This spring has been hell on me. Why this fifth year I do not know. I have been thinking about you everyday since the evening of Sunday March 6th. It was on the promenade deck watching the lights of a passing ship on the far horizon that I thought about you and I have not stopped.

Was it this long winter and long spring with an empty house with your brother and sister off to school? Is it my soul trying to shed the last of its pain after five years? I do not know.

If this is what they call learning to live and walk with it, well, it sucks to put it mildly. There has not been a day that has gone by, my drive to work, when I am alone at work, or when I lay my head down for the night that my soul does not shed a tear for you. Is it not time for this grief to loosen its grip from around my soul and move on?  Have I not loved and lost enough for this lifetime?

Yes, my dear son, I know as well as anybody that there are no answers to these quetions. It is life. It is living.

The lonely darkness and pain of loss is the companion of the beauty and the strength of love. One cannot feel the lonely darkness and pain of loss without love and one cannot know the beauty and strength of love without pain. They are companions in this long walk.

They are traveling companions my dear son. They walk together in the heart. It is life. It is living. There are no answers to this loss, only the soul trying to shed its pain.

It is time for me and Tyke to say goodbye and take a short drive with our traveling companion, Bob Segar. Should I head east, west, north or south? I guess it does not matter. All that matters is it will settle my soul this morning.

Love from the heart, and miss you dearly.

Your Dad.

I Am Not Gone

by Nicholas Evans

If I be the first of us to die,
Let grief not blacken long your sky.
Be bold yet modest in your grieving.
There is a change but not a leaving.
For just as death is part of life,
The dead live on forever in the living.
And all the gathered riches of our journey,
The moments shared, the mysteries explored,
The steady layering of intimacy stored,
The things that made us laugh or weep or sing,
The joy of sunlit snow or first unfurling of the spring,
The wordless language of look and touch,
The knowing,
Each giving and each taking,
These are not flowers that fade,
Nor trees that fall and crumble,
Nor are they stone,
For even stone cannot the wind and rain withstand
And mighty mountain peaks in time reduce to sand.
What we were, we are.
What we had, we have.
A conjoined past imperishably present.
So when you walk the wood where once we walked together
And scan in vain the dappled bank beside you for my shadow,
Or pause where we always did upon the hill to gaze across the land,
And spotting something, reach by habit for my hand,
And finding none, feel sorrow start to steal upon you,
Be still.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
Listen for my footfall in your heart.
I am not gone but merely walk within you.

Life does not ask you, she does not wait for you. It is up to each of us to learn how to move and live within her.

I try to see life as she is rather then my minds version of life. Sometimes we have to surrender our need to know or understand her. That is both the challenge and the joy of living within her.

When I am sitting on that balcony on the Ruby Princess looking out over the horizon I will be thinking of your my dear son. I will see her as you did, just living. I will see that “simply complexity” with the joy of being in that moment as you were.

No, life does not ask and it is not for me to complain about what life gives me. It is up to me and only me to decide how I want to live within her.

That is the only choice that life gives you.

Love from the heart,

You dad

I have missed you terribly these past few weeks my dear son. The tears do not fall upon this heart with the great pain that they once did but they still fall.

Maybe it is the winter that has caused this soul to shed its tears. I do not know. This winter has been long but then again what would be the gift of spring without winter. Is it not the winter that reminds us that which we would miss if what we loved were not here? Is winter not the gift for spring?

Yes, this soul longs for spring. It longs for spring so that it can feel the earth on it’s feet as you once did, so that it can touch what you loved, see what you loved, hear what you loved, and breath what you loved, so that it can stop and take in the wonder of what you called the simple complexity of life, this thing we call living.

Is the “winter” of my soul trying to find the gift of spring? Is that why I share this pain with those around me? Is it a way of giving meaning to your life? Is it my redemption for not telling you everyday that I loved you, for not holding you in my arms enough? Is it my redemption for not seeing the “winter” of my soul? Maybe? Maybe not? I do not know, but I see it now my dear son.

I see it now. It is the gift of winter that brings us the gift of spring and for that gift I promise you this my dear son, that the long “winter” of my soul will not be forgotten so that the gift of spring will always be felt. When someone gives me the gift of laughter or the gift of a smile I will see it, I will see it because of the gift of the long “winter” of my soul.

I think this morning I will take a drive east on 94 into Wisconsin and meet another small gift, the morning sun, with Tyke of course. What would be a morning drive without the dog curled up on his heated seat keeping me company. I will bore him with Bob Segar and my talk. He is a very good listener though.

It is time to say goodbye again my dear son. The tea pot is screaming at me. It is time to prepare my  green tea, meet Tyke at the door and meet the east sun.

I miss you terribly.

Love from the heart,

Your Dad

My heart has been heavy these past weeks. I had thought that I was able to move on but I guess that does not happen so easily. No, it no longer has the power to drive me to my knees or isolate me from the world. It is now a lighter burden that I must carry, for a longer distance, and a greater amount of time. I do not know how a heart can give up that which it has so tenderly and deeply loved?

I do not know. Does it matter. Will those answers get me there faster, where ever or when ever “that” is.

Answers have been in short supply these past few years as has my confidence in knowing what path to take. Maybe I should be more spontaneous and not care where it takes me, trust my instincts, believe in myself again.

I do not know what to do with myself. I feel lost, wandering in the middle of a forest, not knowing which direction to take, not sure where this or that path will take me.

I sometimes get in my car and drive, sometimes with the radio on, sometimes off, drive east on 94 to Wisconsin and back again, north on 35, south on 494, or west on 694, in the morning, in the evening, once, twice, three times a week, going somewhere but nowhere. This traveling without a destination, this wondering, brings peace to my soul and sometimes, occasionally, when I need to push through the gears with anger I will.

And, yes, my constant companion, the dog, comes with me. Why would I expect anything less. As I put on my coat and boots, with his tail wagging, he patiently waits for me to open the house door, and when that door opens he bursts through it to the next door, the garage, patiently waiting again for me. I open the garage door, then the passenger door of the car, jumping up to the seat, walking in a circle four or five times, he curls up and takes a deep breath of finality.

I walk around, get into the car, start the car, open the garage door and for his quiet company I turn on his seat heater. There he sleeps until he hears us arriving home again. He doesn’t talk much, and he sleeps most of the time, but he’s there when I need him, when I need to talk to him about you, pet him on his back, or just rub his neck. It is upon arriving back at home that his ears perk up once again, in a hurry to get out of the car as if I were not good company.

It is that “wondering” where I can grieve for you my dear son, grieve for you without the burden of being strong. It is my moment to feel my heart, to let it breath as it does now at this keyboard. It allows me to tenderly plunge my heart back into living.

Yes, my dear son, I miss you terribly over the holidays. There is nothing I can do but wander and wait, somewhere but nowhere, today or tomorrow, waiting, waiting for something somewhere.

I have heard it said that life is made of days and days are made of moments and that a “life well lived is firmly planted in the sweet soil of moments” and that we must “plant seeds of grace that grow only in the soil of loving attention and mindful time.”

I have to learn to be a better gardener without you my dear son.

That will take time.

Love from the heart

Your Dad

It does not mean that I will forget you, nor does it mean that I will not cry for you because I still do as I do now. It means that I have survived this onslaught, that I can start to move forward and live, to live my life more fully with humility, empathy, compassion and forgiveness as I had promised you. To live as you are not able to, to “live happily” as you said in your school essay “Who Am I”. That I promise you my dear son.

It does not mean that I will forget you, nor does it mean that I will not cry for you. I will cry for you when your brother and sister graduate from college and when they find their first job. I will cry for you when their is a wedding or birth in the family. Yes, I will cry for you my dear son, forever young at sixteen, missing you, missing that smile, those blues eyes, that laugh, the embrace of your hug, the smell of your hair and to tell you that I love you, the greatest gift that one human being can give to another, their love.

I will always cry for you my dear son, always. That is burden I can now bear, that is a burden I can now walk with as I begin this fourth lifetime without you.

Love from the heart,

Your Dad

PS I hope you do not mind if I share your 10th grade essay below.

Who Am I

Who am I? This is a question I can now answer. I am a kid that loves to be outside. I love to be around animals. I love to be around plants, and I like to take care of them. I love to watch movies, and would like to make one, one day. I have many hobbies, these include being outside, playing games, drawing and painting, being around animals, watching movies, and collecting plants. I love to be outdoors, in fact if I could be anywhere in the world, I wouldn’t care as long as I’m outdoors. I love animals, I love being around them and I love to take care of them. I like learning about them and their environment and how they live. A new hobby I have is collecting plants. I like plants because they make me feel outdoors. They add a sense of life in a dull room, and I enjoy caring for them. Playing video games is one of my favorite things to do. I just love playing them. When I play video games it makes me feel like I am in that specific world that the video game takes place in. My favorite game is Halo two. I am an artist. I love to draw and paint. And I am quite good at it, I like to draw fantasy creatures and worlds. Drawing helps me to relax. I am a big movie fan, especially lord of the rings. I just like movies (who doesn’t). But I like them so much that I want to direct a movie once.

I have many goals in life. But they all add up to one big simple one: live happily. In order to accomplish this I have many “lesser” goals to attend two. Fist is to graduate high school. I want to “pass” not just pass. I then want to go to college, somewhere like the University of MN, or somewhere nearby. I want to go to the University of MN because it has many science classes in which I need to take in order to become a zoologist, which is one of the things I want to be when I grow up. I want to get Through College. i will then become what I really want to be, a zoologist. If I can’t get that job then I want to become an artist or movie director. Once I get a good paying job I will start a family. In order to accomplish all of this I first have to pass high school then I have to pass college and get a good paying job. During college I will probably live with my parents if I go to school nearby. If I have to move I would have to get a place that allows pets, since I have many. I will have to get a good paying job to help pay for college.

I want to be a zoologist because I love animals and I love to be outside I love to observe how the certain animals live, breed, defend and all sorts of things. I might also want to be an artist or director

Today, alone in this house, I missed you so much that I needed to watch the old videos of you, the last one being September 1, 2006. I have not done this for over two years. Remember that evening on September 1? It was the end of summer party before you started your junior year. You and your friends were gathered around the fire and you were telling a scary story. I remember it clearly. It is the closest that I can get to you. I can see you and hear you, it lightens that heavy emptiness that travels with me, a journey that has brought me through three lifetimes, one more than any man should be asked to live.

I was born on November 24th, 1958, my first lifetime, full of dreams, hopes, adventures and youth. You were the beginning of my second life, our first child, born on December 28th, 1989, full of pride, joy, purpose, and love. My third life began September 14th, 2006, full of unanswered questions, pain, tears, and love, surviving, some days sinking, some days swimming and most days just floating. I have been living that life hoping and waiting for that fourth lifetime to begin. What that looks like I do not know and when it will arrive, again, I do not know, unanswered questions. Does it start when I can say goodbye Robert, is it when I can let go?

Swimming, sinking, floating, surviving, this is what this third lifetime is about. It is about surviving, it is about this poem that I found.

My Dad Is A Survivor

My dad is a survivor too…
which is no surprise to me.
He’s always been like a lighthouse
that helps you cross a stormy sea.

But, I walk with my dad each day
to lift him when he’s down.
I wipe the tears he hides from others.
He cries when no one’s around.

I watch him sit up late at night
with my picture in his hand.
He cries as he tries to grieve alone,
and wishes he could understand.

My dad is like a tower of strength.
He’s the greatest of then all!
But there are times when he needs to cry…
Please be there when he falls.

Hold his hand or pat his shoulder…
and tell him it’s okay.
Be his strength when he’s sad
Help him mourn in his own way.

Now, as I watch over my precious dad
from the Heavens up above
I’m so proud that he’s a survivor…
And, I can still feel his love!

A survivor? I am tired of being a survivor. Is it time? Is it time to say goodbye my dear Robert? Is it time to let go and carry you in my heart?

Love from heart,

Your Dad

My answer was three. I have three children. That led us to discover that he like myself had lost a child. We talked for a bit about our children, about our pain, and about those around us, about a world that we no longer recognize nor recognizes us. We only talked for about ten minutes but our connection was so painfully instant that it did not matter if we would meet again. All that mattered was that our pain had been heard.

What do I do my dear son?  What do I do with this pain? Do I hide within it and let it drive anger and hate into me as it has at times? Do I step out in front of it so that I may live again? Is that my choice to make? Will I have the energy to make it? What do I do with this heavy emptiness that will not let me stand? I do not know the answers to these questions. I only know that this pain will rob me of my energy to live if it is not heard. Is that why I write to you? Is that why I have decided to share our conversations with friends and family? I do not know. I only know that it feels right. I only know that I find peace when I write to you. There will be a day, a moment, when I will write my last letter to you. It will not mean that I have forgotten you. It will only mean that I am able to stand again, that I have learned to live with your loss.

There are many people I have met along the way that have helped me take these small steps forward. There are many places along the way where I have found peace and strength to take that one step forward. One such place is Faith’s Lodge. I traveled to her this past December.

I traveled alone in the dark with you my dear son, to try and step out in front of this pain, to stand. It was to be heard in a place they call Faith’s Lodge, our beacon, our port in the storm. We, the “Dads”, arrived at this port from across Minnesota and Wisconsin, to release our pain, to find peace, to find strength, to find courage, to help us walk through the darkest night of our souls, the death of our child. We make this trip to find others that we recognize and that recognize us because the death of a child isolates you, as you no longer recognize the world you travel in nor does it recognize you. It this isolation in which you must carry your pain. This is why we travel to a place that we recognize, a place to confront our pain, not in isolation nor in judgment but in a place we recognize, a place that recognizes us.

That Friday night was not a night for catching my breath. It is one of those nights that this powerful wave of grief comes crashing down upon you, thrashing you against the sharp rocks of pain over and over as you struggle to breath, and then when it is done playing with you, like a cat does a mouse before the kill, it spits you out so that you can catch your breath. It is during those moments, of trying to catch a breath, that you look up hoping to find a path out but all you see are steep rocky cliffs. And, so you wait, you wait for that next wave to come crashing down upon you hoping that it will be the last, hoping that it does not kill you, hoping that some day it will  be done with you. That is why I made that journey. To give me strength to survive that next onslaught of waves.

As I traveled north, alone on that cold December night, I traveled with you my son, the longest ride in my life. I asked myself what this night would bring me. I could not know until that journey started, as is with so many days that you start with this pain. And, so, as I turned on my car and turned out of the parking lot at work I took that first step into this unknown journey, once again, one step at a time.

Navigating my way through the rush hour traffic until I hit the open road, north on 35W, alone in my thoughts, I thought of you my dear son. I thought of where you would be and what you would be doing this day. I thought about how unfair this life can be, I am here, a full life lived, and you are not, a life left incomplete. Your death has driven me to my knees and I do not know if I will ever be able to stand again, a question I cannot answer until I am standing. One step at a time is all I can take. A step at a time, each filled with too many tears and miles to travel.

Turning east on MN 70 I turned the volume of the radio up hoping to kill the pain in noise but after several miles I soon realize it does not work as you are too strong in my heart. That night we traveled together, father and son, in my memories and in my heart, in the quiet of the night. And, so, I turned the radio off and continued driving east on MN 70 passing through towns and passing houses lit up for Christmas.

I tell myself that it would be easy to stop. It would be easy to stop and for this night to lose myself in a strange place with strangers and a bottle. A place that you and I did not share, a new place in which to forget about the pain that followed me that night. It would be easy to run away, start a new life, to rid myself of everything that reminds me of you my dear son, but I cannot, because it is my heart where I feel you and I am not ready to let go, not now, not that night, not that moment. These are one of the many thoughts that this grief throws up at you as you try to run from this pain, but, as always, I must continue on this journey this night and that is what I did as I passed houses lit up for Christmas, wondering how many complete families would be gathering this Christmas, standing ready to welcome home their sons and daughters, a welcoming home that I cannot have.

I could see you walking up that sidewalk, those big brown eyes, a smile on your face, full of joy, home from college for the holidays. I could see you but I could not feel you. I could not hold you in my arms and smell you. I could not hold you in my arms to tell you that I missed you and that I love you. I can see you but I could not hold you in my arms to feel you, to feel your arms wrapped around me. I am denied that, that gift of living, that gift of touch. I could see you walking up the sidewalk but as quickly as you entered my mind you quickly left and turning north on WI 35 you were replaced by that recurring flashback, my occasional traveling companion through this journey, through this hell.

That traveling companion that haunts me is that morning that I wanted to hold your head in my arms and kiss you on the forehead as your last breath left you. I wanted to hold your head in my arms so you did not have to die alone. Instead I am left with the image of trying to save you, two breaths and thirty chest compressions at a time. Two breaths, one, two, three, four, as I count to thirty, two breaths, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, thirty more, two breaths, thirty compressions over and over. Check for a breath, check for a pulse, neither, again, two breaths, thirty compressions, over and over and over. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes, where are the paramedics, my son is dying, why are they not here, two more breaths, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, thirty more, over and over for what seems like an eternity, waiting, hoping that I will see you open your eyes or see your chest breathe. But, there is nothing, only more waiting until finally the paramedics arrive. There is nothing more I can do now except pace back and forth questioning myself. “Did I breathe hard enough? Were the chest compressions deep enough and fast enough? Did I miss something? Was I able to save my son’s life or did I make too many mistakes” I pace back and forth, hoping that I will hear your voice asking for your mother or myself, but nothing, only the sounds of “clear” over and over as they try to save you. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes and finally at 6:45 they transport you to the hospital. Are you breathing on your own? Is your heart beating again? I do not know. Why would they be transporting you if they could not save you? Their is hope I tell myself. I tell myself we will see you when we arrive at the hospital.

Following in the car, we watch the paramedics through the back window of the ambulance trying to save your life. As the ambulance races ahead out of sight, there is hope I tell myself, I will get to the hospital and there you will be smiling at me with those big brown eyes. You will spend a few hours in the hospital and we will go home. But no, that was not to be this day. No, that was not to be as I see the doctor walking out of the room quickly glancing at us once as he shakes his head no. It is there, as always that flashback fades as I see you fade into the dark laying on that bed, lifeless, hooked up to the machines of life that are not pulsing any signs of life. There is no time to grieve as it is time to find my strength so that I can comfort your sister and your brother when they arrive. The flashback ends and I am back into this world parked on the side of a country road wondering where I am.

I continued to drive until I realized I had missed my turn. How could I miss my turn I ask myself? It is dark, I am tired and I am anxious. I just want this to end. I turn around and drive back for what seems like an eternity until I finally see her entrance, two stone columns with lights, two lighthouses welcoming us weary travelers, guiding us through the storm. Finally, as I turn right into her warm embrace I feel this weight lift from my shoulders. Finally, I will not be alone.

Traveling with our sons and daughters, one by one we slowly start to arrive, greeted by warm food, a hot cup of coffee and fathers that understand that difficult journey that we had just taken in the dark. We settle in to catch our breath, but, this night is not over as there is more work to do. Our pain will be heard before this night ends.

After several hours and everyone has arrived our next step begins. We gather around the fire place to tell our story, to talk about our children. We listen patiently as each father tells his story, patiently waiting as some of us struggle to find words between our tears. One minute, two minutes, five minutes, it does not matter. We wait until a father has the strength to speak or asks us to move on. As each of us takes our turn, our grief, like our stories, is as unique as our children, as different as our loss. For some of us we can only listen and will wait until we can find our strength to share that pain, strength that may not be found until tomorrow, or Sunday or maybe not at all. It does not matter because we are here for each other if needed, to listen to each other’s pain without judgment and with patience.

It is pain that has to be heard and acknowledged because if it is not our hearts will never heal, our hearts will never love again, never cry, never laugh, never smile, our hearts will never breath again. We must step out in front of this pain so that we may live. Do we have a choice in this matter? I do not know. I only know that the power of this pain is overwhelming, greater then anyone of us could have imagined, some days stealing all of the energy and strength to live that we have. But, like many days, this pain, this grief robs itself of its own strength, it’s own energy, and it to must rest. It is in those moments that we survive another day trying to find the strength for tomorrow.

This day, like many, comes to an end with our children in our thoughts. I lay my head down with tears and the glow of the fireplace dancing on the walls. It is that simple dance that peacefully walks me to sleep, hoping that you visit me in my dreams this night.

Love from the heart,

Your Dad

Andrew “Drew” Walters, beloved Son & Brother Age 17 of Lino Lakes passed away unexpectedly on June 13, 2010. Survived by parents, Ruth Thompson (Jim) & Bruce Walters; brother, Ryan; grandparents, Elaine Kotefka & Helen Walters; many aunts, uncles, cousins & friends.

I know Drew’s mother. She is a co-worker. She will have many questions as she tries to understand why her dear son took his own life at 17. Why would a young man get to the edge and not have the strength to pull himself back? Why would he make that choice?

I have been to that edge since your death but I had the strength to pull myself back. Why is it that some of us have the strength to pull ourselves back from that edge and others do not? Does it come from years of living, knowing that this pain will also pass? Does it come from knowing how to stand up to this pain? I do not know.

Friday was Drew’s funeral. I did not plan on attending Drew’s funeral because I did not know what to expect. I did not want this pain to visit me again, to come crashing down upon me as it has this spring, robbing me of my strength. But, in the end I have realized that the only why to stand up against this pain is to just stand. It will drive you to your knees over and over and some days you will not have the energy to stand but all you can do is just stand, again and again, until you have robbed your pain of its strength to drive you to your knees one last time.

I do not know where that strength comes from. Is it inner strength? Is it outer strength? Like many things in this journey I do not know. I only know that this,  like many things in life, will pass.

When, where, how? I do not know. I only know that the only why to stand against this pain is to just stand and to keep standing. There will be days when you are not able to stand because this grief has robbed you of all your strength. I will keep standing when I can because I made a promise to you, a promise to live this life that you can not.

This is something that I am still working on. This is something that will take time. This journey is full of small steps of moving forward. There will be days when I am not able to stand but I will keep standing until I able to say goodbye to you my dear son. That will be the day when this pain no longer has the strength to drive me to my knees, that will be the day when I can start to fulfill my promise to you, to live fully in this moment.

That day will come, this I do know.

Love from the heart,

Your Dad

And, when that happens what do I do? How do I stand before this pain? In honoring your wishes you have left me without a place to grieve your lose other than this keyboard. There is no granite stone that I can kneel next to and talk. There is no gravesite your mother and I can tend to, to care for you.

Yes, it seems silly but here I am, on this keyboard staring at these words thinking of you my dear Robert, in a still house, your mother sleeping and your brother and sister out with friends. This is how I talk to you, in this chair, at 12:18 in the morning, waiting for a tomarrow that I do not know where I will be.

I do know, though, that I am ready for another step forward. I am now ready to keep you close to my heart. Why now and not before? I do not know. As I said earlier I do not know what tomarrow always holds for me. I only know today. I only know that I am ready today for this one step forward.

That step forward is something called a cremation pendant. They are large enough to hold a portion of your ashes with a piece of your hair. It would hang around my neck on top of my heart.

What should it be? Should it be an animal pendant? Perhaps a whale, a dolphin, a rabbit or maybe some ugly bug. But, then again, who would wear an ugly bug around there neck accept maybe you. Maybe I can find a ladybug to put your ashes and hair in. I am sure that any ladybug that I find will be to girly looking to wear around my neck so you might have to settle for some kind of animal to travel around in. I will try to find one that you would like, a bug perhaps, if it is not to girly and glittery.

Yes, I am finally ready to have you sit on top of my heart so that I can touch you when I need to and lately I have so desparately needed to.

Love from the heart,

Your Dad