Category: The Healing Journey

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Delaware Fun-A-Day 18: Peace Between Animals

Compassion. Evolution. Creativity.

Westen, 10-going-on-teen, started this scene with a hunter looking for prey. In real life, we got the opportunity to purchase this white wolf and it seemed like the perfect challenge for his minifigure.

Westen cleverly staged the scene, awaiting the meet-up with the wolf’s former owner.

We got the wolf and I wasn’t paying attention as the scene was finished.

I saw the hunter lying beside the build and asked, “Westen, are you going to finish your scene?” He had built a small platform for the minifigure that blended with the surroundings and allowed for a variety of positions, I was eager to see these considerations incorporated.

“It’s ready, Dad.”

“But what about the hunter?”

“The wolf looked too peaceful, so he’s just hanging with his bunny buddy.”

It instantly became a spirit journey scene for me. I wonder if he’s the bunny riding through a peaceful wood on his mama’s back. I wonder how much good happens when we gather around the Lego table and build side-by-side.

Mary overlooks our work. We made this figure for the bowsprit of a fantastical boat we built together in the weeks after losing her.

She loved building with her boys and she was the queen of sorting. She had an organized mind, I could never keep up with her.

She might be aghast at sacrificing our largest room exclusively to Lego, but I think she’d allow some leeway under the circumstances.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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No Losing, Just Learning

Someone tried to step on this child’s dreams this weekend.

It nearly broke my heart.

This morning I watched this match from Sunday. Westen’s opponent is bigger and stronger. He has an advantage position early on that leveraged his weight against Westen’s.

Westen’s skill and speed are significant in his game, but he’s got deeper qualities that make him unstoppable through wins and losses.

He doesn’t give up, he doesn’t stop believing in the win, he doesn’t stop working. After physically and mentally crushing losses he’s asked, “When’s the next tournament?” He doesn’t know how to lose, he only knows how to learn. And damn if he doesn’t learn quickly.

I’m sure he was listening to the other coach (I was standing behind him, his voice is clear on the video). We’ve noticed that kids will follow coach instructions literally and immediately, giving Westen an easy way to predict the next opening.

But it’s not tactics that give Westen this win. It’s the opponent’s coach. “Not that, don’t do that, oh, don’t do that,” with laughter from the sideline. This kid’s lifeline, the one thing he trusted to get him the win, laughing and giving up. Westen’s a shark hungry for hesitation and indecisiveness. He uses his speed to take a stronger position (one he says he’s never tried), then slows down to work the breath out of his opponent. He takes his little frame and presses every ounce of it deep into the earth, planting his foe beneath him. By the time he losses his balance and the kid gets up, Westen is watching the him turn blue and silently praying he’ll tap.

It’s a brutal exercise, to play a game that is more real than any other I know. I can’t help but think that his body was acting out against the person who tried to muscle his dreams away. He may not have the tools to verbally justify a dream that would be impossible for an earlier generation, but he has the heart, potential, and work ethic to overcome seemingly insurmountable opposition.

To the point on coaching: Kevin from Elevated Studios has coached both boys in competition and his style is so right for them. He’s soft spoken, minimalist in direction, only talks about the next move, and trusts. They know it and trust him back. His tone is even and he never betrays a lack of confidence in the chance for a win.

I needed this video. I forget that my sons don’t need me barking out every move or deriding their mistakes. They need my trust and love. They are powerful on their own. If I’m a quiet, trusting coach, no one can crush them. They can’t lose, they can only learn.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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My Best Valentine’s Day

And I’m taking all the credit.

Not long ago I was afraid of my passion for life. It started with sadness and crying. I bottled up these inconvenient things and subsequently made myself more shallow across the emotional spectrum.

It took widowhood and parenting two boys who had lost their mother for me to embrace the depth of my pain. I did it for them at first, to model acceptance that it was okay to be sad. I learned that I was to find myself again in those deep, dark places.

Grief took its turns dragging me down into the black and I recognized a greater light each time it let me up for air.

The sun shines brighter on this day than any before it because I know how dark the night can be.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Not According to Plan

My sons got up for adventures in the night and fell asleep on the floor of our living room. They wouldn’t be woken for church, okay no big deal, if we don’t honor and care for our bodies we can’t honor and care for God. I eventually rallied them for a Chinese New Year celebration at Delaware Art Museum, but the younger stayed cranky…for five hours. The only thing to sort him out was time back in our home neighborhood with his friends.

I was wiped out from trying to please him and napped before discovering that our water heater was leaking somewhat dramatically. At the same time I learned a close friend was having heating issues and could use my help. This all hit the fan as I was due to go to a soccer game this evening. Fortunately, we played our butts off and I escaped my responsibilities for a good 55 minutes. My girlfriend let me use her shower after the game and my boys and I got home safely, all blessings. I really wanted to teamwork on our Delaware Fun-A-Day at some point today. I was still hopefully pushing the idea as we got home, but my sons had not yet decided to be cooperative.

We’ll have to catch up on our Lego art projects, a busted water heater, and a friend in need tomorrow. Instead of pushing to tonight, I’m recognizing my limits and taking care of myself.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Walking the Walk in Christ’s Footsteps

Energy. My wife and I could feel it the first time we visited Aldersgate United Methodist Church. From potluck dinners and member-led Bible studies to food drives and homeless outreach missions to the countless efforts being made by the clergy and congregation, we felt that this was an active faith community. It was a community where our talents could come to use.

Mary was always a giver, volunteering at Ronald McDonald House and Sunday Breakfast Mission, organizing many service opportunities through her position at Bank of America, and donating blood to award-winning levels.

I’ve modestly continued her amazing ways by saying “Yes,” as often as I can to chances to serve our community. Fortunately, Aldersgate offers many such opportunities.

This week we were able to help deliver canned food and monetary donations to several local charities, including Neighborhood House in the Southbridge neighborhood of Wilmington, Delaware.

For me, there is no separation between “acts” and “love.” We must act, there is no choice. We choose to love. When we choose love in every possible moment we will act in love.

Mary chose love. She acted in love. Through Aldersgate I not only get to act in love, but I get to visit Mary’s resting place while doing so. Her remains are at the memorial columbarium there, a beautiful, quiet place I often visit and share with friends.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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“I don’t know what to say.”

It’s made me angry to hear those words. Of course you don’t know what to say. This is my pain, you can’t know it and have no right to comment on it.

I flipped that on myself to start to understand other people. Accepting their pain for what it is, finding the bravery to shut up and let it touch me. I’ve gotten better at listening and, on rare occasion, having something useful to say.

I’ve also discovered that bravery is the right word. This week I experienced loss through friends and it shook me. I didn’t know what to say, I could hardly listen, and the pain was so great I couldn’t think. I was, and still am to a degree, trapped in that pain.

There are moments that can’t be helped or fixed, they must be felt. That sucks. That really sucks when laundry and dishes call, when someone you love is coming to dinner, and when your beautifully nerdy sons are asking to go to the library.

So here I feel. I know the path through, I’m finding the patience and trust to continue.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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#WTF Single Widowed Parent Dating

It was almost a year after losing my wife that I went on my first date. It was a friendship that became romantic. We eased my sons into the idea by holding hands and hugging a little longer than usual. I saw my older, Westen, nine at the time, watching closely. We stole kisses here and there. We weren’t very careful and didn’t think much of it. He saw us once. His reaction seemed exaggerated and we thought it was a game, so we kissed again. It wasn’t a game. He was upset to the point of angry, despaired crying. I feel guilt over mismanaging that moment.

He said it wasn’t the kiss, but how we kissed, “You didn’t kiss Mom like that.”

“Fuuuck.” The word consumed my brain so that I almost spoke it. He was right. I loved Mary with everything I had and she loved me with all that she had. I was passionate for her, but she couldn’t reciprocate. We talked and agonized over it for years, looking for a place to meet and be happy in romance. We didn’t get the chance to figure it out. It’s the only question I have left about our marriage.

What do our children need to know about that? I want them to know that relationships take work and that you can love someone and have differences and you will have obstacles to master. I want them to be comfortable with the physical expression of love. To know their own needs and ask for them to be met. I want to show them all the things that love means: faith, communication, passion, patience, nurturing, empathy…

When I was a little younger than Westen, my parents were openly passionate for each other. I loved that. When I was his age I watched the passion disappear. I told myself I wanted that previous state, even if I didn’t understand it. I wanted kids and a wife I couldn’t keep my hands off. I’m the luckiest guy, I got my childhood dream.

Now I get to dream again. I get to love after love. I get to model what it means to be a gentleman, to be kind and strong, to have boundaries, to love oneself, to court a beautiful woman, and show as much care for myself as I do for her.

It all feels so damn right, then a year passes, then another kiss, then another meltdown.

I came here writing hoping to find my tragic flaw. Hamlet’s indecisiveness? Lear’s hubris? Othello’s jealousy? But I’m not a tragic figure. I’ve journeyed into the hinterlands, slayed the dragons, and come back with the girl.

Maybe it’s time to accept that Westen’s journey is his own. He’s been through hell. He’s slayed his own dragons. He’s as brave and strong as anyone I know. Maybe I can’t help him through his next steps.

It’s really hard to say that about a ten-year-old boy. It takes all the love and trust and faith I write about.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I’ve been waiting a year to write it and couldn’t have done it until now. The problem feels less intractable now. This one was really just for me, but I sure hope it can help someone else.

God bless,

Jason

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Identity, Meditation, and Widowhood

Maybe is was straight loneliness. Or the cacophonous din of our unschooling life set against the heavy silences of morning and night. It was largely a recognition that my mind was broken.

I was blessed that Mary’s death didn’t break my heart or spirit. She didn’t betray me, our love was immortalized in her final moments. But my mind, the map that made sense of the world…that was torn and crumpled. I had visions of it shattered into a million purple shards, spinning away into blackness. I was lost. My identity was cast into the darkness and I could not find it. My mind had not solely been my own. Mary and I mapped our world together. The patterns in our brains coincided, meshed, intertwined, even stopped and started somewhere between us. Each of those connections were snapped at jagged angles. A lifetime of two minds working in accordance dashed against the rocks.

I could still reliably play “father.” And I found myself playing “husband” with ease, but without intention. We weren’t even dating, but I found a woman to play house. Like a child I was all too ready to be an avatar of “dad.” That was when I saw that I was a shell, a marionette being played by ideas that were no longer true (Were they ever true?).

Alcoholism, identity, a psychological break…I took them all on at the same time. Affirmations, guided meditations, books, AA meetings and coffee meetups, workshops, webinars, yoga, support groups, traditional therapy, prayer…I tried it all, often desperately seeking a silver bullet for my lack of self awareness.

There was something in each effort. I remember the pieces slowly appearing in each labyrinth walk and each awkward attempt at quieting my mind. I needed all the trys. It was the slowest and most painful attempt I had made at anything in my life. It’s not over, but I’ve come up for air to recognize the progress I’ve made. I love myself more each day. The journey has simplified to a couple affirmations (I love myself, I approve of myself, I trust myself) and an unending mantra of gratitude for all that I have been gifted by God.

I have learned that my Self does not need a name, but it does need love. Every day, as often as I can give it.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Set Myself Up For The Ambush

I regularly reach out to widows and frequently write about widowhood, so it’s no surprise that I’m also approached by the widowed who are looking for answers and understanding.

Part of my mission in this life is to share my experiences and help those in similar circumstances learn their own courage.

So when a friend came to me with the horrible news that her friend had suddenly lost her young husband, it was no surprise that I was the one getting the message.

I wasn’t ready. I was high on enjoying a rare, quiet moment without my sons before a night out.

It became instant tears, anger, and sadness. Why must I be reminded while I’m trying to live a partially normal life?

Life works better when I own up to the odd turns of fate that brought me to this moment. Everything is more coherent under the lens of particularity.

It’s a weird thing to be a widower with children. It’s a weirder thing to be an unschooling father in those conditions.

I’m better off when I embrace the weird.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason