Silent House

I attended my first individual grief counseling session this last Monday. The hour spent with my counselor was therapeutic even if we just scratched the surface of the circumstances surrounding Kyle's death.

After we exchanged pleasantries, she said that she read Kyle's obituary and the first thing she noticed was how handsome he was. The picture chosen for his obituary was quintessential Kyle - a smile on his face, wearing Tennessee orange and, what was cropped out of the picture, a big plate of food he had been eating at a tailgate. I'm sure he was wearing half of it on his jersey, but that was cropped out, too. 

Kyle, to me, always favored Erica. He has her bright, brown eyes and thick head of wavy hair. And an impossibly bright smile. His braces had closed the giant gap in his two front teeth, and he was scheduled to get them off this Spring.  But most importantly, he was just a kind and loving person.

I told my counselor that while I've accepted Kyle's physical death, what I'm really having difficulty processing are these Rites of Passage moments you take for granted as a parent of a young man. A few weeks ago, I saw some girls from Kyle's middle school, one in particular he had mentioned he may or may not have had a crush on. (Now, even in death, his secret is safe with me). But what hurts is that he'll never get to ask her on a date or take her to Prom. Hell, he'll never get to experience getting dumped by this or any girl.  He'll never get to have his first kiss or to fall in love. 

Erica and I used to joke, "Kyle will go to UT, get married and live 5 minutes from us. And Leah will move to New York and have 200K Instagram followers by her 15th birthday." But now, we'll never know. Just another thing you take for granted - the future - that is anything but guaranteed. You take things like the future for granted because you don't prepare for what happens when you suddenly lose a child. People say to me all the time, "I can't imagine what you're going through." And it's hard for me not to condescendingly answer, "Well, why would you?" No one wakes up on a Tuesday and thinks, "I have to go to work, get the kids from school and then prepare for my son to die in his sleep." It's not what a normal, sane person thinks about. 

I think the Rites of Passage, whether it be school, sports, girls, etc., is what will haunt me the most about losing Kyle. It's one thing to grieve the loss of a loved one, but an entirely other thing to grieve the hallmarks of being a father, a dad to your son. 

Erica spent this past weekend with girlfriends on an annual get together they do every MLK weekend. She's been going to this annual event since we were engaged, without children and living in Nashville. I used to enjoy the solitude of those weekends alone. I'd cook steaks and listen to loud music and have the whole house to myself. And as an only child, the time alone never bothered me...I was used to having to be by and entertain myself. 

But as you grow and mature and start a family you become accustomed to the noise, controlled chaos and rapidity of life with active children. Yes, you come to appreciate those silent moments alone but always seem to find yourself longing to be with and near your family . 

There were moments this past weekend where it felt too quiet. The door to Kyle's room is closed and he's not coming out. Erica is gone and it's just me and Leah and the dog, Bubba. And Bubba doesn't bark or whine or howl. Seriously, I've heard him bark 4 times in 5 weeks. It's like owning a pet mime. I think the thing I miss most about Kyle at this time is his voice. I miss his constant questions, his sarcastic remarks and his play by play as he tossed the football to himself in the front yard. That the last thing he said to me was, "Love you. See you in the morning." is of great comfort and leaves me with no regrets.

I've delayed posting my recent experiences because I didn't feel inspired to write about anything specific or impactful. I don't want to turn this forum into a stream of consciousness platform where I share every detail of my thought process...there's far too much of that on social media. But part of the grieving process is making yourself uncomfortable with your emotions and doing things that may be difficult. Just because it's easy doesn't mean that it's right. I'm finding it difficult to articulate how exactly I feel at the moment. Maybe I should turn off my brain and just sit in silence. There can be peace in silence and solitude. I used to tell Kyle, "If you listened half as much as you talk, you may learn something." Maybe I should heed my own advice. If I listen to the silence long enough maybe, I'll allow myself to open up and hear my son once again.