The end of Missing Aimee?

I started this blog on December 19, 2011, the day after Aimee's tragic death. At first it served two distinct purposes:

1. Share information about what happened and what was happening to anyone who was interested, without me having to repeat myself constantly, and
2. Give me a way to express what I was going through and feeling in a way that was helpful (therapeutic) to me.

As time went on and the readership of the blog seemed to take on a life of its own (over 82,000 page views of this blog to date), I realized I was connecting to people who didn't know Aimee or me, but who were finding something here that they needed. It has been an incredible honor to think I may have somehow helped other people in their dark times with my own pain. And that in itself was wonderfully therapeutic as well.

I haven't shared everything I've wanted to. Legal issues have kept me from writing about certain topics that I would have liked to have covered. Specifically, I wish I could have shared more about what I know and think I know about what happened on December 18 and what led up to it. I'd love to name parties involved, and talk about who I think should be held accountable, and why.

But I can't.

So with about thirteen months having passed since Aimee's death, I'm left with less and less to say that's new, or in my estimation, useful to anyone else. I continue to miss Aimee, sometimes with so much pain that I even now still cry (that has never gotten easier to admit publicly, but I try to keep this blog as honest as I can). Rowan still has, and probably always will have, pain and loss from the death of her mommy. It's a long journey for her, because as she grows and understands her world in different ways, she'll feel her loss in new and ever more painful ways. I believe there will always be a 'primal hole' in her life from now on. Nothing I or anyone else can ever do will fix that. She'll have to learn to live with it.

As for me, my own journey is changing. Dating and 'finding a new mommy' are part of the next phase of my life. I miss being married, and hope to have that magic again someday. And I would love to find someone with whom I can share life's joys and pains, as well as someone who can share in Rowan's accomplishments and milestones. I want someone in Rowan's life as a role model, and with whom we can model a healthy, happy relationship for her so she knows what she should be able to expect/demand when it's her turn.

I suppose I could write about the adventures of dating as a widower with a child. Possibly there might be some use in that for some readers navigating (or thinking about) that way themselves. But it doesn't feel right to me to share that type of stuff, especially as it involves another person. Dating should be private, so I think I'll keep it that way. I could also write about single parenting, but I suspect there are a great many blogs out there that do so already, and probably better than I could.

I do have two more posts I've been working on for a long, long time. They've both been extremely hard to write, and they're still not quite done. The topics are pretty raw, as are the emotions they bring out in me. But I hope to publish them both within the next week or so. After that...

I may continue to add posts from time to time as new information becomes available about events of December 18 that I can share. Or if new feelings, emotions, or other pitfalls come to me that I feel the need to share in this forum. But otherwise, I think the time has nearly come for me to begin to close this chapter.

Stay tuned for my last couple of posts...

Go On

I recently discovered a new TV show: Go On. I'll get to why I bring this up in just a moment.

First, basic info: It's on NBC, Tuesday nights at 9. But of course I don't watch it then. I DVR it, and then watch episodes when I get to them. The main star is Matthew Perry (of "Friends" fame), a cocky sports radio show host who - get this - lost his wife, and he's in a therapy/support group to help him through it. The show is a sitcom, but there are certainly some poignant moments.

And by now you probably have guessed why I've decided to write about it here.

As a sitcom, it's not bad. And clearly their audience is not widowers - that's not a big enough audience to make a prime time sitcom successful. But there are moments, sweet moments, where Ryan (Matthew Perry's character) remembers things or shares things about his wife, and it really resonates with me. There was an episode where he imagines she's there, and he talks with her for just a few moments, and I wished so hard (for not the first time) that I could do that - make Aimee appear in my head and just... talk to her.

The episode I watched tonight showed another member of the group, who'd lost several members of her family, at her teen daughter's birthday party. Someone asks her how she remains so happy, despite all of her loss. I forget already exactly the quote, but it goes something like this, "You can laugh, or you can cry. I choose to laugh." I know how she feels, but I also know how brutally hard it is to make that choice to laugh, especially early on. In fact, it was impossible for quite some time.

Anyway, I think it's a decent show, and I recommend it. And if you've ever lost someone, you might find a few gems thrown in.

Rough week

It's been a rough week.

I came down with my first bout with the flu a week ago. Of course, that coincided with Donna being out of town for two weeks, so I didn't have the backup I would normally have available. So that left me feeling like hell and trying to take care of Rowan.

Then on Thursday, it was Rowan's turn to get sick.

Luckily for both of us, Rowan's bout of sickness hasn't been as bad as mine. As of this moment, she's in bed coughing up a storm, but overall she's been doing better than me (who's currently on the couch coughing up a storm). Regardless, taking care of a sick kid when you yourself are sick stinks.

After a week of being sick,
I FINALLY got the dishes done

But that's not all of it, really. Earlier tonight I gave her a bath. While she was in the tub, I got some work done that's been LONG over due in our extra bedroom/office. After I got her out of the tub and dried her off, I sent her off to get her her PJ's on. And then I just sat there in the bathroom, towel in my hand, head bowed, and felt so, so tired. Not just from being sick and taking care of Rowan, but from doing this by myself for the last year. I know I shouldn't complain, but man, sometimes it's hard.

In fact, it's damn hard.

It's hard doing all the work. It's hard being responsible all the time. It's hard taking care of Rowan emotionally and physically. It's hard working a full time job. It's hard not having someone take care of me for a while. It's hard doing the laundry, fixing the food, shopping for groceries, cold medicine, toilet paper, dog food, blah, blah, blah.

Don't misunderstand me. The hard part isn't really the doing of all the work. I can do it all, and I have. And I think overall I'm doing it pretty damn well.

But doing it alone is tiring, and lonely, and sad. I liked the companionship of running a family with Aimee. I liked the teamwork we had. I liked how we gave each other breaks, encouraged each other, supported each other. Loved each other.

That's the part that's hard. Missing that partnership, that camaraderie.

Missing Aimee.

Observations after one year of Missing Aimee

Here are just some random observations after a year without Aimee. These are in no particular order.

I can do this single dad stuff. It took a long time to accept that I was a good solo father, but I did get there. I seriously doubted myself so much the first 8-9 months. But I eventually came to see that Rowan was as happy as a child could be in her circumstances (though she obviously carries a lot of pain), and that she she clearly felt loved, safe, and secure. Additionally, she is well behaved, well-mannered, and sweet. No matter what a child's parenting situation, you absolutely can not ask for more than that.

That being said, I can see seeds of the challenges I may face with her. I already see her questioning things about her mothers' death, and I know that some of the worst of her pain is still likely ahead of her, as she gets older and learns more about the circumstances of her mother's death and how needless it was.

Speaking of single parenting... I've known single moms throughout my life (including both of my sisters and my mom for at least some stretches of time), and across the board I've admired them for all they manage to accomplish. This year I learned firsthand just how difficult that is, especially if it happens suddenly and you're hell-bent on continuing to do everything well. I learned how to let go of some things, and how to get by on a lot less sleep.

All you need is love? The Beatles once sang that "All you need is love". Well, I'm not sure I completely believe that, but it sure as hell goes a long way. Aimee's love made my life a truly wonderful experience, even when life was far less than wonderful. And after her death, the love of so many friends and family members was just amazingly huge, I still can't fully wrap my head around it. Meals, gifts, free child care, words of support and encouragement, prayers, and so much more.

But please take this to heart: people can't truly love you in practical ways unless you let them. That means if you ever find yourself in a situation like the one I was in a year ago, when people offer to help, let them! I know it's not easy. Our culture idolizes the strong, and in some ways, that's OK. But when you're down, people want to help you, and you hurt them when you don't let them. You're not imposing on them by accepting their offer, you're recognizing their love for you, and returning it by allowing them to feel like they're alleviating your pain or worry in some small (or big) way. I know. I was exactly like that once, always one to say "Thanks, but I got it" when someone  wanted to help me in my times of trouble. But after I read "90 Minutes in Heaven" by Don Piper in the summer of 2011, I realized just how wrong this mentality is. And it was a lesson learned just in time for when I'd really need it. Now I'm passing it on to you. If you're going through struggles, don't be an ass and try to shoulder the burden yourself when someone offers to help. Let them help.

Choose to live. After Aimee died, I didn't feel like living anymore. Not that I was suicidal - I wasn't. But my joy for life was gone, as was my joy in all things (yes, even Rowan to some extent). But very early on, I decided, largely for the sake of my daughter, to choose to live every day. Not just to physically live, but to actually re-learn to find the beauty in life, to find enjoyment in things, and to feel happy again. It was damn difficult, especially the first six months. "Fake it 'til you make it" the saying goes. That's what I did. And slowly but surely, I found some joy again. Far more importantly I showed Rowan, by my example, that life does go on, and that it can be good if you choose to make it good.

Many days I still have to consciously choose to have a good day and find happiness and joy. It's often still difficult. But it's easier than it was, and it's a far better way to go through life than being miserable and taking those around you with you.

No one else is you.  No two people's grief is the same, and you can't compare your own grief process to that of others and wonder if you're 'doing it right.' There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no right or wrong amount of time before you can laugh again. There is no right or wrong way to remember your lost loved one. There is no right or wrong time before you can find joy. There is no right or wrong amount of time before you can fall in love again. You get the idea. You have to walk your own path, at your own pace, and do what you know in your own heart is truly the best way for you to go. Just keep in mind that this is never an excuse for being callous to the needs of others grieving with you.

Finally, let go of fear. I have had many fears this first year, some of which are still with me to some degree or another. Early on, I was afraid that most of my friends would move on from this tragedy and get on with their lives, and I'd be alone in my grief. And while slowly most of my friends have moved on from this, they haven't done so and left me behind. They've stayed by my side, checking in and just being available when I've needed them. I have not felt alone.

I have also feared for my own safety a lot more. Before, in the back of my mind, I knew that if something happened to me, Rowan would have Aimee. Now I'm it. I am more cautious than I used to be. More paranoid in dark parking lots, that sort of thing. I don't know if that will change. Perhaps it shouldn't.

There have been others. Fear about being a terrible parent. Fear that I won't find love again. Fear that our household won't be able to get by on one income. And so on and so forth. I have had to either learn that the fear was unfounded (I'm not a terrible parent), or that I'll just have to do what I can to address it, such as simply being more careful with my health and well-being.

I have chosen to live, but I will not do so enveloped in fear.

What I have that Rowan doesn't

As Christmas approached, I began to realize that watching Rowan open her presents without someone to share that joy with was going to be pretty sad for me. Fortunately, my mom had anticipated that and let me know that she wanted to be at my house for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. The closer it got, the more glad I was.

On Christmas Eve, after Rowan went to bed (and finally fell asleep), I started wrapping the last of the presents, stuffing the stocking, and eating Santa's cookies (I'm sure this tradition was started by a parent with a sweet tooth as an excuse to get more cookies - I must thank them). All the while my mom sat and talked with me about anything and everything, like we have since as long as I can remember.

On Christmas morning we watched Rowan together as she opened up all of her gifts, delighted over and over again at the wonderful surprises she found in each package. And I thought more than once that this is the sort of thing Aimee loved most - seeing Rowan in her joy and delight was Aimee's greatest joy and delight. I miss Aimee most in those moments, largely because I can't share them with her.

But at least this time, I was able to share the moment with my mom.

As I reflected on this later, I realized this it is in times like these we need our moms the most. Not just the boo-boos and scraped knees of our childhood, or the excitement of scoring soccer goals or piano recitals, or even the pain of navigating high school dating or the excitement of getting our driver's license. It's also when we're adults, with families of our own, and life comes along and deals us a nasty blow, and that inner child in us longs to have our mommy there to comfort us.

My mommy is still here, and when I need her, she's there for me.

Rowan's isn't.

This put Rowan's loss in such a greater scale than I'd ever seen it before. I mean, I know that once you have children you're a parent for life. But the full scope of how important that is didn't really hit me until I noticed how grateful I was to my own mother for being there on Christmas morning. Rowan will have people that love her, but no one loves you like your mother, and Rowan will never have that again. Not through the scrapes, recitals, dating pains, or significant blows dealt by life. I'll be there as long as God allows, and I know that will be good for Rowan, but it won't be the same.

This is the magnitude of the loss suffered on that terrible day.

I saw Aimee's legacy yesterday

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of the day Aimee died. While I muddled through the day, something amazing was happening, and I became slowly aware of it as the day passed. And even now, a day later, I am utterly blown away when I think of it.

Someone, I don't know who, apparently suggested to some of my and Aimee's circle of friends that a good way to honor Aimee on that day was to do random acts of kindness for others. Aimee was such a compassionate person, and that was apparent not only in her interpersonal interactions, but also in her desire to help everyone from the homeless, the mentally ill, and vulnerable women and children in developing countries. And with Aimee, desire to help never stopped at just a desire, but would one way or another translate into some kind of action.

That's what seemed to happen yesterday.

I'm sure I don't know all of what was done in Aimee's name yesterday, but I heard of a number of acts of kindness including donations made to charitable organizations, buying coffee or groceries for others, and giving up places in long lines. There were more that I heard about, and I'm sure others I didn't hear about.

It's a beautiful tribute to a beautiful spirit. I am absolutely certain that if Aimee were alive to see this all done in her honor, she would have cried tears of humble happiness to have known how her own life had made such an impression. I have to believe that somehow, up in heaven, she is being shown that the light she lived with here is living on in her impact on others.

And now, dear friends and readers, I ask you this: don't make it a one-and-done event.

My daughter LOVES her balloons!

Aimee was far from some crusader who spent every day in service to humanity. But she was a person who, when confronted with an opportunity to do good, embraced it. If her life is to truly make a lasting impact, I think all of us who knew her need to follow her example on an ongoing basis. It doesn't have to be anything huge, just small acts of kindness and compassion when the opportunities arise.

On a side note, big thanks to those who got Donna's email about sending balloons to my daughter and then did so. Thanks to you, she was thrilled by all of them and had had a great time playing in them. On the other hand, I have to figure out what to do with nearly 150 balloons which are now filling up my entire dining area and much of my living room. :)  It's a nice problem to have.

1 Year: Aimee's Tribute Video

Set to the music of two songs: "Angel", by Sarah McLachlan, and "Shiny Eyes", by Flatfoot 56. The first song was chosen as it was one Aimee really liked. The second one was used on her father's tribute video less than a year earlier, and Aimee's brother Justin thought it was fitting to use it again here.

Many thanks to Steve Bartlett for creating this video, and doing it for free on short notice.

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On today, the anniversary of the day that my beloved Aimee was released to be with the other angels back in heaven, I am spending it the following way:

• Dropping Rowan off at school
• Visiting with Pastor Kevin, the lead pastor from my church
• Spending much of the rest of the day in quiet reflection
• Meeting Rowan as she gets home from school
• Spending time with her (see below)
• Spending some time with friends, 'hitting the reset button' as Aimee used to say, doing something to get a reprieve after what I know will be a very tough day

I've spent a lot of time the last couple of months trying to determine what I want to do with Rowan to recognize this day. I wanted to find something that would be appropriate for Rowan to do at any age, and one that would not be geographically specific, so she could do it anywhere, no matter where she lives during her life. I also wanted whatever it was to become a tradition that she could observe for the rest of her life, or at least as long as she felt it necessary.

After considering and discarding many ideas, I finally settled on one I like: we're going to write a letter to mommy. She'll tell me what she wants to say, and I'll write it down. She also wants to draw pictures to go with it, which I think is sweet. I'll save all of them, and put them in her memory chest (a subject for another, soon to be written blog post) so that she'll be able to go back and read them any time she wants for the rest of her life.

I don't care about tomorrow

"I don't care about tomorrow"

Aimee and I on our wedding day

I don't care about tomorrow
It's just another day
No matter what, you'll still be gone
Just like you were today

I don't care about tomorrow
A cold December day
I'll miss you like I miss you now
I miss you every day

I don't care about tomorrow
Whether skies are blue or grey
The hole you left can't just be filled
No matter what they say

No, I don't care about tomorrow
You're not here anyway
But thanks so much for all you gave
Your mark is here to stay


Rest in peace, Aimee.

Nightmare: The first week without Aimee

Continuing from my last post, this is the first week (actually, almost two weeks) after Aimee's death as summarized by my Facebook posts. It seems to be a more concise a clearer way to recall what was going on.

I shared this yesterday, but in case you missed it, I posted this the morning after Aimee's death:

Then, as the day wore on, I posted these:

As it turned out, one other person had been trapped and essentially 'died'; he was apparently unconscious and not breathing when he was pulled form the water. Efforts to revive him were successful. He was taken to a hospital in Miami, where I know he stayed for some time. As far as I know, he recovered from his physical injuries.

This blog was started the day after Aimee's death. To say it has been therapeutic would be a gross understatement.

If you're interest, the above post is here.

And this one is here.

The visit to the funeral home before heading to the airport in Miami may just be the closest thing to hell I'll ever experience (God willing). It's not that they did anything wrong - they were respectful, helpful, and sensitive. It's just that the last thing I ever wanted to be doing, EVER, but especially at the end of a great vacation, was making arrangements for my dead wife's body to be moved around. 

Then there was the trip home:

This trip was a nightmare. Our nerves were already raw. And while I love Donna, she can get on my nerves (you know, the ones that were so raw) sometimes. Combining little to no sleep for two days for either of us, delayed travel, long hours, a late night, and oh yeah, a dead loved one, well, it was bound to blow up. And it did.

I'm not proud of this, but the last of several arguments between Donna and I on the way home concluded with me telling her that if she wasn't careful, I'd cut her off from Rowan. That really, really hurt her, and I immediately felt like crap for saying it. I apologized, but the damage was done, and it took several days before she thawed out a bit and forgave me. Ridiculously, we'd been talking about how to raise Rowan, a ludicrous conversation to have been having at that point in time anyway. And Donna has been utterly amazing this past year, a true blessing to both Rowan and I. People, take note: don't try to even pretend to have a serious conversation when racked with grief and lacking sleep.

We got home well after midnight, where we were met by the pastor from my church, Kevin, and his wife Charlotte. We didn't need a ride or anything, they just felt like someone ought to be there for us, and met us there. It was an incredibly nice gesture.

Again, if you want to read this post, it's here. 

This was the first of two trips to the local funeral home, the second trip (and far longer one) being the next day - Christmas Eve. Christmas is by far my favorite holiday, but I will always remember having to spend hours at a funeral home on this Christmas Eve. But it had to be done. Had to get Aimee's body here from Florida, arrange for a viewing for Donna. After that, Aimee was to be cremated.

The moment described in this post is one of the most heart-wrenching moments I've ever had. It talks about how, when we got home from the airport, Rowan saw Aimee's car in the driveway and for the briefest moment thought Aimee was at home. 

After the funeral home visit on Christmas Eve, I went home,picked up Rowan, and took her to see Santa. This smile belies how nervous and ill at ease she was. Took six attempts before we got a usable photo.

As you can see from this last post, the day of Aimee's memorial got off to a terrible start. Rowan threw up about every hour to an hour and half all night. I got essentially no sleep. Rowan was sick all day. I was praying I wouldn't get it before the memorial (I didn't - I got it the next night, and not nearly as bad).

Then, had to get ready for the memorial...

As it turned out, the entire memorial went off without a hitch. If you want to read about it, you can find that in this post. The video of the song we performed, along with a great performance of Aimee's favorite hymn, "Come Thou Fount", can be found here.And I will post the tribute video tha came at the end of the service in my post tomorrow.

"Now begins life without her..."

Now begins life without her...

Now begins life without her...

Wow.

Sandy Hook

I'm upset. Angry. Heartbroken.

I keep seeing two images from the deadly tragedy. The first is a line of children being led across a parking lot, and one little girl in particular is sobbing. And I think about how horrendous it is when children are forced to face death in ways even most adults shouldn't have to. I think of the terrible fear those poor kids must have felt when the gunshots started. I think of kids that saw their friends or teachers being shot, and how that trauma is going to be with them for life.

I think of kids trying to figure out how to cope with the death of people they knew and loved. I think of how children that young should never have to face death in such a close, personal way. I think of that because after a year of watching Rowan go through it I know how hard it is.

The other image that stays with me is the image of a man, presumably a father of one of the victims, leaning with his head against a car window, crying (now I can't find it again). While I do know loss, I can't fathom the loss of my child, especially in such a senseless, tragic way. I pray to God I never do know that pain (and I think of Donna as I say that).

I have been fighting tears all day. I'm sure I'm especially sensitive to this due to the nearness of the one year anniversary of Aimee's death, but I've been more sensitive to these types of things ever since she died last year. The empathy I feel for people who experience sudden loss has been magnified dramatically since last December. I imagine parents, husbands, or wives getting that phone call or that knock on the door, and getting that terrible news. Thinking of them going through that brings back with sick clarity the moment when Justin came through the door of that house with the news that Aimee was dead, and remembering that what made it hit home was seeing those policemen and others standing at the door. That's when I knew without a doubt that this was real. And then my mind goes back to these families going through that experience themselves, and my heart just breaks all over again for every one of them.

The only hope I have is this:

And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:4, NKJV

That verse (which was at the end of Aimee's tribute video) is one of the greatest comforts in times like this. I know not everyone believes what I believe, and that's fine. But for me, I can not imagine how I could possibly have any hope in this world if I didn't know in my heart that ultimately God will redeem all the bad and evil for good, and that His perfect will and justice will prevail.

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PS. I know many people feel very strongly about gun rights and gun control laws in when events like this happen. I would ask that this blog post not be used for those discussions. There are more appropriate forums for those discussions, and I prefer to focus on more universal concepts at this time, such as our shared grief over tragedies such as this. Thanks.