When Aimee's mother met my new girlfriend

This is one of those posts I wrote months ago (last spring, actually), but didn't feel like it was a good time to post it. Obviously, some things have changed since then.

Donna has been aware of my dating Sarah since basically the beginning. While she'd been very supportive of the idea of me getting out and dating again, once I was actually dating someone, it became a little harder for her, at least initially. There was no way around it - in a way, I was on my way to replacing her daughter. Donna saw that eventually someone else was going to fill some of the roles that Aimee had filled, particularly Aimee's roles as my companion and as Rowan's mother. And I realized that if I did in fact get remarried someday, that would also potentially bring in new grandparents, aunts, uncles, and more. More relatives to share attention with. More people 'competing' for Rowan's time, attention, and possibly affection. (Donna doesn't care a whit about getting my attention.) :)

But I give Donna a huge amount of credit. She also remembered what it was like to lose a spouse, and she completely understood my desire to find companionship again. I also assured her that seeing someone for more than a few months did not automatically indicate wedding bells in our future. This would take time.

So she continued to be supportive and understanding, and she trusted how I handled things with Rowan. It also continued to be hard for her, but she bucked up and bore it.

And then Donna and Sarah met.

I was preparing to go out of town for work for a few days, and Donna came by the house to pick up Rowan. Sarah was there spending a few hours with me before I left, and I let Donna know that Sarah was there so it wouldn't catch her off guard. Donna said that was fine.

When she arrived, the three of us (Sarah, Rowan, and I) were out in front of my house enjoying the last bit of sunshine of the day. As Donna got out of her car, she immediately walked over to Sarah and hugged her. I was amazed. In that one brief moment, Donna put Sarah at ease and her own discomfort aside, and welcomed her.

I honestly didn't know what to expect, but that wasn't it. Seeing Donna's reaction was so heartwarming to me, knowing that she'd do whatever she had to to support me - I just appreciated it so much. And it reminded me once again how lucky I am to have the people in my life that I do.

Everyone else has also been extremely supportive, both of me dating again, and of Sarah specifically. Although Donna is the only person from Aimee's family to meet Sandra, Justin and Caroline have expressed a desire to do so, and support us being together (as of when this was originally written last spring). The same for Aimee's closest friends.

As I said, I am truly a blessed man.

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.

Extremely pissed

OK, I have to let this out...

One subject I have stayed away from on this blog (for several reasons) is the "WHY" behind Aimee's death. Or maybe the HOW, as it were. And I have sure stayed the hell away from talking about the WHO. I have tried to stay out of a lot of anger, and kept the focus on more positive things. Most of the time that works. But let's face facts here, people.

Aimee's death did not need to happen.

Her death was not caused by some freak accident or act of God.

Rowan & Aimee test train whistles
the morning of Christmas, 2010

It was caused by a series of decisions made by other people. Some of those decisions, from my perspective, appear to have been sheer stupidity. Others were reckless, and the risks of those decisions known by those that made them.

Aimee was an innocent victim.

And she wasn't the only one.

As Christmas approaches, I can't help but wondering what this season is like for those people. I'll bet none of them are sad and depressed about a loved one they recently lost at someone else's hand. I'll bet they aren't consoling a small child missing her mommy in the midst of what should be one of the most fun, happy times of the year for a four year old. I'll bet they aren't staring at a stocking hung by the fireplace that is empty, and forever will be, because the person it belongs to is dead.

They're lucky. They're lucky they don't have to deal with the death of a wife/mother/daughter/sister/friend. And they're lucky that for various reasons, I have chosen not to dwell on them and what they did, and rather focus on where Aimee is now and how to be the best father I can to our daughter.

They're really damn lucky.

This month, they're probably going to holiday parties, and doing gift or ornament exchanges, and eating great food and spending time with family and friends. Maybe they'll sit by a fireplace and open presents from under a Christmas tree. They'll laugh, they'll have fun.

They'll enjoy the company of their loved ones.

Well, we're doing those things to. But we can't stop the tears from frequently coming when we remember that one of our loved ones is gone.

They screwed up, we're the ones being punished. They made the mistakes, we're the ones suffering the loss. We're told from an early age that life isn't fair. Well, it's not. Sometimes it's a downright bitch.

Have a merry fucking Christmas, you bastards.

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I'd like to say more about how Aimee died, what happened, what caused it, and so on. But I can't. After almost a year, the final report from the Coast Guard is still not public, at least not last time I checked (about 6-8 weeks ago). Furthermore, I'm assuming (hoping) some sort of legal action is likely still pending, though I don't know for sure. Either way, I am simply not in a position to talk more about what happened out on that boat that day. As soon as I can, I will.

Final preparations for 'goodbye'

It's surreal.

Check trail conditions, get diretions (I haven't been there in nine years), pack food, camera, water. Sounds like any other hiking trip. Oh, except, don't forget the wooden box of Aimee's ashes.



This box contains the vast majority
of Aimee's ashes

By the time many of you read this, we'll be on our way to Mount Pilchuck. It should be an interesting hike, considering the latest report I can find from the trail, from last Saturday, says there's as much as 16" of snow at the summit, and at least some snow the entire way. Since then, it spent several days raining here, which in the mountains likely means more snow. I really hope the trail is even open, and we can make this journey. Ironically, I've been recalling that original hike from nine years ago, when the weather was perfect - sunny and temps in the 60's or so - and not a trace of snow anywhere.

As I mentioned in my post the other day ("Collision Course"), my therapist told me how important this was as a way for me to say goodbye in a way that I had control over, unlike the day she died. But it hasn't been that simple.

My goodbye is not anyone else's goodbye, but to some of them it seems to feel like I'm imposing that.

I'm thinking of Donna in particular. She is having a VERY hard time with this. We had a good talk last night. Well, I talked and she cried and talked through her tears. Bottom line, she is not ready to say goodbye, and may never be. I get that. In most cases, the loss of a child is so much different, and deeper, than the loss of a spouse. If I try to see things from her perspective, I've moved out Aimee's clothes, gave away many of Aimee's books, packed up her jewelry and other personal effects (saved for Rowan in a large black trunk), and sold Aimee's car. Now I'm literally getting rid of Aimee herself, or at least what's left of her physical presence. It's easier for Donna to see what is gone than what I've kept, and that's understandable. She insisted she wasn't angry with me at all, just hurt at the loss of her daughter. But regardless, this event is really hard for her to accept.

The pain seems rooted in one major difference between Donna and I in this grief - I need to, can, and will move on. Donna can't and won't. I don't say that with even an ounce of recrimination. It's the nature of our different relationships we had with Aimee, and the different way we process grief. Donna clings to physical abjects and reminders. I cling to memories and emotions.

And some of those memories are tied up in tangible objects. I kept cards Aimee gave me. My wedding ring. Her wedding dress. Lots and lots of photos, letters, and journals.

But this 'object', this box of ashes, this is going to go. It's essentially the last thing of hers that I'm holding onto that I ultimately don't want to keep. Besides, it was her wish that her ashes be scattered. And I've known I needed to do this since shortly after Aimee's death.

So I, along with my best friend, will hike that mountain (God willing), and set Aimee free in the beautiful nature she loved so much.

And I will say my goodbye.

The biggest piece of Aimee to go is gone tomorrow

Goodbye, old maroon Toyota Corolla.

Aimee's car has been the biggest tangible object of hers still around. It caused some tears when Rowan and I first arrived home from Florida. Justin and Caroline used for the month they stayed here after Aimee's death. Then is sat in front of Donna's house, a constant, silent reminder, for the next seven months after that. A couple of weeks ago, Donna finally brought it to my place, so I could clean it up and sell it.


A potential buyer came by yesterday, decided to take it, and is picking it up tomorrow.

The somewhat infamous maroon Toyota will be gone. (Infamous because the interior of Aimee's car looked like she was homeless and living in that car. With a hairy dog that shed a lot. The exterior wasn't much better.)

I never was much attached to that car. I used to tease Aimee about it and she's give me the evil eye and say that her car was a "right par-ful drivin' m'chine" in a mock redneck accent (she was from rural Indiana, after all). But Donna, who expresses her feelings more through tangible objects, cries every time she thinks about Aimee's car being gone (I jokingly offered to sell it to her to leave in front of her house, but she laughed and said her neighbors wanted that eyesore out of the neighborhood). And Rowan is attached to it as well. Until Aimee's death, Rowan spent much more of her first 3 1/2 years riding in that car with her mommy than she did in mine. Several times in the last couple of weeks, she's wanted to just go sit in Aimee's car. And since I took it to get the oil changed today, I took Rowan to school in it. Her voice broke this morning as she told me she was going to be sad when mommy's car was gone.

I consoled her as best as I could, and tried to shift her attention to things of Aimee's were keeping, like her wedding dress (which Rowan LOVES). That seemed to significantly improve her outlook, but I suspect there may be a few more tears between now and tomorrow.

No matter what, that car is one of the last, and certainly the biggest piece of Aimee that we still have.

And soon, it too will be gone.

Getting it from both sides

Lately I'm getting it from both sides.

Over the past couple of weeks, Rowan has become more and more open about Aimee's death, and the fact that she misses her mommy. We talk about it more, look at pictures more, and have even started watching some of the video from the Florida trip over the last two days (more on that later). I'm glad, because I don't want Rowan to bottle it up, but it's also hard. I hate to see Rowan's obvious sadness, and the occasional comment or question I just don't know how to respond to.

On the other side, Aimee's mom is becoming a basket case lately. It's COMPLETELY understandable - Aimee's birthday is coming up soon. As a parent, I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to face the birthday of a child you lost prematurely and for no good reason. But it means that EVERY time I've seen her over the last week, she's cried. A LOT. And clutches me and cries into my shoulder or neck. I know she's heartbroken, but taking on and trying to help her through her grief while ALSO trying to help Rowan, well, it's really wearing me down. Especially when you consider I'm far from chipper myself.

Donna and Rowan planting
flowers last summer

The latest episode was last night. Donna wasn't even supposed to come by, but she'd picked up some flowers for Rowan (very sweet of her) and stopped by to give them to her. The previous night she'd asked me about video of Aimee, and after she'd left I'd located our video camera. There are several videos we shot in Florida, some of them a lot of fun, and there are parts where you not only see Aimee and hear her voice, but a couple of places where she's laughing with this pure, joyful glee at the silliness happening in those moments. Rowan and I watched a few last night (at Rowan's request, once she saw the camera), and then again tonight. When Donna arrived, I asked her if she wanted to see a few of them.

She did.

And she sobbed. She grabbed me, dug her fingers into my shoulders and sobbed into my chest. All I could do was hold her.

I don't think things will get better for Donna until after Aimee's birthday. And like I said before, I totally get it. But good God it is hard to be an emotional support for her, and for Rowan, and deal with my own shit that lately has threatened to drive me crazy. Maybe that's why the anger has finally started to really hit me. I spent most of the day today just livid, and not at anyone or anything in particular, but just ready to scream or break something.

Rowan and I are going to get away for a few days. Probably couldn't have come at a better time.

Besides, I need Donna to get a better handle on things before my and Aimee's anniversary comes along. As much as Aimee's birthday is hard for Donna, our anniversary is the date I'm dreading.

One month ago today, we lost...

One month ago today...

Rowan lost her mother.
Her playmate. Her comforter. Her teacher. Her mentor. Her corrector. Her friend. Her inspiration.

Donna lost her daughter.
Her friend. Her comforter. Her supporter. Her confidant. Her sounding board. Her counselor. Her advisor.

Justin lost his sister.
His mentor. His example. His embodiment of kindness, love, service and tolerance. His example of a Christ-like life.

I lost my wife.
My friend. My lover. My partner. My fellow parent of Rowan. My verbal sparring buddy. My supporter. My advisor. My better half. My sounding board. My comforter.

Aimee's coworkers lost a valuable and loved colleague. Her clients lost a therapist that they knew really truly cared about them and worked hard to help them. Aimee's friends lost the same.
The world lost an angel. A light among the darkness.

Oh, what a great loss for this world, and what a huge hole left in so many lives.