On Perseverence: Still Standing

My apologies for this lengthy absence.

"I wish you here tonight with me to see the northern lights,
I wish you were here tonight with me.
I wish I could have you by my side tonight when the sky is burning.
I wish I could have you by my side...
...Conscience clear, I'm still standing here."
--Still Standing, The Rasmus

"And did you think this fool could never win?
Well look at me, Im coming back again."
--Still Standing, Elton John


You know what it feels like when you just step out of the pool on a hot summer day? The air around you is scorching but you can still feel the chill of the breeze on your wet skin? Imagine for me, if you can, that same chill right through the middle of you. Like someone has taken an enormous paper punch, and removed a perfectly round section of your torso, and the wind is now gently blowing against the wetness that rims what is left.

Now think of the last good case of the flu that you had; the tired bones and the aching joints? Remember how each breath seemed an effort? Every single movement is like running a marathon isn’t it? A week-long spell of continuous exhaustion and dull aching.

And how about that last trip you had to the dentist to get that cavity filled? Yeah! That’s a good one. I’m talking about after the annoying pinch of the needle in the roof of your mouth or under your tongue. I mean when that Novocain has really settled in and is working hard. Complete and total numbness. The only way you can tell anyone is doing anything inside your mouth is by the earthquake vibrating your skull every time that drill touches your tooth. Now, take all these experiences and lets put them into context.

For a father, the death of a child is an exquisite pain, unlike any other. It is a physical pain. The hole is not an imaginary one. Even now a year later, I can feel the breeze pass through my chest when I step outside. My legs feel like they are made from lead, and my joints still ache perpetually. The numbness has subsided some, but I still have yet to regain the feeling I once had. It isn’t imaginary. It isn’t “all in my head.” My first-born child, my beautiful daughter died in my arms, leaving wounds in me that should have been fatal. Yet somehow were not.

But the physical pain is just the beginning. There is much more that comes in the wake of loss. The nightmare can only be experienced, not explained. My efforts to bring my personal tragedy to you do not do justice to what I have lived. I simply hope to prove that the pain is normal, the insanity typical, and the trauma standard. My pain is no worse than that of any other father who has lived through this experience. The difference lies in my perception, and my willingness to share.
Today is August 17th, in the Year of Our Lord 2007. For those just joining us, that means ten years. In just fifteen days, it will have been ten years since the miraculous event that transformed me from a self-centered, drunken, occasionally violent, irresponsible man-whore, to the man who now regularly willingly subjugates his own desires for those of his children, the man who without regret or complaint sacrifices personal treasures to pay the bills, and the man who would without question lay down his life for his wife and children. Ten years have passed since one man died, and another was born.

But it has also been a year since another version of that man died. As I write these words, four hundred and thirty-two days have passed since I was initiated into this terrible club of loss, and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate my dear daughter’s upcoming birthday then by getting this ball rolling in earnest.

Time to finish what I started.
I havebeen working hard on my illustration skills. Muscles that have long been sedentary are now awakening, stretching and flexing again. I have a story to tell, and though my skills with the written word are not minor ones, my real strength lies in communicating through pictures. It is now my plan to tell the story of 2006-2007 in a multi-medium format. Much of my work will still simply be written, but the majority I hope to have in a graphic novel format. I hope to better describe feelings, thoughts, and emotions in this manner. Additionally, I hope to expose for the first time some of my poetry, which I have long kept to myself. It does me no good to sit on this stuff. It doesnt do anyone else any good either. Once I have confirmed my employment situation, I will be able to schedule regular time for writing and illustrating. I will present pieces of this work here as they come.

If this experience I hope share with you has taught me anything at all, it is that we survive. The wounds that should have killed me outright, did not. I live with the cold, ache for the rest of my life. I heal, and move on. I, like those who share this experience and survive, take with me the best parts of my loved one, and those parts somehow make me, and all of us that much stronger. We absorb their strength of character, their determination, their love of life. We see things differently than we did before. Our priorities are different, as well as our look at life. We learn who our friends really are, and very much what we ourselves are capable of.

Even with this hole through the middle of me, I’m still standing.

Peace