Counting Again

I don't exactly know why, but some days I feel great and some days I just feel lousy. It ebbs and flows. I try not to show, outwardly, how this impacts me, though, because I feel bad if people feel awkward around me. I know some people do. I think people aren't quite sure what to say or how to react. I'll just say here that it's ok to bring "it" up. Or not. Don't feel obligated to say anything about it, but don't feel like you have to avoid it either. It's the reality of my life now. Stacy and I do not burst into tears if someone says Jack's name to us. Additionally, I'm pretty sure there is a statute of limitations or grace period on the amount of time when a grown man is allowed to cry in public in front of colleagues, friends, and/or total strangers without seeming completely off his rocker.

Stacy took these pictures Sept. 2013.

This one has all sorts of symbolism for us now.

This week we hit the two month mark. Two months. That's a long time to be without your child with whom you'd spent every single day of his five years (between my wife and I). It's amazing how quickly time passes. This is both a blessing and a curse. It feels like such a long time since we lost our son (even though it was only January 12). Oh how we miss him! So it's sort of a blessing we're not stuck for too long in those first few early days of raw pain and grief. Yet every day that passes puts us farther away from the moments when he was here, alive with us, running around our home playing with things, and breaking things, and cuddling with us on the couch.

I go to work and put on a happy face and attend my meetings and try to slog through my work, all the while wishing I could just be at home and not have to worry about the stuff I have to worry about there: the upset customer who hated one of the concerts I brought in last month; reviewing the technical needs of the shows I'm working on for next year; making sure things are coming together for the giant anniversary celebration of the building in which I work on April 3 and which I am in charge of. Sometimes I just want to sit on my couch at home and gaze out the window while listening to my children play in the other room. That's happiness now. I used to be discontent when I had free time at home. Now I can't get enough of it.


The loss of my son is always on my mind, regardless of where I am or what I am doing. Stacy and I continue to worry about him, even though he is no longer in our daily care. And everyday I find myself counting again.

It feels like I'm counting backwards, but that's not an entirley accurate description of what I'm doing. Technically speaking it is counting forward, I guess, but emotionally it's counting backwards. As in, I've taken a step back in my life. So that's what I call it because it feels like the best fit. Here's what I mean:

When parents have a baby, every moment of the young child's life is measured in specific amounts of time, starting from the moment they are born: days, weeks, months, years. How precious those early moments of their lives are. Any mother of a baby or toddler can immediately tell you exactly how old her child is, measured in days, weeks or months.

This is how I now reckon the time since Jack's passing. I count the time since he left us. Not intentionally. It happens automatically. We are into weeks and months now. Every Monday adds one more week, while every "12th" adds one more month. We were done having kids at numbers three and four, yet here I am counting again. This time, however, I'm counting for a child of mine who had already outgrown those stages of his life. It's been thrust upon me again, in a weird sort of backward way. I wonder if other parents who've lost children also count this way, too. They probably do.

In our extended family we were blessed with new life just as we were dealing with the loss thereof. Stacy's brother's wife brought a beautiful baby girl into the world just the day after Jack died. She is a sweet, precious little thing. She was late, too (not for her due date, but for when she was expected to arrive). Her mom's doctor had told our sister-in-law that the baby would be coming early. She didn't, though (even though that's exactly what her mom had wanted to happen and felt would happen). That baby just didn't want to come yet, and now we know why. She needed to stay in heaven just a little longer so she could greet her cousin, Jack, as they passed each other on their way to and from earth. Jack left us on Monday; baby girl was born on Tuesday.

Holding my new niece, just days after losing my son.

So it ended up working just perfectly because they surely got to say hello to each other as they crossed paths on their separate journeys to and from heaven.


Having twins was never boring or dull. They add such a wonderful dynamic to home life.

The twins liked to have the same things. But, as they were our third and fourth children and also not our eldest boys, we always had at least one hand-me-down of everything to give them. From underwear to toys to car seats, one of the twins always got the item previously used by our oldest son while the other would get a new one. We would try to convince them that they could take turns with the new thing (whatever it was) but they could see through our money-saving ploy. They each wanted to have the new item rather than the old one. But there's always a budget to contend with, so very rarely would Stacy or I ever buy two new things if we had at least one of them in stock at home already.

We finally made an exception, however, for Christmas 2014, when we decided to splurge (just a bit). The items? New bicycles. Two of them. Brand new.

We knew the spring and summer months would soon be upon us and would find our little boys outside playing and having fun and making the most of life. Previously they had fought over the little new bike vs. the little old bike they'd had when they were three. So just this once Stacy and I decided to get two new bikes so they could (and would) ride outside together instead of one of them choosing to do something else, which had usually been the case with the old bike they'd outgrown.

New bikes on Christmas morning 2014.

On Christmas morning the twins were very excited about their new bikes. They really lit up when they saw them next to the tree. Jack, in particular, wanted to put it to immediate use and even tried to ride it around the living room. (He never got too far because of all the holiday clutter blocking his path.) I, the proud father, was really looking forward to both boys riding around the block together on their new wheels in the spring.

We took a photo of them both sitting on their bikes on Christmas morning to capture that fun moment. I'm glad we did.

In the hours after Christmas morning we cleaned up the clutter and moved the bikes to the garage, waiting for better weather to arrive.

Fast forward to spring, which is now upon us. The air outside is warm and filled with sunshine. It's calling our children to come out to play. They go. They have fun.

But the bikes remain untouched. They sit abandoned in the corner of our garage in the same spot we had put them on Christmas day when we cleaned our house. They are brand new, hardly even a spot of dirt on the tires. They are shiny and fun and full of joyful experiences yet to come. But they also serve as a cruel reminder of our harsh new reality: one bike without a boy to ride it.

That's a sad thought. I don't mean it to be. Nor do I always focus on those sorts of things. There are countless wonderful memories of our time with Jack. Everything in our world, however, now also serves as a reminder of what was and also what will not be.

One bike without a rider. The other has a rider, yet not his brother to ride it with.

A pleasant memory came to me the other night when I was putting Jack's twin to bed. We sang "I Am a Child of God" together. I used to do this with Jack, too. Not one to keep it traditional, I used to entertain Jack with my "spiced up" version of this beloved song. Sometimes I would sing "cha, cha, cha" after the key phrases of the song. Jack really got a kick out that. It went like this. "I am a child of God, and he has sent me here, cha, cha, cha. Has given me..."

I had forgotten about that until just a few days ago when I was singing with Tate at bedtime. Muscle memory kicked in and the "cha, cha, chas" just came out without me even thinking about it. That made us both laugh aloud. It was funny and wonderful, a happy little thought. We shared it together and thought of Jack in a very happy way.

Then I started counting again.