Friday, May 22, 2009


The time since Henry died has been many things. It's been free from cancer. There have been moments of great joy and moments of deeper sadness than I've ever experienced. We've been touched by the generous acts of love and support of community reaching far and wide as well as back into times of our past and have gotten a glimpse of the community that will take us into our future.

But it's also been completely disorienting. For the last decade Tara and I have been parents of small children. We'll be the first to admit we're not the most adept parents of little ones, but we enjoy it and have grown to appreciate the chaos and unpredictability they bring. Acceptance. They force you to be open to whatever experience the moments bring. Spilled milk, a funny face, tears one minute, laughter the next.

Henry was four, but still needed the kind of attention a younger child requires. Taking him to the bathroom, for example, was something he did for himself only very rarely. Simple jobs required attention and coaching. This was our way though. Our interaction became oriented around these jobs, these duties. These were the motions of our days.

Suddenly now, our youngest is almost 8. Overnight we've gone from attentive care to near independence. And while its something that parents long for when you're in the midst of the responsibilities of child rearing, you graduate out of it gently and come to appreciate the difference.

Sometimes now, I know I have so many things to do, many of them feel hollow and pointless. I can't keep thoughts in my head and have difficulty managing priorities. Small things overwhelm me and feel oppressive. I'm frozen by simple decisions and when I can finally decide I'm emotionally exhausted and often feel like I'm disappointing the people depending on me. My consciousness seems clouded by a thick fog and the effect is almost constant confusion.

This morning has given me a moment of clarity and with it the chance to think about things a bit more thoughtfully. Is this part of grief? Am I just tired? Am I still just looking for my balance? I'm sure this will pass but for now it's frustrating. The days are beautiful, school's almost out, and spring activities are almost over but life seems to be moving at light speed and I feel like I'm crawling with confusion.


Anonymous said...

Life without Henry will never seem normal, it will only become richer with memories and more absent of pain over time. But balanced and normal- never.

A grief and loss like this take time, how much- endless... until you see him again really.

I take comfort in knowing where Henry is and who he walks with- but that doesn't change the pain and just plain missing him here.

I pray for your family daily and the gift that your family and Henry have given me is this:

When I get home from a long day at work, time is limited with my new 6 month old daughter. There are dishes, chores, that list just doesnt seem to end or decrease. But your gift is this... those things wait, time with her is a gift and I see it as such. I will sit and play with her and give her my undivided attention up until her bed time. Those dishes will still be there, the list will too... in reality its just so unimportant.

So thank you for this gift, thank you for the reminder that life is so precious and to take each moment and enjoy the littlest parts of being with her. Learning a new skill,the brush of her cheek against mine, and those huge drooly smiles and kisses.

Thank you Henry. Thank you Scheck family.

A Doc 2 Be said...

There are no words, just know that as the above poster says, your family is a gift to us all, especially your beloved little Henry.

Many prayers and thoughts continue in your direction.


t said...

All I can think of is to keep writing. You'll figure it out at your own pace. Please know that so many people are thinking of you and praying that life will ease back into a pattern that feels right for your and Tara.

Anonymous said...


I echo the sentiments of the first blogger. I hope you find some comfort in that. Thinking of your family always.