Searching For Answers
This is Reece being his amazingly happy self. This photo was taken the day he stood without support for the first time.
I am going to apologize for this before I write another word but it is just something I need to do. Maybe it is a cleansing step. Maybe it is just a vent. Maybe I don’t know what it is or why I am doing it. That would be about right since it is difficult to know which way is up these days. So I hope you will bear with me through this.
It has been almost eight weeks since Reece died, five weeks since my mother-in-law died. It could easily have been eight years. It could just as easily have been eight minutes. There are times when his life seems so remote I can’t even feel him anymore. There are times when his life seems so very present I can almost touch him, hear his voice, feel his kisses. My heart aches and yearns for him. It is constant. It is unrelenting. And through all of this I have to find a way to work, to love my wife and my children, to be a Christian and not necessarily in that order.
There are times when I am at work and some little memory, or a photo of him or just someone coming up to ask how I am doing or absolutely nothing at all opens the flood gates of emotion. I cry. No. I weep. My heart breaks and it feels like he just died this minute. Once in a while I can smile at his memory. Once in a great while. It is still so soon smiles are very hard to come by. Once, a couple of weeks ago, I felt a small spark of joy. It didn’t last long. Maybe a minute. But there it was. Fleeting, but still it was there. I grabbed it with both hands but it quickly got away. Then one day a week or so later I felt love in my heart. Again, it was fleeting. It was there and then it was gone. I couldn’t hang on to it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
And there it is. Some of the time I don’t want to let go of the pain because right now that is all I have left. Or at least that is what it seems like. I know that is not true. At least I hope it is not true. How can one continue in this pitiful state. I hate it but that is all there is. It hurts all the time. I miss Reece so badly it is beyond my ability to describe the feeling.
And I yell at God. I accuse God. I have even screamed curses at God. I don’t mean that I have cursed God like Job’s wife wanted him to do. I am not that stupid. I know this is not God’s fault. For that matter, I can’t pin it on Satan either. God appoints the number of our days and the devil has little to do with it. It is Jesus Himself who holds the keys to death and hell. So I don’t worry that my son was stolen from me even when that is the emotion that surfaces. I know, however painful it is for me to accept, that Reece lived out the full number of his days and then just went on to be with the Lord. He better be enjoying my boy. A lot! The fact is, Reece’s death is no one’s fault. Reece is complete.
I am not. Fortunately, I read a book by C.S. Lewis yesterday. He wrote it, almost stream of consciousness style, after the death of his wife. I could so identify with him. He went through all that I am going through. He yelled at God, screamed at God. I don’t know if he cursed at God. But Lewis, the great Christian thinker and apologist, felt exactly like I do. It made me feel some better that a man of his stature and intellect could feel this same pain and still love God. I have decided that God is big enough to take my ranting. I have given Him plenty of reasons to execute justice on me and He has always restrained Himself through His grace and mercy. I expect He has a bit more to deal with me now.
The thing is, I have to go to work. I want to be there. And I don’t. I want people to talk to me. And I want to be left alone. I want people to hug me. And I don’t want to be touched. I feel alone. I feel smothered. I don’t know how to feel. Everything in me is a contradiction. I have to go work. I have to produce photographs. I have to keep up the level of work that everyone is used to. Not for them. That is totally for me. To do less is to be defeated. But here is the problem. I have no motivation at all. None. I have to force myself to do anything. I think it would be easier if someone told me what to do. But when they do I don’t want to do it.
In a way, work is both a blessing and a curse. I could say that about almost everything. The things I have always enjoyed give me no pleasure. It is just the next task I have to do to get through this day. I have thought of, or been tempted by, many distractions. Some of them are out and out sin. Some are just things I think I would like to do. But when I think them all the way through, the good stuff and the outright sinful stuff, I can see that when I am done doing whatever it is I was thinking of and come back to myself, the situation would still be the same. Solomon wrote that pretty much everything was vanity and chasing the wind. I totally understand and concur. He did have an answer at the end of his writing and I think that someday I will get there. I hope it will be soon.
For now, I will keep on getting up. Keep on pushing myself to go work. Pushing myself to do good work. Pushing myself to be kind, or at least courteous, even when I want to scream. Or just walk away in silence. I will keep on moving. I must. If there is any answer it is in not staying put, not staying where I am. Tomorrow, at least some tomorrow, must be better than today. If I don’t push forward then I might get stuck here. And that is the one, perhaps the only, thing that I cannot do. No doubt, some of you are getting worried right about now. Don’t be. I needed to do this. I needed to purge myself of this, to put it down in writing and I am glad you read this far. If you are still here I have only one request; please don’t stop praying for us. I need it. Patty needs it. Our children need it.
I know there is precious little photojournalism in this so I appreciate your hanging in there. I promise, more photojournalism is coming. It will be good. I owe it to you for your having read this. Thanks for standing with us. There are no words to tell you how much I appreciate it. By the way, I do feel better after having written all this. Again, thank you.
The opinions expressed in this blog are my own and do not necessarily reflect those of my employer or of anyone else for that matter.
I have never been through what you are going through so I can’t offer any advice, but I can pray for you and for your wife. And I will. As a mother of four I can’t imagine what it would be like to loose one of my children. I just can’t and don’t want to try. But God is greater then all this grief and loss and I know He will sustain both of you. One day at a time, keep turning to Him. He will heal the huge wound left behind and He will return joy to your lives.
Julie Cortens
19 Nov 09 at 7:45 pm
There is, of course, nothing any of us can do except say thank you for sharing your heart and grief. Know, that in this family of God, this unmet brother stands beside you in support and prayer and love.
Tim Thompson
19 Nov 09 at 9:17 pm
For as you love Reece, God Loves You!
Mark Davis
19 Nov 09 at 9:37 pm
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned in our emails the story of Chuck.
I’ve started to often, to ‘help’ you out by showing that I’ve been (kinda) where you are, and have made it through the last 20 years somehow.
But I’ve just as often stopped. Afraid that I would sound self-centered at a time when you just needed my assurance that you’d be able to get through.
Our son Chuck was murdered in 1999. It happened because the neighbor had his stereo on ’super high’ volume.
Chuck asked them to turn it down… they refused. He went back to his house, they followed him.
They stabbed him, and he died. Instantly, we heard.
Just like that, after 30 years, he was gone.
We had just planted a tree in our yard a few days before.
That tree became “Chuck’s tree.” We decorated it with a strand of all red Christmas lights that year.
There are reminders of his life everywhere. I see a red light at Christmas, I see a finely crafted piece of furniture (he was a craftsman) or any number of things.
The sharp pain of his loss went away over time, replaced with a dull ache that twinges every now and again. And a sharp pain now and again, too.
But just as often, wife Edy and I will have thoughts of Chuck looking down on us and making one of his jokes with song lyrics as we listen to the radio, or watch TV (for reference, picture an R-rated Weird Al.)
One thing is for sure.
You never, ever need to apologize for writing about Reece, or your feelings, or anything else.
Your blog is… well, yours. It’s your way to share with us what’s going on, and what you see, and from time to time, how you make the pictures you do. It’s also your way to vent, and that’s important, too.
We can learn and share, and offer our support. We can read your words, and say, “I am not alone in my feelings” when we have contradictory thoughts. (Like wanting to be left alone, and talked to.)
And about “there is precious little photojournalism in this.”
Photojournalists are not robots. We are the sum total of our life experiences, focused through that little viewing glass every time we see something.
I remember a while back you talked about being at a fire scene, and how your dad’s words about being careful rang in your ears.
The joy and the pain of Reece’s life and loss will be in your soul to help guide your journey forever, and perhaps to be there for someone else during their time of critical need.
As for advice, I’ll offer this.
Perhaps you’re afraid to enjoy things now because you feel it would be disrespectful to Reece’s memory. Or that of your mother-in-law.
I can’t speak for anyone but me, but I like to think that Chuck is sharing in my joy when I take a picture I like, so…
I agree that you need to push forward, and though it may seem like you’re in automatic mode, you have a lifetime of experience to guide you, even in auto, and your style and desire to do good work will prevail.
It already has, because you are searching. That’s a good thing.
And you can be sure I’ll continue to pray for your family.
Peter Wine
20 Nov 09 at 5:25 am
Peter,
You never told me that. My heart breaks for you. And I really, really appreciate everyone’s support. My mom called last night and she said the Lord reminded her that my great-grandmother lost three children, one at birth and two in their very young years then she lost a fourth as an adult. I may have it bad but there is worse. Thank God it is not worse. And thank all of you for the support.
Gary
Gary Cosby Jr
20 Nov 09 at 5:37 am
Man, you have me crying first thing this morning. I’m going to go give my girls a hug.
David
20 Nov 09 at 6:43 am
Not sure what to say Gary. Not even sure where to go with this.
I’m not as wise as you. I’m not nearly as faithful as you. I’m sure I’m not as kind or as giving as you. I don’t have your patience and I can promise you I don’t pray as much as you do. I’m not even sure God would have put Reece in my hands to begin with.
But I do love you. That is for certain. You have always been a rock for others, including myself. And I would think that there are people out there like me who have a hard time watching a rock like you crumble beneath the weight of anger, confusion, guilt and sadness. It’s tough as hell to watch you struggle.
I think it’s okay to be angry with God. We’re human. I’ve shown enough rage and sworn wickedly vile enough, at times, to be barred permanently from the gates of heaven.
But a wise man once counseled me that Jesus, too, showed anger. I don’t think I ever knew that before – partly because I rarely read or understand the bible enough to have learned something like that in the first place.
But when I heard that it sort of soothed me and took me in a different direction. I started to work on ways to deal with my anger. I still stumble sometimes and probably always will.
I’m pretty sure that the anger, rage and temper you’re feeling now will not last a lifetime. You’re not built that way. Don’t put a time table on it to subside. You can’t bottle it up.
I had to have help with my anger though. Still probably need help and don’t seek it nearly enough. I hope you can ask for help because that’s the hardest thing to do.
I feel your pain and struggle this morning Gary – and it hurts.
-Corey
Corey Wilson
20 Nov 09 at 9:10 am
Every blog post you have written since Reece’s death reminds me of him, because he is a part of you and I could not imagine you spending a day without thinking of him. So don’t apologise for explicitly writing about your feelings because we are already there with you.
Best wishes
Paulo
Paulo Rodrigues
20 Nov 09 at 4:03 pm
Covering you with prayer.
Ken
21 Nov 09 at 8:26 am