Journaling

“Good morning Finn” is how I start almost everyday.  

I am in my 3rd year of journaling. My journal is a daily note to my. I started writing to Finn on my first day back to work after he died.    

I have no idea if Finn can read or know what I am typing.  Of course, I would love if he could!  But I honestly don’t know that I would be disappointed if he didn’t.  Just the exercise of communicating with Finn brings me peace.  

The shadows of grief can be so paralyzing.  There have been countless days that I wake up in the morning with no energy or ambition or hope.  But, most days I make myself write to Finn.  This feels like an accomplishment.  I can actually know that when I go to bed I can say “at least I wrote Finn a note.”  

It is twisted, but even if he can’t know what I wrote, journaling is good for me.  I know Finn would be happy to know that I am trying to take care of myself.  So writing to Finn is a silly way to take care of myself.  On the days that I don’t journal, which are rarer and rarer as time goes by, I feel very guilty.  I feel like I let Finn down and I also feel like I miss opportunities to be with him.

Most thoughts in most notes are just trivial accounts of the morning or the previous day.  I almost always start with how I am feeling right then.  Lots of notes start with “I am so tired” or “life is so hard”. Many times I have conversations with Finn and ask him questions.  At times profound thoughts and memories and ideas come to mind.  When this happens, I copy these to a “things to write about later” file.  This document got very long and lead me into flushing out these ideas which has turned into attempting to write a blog.  

I have never gone back to reread any of my notes to Finn.  I can’t think of any tangible reason why I don’t reread these.  But I haven’t done it.  I suspect that there is some unknown reason that is holding me back.  I doubt it is avoiding grief since I tend to take every opportunity to “grieve”.  I probably don’t reread them because it isn’t the time yet.  I trust if and when a time comes to read these, then I will be given a gift.  My ego believes that there is a wealth of first hand knowledge of what grief is like at least for me.  Perhaps a valuable tool in blogging about grief :)

Grief and missing my beautiful son is one of the cores of who I am.  Parents never stop thinking about their kids whether they are alive or dead or living at home or apart.  Writing to Finn every day is a powerful way for me to ground myself in this part of me.  When I hide or bury grief, it comes back to kick me and at unexpected and often less than ideal times.  The more separated I am from the grief the more it hurts and the further it knocks me down when it kicks me in the gut.  So writing to Finn is a daily way to stay grounded to my grief in a place that is safe.

I’m not sure if blogging will stick, but journaling is a permanent rock in my life.  It has directly lead into many positive gifts.  My morning routine now includes stretching, meditating, and making the bed as well as journaling.  Journaling has lead to ideas that I have found worth expanding and sharing.  Most importantly, writing a letter to Finn gives me a daily chance to visit with my beautiful son.

Grief in the holidays year 3

This is something that I shared during a church service. It was a service about grief where myself and three other members talked about our grief in the holidays and how it changes over time. It was in the middle of my 3rd year of grief.


Good morning.  

[I hang up  Finn’s stocking]

We have a second son named Finn and this is his stocking.  He died before his first Christmas as his life only lasted from March through August 2010.  He never saw his stocking or the Christmas lights which he would have loved.

How can I look at this stocking on Christmas morning and find joy?

Impossible.  It will be a knee bending kick in the gut.  I will be flattened.  How does a family celebrate a child’s birth while missing their own baby?

This is my third holiday season since Finn’s death. This year there seems like less fog and I have enough space to at least start thinking about the holidays and what they mean to me and my family.  

Do I invite Finn into my holidays or should I try to set my grief aside?  This doesn’t take much thought.  Generations of sad people before me have learned that burying grief is dangerous.  I am permanently Finn’s dad and I think about him just as much as I think about his brother.  I need Finn to have a stocking.

If I can’t remove grief from holidays, perhaps I can stop participating in them.  Two days off of work at the end of November, then more vacation at the end of December through the beginning of January with no celebrations or obligations.  Now this could bring joy.  But, the appeal disappears when I think of my living son, when I think family and friends, and my community like here at church. I choose to live in a family.  I choose to live in a community.  You folks celebrate a lot of holidays between October and January.

So I am destined to painfully participate in holidays with Finn.   Well, not exactly with Finn....  Grief gets so twisted.

Well, I do have some choices.  

One choice seems obvious but takes some effort.  I can recognize that I am grieving and be mindful of what grief brings to me: rapid and frequent mood swings, no energy, compromised mental and physical capacity, and heightened sensitivity, among other crud.

I can also choose to do things for myself.  I can take slow quiet walks.  I can sit still and breathe and meditate, or write, or read, or just stare out the window.  

I can choose to spend more time with my wife and son and less time with life’s clutter.  

I can choose to go to yoga or sweat heavily in a sauna.  

I can choose to listen to music in the dark.  

I can choose to accept the times where my destiny doesn’t lead me far from the couch with a bag of potato chips.

I can choose to go through the pain and work of finding gratitude despite the sorrow and desperation.

And when I do chose to do these activities, then I will be living and I will find some peace.

So how have my holidays changed though grief?

Well I remember soon after Finn’s death I was trying to hurry up and get through grief in time to enjoy the holidays.  And I thought this was rock bottom.

But as the holidays rolled on that first year, I remember I felt very angry and in lots of physical pain.  At times, I could hardly get out of bed.

Unfortunately year 2 was a lot harder for me than year 1, and I started to lose hope that things would get better.  

Now that I am in the middle of holiday season year 3, I know that grief is permanent and the pain feels the same.  

But, I have changed.  I have adjusted. I have learned to acknowledge grief and respect it and to do my best to be patient.  

Also, I am much more resilient.  The kicks in the gut still hurt the same and I still get flattened, but I am quicker to get back on my feet.

Our family fills Finn’s stocking.  We fill it with gifts like toys he should be playing with or clothes he should be wearing, and when we are ready, we donate them. There are too many families living in desperate need and a couple of kids will now get some clothes, toys, and food.  This doesn’t bring joy or remove the pain, but it connects us to Finn and that brings some peace to the holidays.