A Call to Action

Ladies, feel free to read along, but this post is specifically for the guys. With Father's Day right around the corner, it only makes sense, right? Father's Day is traditionally a time to celebrate the dads of the world, in all their shapes and sizes. It's a time to acknowledge your appreciation for who your father is and what he's done for you. It's a time for dads to get patted on the back. But I think it should be more than that. I think it's also an opportunity for us dads to reflect on our concepts of fatherhood and manhood and decide how that vision will shape who we are - as husbands, fathers, and human beings, specifically in regards to child loss.

When I've written posts that attempt to explore and explain my thoughts and feelings regarding Kyla, the vast majority of the feedback I've received is from women. The vast majority of the people who approach me and talk with me about it are women. Women form the active majority of the child loss community. And that makes me sad (and a little angry), because every single child out there, of every age and size, has a father. Almost every mother out there who's lost a baby has a man who is experiencing the exact same loss that she is, whether he admits it or not. And yet it's generally the women who look for support. It's the mothers who reach out to help each other. It's the women who are allowed to cry and break apart and be depressed.

Why?

Is it because men don't need to be comforted? Do we simply not feel the pain? Do we truly just float through life, unaffected by the troubles of supposedly weaker people? Is it because we are hiding from the grief, scared shitless of what it may do to us? Is it because we see the woman we love crumbling into the ashes of our baby's cremated body? Do we stand firmly on dry ground, refusing to cry because we think that's what she really needs? Do we put on a tough face, thinking that will make everything better for everybody? Do we stand "strong" because that's what, deep down inside, we actually want to do? Do we not want to scream at the top of our lungs and tear apart the hospital room and funeral home and shoot something and punch a lot of somethings and curl up on the floor in a puddle of confusion and sadness?

Why aren't we a bigger part of this?

There are a lot of resources out there for women that explain how to connect with us, their seemingly unaffected men. There are also some studies which show that, in general, men and women grieve differently. But why is that? Do baby boys and baby girls naturally cry about different things? No. Do toddler boys not cry when they miss their mommy? No. So why the difference? Why are women generally more open with their emotions while men generally aren't? What changes from childhood to adulthood? There are probably some biological reasons as well, but I think this trend of not showing emotion is more societal than natural. Society tells us that boys don't cry and girls do. Society tells us that we need to be the strong ones because "everybody knows women aren't." Society mocks us for sensitivity and praises us for a shallow, incomplete definition of courage and strength. But here's the real problem: we are society. We are equally to blame for the stereotypes. During calm seas, we're perpetually setting this obscure, abstract, feel-good standard for ourselves - and then we feel obligated to meet that standard while in the midst of the storm, whether it makes sense or not.

Guess what, guys? It doesn't make sense to hide our emotions. It doesn't make sense to close ourselves off from pain. And it certainly doesn't make any sense to alienate our women, the only people in the world who are actually experiencing the exact same thing that we are, right here and now. It's time for us to step up, own our grief, and be fathers - the raw, messy, unpretentious version. It's time for us to acknowledge that there truly are things in life worth crying about, and if the death of our children isn't one of them, we may as well get our tear ducts surgically removed. It's time for us to turn and face the mothers of our children and hug them - not because they need a hug, but because we do. It's time for us fathers to open our hearts to the pain inside us and the world around us and let society think whatever they want to think. Because living any other way is a lie - to ourselves, to our women, and to our children.

Go ahead, cry a little - you might be surprised at the results. You might discover how little you truly know about courage and strength as you find that your woman is the strongest person you've ever known.

Go ahead, listen a little. You might find that your heart breaks for other people's pain, making you a better human being on a daily basis, giving of yourself to a depth you didn't know existed.

Go ahead, talk a little. You might find friends who understand the very core of who you are now, even if you just met them. And you might find that some of your old friends just don't get it, and that's absolutely fine.

Go ahead, be a grieving father to a dead child. It's okay. I am, too. Do I cry about it? You're goddamned right I do.