ON THE DAY AUGUST WAS BORN, HE ALONE CRIED AND THE WORLD REJOICED. ON THE DAY HE DIED, WE ALL CRIED AND HE ALONE REJOICES.

August was complex: so shy yet so brave, so strong yet so fragile, a genius I.Q. who at times did not think at all, a social person who craved solitude, a person so deeply concerned about the well-being of others yet cavalier about this own well-being. Somehow, this strange combination of dichotomies made him perfect… in all his ragged glory.

The tattoo on August’s left shoulder read “How do you Perceive?”… his way of asking “is your glass half full or half empty?” Though his absents hurts like hell, we who were blessed enough to have know August can perceive ourselves as lucky to have had him in our lives, albeit for far too short of time.

The tattoo on August’s right arm read “Life Goes On.”  That day that he died felt like the end of the world, but, for those of us lucky enough to have had August in our lives, our lives go on with a richness and beauty that others will never know.

I wonder if those messages were meant for us he left behind; his way of comforting us, letting us know it’s going to be ok? Maybe.

Publicly, I almost never mention my son, an omission for which I feel terribly guilty.  When my son name comes up it feels awkward and sad to those who knew him, and makes those that didn’t know him very uncomfortable.   When somebody learns that you’ve lost your child,  it’s too much to explain.   Say you’re at a party and a new acquaintance says “Oh, I didn’t know you have a son.” You can’t really stop and tell that person:

Yes,  my son died. He was a wonderful person,  we loved each other very much,  had the best times of my life with him.  He took some risk he shouldn’t have and did not beat the odds.  I was a mess for a long time but now , after much prayer, work and support, I feel much better and am regaining my optimism and love for life.

That’s kind of what needs to be said, but in reality it never happens.  To say any less sounds glib, but this full explanation just doesn’t work into a polite conversation.  So I try to avoid the whole mess which feels like I’m dishonoring my son by the omission, not a healthy way to go.

As we approach the holidays I’m assessing my game plan for grief.  The holidays are an emotional mine field:
1). You can’t think about Christmas without thinking about your child, and although there are lost of happy memories, it hurts that he is gone.
2)  Holiday gatherings mean lots of people casually asking polite questions like:
“How is August?”
“Do you have any children?”
“How are you holding up?”

Here’s my pep talk to help move forward.

First of all, I’ve got to come to terms with the fact that life does go on, (a phrase my son literally had tattooed on his arm; seriously, he did).    I never thought it was possible, but I am actually experiencing a lot of joy and happiness.  My life has progressed even though it felt like it should end when August’s life ended.

For well over a year I did not think I should or could live with out my son.  The only thing that kept me from offing myself was my since of obligation.  I didn’t want to add any more pain to the people in my life and, as silly as it sounds,  I was booked solid with work and never had enough time off for a proper suicide.  How do you explain that one to your boss?
“You might want to go a head and find my replacement.”
“Why,  are you quitting?”
“Sort of.”

Not to get all It’s a Wonderful Life on you but,  suicide is an incredibly selfish way out.  I suppose if  you’re a terrible person who causes a lot of misery for others it wouldn’t be selfish, but honestly, those are never the kind of people who kill themselves.  (Well, Hitler was a suicide, and his death definitely improved the world, but again, he was just selfishly stealing the chance for the victors to publicly humiliate him).  Suicides tend to be alienated, lacking a support group.  That’s the funny thing about a support group, even if it feels like the people around you are a burden and you’d rather be alone with your grief,  their presence, even if it’s annoying, is beneficial.    So I’m still here because of the people in my life and my work obligations.  That got me through the worst of it until I could start living again.

Now I need to make the next step past simple survival into actually living life.  I can’t do that and mourn at the same time.  So, I’m stating now publicly, to anybody who read this and to my son, should he be reading this from the great beyond,  that I’m taking off the sackcloth and ashes and will start honoring my son by embracing this wonderful life that he loved.  It’s alright to feel alright, this is normal after this much time.

Secondly,  I’m going to try to quit fearing public encounters where the topic of children may come up.  Death is part of the life package.  In the spirit of moving forward, I posted an interview I did several years ago at a premier where I worked my son into the shot.  You can see it at http://www.youtube.com/user/johnbohlinger.
There’s my son, August,  funny, enjoying life.  Clearly the two of us really love each other.  I kept this clip hidden for a long time but now I’m kind of glad that the world can see this great guy that I was lucky enough to have in my life.

Maybe part of the magic of that concert  came from the fact that everyone in the venue, including Dave Brubeck and his Band knew that he won’t be here much longer, but there he sat, defying death and all the gloom and doom that comes with it,  gently coaxing endless melodies out of all 88 keys.  He plays with the spirit of a child and the knowledge of the most season veteran in jazz.  It made me want to embrace life,  quit living like it’s over.  Like Dave, I should spend more time playing,  less time moping.

Remember what that great 20th century philosopher Groucho Marx said,  “Time Wounds all Heels.”

“The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways — I to die and you to live. Which is the better, only God knows.“  Socrates

I was laying in bed last night,  exhausted but unable to sleep,  feeling that now old, familiar weight of depression envelope me and I heard my self saying, “Jesus forgive me, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”  I don’t know how long I was rambling away like that,  heart pounding,  body beginning to sweat, but when I recognized what I was doing I stopped and asked myself what am I begging forgiveness for?  What did I do?
Am I responsible for my son’s death?
No.
Was I a bad parent?
No.
I made some mistakes that I would give anything to do over,  but that’s just life.    I wonder how much time and energy I waste every week with these self induced emotional beatings?

I realize that I’m repeating myself;  guilt is a common theme when one grieves over the loss of a child.   Grief is beginning to seem like one long, repetitive series of the same tiny steps forward then back.  I guess there’s some progress or maybe it’s the illusion of progress. Did Sisyphus ever convince himself that his boulder was getting a little closer to the top of the hill  during his eternity of labor in the underworld?  He must have, other wise he would have just sat down.

Lately I’ve been wondering if this is it.  What if things never get better? Is that a life I can life with?  Socrates maintained that the unexamined life is not worth living.  At this point, I would like to stop examining life and just thoughtlessly live.

Woody Allen opens his film Annie Hall (1977) with:

“There’s an old joke – um… two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of ‘em says, ‘Boy, the food at this place is really terrible.’ The other one says, ‘Yeah, I know; and such small portions.’

This is about the best summary of life that I’ve found.  Life can be such a terrible mess, and yet, there’s still not enough of it.

developing drummer

I understand the importance of talking through one’s feelings.  I can see the benefits of a cathartic conversation. But sometimes I don’t want to hear what anybody has to say about grief, life, death, and recovery.   I’m pretty sure I’ve already heard more or less all of it.  I understand the whole mess intellectually, but I can’t make peace with it emotionally.   It’s commonly believed that one reaches an emotional understanding by talking over one’s feelings, but often I don’t want to talk about how I feel;  my words sound cliche or scripted and they don’t really convey what I feel.    That’s when I crave silence, but that can be difficult to find.

Grieving people often find themselves victims of well intentioned  friends who feel they can dialogue us out of our grief and depression, so we usually humor them;  say what we think they want us to say and usually feel even worse after their “cheering up”.  This is why caller I.D. is one of the greatest inventions of our modern world.

When you don’t want to talk, don’t.  Give yourself a break.  Hide from everybody if you need to and let your mind and body rest.  After going through what we’ve been through,  you don’t have to be strong or “on” all the time.

“Be still, and know that I am God”
(Psalm 46:10).

What ever your spiritual leanings,  this is a bit of advice that may be worth adopting.   Here, “be still” comes from the Hebrew term “raphah”.  According to Jason Jackson *  “raphah” refers to that which is slack,… or to be disheartened or to be weak.

I’ve never really understood this before but now it seems pretty clear that Psalm advices that we need to shut down at certain times in our lives,  like after suffering such a terrible loss.  So maybe we should allow our bodies, minds and spirits to go slack at times, accept our weakness and rest.  If you are the spiritual type,  rest and know that God is out there.

Tonight I’m not answering my phone nor reading emails nor letters.  I have the entire Third Season of 30 rock on DVD and I’m going to be very still on my couch and watch episode after episode until I pass out.  The only sound I will make will be giggling and chewing on food.

*      Be Still and Know that I Am God By JASON JACKSON  February 27, 2006