Friday, February 26, 2010

Message to Michael

Originally uploaded by

Dearest Michael,

I sit here not knowing where to begin. It has been one of the days of feeling very disconnected from my world. It's not a particularly difficult day. I'm just finding myself retreating to that quiet place. But don't worry, I'm not secluding myself.

Tonight I stayed in the living room with the kids instead of retreating to our bedroom. At different times tonight each of the kids tried to engage me in staying in the room with them. I told them that I was needing the room to remain calm tonight. If they wanted needed a different kind of energy, then I could go sit in my room. They each chose to honor my request. We watched a movie together, which was quite touching. It helped me remain connected to the kids, and animals. It felt good.

Life without you tends to be very subdued in many ways. I don't always feel like I accomplish, or do, much. Not that I am terribly bothered by this. I only feel challenged when someone asks what are my plans for the weekend, or what have I been up to lately. I spoke briefly to your mother last night. We talked a bit about Tessa's birthday that's coming up in a couple of weeks. We agreed that the kids and I would drive up for a visit the weekend that follows her birthday. You mother asked how I was doing of course. I said I was doing fine, then took a deep breath, questioning if I should elaborate, but chose not to. Of course she understands, she is going through the same thing. We both miss you terribly, and are having a tough time conceptualizing our world without you. I just worry about depressing her further if I go into how painful this all continues to be, and that all I want is for her son to be back.

You know Michael, my world moves very slowly since you left. At times I feel like a ghost that walks the earth completely unnoticed by those around him. Sometimes I like it. It allows me to just be, without any explanation. At other times I wonder if anyone truly sees me, or recognizes the enormous amount of grief that I carry. You know, I carry you around with me like a cloak of invisibility. I thought you would like that reference to Harry Potter.

I have been looking back on some of my prior posts, and recognize that while I seem to understand what I could be doing to help myself, such as getting to the gym, or trying to make new friends, I don't feel quite ready. I'm not sure if I'll ever be completely ready. I also know that I will eventually take a step forward. I think that for now, I like things the way they are. Meaning that I like the quiet. I feel closest to you when I am not distracted by the noise and chaos of the world around me.

As I sit here writing this, I can feel you pressing against me. It's a new, and comforting sensation. I can feel your body pressed against mine, almost as if I have a second layer of skin which is you. I can almost sense your scent, which is somehow combined with your smile. I know that this makes little sense, but little else does in my life at the moment. I like this sensation. Is it you, or am I just desperately needing to create such a connection? I suppose it doesn't really matter which it is. Any comfort these days is a blessing. I choose to take it in as you being present to me. I'm holding on to you Michael. I don't want to let go.

Now I'm in tears. Why does this move me so. Honey, I need you so much.

I'm going to end this now. I don't want to overly analyze this, or try to put words on something that is indescribable. Just know that I love you. Thank you for choosing me, and for giving me so many wonderful days with you.




  1. a very poignant letter. for me, at times i do need to closely analyze my feelings but other times i realize i need to just accept what is. i'm glad you had a quiet evening with your children. go at your own pace and do what feels right. forcing yourself to do things before you are truly engaged in them could possibly result in a setback. be kind to yourself. now i sound like i'm quoting the Desiderata.

    as always, you are in my heart. peace.

  2. Wishing you peace tonight, Dan. I'm glad you and your kids had a nice evening together. I know that in our house we often gravitate to our own areas to deal with what we all need, but when we do come together, it usually feels so much better that just being on our own Last night we watched the Olympics together, and it was sweet to share that time, and cheering for our teams.

    I think that the natural state of grieving is to withdraw ourselves from the rest of the world, whenever possible. Obviously there are things, like jobs, that some of us need to go out and do, or some community or children committments, but I find that I usally don't do any of the voluntary things that come up. I think that when we're ready, we'll do them, or maybe we'll just become hermits :)

    Take care Dan,
    Love Debbie

  3. The paragraph that begins, "You know Michael, my world moves very slowly since you left" seems so familiar to me. I've felt that way for so long. It seems as though I am not of this world any longer - at least, as far as human connections are concerned. On the other hand, I do seem to have a close connection with places such as the ocean as you described it the other day. There's a kinf of peace and grounding that seems to exist when I'm walking through a forest or along a wild stretch of beach, alone with just the dogs.