Not Alone

We received a very beautiful letter in the mail today from someone we do not know. We are linked, unfortunately, by the unfathomably torturous, and soul-shredding loss of a child. An explosion-in-common has devastated our realities and the few scattered remnants of a life now long gone are all that remain.  It is difficult to even recognize what these pieces were before... Before happiness ended.

For me there's no real way to put any of the pieces back together to create any semblance of the whole, but there is an exhausted thread holding up what remains of -- I can't find the word(s) -- the remains of me is all I really know to say right now, and, well, this string was made a little stronger today by the beautifully sincere words of a stranger.  

Thank you Kim for sharing your words with Erin and me.  A very thoughtful and kind message.  Thank you.

I wish that our stories did not have to be told.

"Beautiful Day"

'Tis a lot like walking on the floor of a lake I'd say. Y'got your mask on, you can breath, you can see -- in fact, with a labored glance to the surface you can see the sun, and the cloudless blue sky -- but it's all filtered through the brownish, particle-filled haze of the water so there's just no seeing it like everyone else. Sure, they say it's a beautiful day, certain you must know what this means, and you scan your memory for what a beautiful day looks and feels like but the feeling, the sights, the smells... They're all gone - the line of cognition severed. 

Lead boots hold fast your feet... Slow and tiring this walking on the lake floor but there's no other way; no other choice but to get to the other side only to turn around and do it again, and again, and again. Because they need you to. They all need you to. They all need you to keep moving. Even the ones that shouldn't matter need you to keep moving. 

Tired. Hurts to breath. Curse this stale air! Would that this damnable tank just empty and fill me no more.

HEARING HIM

Above the dialogue on the television and the soft hum of my laptop I heard Willem call out, as if in the distance - and more like a question than a statement -- "Hello?"  It was his voice.  So much so that I replied to him... "Hello?"

Never before in my life have I ever wanted so badly to hear a voice emanate from somewhere other than what we are programmed to understand.  I answered back with a hope beyond measurement; beyond expression...  A longing...  Such a longing.

After turning off the television, and over the hum of my laptop, I heard the unfortunate reality of the ethereal hello: it was only my stomach.  The mundane physical reality of hunger.  So earthly.  So disappointing.  So real.

CHRISTMAS 2012

Liliana had a school friend over yesterday and this friend must’ve told her mother that we didn’t have a Christmas tree and that our home was, apart from paper snowflakes the children made, bereft of any Christmas decorations, because we came home from a friend’s house to find a tiny Christmas tree by the door of our garage.

Christmas this year is less something that is celebrated and more something that must be endured; it is a project; a term paper due in a day and the only thing written is the reminder that it is due.  This tree is symbolic of the notion that, although it can be ignored, it cannot be forgotten.  This tree stands as a symbol of the community that continues to rise from unexpected places to help us stand during this, our worst of all, Christmases, and remember that there is still love and hope in this world.  Even for a grumpy, angry, and depressed old man and his scarred but still perfect family.

There is an unwillingness to accept that there is still hope and still a future yet I continue to seek, reach out for, and drink of, the random charitable offerings.  I look at this tree and I feel two opposing views as to what it can represent.  There is the thought that this tree pales in comparison to our trees of the past, to the happiness of other Christmases, and proves more as an irritating reminder that this Christmas is horribly painful and a weak attempt at happiness.  With very little effort, however, I force myself to live inside the caring thoughts of a little girl who saw our emptiness and felt the need to fill our void.  This is how I shall look at this tree.

****** THANK YOUs ******

Thank you to Liliana’s classmate.  We are thankful that your Christmas spirit is big enough to share for we have none.

Thank you to whomever left a living Christmas tree, beautifully decorated with origami, on our doorstep this morning.  Thank you for caring and putting smiles on my children’s faces.  

Willem the Keystone

Happy Willem Memory:

Around 2006, I imagine, Willem and I were walking through the woods of a nearby park. He was wearing my Desert Storm boonie cap and I was teaching him how to move tactically through the woods – identifying danger areas, how to signal to me that there were people and how many, how to crouch, when to move and when not to, etcetera.  Before long, we just explored and pretended to be deep into an unknown wilderness. He loved the woods. He was five.

____________________

Our family dynamic is terribly fractured by the loss of Willem.  It’s as though Willem were a keystone in an arch, our arch; an arch that included mommy, daddy, Wyatt, Lili, and Em and Ba.  We have a broken arch that’s trying to hold up broken pieces of the rest of us and failing – we’re just crumbling and falling as the weight of the holidays crushes and as time steals resolve. 

Apart from the paper snowflakes that Lili and Wyatt made, our home is bereft of any Christmas decorations. Lili and Wyatt deserve decorations and to enjoy Christmas in all its splendor but it’s just not Christmas without Willem and I’m not entirely sure it ever will be again.  We tried to make a stocking for Willem last night but the project failed (the details of which are a tragedy in itself) and the ruined stocking was relegated to the trash.  Lili began the chorus of tears and Wyatt simply went numb, quiet, and left the room.  We are not sure whether to take it as a sign to stop – we’re just not sure what to do. We feel guilt in not having some physical representation of Willem in our (celebration?) of the holiday. We’re just terribly empty and hurt.

My father brought over a book for me to read: Taming the Tiger Within: Meditations on Transforming Difficult Emotions.  I must give my father some credit: He knows I am angry but he remains calm, in the periphery, and keeps trying.

***** THANK YOUs *****

Thank you to my brother Michael who continues to hold me up and shield me with his intellect and much needed wisdom when those who would oppose me sling their arrows.

Tim and Sheila.  Thank you for your generous gift.

Thank you to those that are still reading and caring.  

Joy

Happy Willem memory:

One of our first walks together...  A simple walk on the sidewalk, holding hands, he was at a walking age but not quite talking age, just walking, both of us quiet.  Willem broke the silence with some form of a baby-like "whoa" as he bent down to pick up and marvel at a decayed leaf in the sidewalk; my first memory of his love of nature.

_____________________________

Someone very dear to me asked me this evening if I find any joy in my life (still).  At first I was a little surprised that this person didn't already know the answer and then I thought that maybe he did know and was simply trying to get me to reflect to make sure that I know.  He's tricky that way.

So... Yes... I do still find joy in my life - every day - and when the joy happens I attempt to store it for future use; for when the darkness comes.  When I fall to the bottom of the well, I always seem to fall with a little bit of Liliana's beautiful smile and a few of Wyatt's snuggles and reminders of Erin's strength; all of which conspire to form a way back -- a way out of the well.

There is, as should be expected, darkness and sadness all around me and I have failed to inform the reader that I still walk with light and tidbits of joy with me.  For example: Liliana and I played a little art game last night whereby I would draw a random object (in this instance, a circle) and would, then, hand the paper to Liliana to expand upon.  We took turns drawing objects and, without communication, turned our nothings into somethings -- somethings that became familiar. I made a rule that we had to have a pretzel rod in our mouths to draw.  Don't ask me why.  Random silliness I suppose.  This moment of joy will go in my pocket and I will use it whenever I need it.  I have a trailmix of joy in my pocket.

Yes... Yes I am sad, angry, depressed, disputatious, confrontational, and many other things, but I still find joy.  I still smile.  I still laugh.  My previous post is nothing more than the result of pressure, time, and a lack of proper maintenance causing a break and the resulting release.  It is me screaming at the bottom of the well, to the slippery walls, to the nothingness at the top of the well, screaming that I am still here and I am still in an immeasurable amount of pain and I want out of the well.

So rest assured that when I see your face I find joy.  Know this.  Your face brings me joy.  You ask me how I am doing and I tell you that I am "okay" and you know that I am not but your face, and the fact that you are there, the fact that you still bravely ask me how I am doing (because you care), brings me joy.  Dangerous thoughts linger but they are no threat -- they are just thoughts and they must be normal because I am normal.  And I hurt.  I am strong, reader, strong enough to endure this, and every setback (even the darkness), because I am fortunate to have many positive people and situations swimming very near to tell me that it's going to be okay.

Becoming Friends With Dangerous Thoughts

Struggling to find positive images. Struggling.  Being overwhelmed of late by anger, by guilt, and the pain that comes with both drag me nearer to a "permanent solution."  I care less and less for the world around me.

No longer do I view those that have given up in the face of adversity as quitters for I have come to know unbearable pain.  The holidays have cut at me too deep -- sadness and despair stand close by to twist every smile and warp every brief moment of happiness into guilt.

My parents, too young and unprepared, in their lust and haste, created me too early, accidentally, alone, and without a sibling.  Shortly after, they left each other, and, in my mind, abandoned me too.  They didn't leave me to my own devices -- they just became absent. Delinquent. Deficient.

I wanted so badly to offset this neglect by creating a larger family; A close family. A family where husband and wife stayed together... A family where the oldest guided the younger.  My oldest, Willem, my clone... my better me... who had everything I didn't, died, and just about all of me with him.  My dear son.  My first-born.  I ache.  I ache so terribly, so immeasurably, and feel myself slipping deeper into the abyss where reason fades with the light and then dies.

A glass of water and a blend of leftover sleep and anxiety aids lay untouched and promising.  Few would understand.  Many would curse the cowardice of leaving behind a wife and children and at one point in my life I would have done the same.  But now I have lost, and now I understand the absence of reason, and the magnitude of loss.  Understand now how color, sound, and taste no longer captivate as they once had.  Understand now how wonder wains, and how nothing holds as much splendor anymore.  Understand now how absolutely pointless it all is...

I am now in a battle for my life: A battle I must fight every morning. Every day. Every evening.  A fight to find purpose every day.  To remember why I must keep fighting to live.  Tonight I don't want to but tomorrow I might want to live just a little longer and I try so hard to remember that there are good days.  I fear, however, that darkness is winning.

Unable to Write

Obviously I have not been able to write.  In fact, I have not been able to much of anything actually.  The air is thick and it's difficult to breath.  Walking through life... I might as well be trudging through mud.  Nearly seven months have passed and I can see it in their eyes and in their actions; I can hear it in their voices... The world has moved on and grown weary of my misery.

I can't write about Willem in the way that I had promised.  No power. No will.

I press my face in to the cold glass and hold it there; I kiss it.  Eyes wet, I lift my face and stare at his photo.  I miss him so much.

Convergence

One year ago today Willem began feeling ill.  He went to bed complaining of muscle aches and we shrugged it off -- reasoning that it was a result of the running around he did during the family day at my unit.  But alas; it was not... It was the beginning of our family's hell.

As I have mentioned, I am committing myself (as much as I can, and, at least for the now) to continuing this blog.  I also mentioned that I was going to attempt to begin a new story; a story of Willem's life and what it was that made him so special to us all.  I cannot now promise that I will ultimately achieve this goal yet I can promise you this: you will come to know Willem if you so choose.

To begin my movement toward this goal, I have decided that the best time to tell the story of Willem's beginning is this very day: at the one year anniversary of the very moment I feel his health began to decline and ultimately take his precious life.

I feel it necessary to throw in a disclaimer here:  From this moment forward this is now my journal and my thoughts and feelings, however inappropriate they may be perceived, will pour out.  Uncensored.

Touching and So Very Sad

Liliana wanted to know what was was in the box that looks like a book.  We told her that the box contains Willem's ashes.  Not long after, and the house very quiet, I encountered this touching and very sad moment.  Through trembling hands and blinding tears, I endeavored to capture this image.

This is my attempt to continue the blog but speak less of our pain and daily unbearable suffering and more of Willem's good days and what it was that made him so special to us all.

I have been told, by those who love and know me, to keep writing.  I will try.

FIRST DREAM

Willem's dying body lay in my arms and I find joy in running my fingers through his hair and he speaks to me.  I smile and find an immeasurable amount of joy in realizing that, hey, Willem isn't dying after all; he's got long hair where once he had none. He's getting better!  There's hope again and my boy will be fine!

And then I awaken.  I awaken with the taste of joy still fresh on my tongue and the horribly bitter taste of reality quickly follows.

One deep sigh and a small tear in its wake.

Monday, May 21, 2012... I want so badly for my heart to fail -- anything -- I do not wish to live.


But I have to.  I have to.

Wrung

There is a pain involved with giving away some of Willem's possessions:  The pain is usually offset, somewhat, by the joy in the faces of the children receiving the item.  I was walking down our street with three pillow pets in my arms when three neighbor children yelled, "hi" to me from behind a fence.  I, on a whim, asked if they wanted a pillow pet -- they screamed in delight as they ran toward me; one saying that she's never had a pillow pet.  I asked only that they take good care of them.

The effect of of giving away that which is part of Willem, to those who are brought such great joy by the gift, is much like that of a soaked cloth being wrung dry; one effect nearly negates the other. Nearly.  

I feel a tremendous amount of guilt in reallocating Willem's possessions but I hope - I hope so very much - that Willem is somewhere, watching me, saying, "Nicely done daddy.  Nicely done."

HUMBLED

Humbled.  Truly, and, unequivocally, humbled.  These are the words I have for the Celebrating Willem fundraiser held on April 19, 2012.  There is much that need be said, and many that need be thanked. I do not wish to make light of the fact that money had been raised by saying that so much more than money was raised -- yet the fact remains that so much more was accomplished than just raising money.

I will have much more to say on this subject, perhaps, in future writings for much is happening; transformations are taking place; ideologies are changing; "...friends shaking hands..."

It is my understanding that there is much desire to know how much money was raised via the fundraiser, and I completely understand that it is because of the shear magnitude of the event -- I get that, and I would wish to know as well.

Well... The numbers are still being tallied, quite frankly, and the exact amount is not yet known.  I can tell you this, however, the number of people (I was told) that showed up was around 800 (600 adults and 200 children) -- it boggles the imagination.  It boggles my imagination.  I can also tell you this:  the goal was to raise $10,000.00 and the fundraiser far exceeded this amount; quite possibly tripled it. One donor agreed to match the amount made by the fundraiser up to $5,000.00.  It has been decided that this amount will be donated to P.O.R.T. and to Child Life Services -- Willem's favorite people at Helen DeVos Children's Hospital. There will also be a sizable sum donated to an HLH research foundation.

I feel it important to inform the reader that, apart from being the parents of Willem, neither I or Erin, were involved in the fundraiser -- we were kept out of the loop and had absolutely zero involvement in its planning or design.  Only now am I being brought up to speed.  What an amazing feat and what an amazing event.

So, on that note, I am still deliberating on whether it is prudent to divulge the exact numbers when they are given to me.

There will also be a separate post of much needed thank yous.

One Month Later

Willem passed away one month ago yesterday -- it still seems like yesterday.  I relive the sounds, the smells, and the visions over and over every single day.  The events conspire to lie on my chest and hold me horizontal to the bed.  I acquiesce.

It had been mentioned to me that I should post my words to the attendees during the ceremony -- for those that could not attend.  One month later, I am able to do this.  Here is what I said:

God give me strength.  


Willem Grey Radosevich is my son.  


I have been told that I am a great writer yet I have struggled to find the words to give this celebration all it deserves -- all that Willem deserves.  I can only say this thus far:  


I was supposed to be Willem's teacher; his guide; his mentor; his spiritual leader, and his hero.  I was supposed to be all of these things.  Instead, Willem became all of these things to me.  


Willem is a warrior and he is my hero.


The Radosevich family has a tradition:  My grandfather said it to my father before he went to Vietnam and my father said it to me before I was supposed to go to Afghanistan: We do not say 'goodbye;' we say 'see you later.'  


See you later son.  Mummy and daddy love you and we'll miss you so terribly much.


These were my words.  These words came to me fifteen minutes before the ceremony and my hands trembled and I cried as I wrote them.  It was difficult to see the words through my tears.

Willem's ceremony was the most beautiful ceremony I have ever had the privilege to witness.  It began with Willem's scout troop conducting a flag ceremony. My brother spoke to the attendees and posited this question, and I am paraphrasing here:

...What can we do for Thomas and Erin?... Here's the answer: They've received an enormous outpouring of support recently and I want to challenge you to bottle your urge to give all of it today; bottle it up, and instead of pouring it out all at once, pour it out over time.  Erin and Thomas will need you just as much in the weeks, months, and years ahead... 


Syd, "Ba," Willem's grandpa, gave an amazing account of Willem's life and expressed how wonderful Willem was (is): he was inquisitive, intense, intelligent, loved life...  Syd did an amazing job of summarizing the love Willem received from family and friends and the quality of life that Willem was able to give all of us during his too too short time on this planet.  Willem did more living in his ten years than most are able to do in a lifetime.

It was a beautiful celebration of Willem's life.  My favorite parts were the flag ceremony, the monument to Willem that had his Webelos hat and scarf (which made me cry intensely) next to a large photo of my smiling child, and the branch with all of the colored oregami that was made by the students of Meadow Brook Elementary.

I could not possibly capture the splendor of the event in words; one would really have to have been there.

No, it DOESN'T make any sense

"No... It doesn't make any sense.  It will never make any sense.  He was loved; he was special; everybody loved him... He was only ten.  It doesn't make any sense -- and it never will.  Period."

-- Erin Weston.  Willem's mother.  My wife.  My strength.

Lament for a Son

"If sympathy for the world's wounds is not enlarged by our anguish, if love for those around us is not expanded, if gratitude for what is good does not flame up, if insight is not deepened, if commitment to what is important is not strengthened, if aching for a new day is not intensified , if hope is weakened and faith diminished, if from the experience of death comes nothing good, then death has won.  Then death, be proud."                

                                                         -- Nicholas Wolterstorff (from Lament for a Son)

The pain is settling in

Liliana (Willem's six year old sister) is suffering this evening.  Many tears.  She was looking at the yearbook that was in her back pack and when she came to Willem's class photo, she began crying.  She just now said that she's going to hold on to his blankie until she's very old.

Wyatt wants to visit the hospital.  When I asked him why, he said, "I want to see Willem's room."  He made himself cry... If you know Wyatt, you would know that this is somewhat of a milestone.

Many tears for all of us today.  So hard.  So painful.

DAWN

I miss my boy.  And I miss writing in this blog about my boy.  The sun still rises and sets as it has done so for nearly five billion years.  But I don't care.  At one time in my life I wanted to live forever. Now I do not.

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THANK YOUs

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The gravity on planet Earth has increased so much - for some reason - that it takes every muscle fiber of my being to get out of bed... Yet I have (with the help of Erin) managed, finally, to open most of the cards we've received.  I have managed to open every email.  I cannot, however, manage to thank each and every one of you as much as you deserve.

Thank you everyone who came by to the viewing and to the service.  Thank you all.  I am left with empty feelings for those of whom I wished to hold longer and whom I wished to speak more.  Thank you all.  Your faces and your presence brought me much strength and joy.

Thank you to my teammates and the managers from my work who made the trip to see us: it meant a great deal to me to see your faces and to know that you were there.  Thank you... Thank you.

Thank you to the faces from my past who closed the time and distance gap to re enter our lives.  Thank you.  I hope you know who you are.

Thank you to the many donors to Willem's cause.  Thank you to the ones I've never met and thank you to the ones I haven't seen since 1986.  Thank you all.

Thank you to ones who have fed us when all of our strength and will to prepare food had vanished.

Thank you to all the students, staff, mothers and fathers of Meadow Brook Elementary for everything that you have done and are still doing.

Thank you to that little girl in Willem's class that looked at me with such caring in her eyes and said, "Hi Thomas."  You made me cry but it was such a good cry.  What a wonderful little person you are.

Thank you to my Military family. Thank you.

Thank you to my friends -- I do not deserve any of you.  Thank you to Erin's friends  -- I do not deserve you either.  Love you all.

Thank you father.

Thank you to the friends and acquaintances of Syd and Mary Baxter who deserve more thanks than I (we) are able to give.  Thank you so much for your condolences and contributions.   

Thank you nurses and doctors.  Thank you 9th floor.  Thank you Hospice.  Thank you Reese.  Thank you to infinity.

Thank you to my family.  Thank you cousins.  Thank you aunts and uncles.

Syd...  Syd...  My teammate and my guide. Thank you.

And most of all.  Thank you Willem.  Thank you for being the great son that you are.  Thank you for giving me life where I had none.  Thank you for teaching me.  Thank you for being everything that I've always wanted to be.  I love you and miss you so much.

CELEBRATING WILLEM THURSDAY APRIL 19

First of all  the family and I would like to thank you all for the heartfelt incredible outpouring and sharing of Love and affection. It is very much appreciated and quite humbling. The sheer volume is incredible. Thank You!

I know Willem has been restored and is whole again- hair and infectious smile in tact. We all will be reunited and that brings at least some comfort.

CELEBRATING WILLEM-  THURSDAY 19TH 6:30-9:00  KEYSTONE CC 655 SPAULDING AVE (just south of Ada Dr.)   COME EARLY AS WE HAVE A LOT OF AUCTION ITEMS!!!

Desserts, chocolate fountain, cookies, coffee bar,  silent and live auction, photo booth, Fun for all and More! Free movie and popcorn for the kids with complimentary day care. (cookies too!)

Come Celebrate the all too short life of our little Hero. He loved people and loved to Do Things- SO, come and Do Things for and with Willem. We know he will be there in Spirit.  

FUNDRAISER STILL ON

The fundraiser is still on for April 19th.  It is now called, "Celebrating Willem"