, and this day even more so. It is the place where I learned of Jake’s death. What was once a place and day of joy and rest, Shabbat in Shul, has become a place and day of dread and sorrow. We stood together; side-by-side as he read the passage from Isaiah that Jake worked so hard to learn twelve years ago. I felt his presence so strongly, standing on the other side of Yakov, arms around us. I heard his voice from that day in 2002, a day of such joy for our family, a celebration for our entire community. People came from across the country, from around the world to rejoice with us. On Saturday, I wept silently for all the future birthdays we will ‘celebrate’ without our beloved son. We actually managed to stay for Kiddush lunch, the first time we have been able to do so since … It was both happy and sad to sit with our friends and toast to Jake’s memory. Normally we would have sponsored the Kiddush, had a fine party in his honor; he would probably have been there with us. In any case, he was there in spirit and in our hearts.

Tomorrow evening we will have a small gathering at our home. Just a few of Jake’s closest friends and family. We weren’t sure we wanted to do this, would be able to do this, but in the end we can scarcely let the day pass without acknowledging Jake’s impact on the world and the people he cared the most about. Plus, he did love a party. We will have cake, ice cream, cookies and most probably a good cry all around. Today I am in what I am calling pre-melancholy. A curious flat, listless state where I just wander from room to room, not quite sure what to do. Tomorrow will be worse. I sit in what was Jake’s room writing this, his books, photographs, cameras, and various collected objects surrounding me. His presence, or rather the presence of his absence fills the room. I look at the artifacts of a life cut so short, one that could have, should have been otherwise, but that was not to be. And I ask the same question over and over, as I have from the first instant … why. Why him? It is a question for which there is no answer.

Happy Birthday, Jakey Jake. Forever in our hearts, our Beautiful Boy.

MustangJake

 

 

Posted in Ceremony, Daily Ramblings, Food, Friends and Family, Honoring Jake, Jake Colman, Jake's Spirit, Sadness | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments

Losing My Voice

Posted on August 3, 2014 by edcol52

Where does the time go?

I have read that it takes 21 days to create a habit. That is if you want to start doing something, do it consistently for 21 days, and you will create the habit to continue doing it. I have fallen into the habit of not writing for at least 21 days, and it is a habit I need to break.

Why I have shied away from my keyboard this past month is not quite clear. So much has happened and yet not much has really changed, in either my situation or my outlook. I am tired of writing those “I’m sad, I miss him, life sucks” posts even though I am sad, I do miss him and while life doesn’t suck completely, it isn’t what I expected nor planned for. Those best laid plans have definitely ganged agley. I have passed into a curious phase, not mentioned on the ‘grief timetable’. Each day slides into the next; weeks slip away like so many fugitives, disappearing into the mist. Perhaps it has to do with the six month mark of Jake’s passing, right afterward, I took my hiatus from this forum. Even though I am still able to function physically, went to mentor at Venice Arts each afternoon, took care of my daily duties, mostly, I have been in an emotional doldrums, becalmed by my sorrow. I am still going through the motions without any real relish or purpose.

The grief ambushes have abated somewhat, they come farther apart and the searing pain is lessened slightly. They still take my breath away at the most random and inopportune moments, even when I see them coming. This is something I am learning to live with; I don’t expect they will ever stop completely. I understand that it will be a long time, perhaps forever, until I can reply to the “how are you?” question with an “Excellent”, as I was able to do once. I settle for “okay”, or “hanging in there”, or “doing the best I can”, and I resist the temptation to reply, “how the fuck do you think I should be? How would you be?”

I did have an interesting flash of insight. When someone wants to tell you about some horrible thing that happened to him or her in response to your tragedy, it is not always callous insensitivity that prompts it. It might be an effort on the part of that person to get in touch emotionally with their own pain or sorrow in order to relate to yours, (or mine in this case.) Because, unless you have lost a child, you cannot begin to imagine what it is like, but many people want to empathize with you and perhaps this is their effort to find some emotional common ground so they can get a tiny glimpse of what you are feeling. I know that is giving some people a lot of credit. I think many people just want to tell you about their own disasters without a thought as to how it might affect you or whether you want to hear their sob story or not. Whatever the reason, I just can’t listen to the tale of your misfortune right now.

Perhaps it is that Jake’s birthday is approaching, the 19th of this month. He would have been 25. I was talking to the TA at the Arts program I mentor at and she asked me if I had children. I told her about Jake and when I said he was 24 she started, looked at me intently and quietly said “That’s how old I am.”

I am not sure what we will do to mark the date, but we will do something. Perhaps a quiet gathering with his closest friends and family, a strawberry shortcake, a time for us to laugh and cry, to tell a story, there are so many stories. Perhaps not. Whatever we do or don’t do, it will be a dreadful couple of days filled with longing for what was and what could have, should have been. Counterproductive perhaps, but inevitable. It is difficult to “celebrate his life”, I am not much in the celebratory mood these days. But he gave so much to so many; we should probably acknowledge that as best we can. I know Jake loved a party and “would have wanted it” We’ll see.

This month we had visits from some of Jake’s friends, wonderful young people who are doing well. People whom Jake was close to, people who knew him as well as anyone, people from different times in his life, people who remember him, will always remember him. We welcome these visits, it helps all of us keep him alive in our hearts, and because we genuinely want to see how their lives progress, but there is an unspoken sadness that hovers just out of arm’s reach. We laugh and talk and share stories, tea and cookies with them. It is so bittersweet to be with these lovely intelligent, talented kids. Sweet because they want to share a bit of their lives with us and are all doing so well. Bitter because … well you know

So the spell has been broken. I found my voice again. Maybe not my most sparkling effort, but my sparkle is dimmed and my voice is hushed these days. I’ll finish with another’s ‘voice’. The last few lines from Robert Burn’s poem “To a Mouse” On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785.

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
          Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
          For promis’d joy!
 –
Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
          On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
          I guess an’ fear!

 

Posted in Daily Ramblings, Friends and Family, Grief, Honoring Jake, Jake Colman, Memory, Observations, Poetry, Progress | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

Finding the Words

Posted on July 29, 2014 by edcol52

This is an excellent article appearing in the New Yorker online. Poet Edward Hirsch writes about the loss of his son, Gabriel at age twenty-two. It is a moving and thought-provoking piece. What is uncanny is that some of the words he uses to describe his son, what his friends said about him, and how he comported himself through the world could also describe my son.

Finding the Words.

I will not forgive you

Sun of emptiness

Sky of blank clouds

I will not forgive you

Indifferent God

Until you give me back my son.

Sadly, both he and I know that can never happen.

 

Posted in Coping, Grief, Jake's Spirit, Other Media, Poetry, Print Article, Sadness | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

The Physical Toll of Grief

Posted on July 2, 2014 by edcol52

Yesterday was June 28th. Exactly six months, twenty-six weeks, since our beloved son died. Twenty-six joyless Shabbats. Twenty-six dreaded Saturday mornings. One hundred eighty-two days I have had to live in this world without Jake. It still doesn’t seem possible. Of all the people on this earth, I still can’t imagine how it came to pass that Jake is no longer with us, that this terrible calamity would befall him, and us.

We all know that grief is a complex emotion. Rather a combination of emotions: rage, sorrow, confusion, despair, agony, resignation, coming in stages or sometimes, all at once. But what is more apparent each day, is that these emotions exact a terrible physical toll on us. I am exhausted from the moment I awaken until I am finally able to lay myself down at the end of each day. Yesterday, I couldn’t even get out of bed until the afternoon. I got up, puttered around for a while, ate a piece of French toast, and went back to sleep until 7:30 in the evening. Somehow, my body knew what day it was. More accurately, my mind knew what day it was and the terrible sadness incapacitated my body for the day.

One of the most interesting books we read when Terry was pregnant, and we read a bunch of them, (after all, we wanted to be the “perfect” parents) is “The Secret Life of the Unborn Child” by Thomas Verny. In it the author explains how the mother’s emotions and anxieties, the father’s involvement, and the external environment in general all affect the developing fetus. The chemical messages she sends to her baby vary depending on her emotional state, and if she is anxious or depressed it can be detrimental to the baby’s future development. It is a fascinating read. Our minds and bodies are also linked in a similar way, exchanging chemical messages constantly. The messages I have been sending my body these past six months have wreaked havoc with my physical well-being.

I ache all over. Especially in my back and legs. I move slowly, gingerly, muscles and joints protesting. I am weak and fragile. Not just emotionally, but physically. It is an effort to climb stairs, to get in and out of my car. I feel drained, depleted, defeated. I know part of this is that I haven’t been to the gym in months. A year ago, I worked out three to four days a week, lost a ton of weight; was building toward a leaner, fitter me. Now, I lack the impetus to drag myself to the gym, and am paying the price each day. I know how good it would be for me to re-start my exercise program, but somehow, I just can’t get myself going. I haven’t picked up a golf club since Jake died; I can barely stand to look at a golf course.

I am able to make it through each day, complete the trifling, mundane tasks I need to do, but it is the bigger things I am having trouble with. I don’t have the energy or the enthusiasm to stick with long-term projects. I don’t have much enthusiasm for anything. I have so much to do, and so little desire to do any of it. Hell, it has taken me three days just to write these few hundred words. Some days are better than others. On the good days, I can read, write, think a little more clearly. I can put my sorrow on the shelf for a few moments and actually become productive for a couple of hours. I suppose that is progress of a sort. I have some research for a writing project I need to do, and I am slowly grinding through that, but I don’t have the constancy of attention I used to possess. I am easily distracted. And there are days where I can scarcely do more than check my emails, have some lunch and lose myself in a thousand trivial things to occupy my time. I am learning to do what I can when I can, and just surrender myself when I can’t do much of anything. After all it has only been six short months. Six long months. Six wearying lifetimes. And I am so weary.

 

 

 

Posted in Coping, Daily Ramblings, Grief, Progress, Sadness | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

I Can’t Promote This Book Enough

Posted on June 24, 2014 by edcol52

“To anyone out there that has a gifted child in their life, I can’t stress enough the importance of the information in this book.”

I have not read this book, and only offer this posting this as information. Rhonda, the original poster, has researched this topic, and has also written a book about her own experiences.

gatito2's avatarMy Bright Shining Star

I have mentioned this book before because I used an article of the author’s in my book, but I have just finished it today and I’m totally convinced that if I had known of the emotional needs of gifted children and how to deal with them, that Kaitlyn would probably still be alive today. Though she showed no signs of depression, I know from being with her, being her mother that her thought processes were very deep. She often pondered over things that children her own age would not bother to even think about. She was a brilliant idealist and saw the world as it should be, but also realized it was far from being that. These intelligent idealist often become depressed from these issues. Even though she did not show signs, if I had known that they could be so possible in the mind of a bright child, I…

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Father’s Day, 2014

Posted on June 17, 2014 by edcol52

Yesterday was another first. My first Father’s Day without my son. To rephrase that, my first Father’s Day without my son alive. As days go, it was okay, difficult but okay. I dedicated the day to my son, Jake, who made me a father, who showed me what a father is and does, who taught me how to be a father.

He taught me that even though I might not have wanted to get up at 4 AM to make a work call, I did anyway. He showed me that my job was to provide for my family whatever I had to do. I learned to stand behind him, to back his play, to teach him what I could of the world, to give him a breadth of experiences, to encourage him to sample what this world has to offer, and when he failed, to help him back on his feet. We learned how to play together, to spend time in easy companionship, to talk of the greater world, to dream together. When Jake was young, I often had to leave for extended work trips, and when he asked why I had to go, my answer was, “Because that what daddies do”. They take care of their children. They protect them as best they can for as long as they can, and then they have to be willing to let them go out into the world and succeed for fail on their own, as difficult as that may be. In the end, though, I wasn’t able to protect him from himself.

We are in Ojai, and this past weekend was the Ojai Music Festival. We managed to see two concerts, one Friday night and one on Sunday morning. The Sunday concert was a Mozart symphony and a bevy of canons, musical whimsies, some of them wonderfully fun, some of them rather tedious. Before the concert we went to the Farmer’s Market to have one of the delicious tamales we discovered there, shop for a few random vegetables, and pick up some coffee we ordered from a company in Ventura. Ojai is a small community; we walked from the market to the park where the festival takes place. On our way, we saw a young woman sitting on the sidewalk, small backpack beside her, writing what looked to be a letter on a piece of yellow paper. As we passed, she looked up and said, “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you, but I am homeless and hungry. Can you help?” There was something genuine about her so instead of just giving her a dollar or two, we responded, “Well, let’s get you something to eat”. We went back to the market and got her a couple of the tamales and a big bag of oranges. When we returned with our simple offering, she was so very grateful; it brought tears to my eyes. I thought, for this moment, I am able to be a father to another father’s daughter. Can offer a tiny bit of solace in this world, and take care of her, even if only to give her a bag of oranges and something warm to eat.

Jake’s presence was around a lot this weekend. Dragonflies and hummingbirds were everywhere we went. He was at the evening concert on Friday night with his friend Austin, sitting in the two seats in front of us. They would have had a lot to say about the music. It was a concert of jazz ‘interpretations’ of Gershwin music, sometimes it worked, and sometimes it seemed as if the seven musicians were each playing a different piece of music. Austin was an accomplished pianist, a year younger than Jake. He passed away a year before Jake, and now, doubtless, the two best friends are together again.

On Sunday evening we went out to dinner at a local restaurant that we have eyed for the past few trips. Italian with a host of delicious sounding specials and fresh pastas. Sadly, it was one of those places where the food looks better than it actually tastes. Terry’s eggplant was undercooked, and as she jabbed it with her fork, we could hear Jake saying, “Mom, send it back”. So she did. They tried to rescue it with another few minutes in the oven. No luck. The rest of the food was okay, but lacked depth of flavor and finesse. The owner came over to talk to Terry about her eggplant and we gave her our complete evaluation of the meal. She looked a bit surprised and said, “You are particular, aren’t you?” Part of our family dining ritual was to deconstruct the food, to critique it, and usually to talk about how it could have been better. As a chef, Jake would have had a field day. When we informed the waiter that it was my birthday, he said that they always gave a complimentary Tiramisu dessert for birthdays. It was a gift from Jake. He made the best damn Tiramisu you ever ate, and wanted me to have one for my birthday. Like the rest of the food, it lacked the complexity of flavor a good Tiramisu should have. Jake would have sent it back, comp or not. We just tasted it and let it sit on the table as a reminder of better days.

When Jake was in school, and I met other parents for the first time, I introduced myself  as Ed Colman and the response was always, “Oh, you’re Jake’s Dad.” Everybody knew him, and so that’s who I became. Jake’s Dad. His departure doesn’t take away my fatherhood; I am still a father, his father. I will always be Jake’s Dad, come what may.

Posted in Ceremony, Daily Ramblings, Food, Honoring Jake, Jake Colman, Memory | Tagged , , , , | 5 Comments

The Secret Club

Posted on June 16, 2014 by edcol52

As a fully initiated member of this club, I can relate to all that Daniel writes about here.

dearelena's avatarDear Elena

Every year, there’s a friend who has had or adopted a child in the past year and is celebrating his first Father’s Day as a father. This year Jonathan and GI joined this club.

“Welcome,” I write to them. It’s like joining a club. The day changes forever once you’re a dad. Your relationship with other people, with your own dad, with you father-in-law… they all change as you watch yourself as a father.

I am unbelievably happy for them. As much as I feel for Kim after nearly twenty-one years of marriage, the love I feel as a dad is chest-expandingly huge.

Not everyone feels that way as a parent.

Maybe there’s a secret club that only some parents join. The members are the ones who take time every day to appreciate their children and really see and hear them.

I look at Maggie and instantly see her at…

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It’s Not Getting Any Easier

Posted on June 14, 2014 by edcol52

This has been a very arduous couple of weeks, full of ups and downs.

We have been renovating our guest house, the place where Jake lived on and off for the past few years. Going through his belongings left there brought up so many memories and feelings. Again, random items brought reminiscence rushing to the surface unexpectedly. We finally cleared out most of his belongings, and that act of transforming the space from one where he spent time into something new, with different furnishings, a new coat of paint, brought its own sadness. As if we were saying goodbye all over again. Hard to explain how deep this runs. It suffuses the very core of my being. We have also been selling some items that take up space, that we just can’t keep around. One of them was an aquarium set-up he had in his room for many years, the room in our house where he grew up. It sat in the corner bubbling away; fish came and went. A tiny plecostomus plecostomusgrew into a huge sea monster. We all had tremendous enjoyment from such a simple thing. It sat dry and  empty in what is now my office for nearly 8 years. A very nice woman came to buy it, she has smaller aquaria and was very excited about the larger tank. While I was loading the tank and stand into her car, silent tears flowed. Terry said, it was as if we were losing another piece of him. But I think, it is as if a tiny part of him is going out into the world, to bring another person pleasure, to have new experiences, still making his mark.

The week before last, we observed the holiday of Shavuot, the culmination of the Counting of the Omer, which commemorates the giving of the Ten Commandments on commandmentsMount Sinai. What should be a joyous occasion is now steeped in sorrow and longing, as is every holiday now. This is one of the holidays, like Passover, where the Kohanim stand before the people and pronounce the Priestly Blessing. It is so difficult for me to do this, so draining. I managed to get through it, voice cracking, obvious to everyone how emotional this is for me. As I wrote in the Passover piece, it is something I did for Jake every time we parted. On Wednesday and Thursday, I could feel him there with me, under my tallit, arms around me as I choked out the blessing, tears flowing. I had to put on my sunglasses before I could face the people afterwards.

Last week was the run-up to Father’s Day, and my birthday. I was born on Father’s Day and every few years, the two coincide. This year is one of them. It is not something I plan on celebrating, there isn’t much to celebrate, or rather, we are not in a celebratory frame of mind. We will mark the day, go out to a birthday dinner tomorrow night, but I am averting my eyes from the entire Father’s Day thing. I am still a father, will always be Jake’s Dad, but we will never get to have another ‘Boy’s Day’, as we often did. Or, another way to look at it is every day is Boy’s Day, as he is always with me. It is small comfort though.

The intervals between postings grow longer, it has been nearly two weeks since I last wrote here. I am not sure why the imperative to write diminishes over time. It is important to get these things out, and exhausting too. I don’t have any fresh insights, new perspective, just the day-to-day grind. Striving to keep the grief monster at bay. Riding the waves that still come, albeit fewer and farther between; nevertheless, they strike without masks3warning. My mask is fitting a little better, maybe a little more convincing to others. Inside, not much difference. I am the type of person who relies on his intellect to make sense of the world. I analyze, parse, distill my experiences through the lens of knowledge, but now, that is all out the window. There is no understanding what has happened. There is no logic, no sense, no way to use the power of rational thought to explain it. Emotion grips me, sometimes gently, sometimes with a wicked vengeance that leaves me shaking and bewildered. It is said that the depth of one’s grief can be measured by the depth of one’s love. If that is so, my grief is infinite and boundless, as was my love for my son.

So we trudge on. The burden doesn’t get any lighter, it isn’t any easier to carry. The days meld into weeks, the weeks into months, nearly six now. We see signs and signals from him everywhere, or at least we imagine we do. Orange dragonflies, rusty Allen’s hummingbirds, money appearing out of nowhere, a song on the radio, bits of overheard dialog, the palpable sensation of his presence from time to time. He is around, I am sure. Why he had to leave, what he is up to, and when I will see him again, I will never know.

© 2014 Ed Colman

Posted in Ceremony, Coping, Grief, Honoring Jake, Jake Colman, Memory, Sadness | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Acceptance: The Holy Grail of the Grief Process

Posted on June 6, 2014 by edcol52

Thoughts from another voyager on this lonely road. Whether or not we can ever truly accept what has happened, it has happened, and we’re stuck with it for the rest of our lives. Thank you Mira for a thoughtful and insightful post that resonates with anyone who has lost a child, no matter how long ago.

miragreen's avatarA Working Grief

It’s now approaching 13 months since we lost Melinda.  We’ve done all the “firsts” that everyone said would be the worst, and we’re now into year 2.  It’s no better, no easier, no less painful, and certainly no less confusing.  In fact, I continue to cry more each day since May 18th than the day before and I find myself closing off again in the hopes of stopping myself from spiraling into an emotional hell.   During all this, I am told that I’m learning to accept and that I will continue to do so, but I still have no idea what that means.   I’ve written about it before, and I still say that I have no idea what it is that I’m supposed to accept that is going to help bring me peace and help me find myself again.  Of course I have accepted some facts because they have been…

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