Psychologists say that there are five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, guilt and acceptance. It is only now, that I have reached stage five, has it become evident that the journey to get there has followed the textbook path. It's hard to lose someone close to you.
But when the life lost is your own, the grief process is all the more complicated.
The man I used to be has been on life support along with the life I used to have. For years now he has been hanging on in the hope that one day there would be a miraculous resurrection. Sadly, a few weeks ago, the gut wrenching decision was made to pull the plug.
As if releasing birds into the air, the moment, far from being sorrowful, was a rebirth so immediate that Jesus Christ himself would stare in wonderment.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
DENIAL
Having always had the ability to function at full capacity on 6 hours sleep, that aspect of having children was never going to be an issue. Even having staring competitions with my first baby boy at 3am. Singing sweetly into his ear whilst in my head sledging his inability to stay awake. I am Warnie, and you are Daryl Cullinan! By 4 am, and victory complete, I would wake him just so that he knew I had defeated him AGAIN. He would be so depressed that he would sob himself back to sleep while I stood on his toy box spraying champagne into the air.
So why would baby number 2 stand any chance against the reigning champ? But my boys obviously had a plan. They started double-teaming me. Day or night. There was no let up. Play time. Sleep time. Lunchtime. Story time.
I had to counter punch. I would not be beaten. I used the best weapon I had. I would just stay up later in order to do the things that I wanted to do. I was unaware that this was their hope all along. I soon lost my edge in the middle of the night. They were winning the war.
ANGER
Damn right I was pissed off! My children had stolen every second of my waking day! And stolen my ability to function on no sleep! And do you think they were gracious in their victory? Fuck no! Lachlan intensified his night time tantrums and Aidan, being a team player, also started to ruin my nights. This was not going to end well.
BARGAINING
I've never been a religious man. I have not resorted to dropping to my knees and appealing to a higher power to return my free time to me. Promising to use my time constructively and for the greater good. It would do no good. There was only one man that could grant such a wish. The reigning Stay Awake Champion, Lachlan 'The Stare Master' Webeck. I asked him if he would be available for a meeting. He smiled. "Of course. I'm available at 4am every morning. See you tomorrow." What a tool.
But a desperate man I was. I proposed a number of changes to his behavior during the meeting. None were accepted. I put forward a very lucrative incentive package, but he would not be bought. I begged for an hour of peace. The bastard talked me down to 45 minutes.
DEPRESSION
Is it depression, if you are too tired to feel ANYTHING? For the purposes of the exercise, let's say 'yes'. Like a computer with an overheating CPU, my body reverted to it's default emotion setting, which would probably be somewhere between :I and :( . My laughing during playtime with Aidan was inspired by Meg Ryan's restaurant scene in WHEN HARRY MET SALLY. Some days I had to force every smile. My children still smiled at me though. Those gloating pricks knew they had won, but toyed with me like a heavyweight fighter who let's his opponent get to the bell just so he gets another 3 minutes to humiliate him.
ACCEPTANCE
There I am. Sitting at the ICU bed of my former self, and nodding for the doctor to turn the machine off. Surprisingly, it wasn't a sad occasion. It was a heavy burden to dream of having my new life whilst keeping the old. An unrealistic dream. I let go of some of the things I used to love doing, in order to be able to enjoy what I still can do. I should have thought of it sooner. The anger I was feeling because I couldn't do these things was outweighing the enjoyment I got from them.
So the new 'me' has been finally embraced. I am no longer all-conquering. I am getting by. I can't do everything. But I can enjoy everything else.
DISCLAIMER
I love my children as much as any father has ever loved his sons. They give me some of the happiest moments I have ever experienced (not including the 1997 and 2001 Newcastle Knights teams). One day in the not too distant future I will be wishing i could spend more time with my boys. And many years from now, after the children have left home, I will reanimate the old me (we have decided to have him cryogenically frozen) and we will party like it's 2099.
Until then.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
OFF THE LEASH - PART 2
Another fun-filled night of blowing my nose, coughing up both lungs and dodging Aidan's nocturnal break-dance moves. Seriously that kid must get airborne with the thrashing he does in his sleep. Eventually I realized I was never going to be able to sleep so I removed Aidan's big toe from out of my left ear and dragged myself towards the lounge room to watch TV. I decided to watch cartoons whilst abusing the tissues this morning. Bad move. Now I'm the guy surrounded by a pile of tissues watching The Little Mermaid!
After another breakfast of stuff that should be claimable on Medicare, we jumped in the car for the drive up to Coffs. I managed to get some shut eye in between Taree and Port Macquarie. At that point it was decided that I should pull over and let Lisa drive. Both children travelled like seasoned veterans.
The Coffs Harbour leg of the holiday will undoubtedly be remembered for that annoying sort of rain where you stare out the window waiting for the drizzle to subside just enough to venture out, and when it does, you head into the outdoors, only to be ambushed by a fierce storm.
So a few days indoors it was then. Relaxing nonetheless.
The plan from Coffs Harbour was to travel up to the Sunshine Coast to inject some much needed funds into the Queensland economy.
After arriving at a stormy Marroochydore and settling into our unit, a stroll along the beachside path turned into a mad dash through pouring rain. Lisa pushing Lachlan in the pram, sprinting ahead as I dragged/carried Aidan, running as fast as he could. I could only laugh. I may have been channelling all those other tourists looking down from apartment balconies, their hot coffee cupped by two warm hands, smirking at the sight of the two stupid people taking their kids for a run in the rain.
A trip to Australia Zoo the following day was memorable for one reason. If I can quote Deborah Morgan, The "metric fuck tonne" of rain. I have never seen so much water.. Rain so dense there was a real concern the crocodiles could swim into the "air" and into the crowds.
So almost a thousand kilometres from home to go to a zoo, and Aidan's favourite things were, and I quote: "Lunch, and the shops, and dinner!" Fuck! Sounds like two hours at Orana Mall would have seen him just as happy! Oh well.
The days ahead in Gold Coast would prove to be the first time of pure relaxation.
More about that later.
After another breakfast of stuff that should be claimable on Medicare, we jumped in the car for the drive up to Coffs. I managed to get some shut eye in between Taree and Port Macquarie. At that point it was decided that I should pull over and let Lisa drive. Both children travelled like seasoned veterans.
The Coffs Harbour leg of the holiday will undoubtedly be remembered for that annoying sort of rain where you stare out the window waiting for the drizzle to subside just enough to venture out, and when it does, you head into the outdoors, only to be ambushed by a fierce storm.
So a few days indoors it was then. Relaxing nonetheless.
The plan from Coffs Harbour was to travel up to the Sunshine Coast to inject some much needed funds into the Queensland economy.
After arriving at a stormy Marroochydore and settling into our unit, a stroll along the beachside path turned into a mad dash through pouring rain. Lisa pushing Lachlan in the pram, sprinting ahead as I dragged/carried Aidan, running as fast as he could. I could only laugh. I may have been channelling all those other tourists looking down from apartment balconies, their hot coffee cupped by two warm hands, smirking at the sight of the two stupid people taking their kids for a run in the rain.
A trip to Australia Zoo the following day was memorable for one reason. If I can quote Deborah Morgan, The "metric fuck tonne" of rain. I have never seen so much water.. Rain so dense there was a real concern the crocodiles could swim into the "air" and into the crowds.
So almost a thousand kilometres from home to go to a zoo, and Aidan's favourite things were, and I quote: "Lunch, and the shops, and dinner!" Fuck! Sounds like two hours at Orana Mall would have seen him just as happy! Oh well.
The days ahead in Gold Coast would prove to be the first time of pure relaxation.
More about that later.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
THROW ME A BROKEN BONE
This is how it happened. If DOCS come to my door tomorrow I've got my story straight.
So anyway, there I am, jumping on the trampoline with Aidan. Having the time of our lives. Aidan was begging me to let him jump off the roof of our house onto the trampoline, but being the responsible parent I refused to let him. He did not take my rules well. His jumping became increasingly erratic, at one point hurling himself across the trampoline face first into the safety netting, that his father, with so much love in his heart, had erected in order to prevent anything hurting his precious boy.
This act of lunacy only increased Aidan's frustration. He became abusive. Yelling obscene things whilst I pleaded for him to calm down before someone gets hurt. He saw this statement as a threat and intensified his verbal barrrage to a point that bordered on racism. (?)
I noticed his body tensing as I began to cower and weep. I don't think I will ever forget the sight of his eyes turning blood red. His veins swollen to bursting point on every limb.
Then he lunged at me. Out of the backs of his hands, two sets of wolverine claws suddenly burst out, pointing straight at my exposed jugular.
In a desperate act of self defense, I leapt to my left, causing the trampoline surface to rebound as Aidan was about to land. Falling awkwardly, all sense of aggression disappeared as he began to sob uncontrollably. At first I assumed he had cut himself with his wolverine claws, but I could see no lacerations on him.
Fearing the worst was not over, I reluctantly approached him as he lay crying on the still bouncing surface. And reminiscent of Luke Skywalker with Darth Vader at the end of Return of the Jedi, I picked him up in my arms (after checking his claws had retracted) and carried him to safety, only just escaping the exploding death star.
Now, if I read this often enough, will I begin to believe?
Knowing that I was indirectly responsible for the breaking of my sons leg is hard. It has been an emotional couple of weeks. My heart breaking no more than when Aidan said to me in the bath a few days later "I'm so sad you broke my leg." I am too son. Very sorry.
But as the weeks pass and every day he gets more mobile, and with that much happier, I start to forgive myself a little bit more every day. I can't wait to see his face when the cast comes off. That will be a healing day for both of us.
Until Then
So anyway, there I am, jumping on the trampoline with Aidan. Having the time of our lives. Aidan was begging me to let him jump off the roof of our house onto the trampoline, but being the responsible parent I refused to let him. He did not take my rules well. His jumping became increasingly erratic, at one point hurling himself across the trampoline face first into the safety netting, that his father, with so much love in his heart, had erected in order to prevent anything hurting his precious boy.
This act of lunacy only increased Aidan's frustration. He became abusive. Yelling obscene things whilst I pleaded for him to calm down before someone gets hurt. He saw this statement as a threat and intensified his verbal barrrage to a point that bordered on racism. (?)
I noticed his body tensing as I began to cower and weep. I don't think I will ever forget the sight of his eyes turning blood red. His veins swollen to bursting point on every limb.
Then he lunged at me. Out of the backs of his hands, two sets of wolverine claws suddenly burst out, pointing straight at my exposed jugular.
In a desperate act of self defense, I leapt to my left, causing the trampoline surface to rebound as Aidan was about to land. Falling awkwardly, all sense of aggression disappeared as he began to sob uncontrollably. At first I assumed he had cut himself with his wolverine claws, but I could see no lacerations on him.
Fearing the worst was not over, I reluctantly approached him as he lay crying on the still bouncing surface. And reminiscent of Luke Skywalker with Darth Vader at the end of Return of the Jedi, I picked him up in my arms (after checking his claws had retracted) and carried him to safety, only just escaping the exploding death star.
Now, if I read this often enough, will I begin to believe?
Knowing that I was indirectly responsible for the breaking of my sons leg is hard. It has been an emotional couple of weeks. My heart breaking no more than when Aidan said to me in the bath a few days later "I'm so sad you broke my leg." I am too son. Very sorry.
But as the weeks pass and every day he gets more mobile, and with that much happier, I start to forgive myself a little bit more every day. I can't wait to see his face when the cast comes off. That will be a healing day for both of us.
Until Then
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