It seems most of the books about surviving the loss of a child are written by women.
This probably isn’t a surprise. Grieving is all about feelings. Most of us guys get queazy when we have to deal with feelings. We just don’t talk about feelings much. We have them, but we would rather you didn’t know about them.
In our gift bag at the recent TCF conference in Frankfort, KY there was a book written by a dad.
Charlie Walton and his wife lost two of their sons in an accident. He shares his experiences in his book When There Are No Words.
It’s interesting, entertaining and short. I read it in a couple of nights.
I’ve had similar experiences. Mostly.
His story of standing in the shower on the night of his son’s death, trying unsuccessfully to cry was one of those.
I found out about Richard while I was at work. My conversation with the coroner was strangely business like. As I was driving home my body felt like I was crying, but no tears came out.
When I got home Debbie met me in the driveway. We hugged. All the physical stuff that happens when you cry was going on. I could feel my body shuddering. The right sounds came out. There were no tears. I was wondering what was wrong with me.
And this continued.
Later I looked out the front door and saw Debbie pacing on the sidewalk. She was smoking. I went out to join her – with the pacing, not the smoking.
When Richard was a baby he was a thumb sucker. While Debbie rocked him to sleep, he would work on that thumb and he’d rub her gown between his other thumb and forefinger. He liked the silky feel. Eventually Debbie had to cut up one of her old gowns to give him. It became “his rag.” He had to have it to go to sleep.
If we were away from home his rag went with us. If it got left behind when we came back, I’d have to make an emergency return trip to fetch his rag. It was the only way to have peace. So eventually we had a spare rag for use when we forgot the one he carried around.
When I joined Debbie on the sidewalk I noticed she had Richard’s rag in her hand. The sight of that rag – long packed away in the cedar chest for safekeeping until one of Richard’s future children needed it – broke the damn. Tears flowed.
Another of Charlie’s experiences that hit home was the guilt thing.
Dad’s are supposed to be the protectors. At least that’s what we think. When our kids die, it seems pretty obvious we didn’t protect so well. It was a big issue then and it still is today. Working on it.
During the holiday seasons, Charlie and his wife get out of town. They don’t want to be around the family.
This hasn’t been our approach.
Our family get togethers still give us comfort. Not having Richard there is tough. There’s no doubt about that. But we’d still be missing him if we didn’t go to the family gatherings. Not attending family events to avoid missing him would just spotlight his absence.
At least that’s how I feel about it.
When There Are No Words. is a good book. It’s worth reading.
