I am so, so sorry.
I got nothing.
Your pain is unimaginable to those of us who haven’t had to endure it. Your bravery and dignity is heartening in this most difficult time.
Thank you for sharing your journey with us.
God Bless.
R.
I am so sorry for you and your wife-to-be. My heart goes out to you. Your little one must have known he was loved.
Thank you for sharing this with us. I feel a bit more human than I did a little while ago.
Please accept my deepest sympathies from my family and I to you and yours.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences and know that I’ll be thinking of you and your wonderful family in this terrible time.
I am so sorry for your loss.
I’m very sorry for your life. I have no advice to proffer except to say that you will not always feel as wretched as you do know. Please be well.
TP, TW - As so many others, I’m sorry to hear of your loss. You have my thoughts and condolences, and a prayer for Ian.
I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.
At my church, we sing these words:
You are my strength when I am weak, you are the treasure that I seek, you are my all in all. Seeking you as a precious jewel, Lord to give up I’d be a fool, you are my all in all.
I’m sorry to hear about your loss, Tokyo Player - yours too, Shagnasty. Hugs to both of your families.
Please know you and your family have my deepest regards and sypathy…
PLease know my suplications will include you all. An incense stick is burning for **Ian Pough[/B] as soon as i finish posting.
Deepest sympathy for your loss.
Adding my prayers and hugs to the many already offered up for you.
Little Ian’s spirit is now much more mature than any of ours. I believe he now understands the great mysteries he never knew existed in his brief time on this Earth.
The greatest of mysteries is love. Ian now understands, more than we can fathom, the love you have for him. He will forever accompany you, encouraging you and loving you, in a way you will not be able to fully appreciate until you meet him again.
God bless you all.
TW and I would like to express our deep gratitude to the wonderful people on this board. What a strange world we live in, where strangers in distant countries can be of such support and comfort in this most difficult of times.
To know that Pooh-chan was though of, prayed for and known by so many people is a testimony to communities, be they physical or virtual. I thank everyone who took the time to read my posts. I am not a writer, I struggle with words and it takes so long to express myself. I find that I only write when I am deeply moved, and nothing has ever moved me so much as the extreme emotions experienced over the last few, but so long months.
My father was sick. Certainly psychologically, but spiritually and morally as well. A man who abused his wife, his daughters and sons, physically; mentally; and, in the case of his own daughters, sexually; was not one who could be used as a role model. One cannot explain the degrees of hell. The sexual abuse was – and is – without question or excuse completely without forgiveness. A man who satisfies his own sick lusts at the expense of his own teenage flesh and blood should forfeit the right to walk freely on this earth. Though I do not believe in a heaven or a hell, one would wish the worst in any afterlife so someone so perverse.
Physical abuse is so easily understood. That the worst which I endured was over a wrong-sized spoon set at my father’s place as a 5 or 6 year-old; to be kicked into walls and across the room for no reason other than the fact that a kindergartner gave him a teaspoon instead of a soup spoon for cereal, was simple a matter of fact and not really out of the daily order of life. When one does not know, as a child, if one will live or die at the hand of one’s father, trust and security (leaving out love and nourishment) are simply concepts in books and not aspects of one’s reality. OK, I’ll have to admit, I’m not really sure when the abuse was the worst. Was it when I picked the magazine that he had wanted to read next and pulled my hair so hard than the roots tore my scalp? Or was it when he woke me up in the middle of the night, thinking that someone had been in their room, and beat the living daylights out of me until I able to think of a reason which would satisfy him. (Which is why I’m opposed to torture. Been there, and found that when you are woken up in the middle of the night by a screaming mad man, you don’t last long with denial. Shit, I didn’t even get the tee shirt.)
But no, it was not the physical abuse which left lasting scars. The psychological abuse was so, so much, much worse, but this was the hurt which is too hard to express. How does one put into words the years of being denied one’s own identity? When your father lacks the ability to comprehend that others are different, that there are other individuals with separate emotions and thoughts, and thus becomes violently reactive to the slightest disagreement, one learns from an age before conscious memory that this is the most dangerous creature in the world.
How does one live with this? What do you do when the ruler of the family cannot permit anyone else to succeed? In junior high school, I had a 3.9 GPA, but that was the worst thing I could have possibly done. No, it was not that I didn’t have a 4.0, it was that I was doing too well. OK, at the time, the framing was that boasting was unforgivable, but even I would have picked up the real reason – success was not an option,
For so many years, I dared not participate in the creation of a soul, in fear that I, too, would be the cause of lasting damage. The fear – no, the terror – that I would hurt innocent creatures because I knew nothing better tormented me beyond any words which I can explain or express.
Oh that one could flip a switch and change the course of a lifetime by a simple decision. As everyone reading these electronic squiggles knows, human psychology is not wired for this. No, the change extracted years of work, of sweat, of searching my soul to face the unfaceable. There were counseling, groups and friends. There were denials, insights and tears. Pages and pages of journals over the days, months, years and decades all bore the same inscription. “I want so, so much to be free. To love and be loved. To let go this terrible, terrible past. To be able to pick flavors of ice cream without worrying if the flavor is ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ To live beyond survival. To help others and to contribute to humanity.”
An innocent victim along the way was my ex-wife – a soul so sweet and pure, but just so wrong for me. I still find no measure of comfort for my selfishness. I married her and then divorced her. May god have mercy of my soul.
And now, after 44 years of struggle, of survival as a child and the lonely path of recovery as an adult, I was finally prepared for this awesome challenge. I found peace with myself. My weakness are no longer need for panic, and my failures, no, my humanity, are to be rejoiced and not loathed.
As an unbelievable turn of fate, there was the discovery of the love of my live, the woman whose kisses make the past hurts the hurts of the past. The soul who touched and bonded with me, and whose smile cures all. The woman who wanted, and bore my first child
Never love fate (OK, the literal me is kicking in and I don’t believe in fate either, but stay with me), because fate doesn’t love you.
As people who have followed our tale know – there is bitterness in happiness. But, my friends, do not despair. Although this is one more obstacle to cross, it will be crossed. Death may have robbed us of our child, but it will not rob us of our love. No one can do that but us, and we will never, ever surrender to any enemy. TW and I are one, in purpose in love and in life. In the depths of despair, we’ve taken turns in laughing, in crying and in comforting. I am completely convinced that, above all, one must respect one’s partner.
While I always deeply respected TW, yet another dimension was added on the deliver table. An unbelievable 30+ hours after the doctors induced labor, and hours and hours of exhausting pushing, when all was beyond hope and after I had decided to call for surgery because I could not let this woman suffer anymore (let me point out again that this was without any medication at all), the doctors decided that maybe we (shit, TW – I was just along for the ride) could still have a vaginal birth, things were slowly progressing. For two more long, long hours after that, this pillar of strength out of shear will pushed that kid out.
I have and will forget too many things in life, but, branded forever into my brain, no, someplace deeper that that, is the memory of the will and determination of this woman to bear whatever pain it took. I know not what I would do if I were the “weaker” sex, but I know that this child was born because of the infinite love of his mother. An unforgettable act which begs for similar sacrifice from me.
As promised, here our some pics. PLEASE NOTE! Non-Orientals, including my own mother, only look at the eyes and say pronounce him Asian. The locals look beyond that and say that he looks like his father.
Again, there just aren’t words. Hello, Pooh-chan. You are loved, and you will be missed.
Thank you for the pictures, TokyoPlayer.
There’s nothing I can really say to express how sad and upset I am over this. I don’t know you, or your wife, but I read your post and felt like someone had punched me in the gut, like someone had taken MY baby away from me. You’re a great writer, and I’m willing to share some of your pain if that writing makes you feel the least bit better.
I have been unfortunate these past few years to have to experience a lot of death. Two much-loved teachers, my great-grandfather, and two very, very close family friends all passed away within the span of about four years.
I’m asking them, if they can hear me, to help little Ian along. They loved kids, and I know that Ian couldn’t be in better company that my loved ones - and the loved ones on this board.
There’s not much more than words can say. I’m so sorry…
~Tasha
Ian is absolutely beautiful, as is his mother and you. Again, my heart breaks for you all.
I knew when I came back over, this thread would be here.
You are a good man, and a wonderful father. Ian was a darling little boy.
Peace and strength to you all.
Love, Deb
There are no words, I can only join the others here in sending my condolences.
– IG
Thank you for sharing your story with us. I don’t know anything else to say except that you moved me, who has never wanted children, to tears over your plight and obvious love. I send my wishes for healing for the both of you, and your extended families.