Who Are You?

I came across the obituary of someone I've never met today. A local mother and businessowner succumbed to a long illness in her mid-40's. I never met this person and have never met her family, but it struck me; What must it be like to die at such a young age and leave behind a young family? And what must it be like to grow up without a parent?

There's a hilarious scene in Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry David encounters his "friend" Funkhouser in their neighborhood following the death of Funkhouser's elderly mother. Funkhouser informs Larry that he has been grieving his mother and the fact that he is now an orphan. Please note what makes this scene hilarious is that both men were in their late 60's at the time. 

Parents are supposed to get elderly and die. They're not supposed to die in their 40's and people are not supposed to die before they even get the chance to become a parent. 

I wonder how those children are managing their grief. Experts say that the brain does not fully mature until the age of 25. And I know how difficult it is to manage grief and loss at 43 so I can only imagine what it must be like at 13. But what about the inverse? If you're dying of an incurable illness, you not only have to accept your own death but also grieve what you'll miss. Weddings, proms, grandchildren, etc. are all things you will not get to witness. At least as Kyle's parents we still have Leah. And hopefully she gets to achieve all these milestones of life. It's not something you think about before you suffer indescribable loss, but which would hurt more: Losing someone special or losing any ability, period? It's like choosing whether or not to take a bullet to the back of the head or a knife to the heart.

The irony in grief is that it frees up your mind to many portals your brain had previously closed itself of to. You begin searching your spirituality for messages and pathways to connect to be near to things that connect you to the one(s) you've lost. I've written about signs before, but in the last few weeks Erica, specifically, has opened herself up to nontraditional methods to learn more about Kyle's death, which have been fascinating and haunting at times. These are her experiences to share, but they lend credence to the explanation of Kyle's seemingly untimely death as unavoidable and predetermined. 

Grief also takes away a large part your personal fears and anxieties. Now, I'm not going to stand in front of a coal train and try and stop it with my bare hands, but I don't fear getting struck by one. I don't fear getting a phone call about Leah being sick. And I certainly don't fear hearing that my parents are gone, and I've been turned into a 43-year-old "orphan."

Which takes me back to the children of that young mother. Does death take away their anxieties about loss? I can't speak for them, but my assumption is that it does not. Presumably you have another parent that you could possibly lose, and you may begin to question your own long-term health. Like I said, in adolescence your brain is not fully formed and managing these anxieties may not be as easy as when you reach middle age and beyond. And I am certainly not without my anxieties about death and loss. It's not like, "Kyles dead and I no longer give a shit." But I will say that things that used to matter, the topical matters that can at times make up so self-centered and insular, seem trivial any longer.

"My kid didn't make the team."

But they're alive.

"The neighborhood kids were mean to my son."

But they've alive.

"My daughter has a C in calculus."

But they're alive. And calculus is hard.

These blips on the radar of life are all things we experienced, too, with Kyle and will eventually do or have already done with Leah. My hope is not to sound condescending but to serve as a cautionary tale. To remind yourself daily of what truly matters and how fleeting this all is / can be. Because eventually the anxieties can manifest into the physical and turn your life on a dime and you're left thinking, "What was all that for?"

I was emotional reading that woman's obituary, a stranger I never knew. I grieve for the children and husband she left behind. And the parents and extended members of her family and friends. And as I ponder which type of loss is worst, I am reminded that it's all terrible for its own specific reasons and there is no hierarchy of hurt. Grief not a competition because if it were, we'd all seem like losers.

But the silver lining is the freedom grief gives. Grief offers one the ability to focus on getting to the core of what really makes life matter. Six months ago, I would have never read that woman's obituary and never thought about her widow of her poor children. Grief tends to soften your emotions and grants you the compassion and empathy to channel other pains, which I believe is a gift.

I end by offering a quote by Martin Prechtel that was sent to me just this morning, 

" Grief is praise, because it is the natural way love honors what it misses."

I'll be thinking and praying about that woman and her family, and I hope they'll pray for me, too, and for many other too suffering through loss. Because instead of looking at grief and suffering as a societal taboo, rather embrace it and be grateful for the connection and freedom it allows for. 

 

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. 

Can't You Read the Sign?

When is a sign an acknowledgement from another place and time and not a happy coincidence? Follow me, you purchase a new car then all of a sudden you see that exact same model all over town. Is it someone or something telling you that you made a wise choice, or has you brain been opened up to a new level of perception and recognition? 

While a more serious matter than buying an automobile how do you recognize signs or messages from loved ones and how does it reinforce spirituality and belief in a higher power? Once again, when you receive a supposed sign from a departed loved one is it for real or has your mind opened up to new possibilities? Or both.

I ask Kyle for signs all the time. While not of deep faith, but much deeper than 2 months ago, I believe he is somewhere watching over us. Within the span of two days, we had a waiter named Kyle, then a character named Kyle in an SNL skit. Heck, there was even a repertory character from SNL literally named Kyle Mooney. But Kyle's not an uncommon name so I'm left deciding between whether or not these are happy coincidences or messages from beyond. 

After Kyle's death I was convinced I was going to jump headfirst into faith and the church as a way to stay connected to his memory. The congregation and leadership at Fellowship Church were so kind and protective following Kyle's death that I felt as if I owed God the opportunity to reenter my life. And I have to a certain degree; I pray, and I go to Church. I have a brand-new copy of a Bible on my nightstand and a rosary gifted from a dear friend. But I've always struggled with the idea of Heaven as its described to us and have viewed God as more of a larger entity as opposed to a singular being. 

However, I often come back to the idea that as someone living on planet earth, I am an impossibly small part in a galaxy that is one of what is estimated to be between 100 to 200 billion other galaxies. That past planet Earth there is very likely other living creatures or beings inevitably created by someone or something. That's the trump card. You can test the theory of gravity. You can freeze water and turn it into ice cubes. But you cannot disprove God. 

And while we practice Christianity in our house, our next-door neighbors are Syrian. And the people across the street are a mixed Jewish and Catholic family. We celebrate Easter, the Jews celebrate Rosh Hashana and the Muslims honor Ramadan. Our practices and cultures are very different, but we are all trying to get to the same place...eternal happiness. Which brings me to the concept of spirituality, faith and messages from beyond.

I don't need to have relationship with God to believe to messages from the dead, but I believe it helps. Why? Because it helps me to have faith. And with faith comes the expectation that I trust good things will befall me and my family. You may wonder how someone who just lost their son can trust that good things will happen to them, but after the last two months, nothing scares me. I have faith, it has been reinforced whether by Kyle's spirit, his death or my own self-confidence, but I don't fear because I have been through the worst and I am still standing. That alone should be a message to us all. The triumph of the human spirit. 

Last week Erica, Leah and I all dreamt about Kyle. It was the first time I'd heard his voice since the night before he died. That night I laid in bed and begged for him to come to speak to me. My dream was brief and centered around he and I talking about school. Erica's dream was similar only she was driving Kyle to and from practice / school with Leah in the backseat. And Leah's dream was the four of us at the beach together. Not one of us has dreamt about him since he died, yet all of a sudden in the span of three days we all have vivid dreams where we are speaking to him. Once again, did he hear my pleas or was it all a happy coincidence? Had I opened my mind to his presence again and did me discussing it with Erica and Leah open up their minds to the possibility? Regardless, it was a welcome meeting and one I hope happens again very soon and very often. I had faith he would return to me, and it happened, thus reinforcing my trust in the inevitable good that's right in front of me. 

Last July we were readying to leave town for an extended weekend with family. As I was getting ready for (aka getting out of the shower) I heard a large thud coming from Leah's bedroom. She had fallen out of her lofted bed which sits 7' in the air and landed on her back / head / neck area. Like Kyle, I knew something was wrong and ran into her room. She was partially blocking the door making it difficult to reach her. When I did her eyes were rolling back in her head, she was seizing and in and out of consciousness. Erica was crying on the phone with 911, Kyle was screaming in our room and crying, "Is she dead? Is she dead?" After 30 seconds, which seemed like an eternity, Leah woke up, looked at us and said, "I have to go pee", then proceeded to go about her day like nothing happened. The EMS arrived, gave her the full battery of concussion tests, blessed her with a clean bill of health and left. They compared the blow she took to a prize fighter getting knocked on the canvas. Her brain shifted when she hit the ground, and she was trying to readjust before she came back to a normal state. It was the scariest thing that had ever happened to me up until that point. It gave my stomach pains to think about it for a few days following.

Now I know that what happened to Leah was a test. It was a test to see how we reacted in the moment and looked to prepare us for Kyle's death. There are so many parallels in what happened to my children that it's impossible to deny the connection. It was a sign, a glimpse into the future and a mental exercise to unlock the possibility in our psyche of losing a child. 

Leah's here and today is her 8th birthday As I type this, she's asleep in the same bed she fell out of 6 months ago and will soon come down to unwrap her presents. Just this past week she went to a pediatric cardiologist to determine whether or not she is afflicted by some of the same genetic deficiencies that affected Kyle. Long story short, she has a normal, perfectly healthy heart and nothing of concern to the doctors. More consultations and testing are possible, but as of her 8th birthday she is a healthy, happy little girl. On the day she was born Kyle laid in the hospital bed, cradled her in his arms and told her he was going to love her, "Forever and ever". We have the recording on our phones and watch it often, especially today. I justify his passing in this moment by remembering that video, her cardiologist and the message he gave her, gave us. Kyle's affliction affects 1 in 100,000 and the odds that a normally healthy adolescent boy would die from cardiac arrest are even smaller. Which leads me to the question I've asked myself all week; "Was he chosen for this?" If I have faith, I believe he was chosen. I believe he was chosen to protect his sister from a similar fate. And he was chosen to protect the child of someone reading this blog that may want to curiously probe into their own genetic heart health and that of other family members.

Have I opened myself up to a new level of consciousness about the cruelty of death? Or is everything that transpired with my children's health over the last six months just a series of unfortunate coincidences? I choose to believe the former. I choose to have faith in something greater that myself. And I choose to believe in the great big sign with the arrow point to the right that reads, "One Way". And if I follow that sign, where will it eventually lead me? I trust that it will lead to the solace I need, the answers I crave and another day with my son. 

(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.

 

 

Songs in the Key of Life

I don't remember music being an important part of my early childhood. My earliest memory of music was sitting on the floor of my parents' home listening to the Jackson's (not the Jackson 5) record "Victory" on my dad's Reel to Reel. As a child of the 80's however, MTV was such an integral part of the culture that popular music was unavoidable. With the "Thriller" and "Beat It" videos on heavy rotation every suburban white kid wanted to be Michael Jackson. Then as we grew into teenagers rushing home from school to watch Carson Daly and TRL and catch videos and appearances from NSYNC, Korn, Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears and Eminem. 

The summer before freshman year in college my friend, Mike Mason, bought "London Calling" by the Clash. The title track was the first track on the album. And when the song starts it starts with a drum beat that's reminiscent of soldiers marching into battle. The album itself is a blend of punk, ska, reggae, pop, doo-wop and R&B. 25 years later, "London Calling" by the Clash is still my favorite album. It's a masterpiece. The Clash opened me up to a world of music that wasn't available on MTV...grittier rock, punk, grunge and R&B music. The Clash led me to examine bands like the Strokes, Alice in Chains, the Rolling Stones, Al Green and many, many more. 

Erica's always had a deep connection with a lot of soul and R&B music. Her father introduced her to Motown, Atlantic and Stax artists from an early age. Yes, she liked a lot of the popular rock groups of the day (NKOTB was her first concert) but was always more attracted to the soulful stylings of 60's and 70's urban contemporary music. 

When we started dating music was a big part of our relationship. We discussed artists we liked, introduced each other to new genres and purchased CD's that we thought the other might enjoy. She bought me a White Stripes CD and I bought her the Supreme's Greatest Hits. On our first Valentines Day together, we purchased each other the exact same CD - Hall & Oates Greatest Hits (pictured below). 

On our wedding day our first dance was to "Let's Stay Together" by Al Green, which was performed by a soul group out of Chattanooga named, Love, Peace & Happiness. 

Music was always a large part of Kyle's life, too. Kyle loved all genres - he'd gravitate towards rock and country when he was with me and R&B, pop and even some Broadway when with Erica. Kyle, in particular, loved the Hamilton soundtrack, which cleverly blends history with R&B. It too is a masterpiece of pop culture. Around the age of 8 or 9 I introduced him to Gangster Rap and my rule for listening was very simple: You can listen, but if I get a call from school saying you're repeating what you hear in those songs, you're going to be in trouble. As Kyle grew older, he'd listen to some of the new mumble-core, Emo rap popularized by artists such as Lil' Baby and others. He'd play a track in my car and my response would always be the same, "Now, which drug addict is this?" It's the typical sardonic response from a middle-aged man to his child when they don't connect on musical tastes. 

We had our artists that we mutually enjoyed listening to in my car: The Strokes, Oasis, Foo Fighters (his first concert), Red Hot Chili Peppers and most recently, Pearl Jam. I've never been a huge Pearl Jam fan. The music is good, but I've always struggled to understand lead singer, Eddie Vedder. Eddie sings like he's been paralyzed on the left side of his face. Pearl Jam is a prolific band that outlasted many of their contemporaries - Nirvana, Soundgarden, etc. - which is commendable, but I've never understood the appeal. Their latest album however, Dark Matter, released in early 2024 was really, really good. I listened to it front to back many times during my drives across the state for business and found myself coming back to one track in particular. 

As a Spotify member at the end of each year, they compile your Top 100 songs of the last 12 months It's a feature they offer called Spotify: Wrapped. It typically comes out December 1st and is a minute-by-minute breakdown of your listening habits. My top song on Wrapped for the last four years has been "Interstate Love Song" by Stone Temple Pilots, which I firmly believe is the second greatest grunge song next to "Smells Like Teen Spirit, but I digress. 

After Kyle died, I didn't open Spotify or listen to music for two weeks. Every note of every song was a painful reminder of him and the music he loved. However, one of the few bright spots was knowing that the Wrapped playlist would soon drop, and I could pour over what songs, artists and podcasts dominated my listening habits. It would be a welcome distraction. However, for some reason the Wrapped list didn't arrive on December 1 and was delayed until December 4th. 

During this time a friend of mine, trying to cheer me up, texted asking if I'd like to go see a concert next year. I mentioned that Kyle and I had planned on flying to Chicago to see Oasis at Soldier Field, but that would now be too painful. He then recommended Pearl Jam. As I mentioned, I've never been a Pearl Jam fan, but I've heard they put on a great live show. I ignored the second part of his text and went about something else. Two days later I open up my phone and what's the first thing that appears on my Facebook feed: Pearl Jam has added 2 US shows in Raleigh, NC - May 11th and May 13th. May 11th, for the uninitiated, is Kyle's birthday. 

Then on December 4th, Wrapped finally loaded onto my Spotify app. As I watched over the story they produced waiting for my eventual top list I got to see my top podcasts of the year - sports, politics - my favorite artists - Oasis, Taylor Swift (Thanks, Leah!) and eventually my top songs. And my number #1 listened to song of 2024... 

"Wreckage" by Pearl Jam. 

To reiterate a previous point, I struggle to understand Eddie Vedder, but with Spotify you can read the lyrics as you listen to each track. And although I've listened to "Wreckage" dozens of times over the last year, I've never heard its message. I read the lyrics as I exercised yesterday at our gym. And let me tell you, you haven't truly lived until you've cried in public holding a dumbbell in your left hand. I sat downstairs last night after my family went to bed and poured over the lyrics and melody of the song. It perfectly encapsulates what we're experiencing as a family right now. My assumption is that Eddie wrote the lyrics describing a lost love, but they're really applicable to the devastation of any heartbreak.

Wreckage

Song by

Pearl Jam

Visited by thought, another darkened day
How you're like the sun, hiding somewhere beyond the rain
I'm needing for the light, stormy is the grey
Rivers overflowing, drowning all our yesterdays

Visited by thoughts on another darkened week
How even every winner hits a losing streak
The mistakes we all make and perfectly repeat
Chains are made by DNA refusing
Refusing to release

Combing through the wreckage, pouring through the sand
Surrounded by the remnants, what we could and couldn't have
Raking through the ashes, falling through my hands
Charcoal on the faces in the burned up photographs

Oh, visited by thought and this I got to say
If you're feeling the leaving, I can't make you stay
I've only ever wanted for it not to be this way
But you're now like the water
And the water will find its way

Combing through the wreckage
Holding out, holding on
Combing through the wreckage
Combing through the wreckage

Oh, visited by thoughts and not just in the night
That I no longer give a fuck who is wrong and who's right
This game of winner takes all and all means nothing left
Spoils go the victor and the other left for dead
Uh-uh

Combing through the wreckage
Holding out, holding on
Combing through the wreckage

Combing through the wreckage
Holding out, holding on
Holding out
Holding in
Holding on

(Combing through the wreckage)
Combing through the wreckage
(Combing through the wreckage)
Combing through the wreckage
(Combing through the wreckage)
Holding on (combing through the wreckage)
Holding on, oh (combing through the wreckage)
Holding on (combing through the wreckage)

Falling through the wreckage
(Combing through the wreckage)
Falling through the wreckage
(Combing through the wreckage)
Crawling through the wreckage
(Combing through the wreckage)
Combing through the wreckage
(Combing through the wreckage)

Songwriters: Stone Gossard, Eddie Vedder, Matthew Cameron, Michael Mccready, Jeffrey Ament, Andrew Watt. For non-commercial use only.

I encourage you, if you haven't already, to listen to "Wreckage" sometime today and read the lyrics as you listen to the music. I mentioned to someone that the grieving process is like being hit with a tsunami. One minute you're staring at something beautiful and without any warning you are submersed and drowning in despair, which, I think may be the point of the song. "Combing through the wreckage" is a reference to pulling yourself out of despair and looking for safe passage, trying to hold onto anything to survive. 

My apologies to the Clash. Twenty-five years was a good run, and we have a lot of good memories. But I believe "London Calling" had been unseated by "Wreckage" as my favorite song. 

And you at home can debate the lyrics all you like, but not here. I know what it means to me. Now I'm off to buy concert tickets for next Spring. 

A Boy and His Vols

Merry Christmas week everyone. Yes, we are still very much celebrating Christmas here in spite of Kyle's passing. Our tree is up. Our lights are hung. And there are plenty of presents for Leah to open on Christmas morning. We have to celebrate Christmas because it's what Leah expects. A 7-year-old can't possibly grasp the enormity our grief yet, so we have to continue to make her life feel as normal as possible. 

I don't really have a particular Kyle Christmas story to share that registers as significant. There was the time Kyle ran to Santa at the mall when he was 1-1/2, but that was Kyle...never met a stranger and certainly wasn't intimidated by one. Or the time he came downstairs around 11PM on Christmas Eve and I had to try and hide the Mickey Mouse Go Kart I was building him. Or the Christmas Eve we let him and Leah sleepover in Leah's room, and they woke up for Santa at 3:30AM... that was fun. 

Kyle stopped believing in Santa last year. He and Leah were getting Santa pictures and someone in line spoiled the surprise for him. He took it in stride and promised not to ruin the magic for his sister. He was really excited to help continue the Santa tradition for Leah this year. 

This week my thoughts about Kyle have revolved around the College Football Playoff and the Tennessee Volunteers. Kyle loved Tennessee sports more than anyone. He obsessed over highlights, stats and players like no one I've ever met. He wore something Tennessee related every day and would live and die with every pitch, snap and bucket. 

Saturday night Tennessee played in the inaugural College Football Playoff against Ohio State, and it did not fare well for Kyle's beloved Vols. Tennessee was outclassed on the way to a 42-17 rout that most I know turned off in the 3rd quarter (me included). Life is too short to ruin your evening over a football game. Tennessee had a great season but isn't on the level of a program like Ohio State (yet). But Kyle's love for the Vols was unmatched. It was also unavoidable.

Erica was born in February 1983 to in Knoxville. Her family, particularly her father and maternal grandfather, were / are diehard Tennessee fans. Erica's grandfather, Herman, was such a huge Vols fan his master bedroom was painted orange. And in his later years, he became a local folk hero for his Friday morning calls into in 99.1 FM, the local Knoxville sports talk radio station. Erica only applied to Tennessee, was accepted and graduated with her business degree in the Spring of 2005. She scheduled our wedding date around a Tennessee football bye week so none of our family and friends would miss watching Tennessee play.

My route to Vol fandom was more circuitous. I grew up in Cincinnati, 90 minutes from Ohio State and paid little attention to southern college football culture. However, one summer during a trip to Gatlinburg I asked my mom to drive me past Neyland Stadium and the University of Tennessee campus. Once next to Neyland I was floored by the sheer size and scope of the stadium. And with a gate open I let myself in to take a look at something so enormous. Once inside a facility worker came up and welcomed me with one rule, "Please don't go on the field". Even at the age of 15 I found myself intrigued with the idea of what could be so important that 100,000 people gather 6 times a year to show their support for a game. What causes this stadium to turn into a Baptist Tent Revival on bourbon? 

In the Fall of 1998 Tennessee was playing Florida in Neyland Stadium. A last second missed field goal by Florida gave Tennessee a win over their hated rival and springboarded them to a national championship the following January. I was 16 years old at the time and watched in my living room cheering for a team and a school I had no affiliation to. What force was drawing me into cheering a school two states away, in a conference I had never heard of, in a sport that never really interested me (Cincinnati is a college basketball town, for the record)? Two years later I attended my first Tennessee football game as a student and graduated in 2005 with a degree in Communications. 

Kyle's first Tennessee game in Neyland came in the Fall of 2013. We played Kentucky and won by a sizeable margin, because we always beat Kentucky...at everything. The highlight of the day however, was when two men bumped into each outside the concession line and one guy dropped his French fries. It's all Kyle would talk about for roughly 9 months was this guy's French fries. Not the game, the marching band, the fanfare, but a $6 order of fried potatoes and ketchup. 

But as Kyle grew his attention turned to the field and other Tennessee sports. I mentioned this extensively during Kyle's eulogy, but Kyle and I both became obsessed with Tennessee baseball. I purchased season tickets in the Fall of '21 and he and I attended so many wonderful and entertaining games together at Lindsey Nelson Stadium. He'd come home from school on a Tuesday, do a little homework, then we'd leave our house at 5:30 for a 6:05 first pitch. We'd watch them beat up on some directional school and leave around the 7th, home by 8:30 and him in bed by 9, 9:15. But it wasn't just the directional schools they were beating. They were beating up on some of the giants of college baseball: Arkansas, Florida and my favorite team to beat in baseball - Vanderbilt. Then in 2024, after knocking on the door a few times previously, Tennessee won 60 games enroute to their first ever national championship in baseball. I have a video of the final pitch that Erica recorded. We had a house full of friends, but when the final strike was called, I threw up my arms and immediately grabbed Kyle. This is the difference between professional and collegiate sports - collegiate sports are personal. I don't know anyone personally on the baseball team, but we are bonded by a love of the University of Tennessee. It's a family. 

The very next evening we, and 40,000 fellow fans, attended the championship parade in downtown Knoxville. It was hot and muggy and fun. Below is a pic of Kyle and Leah just a few feet from the baseball team and evenings emcee, John Wilkerson. 

Kyle loved to play, watch and study baseball. He was not the fastest kid but was such a smart baserunner. He also had an amazing eye at the plate. His final at bat came during a tournament this past October against really stiff competition in Pigeon Forge, TN. He worked a 3-2 count against a left-handed side arm pitcher throwing between 65-70 MPH. At one point he fouled off 4 or 5 straight pitches and just battled. He ended up earning the walk. I don't think I've enjoyed watching him bat any more than I did then. It was a masterclass in hitting from a 12-year-old. 

Kyle had a lot of dreams. He wanted to play baseball then go into sports broadcasting. He used to go outside and play by himself and do commentary for each "play". When he showered at night you could hear him doing play by play from his bathroom. Anyone with a teenage son wonders what nefarious acts they get into during long showers, right? We never wondered. Kyle was upstairs impersonating Kevn Harlan. 

 When the funeral home asked for things for him to wear during his viewing it was never a question. Kyle would wear basketball shorts and his orange Tennessee #1 football jersey. Today we wear orange bracelets and sweaters in his memory and his remains are in an orange urn in our living room. He was right there with me Saturday night as I watched Ohio State throttle Tennessee. And I can hear him in a half declarative statement / half question saying, "Dad, we're just not very good, are we?" 

A week ago Saturday, Tennessee's men's basketball team, ranked #1 in the country, went on the road to play Illinois is a tough out of conference matchup. Tennessee battled the entire second half with their two best players in foul trouble. But off the bench came #11, Justin Gainey. Gainey is a good player - a streaky shooter and hardnosed defender - Gainey is also the son of Tennessee assistant coach, Justin Gainey. With seconds left on the clock Gainey drove the length of the floor and hit a running layup as time expired giving Tennessee the win.

I know another #11 that played hoops. I know a former #11 that played basketball for his dad, was a hot shooter and played with passion. And I couldn't help noticing the sign Kyle sent us, it was unmistakable. Once Gainey got the ball, I knew it was over. I knew he would score. I knew it because it had to happen. 

I've convinced myself that ball went in because Kyle made it happen. Never mind the coaches and players that dedicate themselves to their craft and put themselves in position to be successful. Driven not by money, but by the desire to compete and excel at something they love so dearly. 

I had a religious figure tell me back in high school that you can’t pray to win. God doesn’t help teams win. You pray to compete and come out of the competition safe and healthy. After games you see teams gather in a prayer circle to do just that: thank God for health and safety in the field of play.

In reality, was it Kyle that tipped in the ball? Probably not. But I didn’t clasp my hands during that final play to pray for a win. I clasped my hands in hopes of a glimpse of my son. And I believe I got it. I got through a young man playing a game he loved, executing to the best of his abilities. And like the person I prayed to, he’ll always be remembered as the hot shooter clad in big orange!

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah.

Can You Mend a Broken Heart?

When I was a junior in high school, I took a took a Morality and Justice class for my religious elective. My teacher, Mark Wilkins, was my favorite teacher a St. X. He was intelligent, self-deprecating and open minded. During this class we were tasked with writing a paper about what God meant to us. And I remarked that I didn't believe in God per se - the long white beard, the throne - passing judgement on everyday people, but that my belief was more of a conceptual belief in a higher power. For a 17-year-old kid to write this took a lot of courage. 

St. Xavier is a Jesuit high school in Cincinnati, OH with strict academic standards and traditions. Scores of X alumni have walked the halls of Congress, played in the Super Bowl and won Academy Awards.  However, my personal academic standards didn't match with X's. I was an insignificant part of the St. X legacy or as they refer to it, "The Long Blue Line".  But that paper was one of the few positive memories I carry from my time there. I remember getting an 'A' on the paper which only encouraged me to write openly and honestly and is one of the reasons I am able to write my memories of my son on the blog.

Now, let's return to a little over five weeks ago. When Kyle died there was no definitive answer on cause of death. The night before he passed, he mentioned that his heart was racing. I believe I mentioned this in a previous post, so we assumed the cause would have been cardiac related. Two weeks ago, an assistant from the Knox County Medical Examiner's office called me with more information. Kyle's heart was "slightly" enlarged, and could they proceed with genetic testing to probe for a more exact cause? Why, "Of course!", I told the medical examiner. And with a 7-year daughter who appears perfectly healthy and happy, could you put a rush on that, please???

Philosophers have posed the following question - "How can you believe in a God that kills small children?" And even with my abstract beliefs in God I never understood that question because I've never seen God as controlling. But I've asked God and Kyle for answers in my prayers. Every morning, I go into Kyle's room, get on my knees and pray. And every time I finish with, "Kyle, please protect your sister." 

But protect her from what?

Last week there was a school shooting in Wisconsin. And I can't imagine knowing what the parents of the deceased children are feeling. Yes, I can relate to a life snatched away far too soon, but I don't know what killed my son. People die in car wrecks, of cancer, of a peanut allergy...all tragic. But at least they have answers. We have nothing other than an educated guess and some more testing.

I've said this a thousand times over the last 5 weeks, "I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone" and I truly mean that. No one should have to grieve and memorialize their own child. But you know what else I wouldn't wish on anyone? I wouldn't wish having to speak with a medical examiner about your dead child. To pour over two dozen pages of medical terminology and reports, which contain every single detail of your life; the condition of our home, the prescription drugs in our medicine cabinet, the pajamas Kyle was wearing, the length of his nails and the shape of his teeth, his body / mass index and height and weight percentiles. And the size of his heart.

Most 12-year-old children have a heart size between 124 and 150g. Kyle's was 300g. Genetic testing showed his heart was afflicted by one of two factors: hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and a long QT. Now, I'm not going to turn this blog into the New England Journal of Medicine, but from my layman's research yesterday these two ailments appear to be similar. If they were family members, they would be first cousins. The irony is both are treatable with medication and lifestyle changes but would likely only be diagnosed though an extended EKG, which a pediatrician wouldn't perform for an outwardly healthy child. 

So where do we go from here? Yes, we all three have appointments with cardiologists the first of next year. And yes, we will proceed with further genetic testing, if necessary, no matter the cost. Health and protection of this family is paramount. However, will these answers provide the solace my family so desperately craves?

The night before Kyle died, we celebrated my birthday. Kyle ate a filet (medium rare, of course), a baked potato and some cake. He was Kyle that night - laughing, loving on his grandparents and sister and holding court the way only Kyle could. And Erica has poured over pictures from that night driving herself crazy thinking, "Did I miss something?" Was there a sign he was sick, and we ignored it? I asked the medical examiner these same questions and she simply told me, "No". When I called Erica to share the official findings from the report, we were both crying and I asked her to do me favor. I asked her if she could forgive herself for his passing. It was no one's fault, it just...happened. 

I haven't been able to look at pictures or videos of Kyle on my phone since he died. Today I finally went back and looked at a video from August 31st, 2024. It's him and Leah making a video for Erica for whatever reason. And behind him there's a balloon that says "Congrats" on it. I mentioned to Erica this video and asked about the significance of the balloon. She reminded me friends of ours bought Kyle the ballon and a gift to congratulate him for making the West / Bearden Middle School baseball team.

It's the first time I've listened to his voice since the night before he died. I missed hearing his sweet, inquisitive nature - a voice that vacillated between young boy and pre-teen on the precipice of a new stage of development in his life. Why have I been so reluctant to watch videos and hear his voice? I pray to him; I ask for a sign that he's near me and watching over us. All the while I have access to thousands of pictures and videos which recorded so many happy memories yet I'm afraid to watch them. I'm glad I finally dove into the cache of recorded memories. It was emotional and I felt extremely vulnerable afterwards, but I crossed another barrier in my grief journey. Much like the balloon, I could feel Kyle hovering above me and saying, "Congrats, Dad. You did it."

Thank you, Mr. Wilkins.