PS- in case you were starting to forget. We’re not.

  

the best of friends

Daddys little girl

perfection!

giggle monster

The Unwanted Freedoms of “That” Couple

I think the title is a bit of a giveaway.  We continue to go about our business.  We’re going grocery shopping, doing our best to start thinking about Christmas, and doing anything we can to stay busy.  It’s remarkable how much free time opened up when Katie was taken out of our life.  It’s like a final twist of the knife.  Not only did we lose our Munchkin, but we are left with a time void that is comparable to the void in our hearts.  What to do…

We all spend so much of our lives wishing we weren’t so busy.  If only I had some free time I would…you get the picture.  Vickie and I have never been more free.  Katie was everything to us.  She was our morning, our afternoon, our evening, and we loved it.  Now, we are left realizing how long a day can be, especially when there is nothing that you want to do to fill it.  Don’t get me wrong, we are going all day, trying desperately not to be left alone with our thoughts. In some ways, our lonely thoughts are like that aunt or uncle that you occasionally see at a family function.  They are okay for a couple of minutes, but beyond that it’s just too painful to tolerate! 

So here we are, busying ourselves with anything we can.  Yesterday we cleaned out our garage, went grocery shopping, and bought useless Christmas ornaments in a trivial effort at being festive (which neither of us wanted to do).  Today we went to church, and spent the rest of the day building a website for Katie’s foundation (I’ll explain more when I have some concrete info).  We are trying to be productive, but there are only so many garages that need to be cleaned out.

What’s worse, we are now “that couple.”  People that we know see us and look at us differently.  They have those sad eyes and seem to be trying to look deeper inside our souls to see our suffering…so here we are, with more time than we would like, feeling like lepars.  People don’t know what to say, and frankly, we don’t want them to say anything.  It’s this weird balancing act, because the only thing worse than people looking or whispering is people not knowing and putting their foot in it…or is it?  We are not only “that” couple, but we are a couple and not a family anymore.  Sure, Katie and her memories will be with us forever, but no matter how you slice it, it’s Vickie and I again, which constitutes a couple and not a family.  It’s scary how quickly things change- our free time, our status, our sense of being.

It’s a difficult time on so many levels.

Heavy

Sorry I haven’t written in a couple of days. We’ve been on the road, travelling back from North Carolina, visiting friends and family along the way, and going through the Thanksgiving motions.  Although, it’d be a lie if I blamed all of those factors for not writing.  I haven’t written because I didn’t feel like talking about it all.  It’s not that I am blocking things out or ignoring my emotions, but they’ve been so fervent that I couldn’t bring myself to capturing them in writing.  It has been hard enough to get through the day, let alone write about it.

It’s been very odd.  Vickie and I are acting like a husband and wife, partaking in all of the activities that we would ordinarily partake in, except none of it feels right.  I am haunted by the irony of Katie’s passing and how it was so accurately described by a five year old-

Ben: “Katie died.”

Vickie: “Yes, yes she did.”

Ben: “Daddy said that she died because her heart was broken.”

Vickie: “She’s happy now. Her heart’s not broken any more. She’s not sick anymore.”

How could a little girl that is loved so deeply, that seemed so happy, die from a broken heart?  The cruel irony of life is complicated and perplexing.  Yet, the misery of our life lately is juxtaposed against the raw honesty of a 5 year old who sees life so clearly, and so simply.  We are smiling and even laughing, but there is a very obvious void.

This week has been difficult, and for no particular reason.  Coming home has had a contributing factor, but slowly Katie’s absence is settling in, and the reality that she won’t be coming back is starting to take hold.  As we try to carry on with life, it’s not the expected things that are bothering us.  It isn’t seeing other little babies, or seeing baby toys, or baby clothes.  The most stomach wrenching thing that sickens me to my core is when I see something and for a split second I grow excited about sharing it with Katie…then it hits me.  It’s never more than a moment, where you forget, or fail to remember, then it’s back to reality.  Emptiness ensues.  Our Munchkin is gone.

“…that’s all I have to say about that.”

I get it now

It could be the dreaded maneuver-  you look up and become horrified after you see your mother or father lick their hand and then proceed to try and wipe something off your face, or fix your hair etc.  Or, it be be as simple as you catching your parents staring at you for an uncomfortably long time to which most children (regardless of age) respond with a “Mooooohm”, or “dhaaaaaaad.”  We all have our pet peeves with our parents, just like they probably had with their parents.  We all know the little things that they do that seem so trivial to an innocent onlooker but are costic to us.  I get it now.  It’s not nearly as annoying or baffling anymore.  I am to my parents what Katie is to me. 

So much of my time and energy has been dedicated to wrestling with my grief, my deep emotions over the past couple of weeks and months, but this thought has been on my mind since soon after Katie was born.  My favorite hobby was to watch Katie.  It didn’t matter what she was doing and I am very confident that it would have remained my favorite thing to do for as long as she would have allowed me to do it. I suppose, that’s part of parenthood- whether it is one of the innate rights or simply one of the greatest indulgences, it helps me understand my parents behavior.  There is no love like a parents love for their child.  I love my parents deeply.  I adore my wife with all of my heart.  I even have a deep rooted affection for chocolate chip cookies, but no love compares to the one a parent gets when they are with their offspring.  I understand now.

Our time with Katie may have been brief, but it was savored…long after she’ll be at rest I’ll still be the adoring father and Vickie the adoring mother.  Katie will be spared the unwelcomed saliva gel or saliva facewash, as well as the piercing looks of reverence, but our feelings will never subside.

No Offense

Inside, Outside, Upside, Down.  It was the last line of my first post.  I knew we had a journey ahead, but I had no idea it would be so dramatic, so final, so fast.  (The term is a kids book that Vickie loved as a kid and one that we looked forward to reading to Katie.)

Most People: “How are you doin’? You hangin’ in there?”

Us: “We are doing the best we can.  I think we’re doing as well as could be expected”

What does that mean?  Are we doing well?  Are we grieving appropriately?  Are we making improvement?  I have taken all of the advice.  I have read some of the literature.  I know what we are supposed to do and think, but what is the goal?  I smiled today.  I enjoyed my wife’s company.  I plan on having a successful life once we return from this hiatus.  But how am I doing?  I just don’t know. 

I know that I love Katie.  I know that thinking about her brings a warm happiness to me.  I also know that thinking about her passing, the struggle of her life, and the reality that I will never see her again tears my heart out.  I know that I have been cheated.  I know that I wanted to be the best father I could be, and I tried to be for five brief months.  I am greedy-  I wanted more!  I wanted to slip Katie candy when Mommy wasn’t looking.  I wanted to take her places that would make her mother and grandparents nervous.  I wanted to show her the wonders of the world and allow her to make choices about how she wanted to live, and what she wanted to believe.  I wanted to tease her, embarrass her…

This struggle isn’t about making it or not making it, nor is it about doing well or not doing well.  It certainly isn’t about making sense of this madness.  It’s about stopping the bad dreams and embracing the good ones.  This fight is about entertaining all of those feelings that made Katie’s life so special, and neutralizing the guilt, the second guessing, and the raw pain of our loss. 

I know we are “doing the best we can” and that we’ll “be okay in time.”  Tonight, it just isn’t enough.  I miss my Munchkin.  I’m not depressed nor even slightly down tonight.  I’m just a guy who had a little piece of heaven and wishes he could have it back.  The brutal reality that I won’t ever see my Katie’s smile is devastating.  It sounds cliched but a little bit of me died with Katie…the rest of me will go on, probably unnoticeably different, to you…

Don’t throw it away!

Yesterday, on what should have been Katie’s six month birthday, Vickie and I went through nine states (Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylavania, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina).  That wasn’t including the emotional states, which were far more dramatic, far less predictable, and had very different speed limits.  The drive down was good for us- we talked, we reminisced, and planned.  Most of all, we enjoyed trying to relearn how to be together as just two instead of the three we had quickly grown accustomed to.  The drive also allowed ample time for thought, and here is the one that I was fixed on for many states. 

I heard someone cite Katie’s passing as part of the reason why 2008 was a bad year.  Now, there is no arguing that Katie’s loss was a terrible thing. We miss our daughter dearly, and we struggle to understand how we will properly move on from here.  However, 2008 was the year that my wife gave birth to my first daughter, Katherine Alexa.  It was the year that I fell head over heals in love with my little Munchkin.  It was the year that I witnessed true heroism, courage, and grace firsthand.  2008 will forever be tarnished by Katie’s untimely death, but to throw away the year as one to be forgotten would be to throw away a lifetime of memories.  As I ponder all that has happened, I have come to one realization.  Life is to be lived, not rationalized.  If you spend your life in search of total understanding, you will live a life of confusion and frustration.  I know that I will never be okay with Katie’s passing.  I know that I will never understand why this had to happen to such a beautiful and innocent little girl.  I also know that every minute I got to spend with my daughter is a moment I will cherish forever. 

The best news of today is the news that 2008 is also the year that Jacob Matthew Franz was born.  Vickie and I are so excited that Matt and Becca had their son today!  How can anyone throw a year away?  Baby Katie, Baby Jacob, Baby Rudy and all of the other babies that came into this world make it a wonderful place.  It was amazing to hear the excitement in Matt’s voice as he told me the news today.  His joy was palpable.  And just as ineffable as the loss of a daughter is, so too is the happiness and hope brought through birth.  We wish Matt, Becca and Jacob (or Alan as I think he should be called!) a long, healthy, and happy life as a family.

We are unfortunate that we won’t get to have 2009 enlightened by Katie, and perhaps that is the most disappointing thing.  We are still thankful that Katie doesn’t have to suffer any longer. However, the finality of death is staggering.  We have all been through difficult times, but through this particular struggle I have come to learn that the only thing final in life is death.  Truly, we can undo anything, change anything, improve anything, except death.  There is nothing anyone can do…except live life, remember life, and cherish life. 

I suppose long drives and relaxing days in the mountains make you think…

Tomorrow is a big day

Tomorrow will be quite the day- it will be one week since Katie’s funeral, it should be Katie’s 6 month birthday, and Vickie and I are embarking on a long drive into the middle of nowhere (we are going to the mountains of North Carolina to escape reality).  Our thoughts and feelings are status quo- we’re doing the best we can, and that seems good enough for long stretches, then it hits you hard.  Repeat.

We drove by the New Haven skyline (perhaps a slight overstatement to call it a skyline) tonight and I found myself wondering what was going on in the PICU.  For much of Katie’s life I dreaded the PICU because it meant that Katie was seriously ill.  However, one week after her funeral I would cherish more time in the PICU-  now, it represents hope and opportunity.  It’s strange how things change.  Oddly, I actually miss all of the people from the PICU also.  Vickie and I adjusted to our abrieviated life inside Yale New Haven Hospital and we managed to forge relationships and friendships with numerous staff members.  It was oftentimes easier to talk to these people because they understood the “lingo” and had seen what we were going through.  The PICU at Yale is filled with talented professionals who cared deeply for our daughter. These professionals are also fun individuals who are joy to be around.  It’s odd how the world turns.  Within the span of a week we are returned to the life we had only 6 short months ago.  It’s as though what happened in between was a mirage…the only reason we know it can’t be so is that the feelings are too raw, the memories too vivid.  The major difference-  six months ago today was a time brimming with hope and excitement.  Tonight is a night filled with trepidation, sympathetic love, and damaged hope…not quite the same.

What a Wonderful World-  Today Katie received a card in the mail from Tori, Rudy’s cousin. It had been forwarded from Yale New Haven Hospital where it had orginally been sent.  Nestled between a slew of sympathy cards, there it was.  A card of genuine regard, from one child to another- the world doesn’t get any better than that.  Thank you Tori- you made our day!

Virtute et numine

Katie lived a short but meaningful life, characterized by the perfect combination of grit and grace (virtute et numine).  While her deminished heart function took it’s toll far too early, the five and a half months that my daughter was in our lives were inspirational. When I first arrived in the U.S. 12 years ago I immediately took a liking to the words that represented the core ethos of my new school- “virtute et numine.”  For me, it embodied all I aspired toward- fight hard, but fight fair.  It went beyond just effort or just outcome, and fused endevour with integrity.  Katie took this to another level.

It must be difficult for most of you to comprehend the pride I have for the life my daughter lived.  In 5 months, she endured 4 open heart surgeries and 3 heart catheterizations.  She took a myriad of medications, was poked and proded more times than I care to remember, yet she was rarely without a smile or a welcoming disposition.  She genuinely had a cheerful aura that can only be likened to sense of greater understanding coupled with genuine good humor.  I have always felt that she knew what she was going through, and she knew the impact that her heart condition was having on all of us.  She proceeded with grit and grace. 

As I went through pictures of my Munchkin tonight I couldn’t help but notice the precociousness in her eyes.  She was so alert, filled with vitality and curiosity.  While the pain of our loss is still intense, my evolving understanding of Katie’s impact helps me see a more profound level of grit and grace that can be attained.  At Westminster, we used to refer to grit and grace as preferred behaviors on the sports field or in the classroom.  They were reminders of how young men and women were to conduct themselves.  Through my daughter I got to witness how a more sophisticated quintessence of grit and grace can not only draw people to you, but it can literally raise them up to a higher level.  A little baby made others want to be better.  She has and still is having an impact on virtual strangers.  Through our newly developing organization it is my goal to facilitate that impact and have the love that Katie’s life brought to this world live on beyond her time here.

I never fully appreciated my two years at Westminster.  I was young, developing, and learning my way in the world.  It wasn’t until I left there that I started to flourish and find my voice.  I always felt awkward about my time on the hill and how it could have gone better or differently.  I now realize the incubation that those two years provided me.  I am glad that I didn’t take the same length of time to recognize the impact that my daughter was having on me and everyone else.  Tonight, I am a very proud father…missing my daughter terribly, but appreciative of the time that I had.

The fastest long week ever

It’s been a week since Katie passed away.  On one level, it seems like an eternity ago.  There have been so many emotions, so many tears, so many hugs, and so many questions since last Sunday night.  On another level, I feel like my life has slowed down to a snails pace.  Without caring for Katie there seems like so much more time in the day, except I don’t have a desire to fill it.  There is a lot of silence and long stares.  One of the saddest (and probably most misconstrued- we are NOT suicidal!)  revelations of this week is that it is going to be a long time before we are reuinited with Katie.  Neither Vickie nor I have celebrated our 30th birthdays yet.  If we live to an average life expectancy, we will live for another 40+ years, that is over 100 times the length of our Munchkin’s life…I think you get the picture.  We are holding it together, trying the best we can, but the pain is unbearable at times, and it hits when you least expect it.

It is such a strange time for everyone.  I think Vickie and I are both excited to get away for a couple of days…a chance to recharge, regroup, and refocus on how we will move forward with life.

Stay tuned for a new “organization” that we plan to set up in Katie’s honor…

Big Red Saturday

With every passing day the shock wears off and the pain becomes more palpable. 

I used to love Saturdays.  I was always a person that used to GO, GO, GO, but when Katie was here, I needed nothing more than to simply be with her.  I used to love our naps in her big red chair.  I would take Katie down to her room and we’d both drift off to sleep.  It was so simple, so perfect.  Today, I took a nap in the big red chair.  While it was nowhere close to the same as when I held Munchkin, I have found that doing activities that bring Katie to the forefront of my thoughts are more enjoyable-  I felt at peace in her room.  I knew she was with me.  It may seem odd, but when I simply drift through my day with thoughts of Katie ebbing in the back of my mind, it is agonizing.  Happiness is getting as close to my angel as possible. 

All week I’ve been struggling with an old Irish quote.  It goes- “nil aon tintean mar do thintean fein.” Translated, it says “there is no heart like your own hearth,” implying that there is no place like home.  Unfortunately, home or our house has never felt bigger.  My heart is with my beautiful wife and my angel daughter.  While it is extremely difficult to be home, it would be harder not to be.  Our home is special, but is tempered without Katie.  It is confusing to be here…

Silver lining-  we have received such an incredible outpouring of support.  People are good. All of your support is so heartfelt and so genuine, thank you.  The best part of all was receiving sympathy cards that had messages from students from Vickie’s school inside.  They made us smile, they made us laugh.  They made us feel the beauty of a child.