My Father, Son, and a Cat
“Appearing” strong during the toughest of seasons
My wife often comments that big events come in threes. I’m not so sure. But when my son Daniel took his life in April of 2020, even at that time I knew that I would likely lose my father and cat in the foreseeable future. My father Jim passed away at age 82 in February of last year and my cat Flyer at age 18 this November. Each loss was felt very differently, but each in its own way tests the “strength” that many people see in me from the outside.
My Cat
Let’s talk about Flyer — you may wonder how a pet makes a list with a father and son. Even I hesitated at first to include him. But life is about strong relationships and how you spend your time, and a great pet puts points on the board in both of those areas.
Flyer was “my” cat. If I was home working he was almost always in my lap or on my desk, or with me on the couch watching TV. If I returned from a long trip, he would “yowl” for several minutes to express his displeasure.
During Daniel’s agonizing 3 weeks in ICU and the grieving months after, Lori and I were locked down tight in our home, victims of the early intense COVID quarantine. Flyer was our companion. It was ironically a glorious spring for weather, and he and I would often sit in a chair in the living room basking in the sun, quiet, usually reading the Bible, grief literature, or the hundreds of online messages from people reaching out to send love into our bubble.
Always there. Unquestioning affection. Companionship. We all could take some lessons from the great pets in our lives.
Since we let him go a few months ago, it is silent and empty when I come downstairs in the morning or sit at my desk as I am now. The routine of my life has changed yet again — another gap to get used to.
My Son
I have written several columns about losing Daniel. It is unfathomable that it will be 4 years this April. He was always very macho about not caring about the cats, but his behavior and even the picture above shine through the bluster.
It is now clearer to me than ever that you never get over losing a child, you just add it to the tapestry of your life. Ivan Maisel’s book on the suicide of his son, I Keep Trying To Catch His Eye, has a fantastic analogy. I am repeating from an earlier piece because it is just too good. Your own life is like a vase that is shattered by the loss. You then glue the pieces together the best you can. The result — a new life that looks very much like the old one — but with permanent imperfections that are now part of the new you.
So here is my own stab at an analogy. Losing a child is a hole in the bottom of your soul that drains your energy. At first the hole is enormous, and suicide makes it even more ragged and raw. It starts out crippling, but gradually shrinks, hopefully to just a drip. But it is always there, many times dragging your otherwise excellent day from a 9 to a 7.
I think I had myself fooled not so many months ago. I thought I had glued my post-Daniel broken vase together fabulously, in fact enough to ignore the hole in the soul. I resumed too many commitments and “things to worry about.” Losing my Dad and Flyer added turbulence. Predictably in retrospect, I hit some walls that I didn’t see coming and had to retreat.
I also said before that grief doesn’t consult you about its timetable or when it wants to come out to play. My Survivors of Suicide support group taught me early — don’t apologize when the wall shows up. It goes without saying that adjusting your life after a child’s suicide is insanely difficult. Just do what you need to do to move on.
My Father
When he died last February, my dad had been in horrible pain for years, having lost one leg and mostly bedridden. In a way it was a release to a better place. For you see he was a Type I Diabetic since age 8 in 1948. The predicted life expectancy at that time was not much better than getting to middle age. Insulin doses, glucose monitoring, and treatments were very inexact. To make it to 82 and a full lifetime was almost a miracle. My physician brother reported he was probably the oldest living type 1 in Western Alabama at the time.
Losing him was a very different kind of grief. It was wistful, almost philosophical. We all must face our date with mortality. I do miss talking Crimson Tide football with him, as he was a 55-year season ticket holder and super fan. Other than my brother, Daniel and Dad were the sports fans in the family. There are lots of texts and phone calls during football season that no longer happen. I have to admit it is not as fun anymore.
My dad gave me my nerd brain — he was an Electrical Engineering professor who among other things worked with NASA to design the antenna on the first stage of the Saturn V rocket that took men to the moon. As a thank you, NASA gave my dad’s lab an old launch computer mainframe which I programmed on with punch cards at age 7. Those skills I learned very early from him still bring me great joy in the workplace today.
When I was helping my mom move into a retirement home after he passed, I went through a locked trunk with tons of his childhood memorabilia. Dozens of interesting questions came to mind about his youth… but it was too late to ask. Ask your parents now if you can.
Jim Dudgeon was a particularly unique human. I miss him.
Strength
The above picture captures how I think about the post Daniel period in my life. I stole it from social media of my friend Mariellen Jacobs, who came within a whisker of losing her own son to an accident where he fell out of an unsafe loft bed at college. Her own momma bear strength led her to do good by forming Rail Against The Danger and getting Georgia policy changed on bed rails and now pursuing national policy.
I also am driven by my faith and personal ethics to do good, to help, to give. I have the resources to 100% retire to the beach, turn inward to personal fun and happiness, drop the mic, and not look back. But I can’t, and don’t want to. Lori and I are foster parents, and we dearly love our foster kids. I don’t have the energy or patience anymore for full time politics (see earlier mention of hole in the soul), but I do serve on the State Charter Commission where I help advance education in Georgia which has always been a passion of mine. I referee high school football and serve as treasurer for my group. That is actually service — there is a massive shortage as most younger guys don’t want to do it (please reach out if you want to join up 😁). The wonderful thing is all of this service makes me happy. I enjoy my life a great deal of the time. But… I’ll steal another Maisel quote. “Life is indeed fulfilling but will never again be full.”
Daniel drilled a hole in my soul. I miss my Dad and ponder my own mortality. I miss my companion Flyer, who I spent more time with than anyone besides my wife. Grief comes in all shapes and sizes, and is the most personal of all emotions.
But I have to admit I don’t really feel “strong.” I feel more like I am surviving and making the best of this situation I didn’t ask for. I am glad it looks like strength to the world, as it may inspire others. And it makes me happy to appear that way.