(Un)Happy New Year!

I had a friend in Nashville that was a heavy smoker during college. He smoked so much and was so synonymous with nicotine that his friends nicknamed him, "Cigarette". But I never saw my friend smoke. Not once. And he told me something about how he quit smoking that I think about quite a bit, especially now.

 

Pick a date that's significant to you and quit then. This way you can look back and always know how far you've come.

 

Over the years, I 've adopted this philosophy to quit my own vices, albeit temporarily, - nicotine, alcohol, fast food - because it seemed like a good idea. Which brings me to New Years. New Years is, for many, a hard date to augment behaviors, forgive past sins and restart anew.

 

Now, I get a lot of my news from Facebook and X (formerly Twitter). In fact, I get about 99% of my news about friends and extended family through Facebook. As 2024 winded to a close you see a lot of similar posts; people posting their Christmas cards, Santa pictures and New Year's celebration photos. You also get the self-assessment - "2024 was filled with ups and downs..." post, too. I'm not judging it's just pretty a pretty typical post.

 

I don't do the 'Year in Review Post' and I certainly don't think anyone would expect it from me now. But here's the bitch of it all - 2024 was actually pretty good. Until it wasn't.

 

Ninety percent of our 2024 was overwhelmingly positive. Both kids did well in school. Kyle played a lot of meaningful baseball and made the middle school team. Leah tried softball and continued with dance, doing well at both. Our teams won multiple championships. We went to Chicago in July as a family and then outran a hurricane in Florida back in October. In fact, our last night together was as an entire family at my 43rd birthday dinner. The Last Supper.

 

So, January 1, 2025 - new year, new outlook, right? A hard date where we can pinpoint exactly where we started a new version of ourselves, like my buddy Cigarette. Incorrect. 2025 began about as poorly as one could imagine. 

 

We normally have a big family party with our friends then organize a large sleepover for all the kids. We cook steaks, drink bourbon, watch football, play Yahtzee and enjoy each other's company. But this year, Erica didn't feel like coming. The party is always wall to wall kids and she was convinced it would be too hard for her. Then around 11:30 at night Leah got sick with the stomach bug. The same stomach bug I had the day after Christmas. So instead of ringing in the new year drinking cheap champagne and singing "Auld Lang Syne" we're cleaning out bowls of vomit and Lysol' Ing the TV controllers. 

 

The morning of January 1 wasn't much better. Now the dog is sick, Erica's not home as she's helping her dad recover from a recent hospital stay (he's fine) and I'm hungover on the couch reading a book about grief. And I'm angry and jealous. Angry that my son is dead and jealous of all the other parents last night with families that are whole. I said in Kyle's eulogy that, although necessary at times, there is no value in anger. I don't find that to be true any longer. Because without anger, how do you find calm in your life? You have to go through one in order to get to the other. No one is perpetually cheerful. 

 

Now here is the hard part - what is my role in how I feel? Where does the blaming end and the personal accountability begin? I can blame God or Kyle's doctors for his heart. But if I do that, how do I trust the doctors and medical professionals responsible for identifying potential threats in mine, Erica's and Leah's health? 

 

I can stay jealous and angry at my friends and their children, but why? The same people that rallied around us the day Kyle died and during the process of arranging his memorial service. The same people that brought us groceries, helped bathe Leah and opened up their homes to us in fellowship.

 

Much of how I felt on New Year's Day was a combination of a lot of emotions that were exacerbated by an overindulgence and reliance on alcohol. I have a lot of feelings and challenges to face, especially in the first few months of 2025, but my drinking is one that needs to be a priority. I can't process how I feel and begin to accept my son's death without a clear frame of mind.  

 

I told Erica two nights ago that I'm dreading 2025. I told her I was dreading our doctors' appointments, going back to work next month, the upcoming baseball season without Kyle and a host of other events. And one by one, she calmly explained to me why they matter and how integral they are to my day-to-day life. Calm is the opposite of anger. Calm is ownership. Calm is acceptance.

 

The mistake I made was assuming that January 1 was going to be a start of an entirely new life for me. So, when I spent most of Wednesday morning miserable, I went looking for someone to blame. The fact of the matter is that my new life started on November 14th, 20024 whether I liked it or not. 

 

I remember the moments after Kyle passed. I was getting out of the shower when I heard Erica scream from his bedroom. I threw on some clothes, rushed in, ushered them out of the room and called 911. I remember, my adrenaline was pumping, but I was clear and focused. I knew he was gone and told the 911 operator so. But I waited in his room until I could hear the sirens outside of our home before I hung up. I kissed his lips, rubbed his forehead and told him I loved him. In the worst moment of my entire life, I was focused and relaxed...not angry, not bitter and certainly not blaming of anyone or anything. 

 

What happened to our son isn't fair. But like I used to tell Kyle all the time, "Life isn't fair and it doesn't run on your feelings. Act accordingly." Maybe it's time I take my own advice and learn to accept what happened to my son is larger than the desire to make me feel good about myself. 

 

I pray to Kyle each morning. I kneel alongside his bed in the place I found him, and I pray and ask for his guidance and protection over our family. When Leah and my father in law got sick for a second, I thought, "Maybe he's not hearing me." But that's not what an accountable person thinks. An accountable person doesn't blame something they can't see, they find solutions for their problems . 

 

At that moment I stopped blaming God for my son, my son for his sister's stomach bug and myself for being angry. Instead, I got Leah and popsicle and worked on nursing her back to good health.