HAPPY FATHER'S DAY - Bereaved Fathers are the Bravest Dads

Still Standing Mag

The loss of a loved one in our life can be crippling and leave deep scars; it changes who

we are, how we look at life and how we relate with the world.

Five or six years out is still early grief but at a point where real rebuilding can begin.

In the first few years, we mechanically maintain, weep a lot and lick our wounds while

clinging desperately to everything of our loved one and may in secret wish to join them.

We rejoin the real world at our own time, and it happens when its right for us.

Everyone’s journey is different, but what remains the same is the huge void left in our lives.

In today’s society, it is especially difficult for men in grief to grieve openly, caught in a catch 22

of how to express the deep pain they are experiencing yet not show weakness.

Men don’t cry; men do not emote, men do not hug (maybe at the funeral) men don’t go to

support groups, men don’t call in sick because they are screaming inside, we are the man

of the family.

Fathers are viewed as the fix it guys, the protector, the strength and the rock the family needs

for support.

More times than not people will ask a bereaved father, “How is your wife doing? This must be

extremely hard for her.”

I understand their compassion and intent but cannot help feeling marginalized.

Today, fortunately, men are now given (mostly by women and therapists) license to show

emotions, to cry, scream, hug and express their deepest feelings and fears, to let it out.

The irony of this is if he does emote and the family has never seen this behavior, it can

be taken as a sign of weakness.

The spouse and other family members may feel they have lost their safety net, their rock of

support, and feel even more helpless and rudderless on an already difficult journey.

If this happens, a man may again ‘clam up’ to help with his family and deal with

his pain later.

He finds that ‘letting it out’ is an axiom of sophistry and in doing so he feels he is letting his

family down.

Indeed a paradox for the want-to-be-sensitive man.

Most men cry alone in their cars on the way to work, and they explain that the red eyes are

due to allergies or late at night.

When my father died when I was age 14, my Mom told me I was the man of the family now;

I did not cry; I did not grieve.

It was not until years later, and my losses became overwhelming did I finally let it out and

express my emotions for the loss of my father.

It has been 26 years now since my son Kelly died, and I still cry with my wife when we feel

our loss together or even when I hear a particular song on the radio.

I do not care who is present; you love hard you grieve hard, and it is supposed to hurt.

When you recognize your pain and express it, you automatically become more empathetic

to others in similar pain and can help relieve theirs and doing so reduce your own.

People will often tell us to find closure, to move on, or put it behind us; forgive them they

know not what they do.

We may find a resolution to our pain, but we never have closure of someone we love.

We don’t move on; we move with; we don’t put it behind us we walk with it.

Our loved ones are forever by our side, only in a new relationship.

We live in one sphere of existence, they in another, but with faith, undying love and the

desire we can connect at the seam where our two worlds meet.

They become our rock.

In America, we are allowed a few weeks to “get over it” and get back on track.

I find this unacceptable; it has been 26 years, and I still talk about my son every day and always

well.

Regardless of gender, we are human, we feel we hurt, we need comfort, we need to

express our pain, we need hugs, allow them and give them.

There is no shame in grief and honest emotions, it happens on a chemical level for men and

women.

Grieving outwardly helps return our brain chemistry back to equilibrium.

We will always be bereaved, but we will not always be experiencing the pangs of grief.

Like arthritis we learn to live with it the rest of our lives, we will have flare-ups of pain and

discomfort as we move forward through the years, but good days will come as well.

Grief is hard work but finding joy again is our birthright and worth the effort, so keep on

keeping on.

As we approach Father’s Day, I want to point out something I’ve realized that I think

might go unnoticed by most of society: BEREAVED DADA ARE BRAVE DADS.

The bravest dads.

We talk a lot about what bereaved moms go through and how fierce they are as mothers.

but the dads undoubtedly deserve more recognition than they get.

The bereaved dads I know are truly incredible. They help the bereaved moms pick up the

pieces of a life ravaged by grief, while simultaneously grieving themselves.

They put on strong faces as they tell loved ones the news their partners may not be able

to get off her lips.

They go before her, preparing the way for her to cautiously re-enter social environments,

setting expectations and cautioning others of what she can and cannot handle.

They break down and get vulnerable with her when she needs to know she’s not the only

one grieving.

They give her space to grieve harder because it was her body that carried this child.

Bereaved dads generally have to return to work sooner. They become masters of

compartmentalization so they can competently do their jobs during the day and do

the work of grieving when it feels safe to go there.

They field endless questions of “how is your wife/partner doing?” for months after the loss,

and answer them graciously despite the nagging voice in their heads saying “what about me?”

If we moms feel the pressure to “get over it,” the dads feel it a hundredfold.

Bereaved dads are brave dads. They talk about their son or daughter as a member of

their family, even in a society that would rather pretend infant loss doesn’t exist.

They tattoo his name on their bodies, or they plant a tree in her honor.

They run races and make charitable donations in their child’s name. They plan funerals,

they visit grave sites, they put away the baby items spread throughout the house.

They close the door on the nursery, filled with all the gear they wrestled to assemble in

the preceding days. Oh that “some assembly required” was the hardest part of their

fatherhood.

Bereaved dads are brave dads.

These brave dads boldly jump into subsequent attempts to conceive and if they are so blessed,

subsequent pregnancies, despite the fear of losing another and the fear of how their partner

will cope.

They deliver the news that’s hard to hear -- news of friends’ new pregnancies and healthy

babies, when they feel like it may never happen for them.

They come up with caring ways to respond to “why us” all the hundreds of times it’s asked.

They tell the grieving moms and grieving grandparents: ‘it will be okay, we will find

a way forward’, even when they are not sure they believe it themselves.

Bereaved dads are brave dads, and we should celebrate that bravery every day, and

especially this Father’s Day.

The bravest, best kind of dad we wish he never had to be.