Even though the world continues to move on, not too long ago my father Frederick Harriott passed and that reality still remains quite stationary for me. How have I been navigating this loss as a man, and what has been going on? I am not versed in astronomy, other than a fondness for science fiction, but it does help me express the variety of experiences that has been a part of this ongoing journey .
Along with the unexpected shock of his death, I felt the drag of an emotional black hole, in the deep space of my being. If I got too close it threatened to pull me in. I felt I would retreat into a crushing, numbing, silent vacuum that would make me absent and isolated from everyone and everything.
I felt that the gears of responsibilities in my life might slip, along with the clouds of disengagement blackening my sky. I don’t know the actual psychological term, but I sensed myself on a downward escalator to “checking out”.
As guys we sometimes do that, don’t we? Whatever the event, it becomes an object of enormous mass that pulls us away from our masculine Reason, Roles and Relationship towards absence and inactivity.
It was different when my sister Yvonne Harriott passed away some years prior. Back then I felt as if the wind had left my sails adrift, but at least I knew that at some point they would return. (Mind you, they did through the processes of grief and the engine of counselling.)
While my father was deteriorating in the hospital in May due to stroke, I recall that two distinct things came to mind. Oddly enough, I wondered if I should return the electric saw I borrowed from him a few weeks ago… (Go figure.) I look back at that now and laugh. Why would that even come to mind? I remember walking through the garage as I was about to make another trip to the hospital and froze for a moment as a stared down at the tool.
More importantly I knew that I needed to reach out to the men that were apart of my own personal phalanx with this crucial prayer request: “I want to make sure that I’m there to help support my family through this loss.” I didn’t want to “check out” and leave my family in the lurch.
Full disclosure, I felt terrified that the doctor and nurse were speaking to me about potential end of life care and a decision about a DNR. You see, my dad suffered an event that involved both a blockage and a bleed in his brain. To treat one problem would exacerbate the other. (I was the closest family member to the hospital, so I came their initially to his bedside.)
Coming to grips with this reality left me with the conclusion that there were basically two options that God would choose. He would have to totally reverse course with a miraculous healing so that my Dad would be able to live a tolerable quality of life that he would want. Either that or God would move him out of his suffering to something better.
Not knowing which turn my dad’s condition would take, my mother, sisters and I lodged together. As the night of our vigil in my boyhood home appeared to wind down, early that morning we were met with the news that that God had selected “option 2” and had taken my father home to be with Him a few short days after his admittance to the hospital.
It was then that I began to feel the support of those prayers and was able to embrace and be a comfort to my mother and sisters. We eventually went to the hospital to start the process of closure and bid final living years goodbye.
Reflecting back, I experienced another hazard in this journey of loss. There was an emotional star (a gas giant) forming that was so powerful and hot that it threatened to burn my heart and thoughts and leave me feeling weak and emasculated, or consumed… Essentially I felt that there was no way I could handle the intense heat and pressure of my own emotions. I would be overwhelmed -like burning upon reentry… (If you’ve never been through it, how can you conceptualize the death of a parent?)
Whether it’s a “guy” or “me” thing, I like to keep my emotions and feelings in check… (I have an emotional cup that can only hold so much you know…) Of course, it’s obvious that crying has nothing to do with gender, it’s a human thing, but which of us guys ever felt strong when it happens in front of others? I’m not saying the prospect of me crying would be such a terrible thing, I just didn’t know how I could handle my emotions, or those around me.
After the hospital I returned to my parents house for some much needed sleep and then went home to my wife and children. I had held up for the most part, but the moment I broke down in grief was when I sat with my kids in our loft and shared with them that their grandfather had died. Hearing myself formulate the words in my head was just too much. I felt myself bend under the weight of the reality of this new reality. However, once again, I’m sure I felt those prayers of support.
So there I was navigating this journey of loss. On one side there was a black hole (becoming disengaged) and the other, a gas giant (becoming overwhelmed). It has been tricky charting this path and although these stellar events have decreased somewhat in intensity, they still remain a challenging threat. By the way, don’t think that I have anything ‘together’. It’s been a couple months since this happened and I’m still moving but I’m nowhere near a destination.
Nevertheless, I’ll tell you this, I am thankful for the people around me such as my wife, my sisters, and my few good men who are my guidance system and navigational stars.
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It’s nice to feel that we are not alone. Would you take the time to share a description of your loss? How have you or are you navigating through? Leave a comment below or feel free to email us.
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