A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
This is the schedule for the upcoming weeks:
August 11 - filled by birberwitch
August 18 - filled by bigjacbigjacbigjac (bigjac - please confirm!)
August 25 - OPEN
September 1 - OPEN
September 8 - filled by Random Factor
September 15 - filled by NewDirectionsMom
September 22 - filled by Lize in San Francisco
September 29 - OPEN
October 6 - OPEN
October 13 - OPEN
This link will take you to past editions of The Grieving Room: http://www.dailykos.com/...
Please contact smnytx at yahoo.com to volunteer to host an upcoming week, or respond in this diary.
You know for the last two years, my right shoulder has really ached. I called it my torn rotor cuff. It came from throwing untold thousands of footballs to my 14 year old son, Alex John, or as we called him, AJ. Trying to lead him just right on deep post patterns, trying hard to keep up with his speed. And, after the last one every time, you see, he would only let it end after he made a great catch, from catching the big lug and hugging him as he came running and jumped into my arms, yelling "the Bills win the Super Bowl, the Bills win the Super Bowl!". Just us dreaming. It came from me trying to pitch to him as fast as I could so he wouldn't hit me, but he always did. It honestly hurt enough so that I only slept on my left side and if I rolled over on it, it would wake me up in the night. But I didn't care, how could I stop doing those things? I loved it. My new problem is that over the past month or so, my shoulder has slowly but surely stopped aching. Now what keeps me awake at night is my broken heart. You see, I have no one to throw those passes to, no one to brush back anymore. Because AJ left us on January 5, 2008, a victim of childhood cancer.
AJ truly was a remarkable young man. He was born during a blizzard in March 1993, and to this day I remember him not crying and breathing right after being born, and the doctor and nurses rushing around in the delivery room. But after he took that first breath, boy, did he breathe deep the rest of his life. He lived life. He was always smiling. He loved sports, people, music, playing the guitar, animals, movies, good books. He thought. He had fun; always made people laugh, did the right things, did everything at 110%, and was simply just a joy to be around. He was the love of our lives. During the last couple months, as we would be alone in the hospital room together at night and talk, and finally at home, I came to know that, believe it or not, this 14 year old was truly the most evolved person I have ever known.
His sister Katelyn said, "AJ, you would say something to make me laugh or cry or think and I would just stare at you thinking how did you even think of that?" Mom’s list of about a billion things is simply too long to pick just one out to say about her little pistol. His best buddy Pablo said, "AJ's character was like the sun: brilliant, golden, and able to light up the whole world". Jimmy V would be proud of the way AJ lived. Me? For 14-1/2 years he was the love of my life. And after 8 months of caring for him every day, he said he and I had become a "unity".
On Father's Day 2007, AJ was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins Burkitt's lymphoma and admitted to TX Children's Hospital. It’s one of the most aggressive cancers there is. He fought bravely, elegantly and continually for eight long hard months. Finally, on January 5, 2008, I guess God decided that AJ was the only person on Earth who could do what needed to be done for Him. We miss him more than words can ever describe and will forever hold him in our hearts. He will always be Mom's "white rose", Katelyn's "guitar hero" and Dad's "favorite son". But it wasn't just us.
His school put up a memorial for him, the only one in its 30 year history. They retired his football jersey. When the coach went to get it from the pile of 200, it was right on top. That’s the kinda kid he was, saying, thanks Coach, but don’t go to too much trouble.
He moved the Make-a-Wish people. After several attempts to get to CO to go skiing, we just couldn't do it, he was too sick. So one day, he knew the situation; he says to me out of the blue, "Dad, do you think Mom and Sis like earrings or bracelets". I’m like I don’t know why? He changed his make a wish to diamond earrings for Mom and Sis. They didn't even know about it. The earrings arrived the day after he left. Just like AJ, they sparkle every day.
He impacted visitors to the hospital. AJ and Stuart Holden and Craig Waibel from the Houston Dynamo soccer team struck up a friendship. Those two visit all the kids on the floor every chance they get. AJ would just light up and talk trash with them about sports and just forget and imagine at once. Forget where he was and imagine himself back out there on the playing field. He touched both of these big tough soccer players. Stuart, a member of the 2007 Champion Houston Dynamo soccer team, and recently named to the US Olympic team, came to visit AJ one of our last days at TCH. He brought the big silver MLS Championship Cup. And his championship gold medal. He and AJ held the cup high and kissed it. AJ told me he always knew he would hold a professional championship cup, and Stuart made that dream come true. Before he left, Stuart took his gold medal and placed it around AJs neck and said, AJ, I want you to have this. AJ made me so proud, again, and said, I can't accept this Stuart. Stuart insisted. Simply a beautiful gesture that brought AJ so much joy. Such a selfless act. I had a chance to repay Stuart in a small way by presenting him with a Gold Medal AJ won when he played in the NC State Championship soccer games at the age of 8. Stuart wrote me last week about being part of the Olympic team, and said AJ's medal means more to him than the MLS medal.
AJ was just that way. Made a difference to people. Talked to them in caring ways. People were drawn to him. He was leader on his sports teams. A leader amongst his friends. And did it all in a quiet, unassuming way. Just everything a Dad could ever ask for.
So here I am. What can I say that can possibly explain?
I am not a stranger to it. I have lost my grandparents. I have lost my Dad. My Mom was just diagnosed with cancer 2 months ago. Of course, it’s all sad. Of course you grieve for them. But this. This is simply incomprehensible. Mark Twain said it best - "to describe it would be to bankrupt all the words from all the languages in the world".
My life is now a continuing groundhog day. Get up, cry, work sometimes, eat if I can, sleep, cry, get up, cry, work on something else, eat if I can, cry, sleep, get up, cry, sleep; and then I wake up the next day.
How can I explain what it is like to have your 14 year old son say "Dad, what’s hospice?" The feeling you get when you walk into the meeting with the doctors and there are like 10 of them and 2 social workers? What it’s like to see what "complications" from cancer treatments really means when it’s your child. I can’t and won’t tell you the things we talked of once we came home. What it was like that last month. But I will tell you that if I can display 1 percent of the grace and courage that my son displayed, I would be satisfied.
Every single thing I see, think or do can and does reminds me of AJ. I opened a Sprite bottle today and there was writing on the cap and I remember him trying to win some bottle cap game. I have the same LIVESTRONG bracelet on that we first got; it’s held together with tape I stole from the hospital. Any sporting event on TV. My clothes. Food. Mowing the lawn. Music I can’t even start with. You name it, somehow it reminds me. 24/7. Without fail.
I know it’s early. But how can this change? What can time possibly do when so many dreams, so much love, so much future has been ripped off? We’ve talked to people, taken prescriptions, read books, etc. etc. People have recommended this and that. Or else they don’t want to talk to you about it. I can’t say that I blame them. But that’s all irrelevant. Only one thing matters. We lost AJ.
I don’t know if the grieving room is supposed to be an explanation of how to grieve, or your story, or really what. But all I can say is that this just f’ng sucks. It is simply not the natural order of life. I would have burned in hell for eternity for him. I still would today even if it just meant that he had another year. Or day. I know life is not fair. But it is supposed to be unfair to us, the parents, not the kids. But like he told me, "we have to play the hand we are dealt Dad". Jesus Christ.
So I groundhog it and run from it. Every day. But it catches me every time. Till I see him again.
We love you Age,
AJs Dad
PS – if you think childhood cancer sucks, below is part of my "running". AJ's favorite line from a song was "You get what you give". So I have to give it every bit I can, so other Dad's shoulders hurt forever.
PLEASE sign the Petition to Raise Awareness and Funding for Childhood Cancer
AJs Story