Ashes to Ashes

It's really good to be back into a regular cadence with my own personal writing again. While I have been doing PLENTY of writing for clients and for my other vocational interests, I haven't been able to find much time or creative energy to write my own weekly reflections over the last few months. Last week I published my first blog piece in three months and it felt great to get that albatross off of my back.

In that piece titled The Perfect Blog, I talked about the fact that one of the primary reasons that it took me so long to get back to my blog was that when I did return, I wanted it to be a really special piece of writing. I also hinted at the fact that there were other reasons that my creative process had been somewhat stifled and that I might dig into some those "bigger topics" next time. Well here it is next time and while I am still hesitant, I've been waiting quite a while to figure out how write this story. This morning God showed me the words.

This is both a long post and a post that will be difficult to read at certain points. I make no judgement if you choose to skip this one and come back next week, but I need to write this for my own continued healing.

Over the years I have had a deep and sacred relationship with the Lenten season. Even during periods in my life when I have been less connected to the practice of Roman Catholicism, Lent has always spoken to me as a time for powerful, personal spiritual journeying where I examine my relationship with Self, God and all other Life around me.

Some years during Lent I have done a traditional Lenten sacrifice where I give up something that I find pleasurable, like wine or chocolate for example. Other years I have prioritized attending mass on a daily basis and to visit as many churches as I can around my home city of Chicago, which is blessed to have so many magnificent places of worship. This Lenten season I am making no specific commitment other than to be fully present in the experience and it already looks like it could be my most impactful one yet, even though it started less than 24 hours ago.

So this next line is where it might get a little bit more difficult to read...

This morning we had my son Michael's ashes placed permanently in the keepsake urn that we ordered a few weeks ago to serve as his final resting place. I sincerely apologize if that last sentence caught you off guard. Many of you who follow my writing have also seen the social media posts that my wife Christiana has made over the last month or have sat with me in a men's circle where I have referenced our son's death, but I realize that some of you may not have heard anything about this until this exact moment. I wish there had been a way for me to call or email each and every one of you personally. There is no gentle way to break this news or share this story, but I will do my best to tell it with the grace it deserves.

Christiana and I have been on a journey to have a second child for a number of years now. On three previous occasions we have had successful conceptions and one time we made it as far as eight weeks, but each time before we had crossed that important 12-week threshold, we experienced an unfortunate pregnancy loss. This past September when we found out that we were pregnant yet again, we decided that we would keep the news to ourselves until we had gone all the way through the first trimester and perhaps make the announcement to our family and the world at Christmas.

As each day passed we became more and more confident. Christiana worked diligently to take care of her body in every way possible to give this child the best chance of coming full term. We saw a few promising ultrasounds along the way that continued to give us hope, and then just as some of our fears were starting to quiet, we got the call that forever changed our lives. On December 16th around 12:00 noon we got a message from our midwifery letting us know that they needed to talk to both of us as soon as possible. Our hearts immediately sank. What we found out on that call is that there was a exceptionally high probability that our baby had a deadly trisomy that would likely end his life, either before he was ever born, while he was being born or shortly thereafter.

What ensued over the next two weeks during the holiday season was without a doubt, the most difficult two week stretch of my life. Instead of celebrating life and announcing our healthy pregnancy to the world, we were meeting with doctors hoping to find out that the genetic tests and more recent ultrasounds were somehow inaccurate. All the while we were also trying to do our best to see that our six year old daughter Emma still had a magical Christmas at the most magical age. When it was all said and done, we arrived at the unfortunate truth that our son had no possibility of making it into his body healthy and full term. One day after New Years Day we terminated the pregnancy. A week later, on the day before her birthday, Christiana bravely wrote this post on Facebook:

"A week ago, our son was born and died.

He died due to a fatal genetic trisomy that meant he was destined to die at birth or in my womb. He died instead at 14 weeks and 1 day gestation, because I took the pain for him. I chose to bear the trauma of responsibility. I took on the pain that day for him, for my family, and even for my future self. I chose to end the suffering of a much-desired and deeply loved child.

A week ago, as my world was still sleeping, I woke early and prepared for surgery. In the end, it was over so quickly. 14 weeks of creation, 14 weeks of dreams and prayers and wishes, 14 weeks of watching my belly grow… and within a short time, it was over.

My son was both born and died. He was gone."

I weep as I read these words even though I have read them over and over again in my heart and mind every day for the last two months. I continue to be in awe of Christiana and I have never loved her more than I love her now in the midst of all this grief which still affects our daily lives in pronounced ways.

Each day brings new challenges and new levels healing. I'm sure when I look back at today with a bit of hindsight, I will appreciate how Divinely guided the beginning of this Lenten season has been for me and our family. I randomly chose today to pick up Michael's ashes because Wednesday is typically a good day for me to break away from my work in the morning. At the time I made that choice, I had not even noticed that it was Ash Wednesday. This morning I made the decision to go to the funeral home in the mid morning instead of first thing after dropping Emma off at school. I wanted to give Christiana time to eat a decent breakfast and clean up a bit before running out the door.

As we were leaving the funeral home with Michael's ashes just before 11:00 AM, Christiana said that she wanted to go sit in a church somewhere. The closest church was the stunning Queen of All Saints Basilica in Sauganash and since it was the late morning, we arrived in time to have some quiet time to ourselves and also stay for the noon Ash Wednesday prayer service. We have celebrated numerous Easter Sundays and Christmas Eves at QAS, so taking Michael there was fitting way to mark this uniquely special day.

It's said that Lent is a period of grief that necessarily ends with a great celebration. How appropriate that this particular Lenten season begins as I take my son's ashes to the service where I receive the ashes of last year's palm leaves on my own forehead, marking both the beginning and the ending of a cycle of my current life.

While it is still too early for us to feel celebratory, like all of life's challenges, Michael's death has definitely brought forward some unmistakably noticeable gifts. I've been reminded of exactly how amazing my wife is and how much I love here. I am reminded of how precious it is to be Emma's father and how blessed I am to have become a first time father at age 53. I have been blessed to feel Michael's spirit with me in deeply profound ways, much like I experienced when my father left his body 27 years ago.

I have also been blown away by the extraordinary amount of physical, emotional and financial support that we have received over the last two months as our family has navigated a winding path of grief and healing. Our GoFundMe Page has received nearly 100 donations totaling over $7,500 to help us pay for Michael's cremation, Christiana's medical bills and other life expenses as we have taken time off to heal and recover as a family. Special thanks to those of you who read my weekly pieces who have made a donation. We will be closing the GoFundMe soon, but you can still access for the next week or two using the link above.

Two week's after Michael's death, I attended a MenLiving weekend in Wisconsin. I had the honor of being one of the weekend leaders so I arrived at the camp site early and built the inaugural fire that would smolder and blaze for the next 72 hours. That first fire was such an unbelievably powerful spiritual experience that I wrote a blog called Building a Perfect Fire for the MenLiving website.

I also wrote a poem later that first night. I had not re-read this poem in over a month until this morning. I can't help but notice the reference to ashes and building a new version of myself, so I'll close this week's reflection by doing something I almost never do, which is to share my poetry. Who knows, maybe that's part of building a new version of myself? With boundless love and gratitude to you all, I share my poem below titled In the Fire...

                                      In the Fire

I saw you in the fire last night,
Glowing in the embers and dancing in the flames
like the magical child you are and always will be.

I’m noticing…

I heard you in the fire last night.
Speaking through the crackles and pops
as you sang to me in the voice of Spirit,
in a way that I always hear best
when I slow down my pace enough to truly listen.

I’m listening…

I got a whiff of you from the fire last night.
You moved through me
leaving a faint aroma that makes me not want wash again,
so that the smell of you never goes away.

I’m sad…

I got a taste of you from the fire last night.
It started sweet and smoky at the tip of my tongue,
and grew into a spiciness at the back of my throat
in a way that I can never taste again now that you are gone.

I’m starving…

I could feel you in the fire last night.
You warmed my Soul at the deepest level,
while at the same time,
you tore a hole in my heart
in a way that can never be fully repaired.
It is in this razing though,
that you cleared a field of opportunity for me to build a new version of myself
from the ashes of what remains.

I’m curious…

You asked to be named Michael.
A name we would not likely have given you
had you not been so insistent and persistent.

Some say the name Michael means Gift from God,
and while it’s still too early to search for the hidden gifts
buried within this pain,
I already know that you came here to be my teacher.
Like many life lessons,
this one needs to percolate for a while longer,
until the student is ready.

In the meantime,
I’ll continue to tend to the fire within,
knowing that someday I will be whole again.

I’m grateful…