First assuming there is anything after death, according to some belief systems, Ian’s soul, or spirit, or ka or whatever, may by now have been reborn into a new body. He may belong to another family now. He may now be known as she. Tokyo, I know you’ll always have your memories, but Ian may be happy where he is now, if he’s anywhere. Perhaps if you thought of it that way, it would make you feel better. Perhaps it would help you let go.
Also, are you seriously still wearing that shirt? Consciously wearing it because it’s what you were wearing the day he was born? Do you wear it other times? Or were you wearing it to mark the occasion? Think it might be good to ease up on that kind of thing?
Thank you everyone for your kind words and for remembering Ian Pough. I also want to thank CarnalK and Rilchiam for their concern. I’ve discussed this with my therapist, who believes what I am doing, feeling and experiencing is normal and well within a health response. I respect her professional opinion.
Rilchiam wonders about the shirt, and it was a special occasion. We do celebrate his birthday, something which my counselor says is normal and therapeutic. I doubt if you would find criticism of this from the many of those who have lost a child or loved one. My mother goes to my father’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death. Is there a difference?
If you are worried too much whether I am still grieving too much, look for my posts when the pain truly was raw. Compare it. Here is what I wrote two years after the death.
Compare that to the relevant part of this year’s tribute.
This year, I talk of fading memories of lingering for a moment. Four years ago, the hurt was still branded in my soul. Read it again. “I drink to forget the darkness. The breaths you forgot.”
Do you not see the difference between the bitterness here: “The world forgets, even the family. A child born to not live is a child the world knows not how to remember.” and the acceptance here: “You never knew your friends here, but there are some who still remember.”
Or the intensity. “It was today, two years ago. 730 days of which not one has been lost.” vs. “We honor the memories, not because we cannot move beyond but to remind us to hug the ones we still have.”
Yes. I struggle at times with issues in my life; many the result of growing up in an abusive household. They have found that when children are placed into such environments, there will be long-term problems and it doesn’t magically get better at 18. I cannot erase the past, but I continue my progress to overcome. Which, as a parent, makes this of extreme importance in order to not continue the cycle of insanity.
One method I’ve found useful, and which is strongly encouraged by my therapist, is to write when I’m struggling. For a casual reader who does not hear of the good days, it may seem to be wallowing, but read again and see the healing.
She says that sharing the pain can be of use for others. To give words to those who also grieve. To remind people, as Stendhal Syndrome so elegantly says.
“words are a solemn reminder of how fragile we can be sometimes…and how fragile life can be.”
Today, I reread my words written at the time. The hell. The darkness. The tornadoes of pain, the wrenching heartache.
One does not take an elevator to the top of a mountain. It is a journey, stumbling at times over rocks and in the dark. The bitter winds blow hard; blinding rain drives you back. It can be damn cold, cutting to the bone, to where you want to just sit down and quit because you are tired. Dead tired. More so than you’ve even been in your life. But if you sit, then you will die, so you stumble forward and upward.
Then the dawn comes, and the clouds break. The warmth of the gentle sun dries your clothes and comforts your soul. High ridges provide clear glimpses of the path ahead and with it comes that one thing which was is such short supply. Hope. For with hope, the unbearable can be borne. The cliffs scaled.
I see a girl, soon to be four. The first child in generations who has a father who doesn’t beat her. She has parents who love her. A girl with an infectious smile and a carefree life given only to those who do not need, as toddlers, to worry for their lives.
I see a boy, soon to be two, whose latest word is Yeah! and who will never grow up with a paralyzing fear of the unbridled joy. Children, allowed to be children.
I go each week to face my demons. To stare at fears and emotions so deep. We talk, my counselor and I, so that they won’t have to. So that that little girl and boy will have a shot at something denied their father, the chance for normality.
Tokyo, you responded to my second paragraph but not my first. Again I ask, have you considered that Ian may not belong to you any more?
And if you have a therapist, s/he probably already knows this story from beginning to end, in which case s/he knows that, as you said in the thread MichaelEmouse linked, Ian never had a chance. I reviewed your other threads concerning him, and it seemed that you were a long way towards coming to terms with that before he was born. Before your wife was even in labor, you were saying how he would never run, play, go to school and so forth…Now you make it sound like it was one error or one twist of fate that took a healthy baby away from you.
What changed? What stopped you from seeing this as a sad thing that happened, but that you could move on from, and changed it into the worst tragedy of your life that you have to relive over and over? Okay, so in four years your outlook has marginally improved. I think, though, that you’re not keeping your son alive in your heart. You’re keeping him dead in your heart. Do you, your wife, your therapist think that’s healthy?
On what planet do you live that this could be construed as well-meaning, helpful advice? So helpful that it warrants being repeated?
Tokyo thanked you for your concern and gently reminded you that his therapist is fully aware of his actions, and feels this is normal. Most people realize this is an incredibly polite way of saying to drop it. Nowhere has he requested people to critique his grieving process.
Losing a child, no matter how short of a time they were physically with you, IS most likely the ‘worst tragedy of someone’s life.’ Suggesting he look at it from your rather creative perspective of Ian no longer ‘belonging’ to Tokyo sounds like you telling him he’s grieving wrong. I’d worry about someone who didn’t wish to pay tribute to a lost child on their birthday. Where does he say he isn’t still living? Where he isn’t moved forward?
I suspect he didn’t respond to your second paragraph because it didn’t warrant a response.* It doesn’t matter where Ian is.* He’s not with Toyko, and that is quite sufficient a reason to have a broken heart.
I would say there’s a few differences. First, she spent a life with him. There are real memories of a person. You are, quite literally, mourning a dream. A dream that has actually been given to you two-fold since the loss. Secondly, I was under the impression that your Dad was a massive shit, so I am a little baffled that she keeps that up. People are definitely weird.
Anyway, I don’t expect you to ever forget or never have a tinge of “what might have been”. I don’t even know what I wish for you. But despite what you see as progress, I still see very raw feelings six years & two kids later and I wonder if your therapist is being a little too soft on you.
Nobody is claiming that TokyoPlayer ought to simply grin and get over it; losing a child in the way he did is an awful, heart-breaking thing to happen for any parent. He will feel that loss in one shape or another, and it is right that he should; loss and mourning is part of what shapes us as humans. But constantly revisiting it in public parades of grief with these regular threads is unhealthy for him and his family, and for that reason they make very uncomfortable reading. They have the effect of cheapening his grief, making it look like an affectation for the sake of attention, and I’m afraid his embarrassingly overwrought writing doesn’t help dispel that impression. It’s counterproductive for TokyoPlayer because it mires him in a perpetual present of suffering and woe which blinds him to the gifts he has here and now: if he would truly commemorate Ian’s short life and mark his passing with dignity and love, let it be in celebrating the lives of the family he has.
And I for one think his writing is lovely. I have never written anything as eloquent or as poetic as he has.
And, just because I’m miffed, could you please notice that his user name is TokyoBayer now and not TokyoPlayer? It’s right there beside his every post and everything.
Yeesh, people. Grief isn’t one size fits all and with a committee-decided expiration date. Pushing people who have gone through raw hell to see things in a particular way that you approve of or express themselves using words that don’t disturb your comfort zone is condescending at best.
TokyoBayer, peace to you and to your sweet family. Ian Pough has inspired a lot of strangers to give their own kids extra hugs and appreciate the preciousness and fragility of life. That’s not a bad legacy for anyone.
TokyoBayer’s words were eloquent and speak to the essence of anyone who has lost a loved one.
He certainly doesn’t appear to be wallowing in self-pity. Instead, he is celebrating the continuance of life and joy in that living.
This isn’t glurge. It is a celebration of life.
To TokyoBayer:
And as a relative newcomer here, I had not read what happened 6 years ago.
I extend my condolences to you and yours, sir.
It is not right when our offspring die before we do.
Peace and long life.
Driving[sup]1[/sup] home today, switched stations on the radio, and accidentally caught Rush in a rant. It was infuriating, the guy is insane. I felt my blood pressure rise, and saw myself driving more aggressively. I really hate that guy. To be fair, although I’m a liberal, I also can’t stand that guy on the left as well. I guess I’m just not cut out for talk radio. Lot of people must be or Rush and his ilk wouldn’t have lasted that long.
Suddenly, I realized I had options. I checked, I looked in the back seat and couldn’t find any gunmen there. I could turn off the radio, switch stations or even listen to a CD.
To distract myself, I did the math in my head[sup]2[/sup]. If there are five thousand five hundred and twenty nine threads started this last year in MPSIMS, any one thread is 0.018%. With 38,390 treads started this last year in SDMB, any one thread is 0.0026%.
Switching stations[sup]3[/sup], I caught Donna Summers cover of MacArthur Park, certainly one of the most polarizing songs in pop history. Some people love it, many hate it. I think it wouldn’t be that difficult for people to realize I’m one of the former[sup]4[/sup].
Some people like to have things spelled out for them. Others use metaphors. Personally, I think literature would barren without, and while I’m certainly not a writer[sup]5[/sup], I like the idea of imagery. It’s interesting to me, because I am one of those people who simply cannot picture things in my mind.
I realized that I failed to thank the community here for the tremendous support over one of the most difficult and dark periods of my life. Between that and the incredible support until Beta-chan’s safe birth, followed by the outpouring of joy has been really touching. My wife is in awe of the warmth of this virtual community, even more so as we are both strangers in this land[sup]6[/sup]. My debt to the Dope community is enormous. I wouldn’t have continued the threads had the even occurred outside of this context.
I’ll repeat, here, for the record. I apologize to no one for writing a tribute to Ian each year. Very likely, I will write another one next year. That’s Sept. 20, 2013. For those who find it attention whoring or disturbing, there are simple solutions. Place me in your ignore list or, simply don’t click on it. Life really is too short to get that upset about something so trivial as another’s life.
There is also the Pit, if you wish. This may seem self serving, to advise against that option, but it may well have a net negative effect, as it could take posters over to the thread.
Thank you again, Dope.
Notes:
This is a fictional account. I commute via train. I hope this doesn’t distress anyone.
Damn. Lying again. I can’t add two single digits in my head[sup][size=1]7[/sup]. Credit Excel.
Fictional account. See note 1.
When I wrote this, I intended to say something, but I seem to have forgotten what. This may be why I prefer to write metaphorically.
Real writers are damn good. It’s humbling to read someone like that.
Technically, “foreigners.”
Not true. I can add single digits, but have difficulties with two digit numbers[sup]8[/sup].
This footnote is definitely attention whoring, but I believe the whoring is allowed in footnotes.
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Tokya, it’s not your beautiful writing I object to, nor the fact that you anually pay tribute to a life that, however short, was well lived… no it’s the fact that I just listened to half of MacArthur Park!
Tokyo, your tributes to Ian are beautiful. I remember his birth and your threads about your grieving process. Remembering isn’t wallowing. I’m glad you start threads, and glad that we here have been able to walk with you (metaphorically speaking).
TokyoBayer, I for one always look for ward to your posts. You say things about Pough-chan that I only wish I could come up with words for for my mother. You touch my heart consistently.
