I’ve talked about my struggles over the past couple weeks of how it’s all of the little things that hit me the hardest, of struggling with letting go, and with feeling like I’d lost my will. And I know none of these things are unusual to the grief process. This isn’t something new I’m discovering that no one has ever dealt with before. Nothing about this is special or unique to the human experience. It’s just all completely new to me. Basically, for as long as I can remember, I have been a sheer force of will. Little things don’t bother me (my wife will say that’s a lie, that little things cause me to fly off the handle all the time…and she’s not wrong, but that’s very different from what this has been). That whole letting go thing has never been a problem. Quarterback throwing an interception mentality; move on from it and be ready for the next play. I ran hurdles in high school… if you clip a hurdle you push through and keep going because there’s another hurdle coming that you have to clear. Can’t slow down. Can’t lose pace. Keep going!

Papaw (my dad’s dad) died 4 days before my 15th birthday. That hurt. I’ve talked previously about my relationship with my grandparents back home on the farm. Papaw loved to watch me play basketball. Even on the rare occasion when my parents might have to miss a game, he would be there. The morning of his passing, we were supposed to have a game. It was a Saturday, and we were playing midday (which we didn’t do very often). It was an especially special occasion because there was a freshman team game first, followed by JV, then Varsity. I started for the freshman team and played a little JV. I woke up that morning to find out Papaw had passed, then I ate breakfast and I went and played. Push through and keep going. Plus, he would still be watching me, and he wouldn’t have wanted me to miss the game. He surely wasn’t going to miss this one. I went to school that week, even though the semester was winding down and there wasn’t a lot going on and my teachers didn’t ask much of me, I still went. And at his funeral I served as a pallbearer and carried his casket with the men of the church and stood there in the rain and quietly cried just a little. Glenn Nolan reached a big arm around my shoulder and gave me a little hug, and that’s all I needed. And I kept going.

PawPaw (my mom’s dad) passed the week of Valentine’s Day in 2005. He was a big man (almost my height and over 300 lbs, at his heaviest he probably would have made Sean look kind of average), and an even bigger personality. His passing hit a bit different. See, I had known for a couple of months that he was going to pass. I had gotten to Louisville early the week of Thanksgiving 2004 and stopped by his house first when I got to town…which is what I usually did when I went to visit. When I walked in the door he said, “oh good, you can take me to my doctor’s appointment.” I didn’t think anything of it, until the doctor walked in the room and asked if he wanted me to step out. “Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can say to him.” The doctor then proceeded to tell him that the spot they had found on his shoulder was a melanoma, and that it had already spread to his vital organs. The doctor said, “we can do chemo, and you’ll be in and out of the hospital every week, and you might live another 6 months… or you can go home and make yourself comfortable and you might live another 6 months.” PawPaw looked at me and said, “let’s go home.” I had time to prepare myself. I had taken a year off school, and in January of 2005 I went back to college. Knowing he was going to pass sometime in the next few months. Push through and keep going. I was a pallbearer for his funeral too, and even though I knew it was coming, it still hurt. But he was proud of the young man I was growing in to and I needed to do what was necessary to keep growing and continue to be a man he would be proud of. And I kept going.

Early in March of 2016 Granny (my mom’s mom) passed away. She had been fighting a losing battle with Parkinson’s for several years and her mental state had deteriorated. The last time we saw her a month or so before she passed, I knew she probably wasn’t going to last a whole long longer, and I had made the decision that I wasn’t going to take the kids back to see her again. She had done really well with both kids, but especially with Kaydee, while we were there; but otherwise, you could tell the Parkinson’s was affecting her mentally and I didn’t want their last memories of her to be progressing into that deterioration. It was a sad occasion, but it was also a blessing. She wasn’t suffering anymore and her body and mind were healed. The kids had happy memories of Granny, as did I. I had also just changed jobs and took a position that paid significantly less than I had been making before in an effort to be more present in the kids’ lives. It was hard, and I was struggling financially. Unbeknownst to me (and I think to my mom and aunts), Granny had taken out a life insurance policy that paid out to the grandkids when she passed. It was a gift and a blessing that threw me the life preserver I needed right at the time when I was starting to drown. And so, I wasn’t going to waste that gift that she gave me. I had to take care of myself and my kids, because I knew how much she loved all of us. And that gave me the strength to push through and keep going.

And I’ve already talked about Mamaw’s passing in the post Shed a Tear.1

But the one I haven’t talked about… The week of Valentine’s Day 2008 my cousin Joe was killed in a car wreck. Life had not been going great… my first big job out of college hadn’t really delivered what I was hoping it would be. And at that time my first marriage hadn’t gotten off to a particularly strong start either. Joe hit extra hard. He was right between my brother and I in age and in school. We played football, basketball, and baseball together. We hung out and partied together. We did everything together. And he was big too! Not as big as Sean, but all of our family is big…and his personality and love of life were just as big! And that hurt in a whole new way. And I started drinking… a lot… and I couldn’t just push through that. It was hard to keep going. I was spiraling and really didn’t care. Then a couple months later we found out we were pregnant with Sean. And then I found my will again, found my purpose. I had someone who I had to be strong for; someone who I had to push through and get it together for. And now I had to keep going!

And here I sit, 18 years later, as that purpose has been ripped away from me. And it hurts in a way I never could have imagined anything could hurt. I still have a strong will and purpose in life. I have an incredible wife and daughters. My parents and aunts and uncles and my brother and his wife and kids. I have all of the reasons to push through and keep going. But the hole that’s been torn in me makes it hard to breathe, much less to push through. And instead of waking up every day telling myself to keep going, I find myself saying “just be alright.” I don’t need to be good, I don’t need to push, I just need to be alright. Because I know my will and my purpose are still strong…so if I can just be alright for a little bit longer… for just one more day, I’ll be able to keep going.

I’m going to go full nerd here and talk about comic book stuff, so just bear with me because all of this has a point.

At the funeral I talked about Sean’s love of comic books. About the time we were watching one of the DC animated movies and Sean asked me “Dad, do you know Batman?” Of course, he just meant did I know who Batman was in terms of the comics, but I love good stories and entertaining, so I said “of course I know Batman, I used to be a Green Lantern!” I told him in college I was a Green Lantern, but after his mom and I found out that she was pregnant with him I gave up my ring because I couldn’t have bad guys coming after my kid to get to me. After telling him this, he ran upstairs and grabbed his little Green Lantern mask and light up ring and came back down wearing both, and said “well, since you can’t do it anymore, I’ll be a Green Lantern for you!” then he pushed the ring and made it light up. But it didn’t end there. He would tell all of his little friends how his dad was a retired Green Lantern and I would tell them about my “adventures” just patrolling Earth and trips to the moon, making sure everything was well and good with the world. I mean, when Earth already has great Green Lanterns like Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Kyle Rayner… and even Guy Gardner… there’s not really a whole lot that the “other Green Lantern” needs to do. I told them about that time when Superman died and Poppa disappeared for a while and came back as The Eradicator (the Superman with the yellow goggles who shot yellow lasers from his hands) and how weird that was for all of us; especially after Superman returned, beat him up, and then he came back to the farm to just be a normal guy again. The boys hung on every word and loved the stories. I think they were almost teenagers before they figured out it was all just me telling stories to entertain them.

Now, for the nerd out. Green Lanterns power is based on willpower. Willpower is “exerting control to do something (or restrain impulses),” which is something I’ve always prided myself in. Saying a child is “strong-willed” usually means they’re going to do whatever they’ve put their mind to, be that for good or bad. As an adult, that trait usually means you’re going to do whatever is necessary to make things happen, to move things forward, to get the job done. As I said, I’ve always prided myself in having a strong will, no matter what else is going on in life, to push forward and keep getting things done that need to be done. But these past couple weeks I feel like I’ve lost my will a bit. I’m still getting stuff done…but I just don’t have that extra push to exert myself beyond what is absolutely necessary. I’m still moving forward, but I just don’t feel the will to push myself. And I know it’s because I lost a huge part of what drove me forward…trying to live out the strength, values, and yes the will, that I wanted my son to see and carry over into his own life. My will was to set the example for him, so he would be the man I knew he was capable of growing in to.

But green isn’t the only Lantern in the DC universe. Every color of the color wheel represents a different Lantern Corp, and each of them represents a different element of the emotional spectrum. I did a whole lesson on the color wheel with the kids based on the different Lantern Corps.

So we’ve already established that green symbolizes willpower. And then we have red for anger, orange for greed, and yellow for fear (these are, obviously, the bad emotions/powers). Indigo is compassion, which I personally struggle with. Violet is the Star Sapphire Corp, which is powered by love. And finally, blue represents hope.

The cool thing about blue is it’s considered (by some lore) to be the most powerful of the emotions; but alone it can’t reach full potential. But when in close proximity to Green Lanterns (willpower), the Blue Lanterns become more powerful. Not only that, but they enhance the strength of the Green Lanterns nearby as well. And that’s what I’m working on. Finding hope again. Through my wife and daughters, my brother and nephew (and the new niece or nephew who’s on the way!), through my parents and aunts and uncles… through all of the incredible friends who have supported us through all of this. Through the willpower that I see in all of them to keep pushing forward, to keep living life to its fullest; to keep doing not just what needs to be done, but to excel in those things and be amazing! That gives me hope, and that hope fuels my will. Slowly but surely, I can feel it elevating me back to being the super hero my son thought I was for so long, pushing me to continue to be the man I wanted him to see and emulate and grow in to.

I’ve talked previously in a Facebook/X post, and also shared at Sean’s funeral service about the dream I had before the funeral. Of him on the couch and asking what happened. Of the deep contentedness I woke up from, knowing that he was alright. I’ve done really well the last couple weeks since it happened and since the funeral of holding it together and just feeling content knowing he didn’t suffer. Everyone has told me how strong I am. I’ve done my best to be the rock I’m supposed to be for my family. But these past couple days I haven’t felt very strong; and even though it’s mostly confined to sitting in my garage alone so the world doesn’t see it…I really haven’t been alright or content…I’ve just been sad.

Everything, no matter how small, seems to make me think of him. And every time I think of him, I miss him. And the more I miss him, the sadder I get. And the sadder I get, the more I cry. Culminating in my second dream. Last night I dreamt about Sean again. It wasn’t anything grand or elaborate; he was just standing there, wearing a white t-shirt. We didn’t talk, there were only two words spoken in the whole dream, he just stood there. I walked up to him and grabbed him in a big hug. I put my forehead on his cheek, and I just held him. He was cold, but aside from that it felt like I was holding my giant little boy. I don’t know how long I stood there holding him…he put his arms around me and held me back…and we just stood there. In the kitchen. Where I stood and asked if he wanted a cup of coffee before he left for work that morning. I should have just made him sit down and wait 2 more minutes while I fixed him a cup of coffee for the road. But he was so ready to get to work and see what they were going to start teaching him. To start his life as an adult, for real.

I don’t even know what to write or why I’m even writing this. But I feel like I need to. Because if I don’t, I’ll just sit on the swing under the tree smoking cigarettes and looking at his pictures, listening to the music we loved, and cry all day long. And he would be so mad at me for all of that. I think, in this very specific case, he might be less mad about the cigarettes and more so that I’m sad. He was such a kind, good-hearted kid. He never wanted anyone to be angry or sad. Especially not on his account. And I really don’t think I’m sad because I miss him. All of the memories are happy and wonderful and just remind me over and over of what an incredible son I have. I’m sad because I’ll never get to make more. I’m sad because I won’t get to see what he was going to do with this great big life that was laid out in front of him. All the things we talked about doing, the fun and the games and the shows and the trips. Seeing him succeed and get married and have kids. Helping him with the struggles and the hard times. Giving him advice and lessons about the things you can’t teach someone until life reaches up and punches them in the mouth. And he had a tendency to learn those the hard way anyway. To be there for him when those hardships came along, to give him a hug, and tell him it’s gonna be alright.

And right now, I’ve been punched in the mouth. And the thing I need more than anything is for him to give me a hug and tell me it’s gonna be alright. It is going to be…I know it is. I know he’s alright. And he gave me my hug. Even if I woke up crying from it. The only two words in that whole dream were right before I woke up, as I pulled back from the hug that lasted all night, I put my hands behind his head and my forehead against his and I said “come home.” But he already went home. I know that. It just hurts so much…because like all of the other big plans and amazing accomplishments I’ll never get to see him do here in this life… I don’t get to see that big smile and feel the joy he radiated as he arrived home for the last time. But I know it is going to be alright. That I am going to be alright. Because he’ll be there to welcome me when I get home.

Anyone who’s met me can attest that I’m a pretty big guy. 6’5ish” and currently around 190 lbs. Used to be upward of 220, before spending a year slowly starving to death. Sean was every bit of my height (maybe even taller, though I’d never admit it to him) and right around 300 lbs. We are big! And with that, it’s easy to prepare yourself for the big things. To be strong and stable for everyone as we go through the process of the Celebration of Life and the funeral; of making arrangements for those things and all that goes with it, and dealing with insurance and all of the other stuff that comes with someone dying. I thought I had it all together; thought I was handling it all really well… so why do the little things hurt so damn much? Why can’t I just take those in stride like I did all of the big things?

I spent his lifetime teaching him to be strong and independent. Showing him how to do things for himself so he wouldn’t have to rely on me for everything. I taught him how to change his own oil in his truck so he could just do it himself, and he took so much of a liking to it that he would change the oil in my truck and work car for me whenever they needed it. Now my truck needs an oil change…and I wasn’t prepared for how hard having to do that myself again, for the first time in over a year, would hit me. He was my computer geek. Anytime I had problems with a game or something on my computer I would just text him and he’d come out here to the garage, tap a few keys and click a couple things, and have it fixed in 30 seconds…then tell me I’m a dumbass. 😂 Now I find myself uninstalling and reinstalling a whole game because I did something wrong, having to consult multiple other friends to figure out what’s wrong and why certain things won’t just run like I think they should. I spent all of that time teaching him not to be reliant on me; I wasn’t prepared for just how reliant on him I was.

It’s all of the little things that keep hitting me like a ton of bricks. Since we moved to Petersburg and Sean got his license I haven’t had to go to a lot of places we used to go to in a while. Earlier this week I had to take some paperwork to his mom, and on the way back I stopped at Walmart…which doesn’t seem like it should be a big deal, but that’s the Walmart we went to all the time when he was little, and walking around the store just flooded back so many memories of doing nothing more than basic shopping with him. Going to the store I drove by the Azzip Pizza location where he had worked before getting the new job. He loved working there and they treated him so good! He was always so excited for me to stop by so he could make a pizza for me. Leaving, I drove by the old GameStop that we’d always go to…the store is closed now and they’ve taken the sign down off the building out front. Continue driving and go by a couple other pizza places he always wanted to go to, which brought back memories of his favorite pizzas and drinks at those places. God that boy loved pizza! I went to another store to see if they still had some workout equipment I had been looking at, and in the sports section I saw some tiny basketballs…the same kind that he dribbled around the house all the time when he was a little fella; then come home and go to put some things away and there’s the basketball he asked me to get him that he would take with him on the rare occasion he’d want to go somewhere to play.

And little by little all those strong walls I had built to get through this get chipped away and break me down. All of these little things that I never thought about that just keep hitting me over and over again. The things I never thought much of that were such big parts of our time together, that mean so much even though they never seemed to mean anything at all before. A Gameboy, a book I bought for him, the flashlights he got me for Christmas, a basketball, all of these little reminders of how much he was such a huge part of my life in a million of the smallest, seemingly most insignificant ways that now have more significance than I ever could have imagined.

This morning Stephanie said “I keep thinking ‘he’s just at Brooke’s house’ and he’ll be coming back.” And the more I come across the multitude of little things, the more I want him back for just a couple more minutes; to fix my computer or change my oil…to tell me if this new game sucks, to make me play a new song he found, to watch the new season of Invincible. Just to have some of those little things back. Because it turns out those are the things that really meant the most. Not the big, grand gestures… just a little flashlight and a hug.

I looked in the mirror this morning and my face still looked like I had been crying non-stop, but really I haven’t cried a whole lot since the funeral. But it got me thinking about crying and how we deal with the pain and loss of someone we love. When my grandmother passed away back in October I don’t really remember crying much, if at all. It was a lot different though. She was 94 years old and while I don’t think she was actually in pain or suffering there at the end, I know she wasn’t living the kind of life she wanted. She hadn’t really left the house in years, she was physically dwindling away, and she had reached the point where she really couldn’t do anything for herself. I was obviously sad that she was gone, but I was also grateful that she wasn’t having to live with that deteriorated life. She was always so happy to see us, and she would talk to me and the kids the same as she always had, but I could see on her face that she just wasn’t doing great with this late stage of life. So I didn’t really cry; not because I wasn’t sad, but because I knew she was ready and this was better.

I’ve cried a lot less these past couple of days. Not because I’m not still sad…I am. I don’t think I actually have words, and I’m not sure there are even words, that can fully describe how sad all of us are. But it’s not so much sadness that I’m crying over since we laid him to rest. The tears have been from overwhelming pride and love that come from hearing stories about what a great friend and young man he was. They’re tears of gratitude for the outpouring of love and support from family and friends and even people I never knew but who knew my son and thought the world of him. I think there are always going to be some moments, for the rest of my life, when I’ll feel the depth of pain of losing him that I’ll break down and cry, but for now I’m not as much sad as I am just amazed at what an amazing young man he was, and what incredible friends he had. At the breadth of his impact on the world around him.

To some degree I feel bad, or at least a little weird, that I’m not so sad as I was a week ago. And in that same way, I felt guilty that I wasn’t crying more at my grandmother’s passing. I loved her so much; and she loved me fiercely! Heck, I was her favorite grandkid and she didn’t even try to hide it. Or at least that was always the joke. I know (and I hope, deep down, my brother knows) that she didn’t REALLY love me the most. She didn’t actually have a favorite grandkid, she just loved all of us in her own way that was unique to every grandkid. When we were little, I’d get off the bus in the afternoons and walk to my grandparents’ house to watch Jeopardy and play cards with Mamaw. She’d always have some food left over from lunch waiting for me on a plate. When they were in the fields I would walk to whatever field he was working in and ride in the tractor with Papaw until the end of the day. I’d ride in the grain truck with him to the elevator during harvest. I just had a different relationship with my grandparents. That didn’t mean Mamaw loved my brother any less than she loved me. She mourned and grieved when our cousin died in a wreck (18 years before Sean’s wreck, give or take a couple of weeks) and I know she was still saddened by that loss for the rest of her life. It was just different for each of us.

And we had always joked that Kaydee was my favorite kid. She’s my clone, both in looks and personality. While Sean looks more like his mother’s side of the family and had a much softer demeanor than I’ve ever had. But I know he didn’t really believe I have a favorite kid. He just needed to be loved in a different way. We would talk about it then hug it out after I was tough on him. I had more deep, hard conversations with him about life and why I was the way I was with him than I’ve had with anyone else on earth. I was hard on him because the world is a hard place; and God love him, he was a soft kid. I was trying to raise him to be a strong, good man. And he needed someone to press him, to push him, to expect and demand more of him. To get him to see his potential and understand that living up to that potential would mean having to toughen up and have a hard exterior at times.

These days since his death have shown me that he was all of that and more. He was striving to meet that potential. He was stronger for those who needed him than I ever could have imagined. He was so good to everyone. He had a toughness that made everyone around him feel safe and loved. And he did it all without having to become hardened. I spent most of his life trying to raise a good man. In death, he’s shown me that it’s possible to be all of that while still being soft and sweet, almost to a fault. For all the lessons it’s become apparent I was able to pass on to him, I think the biggest lesson is the one I’ve learned from him. That it’s ok to let that softness be something people know you for. And maybe, with a little work, I can soften up a bit too and become more like the man I raised, the man his world needed, than the one I thought he had to be.