I miss my little boy.  The fact that I write that should come as no surprise to anyone, but my reason for writing that may…  You see there are times where I do not miss Rees.  - now before you stop reading and turn off your computer in disgust, bear with me. –  There are times where I forget that Rees is gone.  Times where my life is just as it ever was and my days are completely indiscernible from the days prior to his death.  These times are few and far between, yet I have noticed their duration apparently burgeons on a daily basis.  With each passing day I notice the constant pain that followed immediately after Rees’ passing seems to yield, ever so slightly, to a peace that no longer seems alien to me.  Unfortunately, that peace comes at a price…  All of the sudden, out of nowhere, I am reminded that Rees is gone and I feel that pain all over again and I find myself missing my little man.  It’s a pain that is indescribable and immeasurable.  Every time it happens, I lose my little boy all over again.  Every single time.

Nothing that I described is out of the ordinary for a parent that loses a child.  I know this pain will be a lifelong one, and I realize that what I am going through now is all a part of the grieving process, whose very job it is to ensure that I can go on functioning and be a productive member of society.  Even though I am aware of the process that grieving entails, I find it quite perplexing.  The whole process seems paradoxical in that its designed to heal you by taking things from you…  In the beginning of the process  you find yourself holding on to everything about your lost loved one’s life in a mad scramble reminiscent of someone trying to save a family heirloom from a fire.   Your brain overloads trying to process everything that person was in a vain hope to place it all in a safe location so that you may recall it at a later date.  As the days pass you start to wonder if you are already forgetting parts of their life with you as you face little moments where you accept the fact they are no longer here.  As time continues its inevitable march you stop worrying about holding onto those little things mostly because you start to fear you are forgetting the bigger picture.  Meanwhile, at the same time you find yourself going a greater amount of time without remembering or thinking about your loved one’s absence.  Before you know it, your life sets into a new routine in which that person is simply no longer a major part of your daily life, you accept it,  and  you enter what many call “The new normal”.

I hate the “New Normal”.  For me, it means that my life is in a place where I am supposed to be able to function as I used to, and for the most part I do.  The “new normal” is the place where your friends and family want you to be so that they no longer have to worry is he ok?  When the new normal is reached I think most people assume your life is back on track and you are ready to move forward and all is well.  The kid gloves come off and people expect that you are good to go.  This is really the hardest time in the entire process.  It is the time where the inner you wants to scream “NO!  I AM NOT OK!”, with the outer you belying any such notion.  It’s the time you find yourself crying for no reason in moments of solitude, and often times faking a smile to insulate those you care about from your pain.  I often refer to this phenonomenon as “the hidden me” – as almost no one knows that you are going through it at the time.  The end result of the “new normal” is that, in reality, a new YOU is made…

There definitely is a new me that came into existence on October 27th, 2012.  This new me is less brash, confident and social.  The new me has fears the old me would have laughed off as needless worries.  Recent events in my life which should elicit utter joy, have instead filled me a dread fueled by my knowledge that life can change in a nanosecond – and not everything can be fixed.  To my old self, the new me living in this “new normal” would appear to be a gross aberration of what I once was: broken and not quite “right”.  It’s like a shattered porcelain doll that once glued back together takes up the same physical space and form yet always feels broken due to all the cracks in its visage.  I often wonder how much my cracks are showing to those around me…

Not everything about the new me is a negative change however.  The events that transpired after Rees’ passing, both good and bad, placed me on the course I find myself on today.  I knew early on in this process that Samantha and I needed to do something positive lest we be consumed by our grief and despair.  I had the guidance of those who lost children before me to help steer my course and give me guidance.  I was aware of the challenges and keen to avoid the pitfalls.  It seems that, almost universally, parents who lose a child either transcend the loss with something positive or they fall into the abyss and never recover.  It is almost as if there is literally no middle ground in this situation.  The loss either allows you to magnify your virtues or your vices, never anything in-between.  I knew the course I had to follow and I believe that path was set by Rees.

I used to suffer from terrible night-terrors for years.  Night after night I would awaken from my sleep with an overwhelming fear of the presence of something “else” that was in the room watching me.  I never could place my finger on what it was, but in my stupefied state I seemed to have an awareness of it that faded when true consciousness returned to me.  Sam used to ask me what it was, and I never could explain it – almost like it was something that was just at the edge of my recollection.  Regardless of what the presence was (Sam used to joke it was the aliens from my homeworld that wanted me back), the feeling I got from it was always the same:  I did not succeed in what I was supposed to do and my time was nearing an end.  Often times I would awaken so startled from this experience I would jump out of bed and turn the lights on screaming unintelligibly back at “it”.  Sam would always calm me down and ease me back to sleep.  Of and on this happened for more than 10 years.

It all stopped a week after Rees died.  The last night terror I had was that night.  As I recall it started the same way, but this time there was a difference.  There was no nebulous presence, it was clear this time who it was: Rees.  He wasn’t my 22 month old Rees though, it was his spirit, his essence – his soul that was talking to me.  I remember seeing lights darting across my bedroom ceiling like electrical signals zipping across a circuit board.  I never saw Rees, I just “heard” him and saw these lights.  I remember reaching my hands up towards the ceiling at them, and I recall the message loud and clear:  ”You know your path now, you know what you have to do.”  The commotion woke Sam up and she grabbed my outstretched arms and put them down.  She started talking me down like she always did, but this time I was calm.  This time I was at peace.  I told her what I saw, and that what we had talked about in regards to ReesSpecht life was the path we needed to follow and Rees wanted us to.  She never questioned it and though I know those lights and his voice was not there in the room for her to see, it was for me.  I don’t care if my brain was making all of that up – it was real to me and it was an affirmation of what we were about to do.

I am not a religous man.  I was raised Catholic but I do not practice any religion at all anymore.  I admit that at one point in my life I was a devout Atheist.  I did not believe in anything greater than that which I could observe.  That all started to change after my father passed away (Read Goodbye to see why).  Whatever doubt I had about something greater than me has since vaporized in the wake of Rees’ passing.  Too many things have occurred that I can not write off as merely coincidence.  I believe that Rees was put here by a higher power to change our lives.  I truly, deeply believe it.  I don’t care if people think I am crazy for that thought.  I believe it, it’s what drives my wife and I to do what we do, and in the end  that is all that matters.

A couple of weeks ago we received a really horrible message from someone who accused me of trying to capitalize off of Rees’ death.  She admonished my wife and I for doing what we do merely for a little boy “Who toddled off and drowned”.  To her, our loss was nothing compared to the loss that others have gone through and we seemingly had no right to do what we were doing because we simply did not experience the magnitude of loss that she apparently thought we needed to start something like this.  To her, and anyone else who would question why we are doing this, my answer is simple:  We believe it is what we need to do.  I believe in ReesSpecht Life and the kindness it promotes without any sense of doubt whatsoever because I feel there is something higher telling me this is what I was meant to do.  I don’t have anything empirical that backs this up, but then again that is precisely what faith is all about.  I may have my doubts about whether or not we will achieve our goals, but that is healthy.  Doubt fuels the fire of success.  Without doubt there would be nothing to strive for, because all would guaranteed.  My new normal has me in a place where I am a changed man with doubt; the difference is that doubt is countered by a faith a I never had before.  I miss my little boy… but I thank him every night for the faith he gave me that we can make this a better world, one Rees’  Piece at a time.

 

 

The New York Islanders and ReesSpecht Life are proud to announce

ReesSpecht Life Night with the Islanders!

To Order Tickets online:  www.newyorkislanders.com/reesspecht

If you wish to order tickets by mail, you can click the “Ways to pay” image and print it.

Let’s Fill the Nassau Coliseum with Rees’ Pieces!!!  We look forward to seeing you there!

It has been a while since I have written anything, I think mostly because I really do not find myself with enough time lately.  ReesSpecht Life’s incredible growth in the past few months comes with the consequence of Sam and I having very little down time away from either our Daughters, our careers or the foundation.  I think most people assume that Sam and I have people working for us, helping us out with card orders and all the minutiae of running the foundation – but we don’t.  So far, the majority of ReesSpecht life’s day to day operations, is a two person show.  Combine those time commitments with the normal commitments of everyday life and you find yourself in a position where free time is a nice idea, but not reality.  Luckily, as teachers, we do have “built in” vacations that give us a breather from a large commitment of our time and the past few days finds me re-discovering that missing free time I used to have a lot more of.

It couldn’t come at a better time.  Yesterday was my daughter Abby’s 9th birthday.  When asked what she wanted to do, she requested a day of relaxation – a gift for both herself and us.  She requested that I finally sit with her to watch the final chapter of the Extended edition of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and the two of us sat for over four hours, in our pj’s, watching the final act of Peter Jackson’s masterpiece.  It was awesome.  I cannot describe the feeling of sharing something you love with your child and knowing it is resonating with them in much the same way.  Our reactions to each scene seemed to mirror each other through every part, until the very ending.  It was at the end that our experiences diverged and what left Abby happy and content with the denouement found me sobbing and deeply hurt.

If you have never read the Lord of the Rings, or viewed the film, I cannot possibly sum it up in words that would do it justice without writing a small novel myself.  It is an epic that deals with good and evil and everything in between, yet its central theme is one of the power of true friendship; specifically the friendship between two Hobbits, Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins.  It is their friendship, and its ability to overcome every hardship that it faces, that ultimately allows Frodo to complete his task of scaling Mount Doom and destroying the “One Ring” and save all of Middle Earth.  When Frodo finds himself unable to finish his climb, it is Sam who picks him up, ignoring the danger surrounding him, and carries him without question.  Without this selfless act, and countless others by Sam, Frodo would never have been able to complete his task.  If not for the power of true friendship, Middle Earth would have been destroyed.  The metaphor is powerful: a true friend is one who drops everything, no matter the cost, to carry us up our own personal Mt. Doom, allowing us the opportunity to cast out the evil’s in our own lives.  Friendship is truly one of life’s greatest gifts.

I count myself blessed to say that I am gifted with many friends, both old and new.  Some friends I made in college, some from work and a couple, very special friends whom I met in elementary school.  My oldest friends remain a fixture in my life, though our lives find us in different places geographically.  Out of all these people whom I can call a true friend there was always one that stood out… was different, like a brother:  My friend Craig.  Craig was that friend who you could tell anything to, do anything with and just be yourself.  He shared my interests in the outdoors, video games and just about everything else.  Instead of being mirror images of each other, we were more like two complimentary pieces: I was the Yin to his Yang.  Craig had a free living side to him that always tested my cautious and cerebral approach.  He challenged me to break out and try new things that I would never contemplate on my own.  Conversely, I was a leveling influence on him, helping him to slow down and think more about his actions at times.  Craig was the friend who I could let myself go with, who challenged me to break some barriers I would never think of on my own.  He was a free spirit with a big heart and I can truly say I love him like a brother.

I met Craig back in first grade and we hit it off almost immediately.  There was rarely a weekend that went by from that early time through High School that we did not spend at each other’s house.  Craig became just as much a fixture in my home as I was in his.  We were family, and it never got old hanging out with him.  I recall fondly many a night wasted , well spent , playing games until the sun peaked up, eating chips, drinking soda and laughing (mostly at muted levels so as to not wake our parents) the whole time.  We talked about our future’s and fears, hopes and dreams.  Never in our discussions was there even the slightest expectation that we would not be a part of each other’s adult lives.  Whatever our futures were to hold, we knew that each other would be a part of them.

As we got older and life’s realities ebbed more and more into the forefront of our lives Craig’s and my paths started to diverge.  I went off to College and Craig enlisted in the Navy.  He didn’t last very long in the Navy, as its structured way of living just did not mesh with him at all.  As my life progressed over the years, his stagnated.  He did not hold jobs for too long and got involved with things he never should have.  Through it all, through all of his troubles, I always tried to be there for him.  To help him, to guide him.  To just be there for him.  I felt it my obligation to help him, even when his other friends gave up on him.  He was my brother, and I always tried to do everything I could for him, and when I could not help him solve his problems it tore me apart.  The problem solver in me wanted so badly to fix his problems for him, and often I could do nothing – but I never gave up trying.

Regardless of the issues Craig faced, our relationship changed very little.  Whenever we got together we were still those two boys just enjoying our adventures together.  Those adventures continued through the birth of my three children.  Craig’s arrival at my home was always greeted with raucous excitement.  ”Uncle Craig”, as my children called him, was the ultimate playmate.  I would always marvel at how well he got along with my children.  I know a great deal of their love for him was the fact he was in many ways just a big kid himself – a kid who would do anything to make them smile.

I always loved that my children loved Craig as much as I did; in many ways it gave extra relevance to my feelings for him.  Every time he showed up at our house my children’s eyes lit up.  This was no different on October 27th, 2012.  As I have written about in the past, Rees was in a bad mood that day.  It is the reason he did not go shopping with my wife. .. I told her to leave him with me so that she could have a little less chaos while out shopping.  When I made that suggestion I was not really thinking about the logistics of clearing my lawn furniture with a precocious 22 month old boy – it was only after she left that I realized I would not be able to keep my eyes on him while I was working.  I was in a bind now – the whole reason I was staying home was to do the furniture, but now with Rees in tow it would not be possible.  I contemplated doing the furniture while Rees napped, but I thought the better of it, fearing that something could happen and I would not hear…

Much to my delight, I received a phone call from Craig telling me he was getting out of work earlier than anticipated and that he was coming over early.  He had already volunteered to watch the kids that night and his reprieve from work meant I would have an extra pair of eyes to watch Rees.  When he arrived I asked him to watch Rees while I put away the lawn furniture.  Before I started moving furniture I remember seeing Craig and Rees at the pond feeding the fish.  Rees was so happy to be with his Uncle Craig – and I know Craig felt the same in kind.  When I did get outside to move the furniture I lost track of Rees and Craig as I focused on getting everything away before Sam returned home so that we could go out that night.  It took me about 40 minutes to an hour to finish, and it was at that time when I saw Rees in the driveway with Craig.  That is when I saw Rees playing with that damned toy.  That is when I yelled at my best friend for giving him an age inappropriate toy as well as a collectible.  It is the last interaction I ever had with my boy alive.  He cried because his Daddy took his toy away.  I still can’t get the notion out of my head that the last thing I ever did with my boy was make him cry.

After that I closed the garage doors, not knowing that my attempt to seal those doors sealed my little Rees’ fate.  Craig went inside and apparently left Rees in the driveway.  When I went inside and asked him where Rees was he uttered those six words I will always dread:  ”I thought he was with you.”  Those six words have a much deeper meaning that up until now I have not been able to share with anyone outside of my close friends and family.  Those six words sealed the fate of my friendship with Craig, but not in the way you might suspect.  I never blamed Craig for Rees’ death – I have always viewed it as a tragic accident.  However, while I don’t hold blame over  him, the fact still remains that I asked him to watch Rees and he failed to do so.  He admitted as much to me that night when I returned from the hospital.  He blamed himself over and over again, lamenting his decision to go inside my house and put the truck away and go to the bathroom.  He made a mistake and left Rees alone.  When I asked him where Rees was he said he thought he was with me…  he thought he was with me.  It was not something he did on purpose.  He thought he left him with me.  He made a mistake.  A mistake that was fatal to my little boy.

I embraced Craig that night.  I would not let him leave my home.  I feared for him.  I knew his history and was afraid he would do something he would regret.  I sat with him on our large loveseat and I embraced him.  I told him it was an accident.  I was determined to help him through this like I had helped him so many times before.  He was worried about what the police would do.  We both, separately, spoke with several police officers and detectives who recorded the stories of both  Craig and I.  The policemen all assured me that it was clear that what happened to Rees was nothing more than a tragic accident and their report would reflect that.  Both Craig’s and my versions of what happened were the same, and no foul play was suspected.   Additionally, they informed me that a member of Child Protective Services would come to my home the next day to follow up, but that I had “nothing to fear, it is just a formality”, and that would be that.  Craig needed to be present when CPS arrived so that they could also get both sides of the story.  While I was talking to him I could easily see that he was scared and I tried to reassure him that everything would be ok.  We talked for a little while, we cried and I kissed him on the head.  I promised him that we would get through this.  I know he believed it because he fell asleep and slept through until the next morning..

I remember the following morning waking up and roaming my home as if in a drunken stupor.  I was in shock.  I walked by Rees’ crib to get him at one point only to find the blankets ruffled in the same configuration from the previous day, empty and lifeless – destined to remain that way in perpetuity.  I recall grabbing his Mickey Mouse and holding it as if it were him, hoping that the nightmare would end and Mickey’s facade would shed off and reveal my little boy underneath.  I carried out the very basic of life functions, mindlessly making a coffee and grabbing a bite to eat.  My mind was all at once racing and completely shut down – a paradox that only someone who has been in this position can understand.

“This is the first sunrise without him”, I thought to myself.  I had just witnessed the dawning of a new day, the first of the rest of my new days that would never, ever include my beautiful little boy.  It was the first time I realized that my life was never going to be the same again, and that a giant void now occupied the place in my soul reserved for Reesie.  I was overwhelmed with despair and found it hard to breathe.  I got up from my kitchen table and headed back upstairs, pausing to see Craig sleeping on the couch, twitching every once in a while – his face contorting and moans escaping the gaps in his lips, his body contorted into the fetal position.  I knew what he was seeing.  My poor friend, who witnessed the very worst thing that could possibly happen to me, was reliving that terrible moment in his dreams.  I grabbed his hand and told him it would be ok and I walked upstairs to rejoin my family who were all still huddled in our bed.  What I saw when looking at my family was a stark contrast to Craig.  My three ladies were all asleep and they looked peaceful.  Part of me didn’t want them to wake, as I knew the moment I did they would join me in the nightmare that was our new reality.

The rest of that day was a blur with one glaring exception:  The CPS worker did come to my home to interview Craig and I.  I remember the interview all to well.  I just wanted it to end, as the verbal recounting of the tragedy seemed to exponentially magnify my grief.  The CPS caseworker seemed aware of this and he hastened his questions, thanked me for doing what was nigh impossible to do and he went on his way.  He spoke with some members of my family and informed them that another agent would come by “in a couple of weeks” to check up on us and see how we were doing.  He told my family that there was nothing to fear, that this was clearly just a tragic accident and nothing more.

In the weeks that followed, life started to slowly return to the “New Normal” that my family and I were supposed to get back to.  I continued to talk to Craig, we got together a few times and even took the girls to go see Santa together.  The pieces of both of our shattered lives were slowly coming back together and I was happy that we did not let this tragedy tear us apart.  It was also during this time that Samantha and I were visited by that second CPS caseworker.  We were told to expect his arrival to check up on us and see how we were doing, and honestly we did not think twice about it.  I recall that the sight of him at my door immediately vaporized our expectation that this was a mere “checking up” visit replacing it with a more ominous feeling.  Whereas the first agent elicited a feeling of calm and empathy, this new agent was anything but. Something about this new agent immediately put Samantha and I off.  Whereas the first CPS worker came across as sincere and trustworthy, this person outwardly seemed the antithesis.  At the time, I could not put my finger on it, but I had the gnawing feeling that this was the beginning of something bad.  Disregarding my intuition, we graciously allowed him into our home.

Almost immediately it became clear that this was not merely the “checking up on you” visit we were promised.  Sam and I gave each other quizzical looks as this new CPS worker asked us all of the same questions the first agent did.  He then asked to see the pond, stating he wanted to take a picture of it – and seemed aggrivated by the fact it was already filled in and removed from our world.  He then asked to take pictures of Rees’ room as well as the girl’s bedrooms.  It was at this point I really started to feel intimidated and I asked him why he was doing this, and I got the answer I have come to learn to despise:  “It’s just standard procedure.”

We then returned to our kitchen table and CPS worker explained to us how the process works.  He pointed out that all accidental deaths of children in New York State warrant an investigation by CPS.  He then went on to point out that their investigations can lead to 1 of 3 findings:  1) A charge of child abuse would be “Unfounded”, meaning there was no evidence of negligence or abuse.  CPS’ involvement would end there and I could effectively go on my not so merry way.  2) A charge of “Founded”, meaning there was clear evidence of abuse and negligence and I would be placed on the New York State Child Abuse Registry and could potentially have my children taken away.  3) A charge of “Indicated” , meaning there exists some evidence OR HERESAY, that POTENTIALLY indicates me in the negligence or abuse of Rees.  What he left out and what I found out later is that I would also be placed on the New York State Child Abuse Registry, but they would not take my children away.  He then went on to explain that a charge of founded was unlikely, but that I could be Indicated.  I remember Sam looking at me with real fear in her eyes;  my pursed lip and shaking head reflecting my naive belief back to her that there was no way anyone could come to any other conclusion than “Unfounded”.  As he was leaving, he told me to expect one more visit and that if I had any questions I could call him, or his supervisor.  We both walked him to the door and I escorted him out and Sam immediately asked me if we should be worried.  I replied “No way, there isn’t a person on Earth that would find what happened to Rees to be anything other than an accident”.  I hugged her tight, put the card away in a kitchen drawer and honestly did not think about CPS again until the beginning of December.

The beginning of December is when things really started to unravel. The worker returned for a second time, the third overall visit from CPS.  He again asked us some of the same questions, but this time he had several new ones, most of them involving Craig.  He asked me a lot of personal questions about Craig.  He asked me to state that I had specifically asked Craig to watch Rees while I put away the furniture.  He then asked me if Craig had any history with drugs or alcohol.  He asked me if I ever had any suspicion that Craig was under the influence of any drugs or alcohol the day Rees died and I answered honestly: ABSOLUTELY 100% no way.  He then asked how would I know if he was using or not?  I replied that since I was Craig’s closest, lifelong,  friend, that I was WELL aware of any signs that he was impaired in any way – and I was sure he wasn’t.  The CPS worker then dropped that line of questioning and seemed satisfied with my answer.  At this point I really felt like I was being interrogated.  He asked me again where I was when I saw Rees for the last time.  He asked me if I recalled seeing Craig go into the house – my answer being no, because I had already closed the Garage doors with both Rees and Craig still in the driveway.  He then stopped his questioning of me, and dropped a bomb on me that I will never forget: he told me his report would most likely end up with me being “Indicated in the negligent abuse of Rees”, but that he had yet to speak with Craig, apparently having tried unsuccessfully for the past week to contact him.  His report was waiting on Craig’s side of the story.

After the caseworker left I immediately called Craig.  I told him what was happening to me and that he needed to get in touch with the caseworker ASAP and tell him his side of the story.  I told Craig that they were looking to “Indicate” me and he needed to make sure that he talked to the agent to clear things up.  Craig assured me that he would talk to him and he held true to his word.  Once  I had confirmation that Craig had spoken with him I was sure everything would be ok.  In my mind, all they needed to hear was that Craig’s recollection of events was the same as mine.  I thought everything would be ok.  I thought wrong.

About two weeks after that I got a notice from CPS that I was indeed “Indicated” in the negligent abuse of Rees through a failure to supervise.  Furthermore, their findings stated that I “represented a potential threat to other children” and I would be placed on the New York State Child Abuse registry.  The letter went on to tell me that this finding would prevent me from gaining a license to work with children or adopt them.  The letter went on further stating that I could formally question their findings and request an amendment to their findings with a letter to the New York State Department of Family Services and if that were denied I was entitled to a “Fair Hearing” (held at CPS’ offices with an administrative law judge).  My head was spinning.  I was a teacher.  My first thought was I can lose my teaching license,  my career.  I immediately called a lawyer.

When I met with the lawyer he went over all the facts of the case and asked me a question I will never forget “How good of a friend is your friend, Craig?”.  ”The best” , I told him, “I would walk through fire for him and he would do the same for me, why?”.  My lawyer went on to explain to me that it was simple:  Craig needed to state specifically to CPS that I asked him to watch Rees.  If he did that then the findings against me would be dropped.  I immediately then asked my lawyer if that would implicate Craig for the same thing I was now being charged with and he explained to me that it would not because CPS has to make their report with 90 days of the incident.  In other words, if Craig were to confirm that I asked him to watch Rees their case would be null and we could go on with our lives.  I remember feeling elated at the news.  I couldn’t wait to call Craig and tell him so I could get these ridiculous charges against me thrown out.

I called Craig as soon as I got home.  I explained the situation to him.  I told him exactly what the lawyer said and he told me that he was afraid they would come after him.  I explained to him about the 90 day rule and that it would have no effect on him.  I told him that this was his moment to walk through fire for me after all the times I did it for him.  He said ok, and I went to sleep that night thinking that all would be ok.  I was wrong again.  The next morning I got a phone call from my sister who said that Craig called her and told her he couldn’t do it… that he could not fall on the sword for me.  She told me to call him right away.  It hit me like a truck.  I recall almost being at school when I spoke to my sister and my heart was racing.  I immediately called Craig and asked him about what he spoke to my sister, of all people, about.  His words were cold and distant and he repeated them over and over – like they were rehearsed:  ” I can’t tell CPS that you asked me to watch Rees.  You asked me to babysit that night, that is all I was there to do.”  He repeated that statement several times, over and over again like a robot.

I lost it.  Every pent up emotion that was in my soul from the loss of Rees was unleashed on him.  I cannot describe the fury I felt at that moment save to say it was nuclear in magnitude.  Regretfully, I berated him and insulted him, my rage overriding any attempt at logical discourse.  I blamed him for Rees’ death.  I told him it was his fault, even though I didn’t believe it.  I wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me.  Looking back, I wish I had taken a deep breath and just hung up.  I regret every word I said to him, warranted or not.  My only excuse was the raw emotion I felt and the inability to contain it properly.  Much like my interaction with my little boy found me raising my voice in anger, my last conversation with my best friend ended the same way.

And it is there that I find myself today.  My written request for CPS to ammend their findings was denied, and I had to go the “Fair Hearing” without Craig.  The lawyer for CPS read Craig’s statement that was taken by the second CPS agent and it mirrored the phrase he kept repeating to me that awful morning.  I remember sitting in the hearing, hoping beyond hope that Craig would come through the door and do what was right and set the record straight.  He never came.  I was alone fighting for my career and my name.  Our friendship survived the loss of my little boy, but died when forces bigger than us demanded their pound of flesh.   I will never, ever be able to fathom why he refused to testify that I asked him to watch Rees.  The man who I walked through fire for countless times, refused to do the same for me.  Maybe it is his guilt in having to accept any responsibility, not blame,  in Rees’ death.  Maybe it is something else.  I have said, and always will say that what happened to Rees was a tragic accident.  I don’t know why Craig thought Rees was with me, but he did.  I cannot explain why he chose not to defend me, but my guess is that he did not want to incriminate himself; maybe to protect himself from any other actions.

Craig did not leave Rees alone on purpose.  It was an accident – a tragic accident whose collateral damage destroyed a friendship I held so dear.  It is for that reason I wept yesterday while watching that scene with my daughter.  Sadly,  when it was my turn to climb Mount Doom I was not carried by my friend, I was left alone.  I miss my best friend.  I miss my little boy.  I cannot change the past, no matter how much I wish I could.  What I can do is move forward and I choose to do so positively.  I will continue to pay forward the acts of kindness we received in the wake of the loss of Rees.  My career is no longer in jeopardy and I can adopt if I wish.  My name will not go on that registry.  Regardless of what happened, my friend Craig will always be one of Rees’ pieces.  I saw the joy in my little boy’s eyes when my friend was with him, and I sincerely thank him for all of those smiles.  Maybe one day I can sit down and talk with Craig about all of this – I would like that.  Maybe he will be on the receiving end of a ReesSpecht Life card.  He never did come through that door that day, but I want him to know that door is always open…

 

 

 

 

 

We really do wish to make a difference in this world in Rees’ name.  The 40,000 ReesSpecht life Cards that are circulating around the globe are certainly helping us achieve that goal, but that is really only a small part of what we are all about.  Our real goal is to get ReesSpecht Life Scholarships into as many High Schools as we can.  Last May, we awarded our first two Scholarships and we thought it would be nice to check in with the recipients and see what they are up to:  Over the next two nights we will showcase each of our award winners and share with you what they are doing thanks to the help of a little Rees Specht…

“My name is Adam Hammer. I am a freshman at the Crane School of Music at SUNY Potsdam. I’m majoring in Music Education (on trombone) and Music Theory. It’s an honor to be a recipient of the ReesSpecht Life scholarship. Without this scholarship, I would not have been able to attend Crane. It has been tough, financially, for my family since my dad passed away. Although I don’t know the pain of losing a child, I do know how it feels to lose a loved one. I think it is amazing that the Spechts have turned this tragedy into a way of giving back to others. It honors Rees’ memory and continues his legacy. Although I’ve had pain in my life, I have done my best to have a positive outlook and to make my father proud. I’m proud to be one of Rees’ Pieces. I do my best to perform a random act of kindness everyday and encourage people around me to do the same.”

 

The winners of our scholarships are chosen based on their commitment to their community, compassion and respect for others.  We sorted through hundreds of applications for the scholarships and were amazed at what Adam, and his co-recipient Rebecca, had done for their communities during their time in High School.  It warms our heart to know that Adam is able to achieve his goal of attending the Crane School of Music because of the help of our movement.  It is our sincere hope that Adam and Rebecca are the first of many, many students who can count Rees as a guardian angel who helped them achieve their dreams.

 

 

It is often stated that a picture is worth one thousand words.  While I am not sure if the actual word count necessary to describe a picture is actually quantifiable, I suspect the number 1000 is used merely as a point of reference for comparison.  In comparison to literary descriptions, pictures give the viewer an irrefutable snapshot of a place in time that, unlike words, is tangible and real.  Words on a page cause our imaginations to generate our own, unique, images of the scene described.  The pictures our minds paint may be intricate and beautiful, but they are merely interpretations based on our own personal experiences and are not real.

Pictures, on the other hand, leave little to the imagination – bombarding us with visual facts that our brain doesn’t have to decipher as much as it has to store.   In a very real sense,  pictures perfectly capture time and save it in perpetuity – immutable and unchanging.  Instead of yielding our memories to the inevitable entropy of time,  each picture we make is a tiny victory against its unstoppable passage and the inevitable yielding of our memories to its eraser.  Where words may fail us in trying describe what the eyes see, a picture tells a truth that never changes.

We have many, many pictures of Rees.  We have pictures of him that represent nearly every facet of his short life.  In some ways, I feel like we have so many pictures that it would be possible to string them together and splice them with the videos we have and make a moving picture show of his life that would recall all of his important milestones as well as those quiet, “just because”  moments.  Every picture we have of Rees is something I find myself looking over again and again in order to remind myself of what it was like to have him in our life.

Memories fade.  Sam and I talk about how we are forced to stop and remind ourselves of what it was like to have Rees be a part of our world physically.  I forget what it was like to have him sit next to me in his high chair at dinner time.  I struggle to remember what it was like to hear his infectious giggles every morning and his laughter at night.

I have trouble recalling his intonation of his favorite word: “Tractor!”.

 It feels like  the march of time is washing away the memories of him like the ebbing tide removes our footprints on a beach – and I am as powerless to stop this memory loss as I am to stop the flow of the tides themselves.

 Thankfully, we have those photos and videos to remind us of those fading memories.  When I find myself forgetting what it was like to see his smile I can turn to his pictures and refresh that fading memory.

 When the sound of his voice stops reverberating through my mind I can watch a video and hear him again.  All of those pictures remind me of what he was.  All of those pictures keep his memory alive.  All of those pictures bring me pain…

Every photograph that we have of Rees shares one thing in common: they are finite, a closed book.  There will never be another photo of him playing.  There will never be another photo of his smile.

The photos we have remind us that all of what Rees was lies in the past.  The photos of Rees tell a story that ends on October 27th, 2012.  I love those photos of Rees.  I hate those photos of Rees.

Photos capture time and save it exactly as it is.  Photos never change.  Photos are the pictures that only tell the side of the story that takes place before the present.  Photos are not the only pictures we have of Rees.

A couple of weeks ago we were presented with a gift that reminded me that Rees is still with us and his spirit endures.  The picture was the first new one of Rees since his passing:

I think in our modern world we just assume that pictures mean photographs.  I thought I had every picture I would ever own of Rees.  I thought his story was complete and those finite images were the proof.  I was wrong.  The  portrait of Rees that was commissioned by a Rees’ piece we never met told us that Rees is still here.  He is making an impact in people’s lives and he is present.  When I look upon this portrait I see my little boy.  I see his spirit, I feel his presence.  There would be no reason for someone to paint a portrait of Rees unless they felt the same thing.  A person who never met my little boy – who never met any of us until she presented us with this amazing gift.  When I am down I gaze upon this picture and I only smile.  There are no tears.  There are no sad memories… there is only one thing: Hope.

I know Rees is “out there” somewhere.  I can see what he is doing from afar.  40,000 “Pay it forward” cards bestowing an equal number of acts of kindness are all the proof I need to see it.  Little Red points dotting the interactive globe on our website show that Rees’ spirit has literally reached across the globe to 21 different nations.  If you share our story with others, don’t tell them about our tragedy – tell them about our triumph.  Death is not the end.  The power of human kindness continues to prove to me over and over that the human spirit is something greater than I can quantify.  Our pictures tell us that Rees is no longer with us, but his portrait proves his spirit is.  I love you little man, I know you can hear me.  I know you are out there.  I don’t have to look far to find you, because I can see you in every Rees’ piece you touch.

I often hear from people who have heard our story the following words: “I cannot imagine what you are going through.”  I understand where that statement comes from: Losing a child is every parent’s worst nightmare.  This fear is shared by every parent from the moment their first bundle of joy enters the world.   I acutely recall the conflicting feelings of ultimate joy and nebulous fear when my first daughter, Abigail, was born. – Actually I think those feelings actually started from the moment we found out my wife was pregnant!  Regardless of when those feelings started, every parent is intimately aware of their presence – and time does nothing to abate them.  Even though I am 38, I know my Mother worries just as much about me now as she did the day I was born.  Being a parent presents the opportunity for unmatched reward at a significant cost:  A lifetime with your children brings great joy nearly every moment of our lives, yet at the same time provides a continuous source of worry.

These worries manifest almost immediately:  Will he/she meet the milestones they are supposed to reach?  Will they do well in school?  Will they find a significant other?  Will they find a meaningful career? – all of these questions, and more, are the questions we as parents openly ask ourselves and each other.  I often hear parents at  any gathering of children posing these questions to each other, attempting to ascertain whether or not their child is doing well in relation to the other children.  If you have ever spent time at a gathering of parents, especially parents of young children, you find that almost no topic regarding their child is off limits – even topics that in normal conversation would be considered taboo or socially inappropriate.  conversations about fecal color/consistency are just as common as political discussions.  It appears that most parents do not have a problem sharing both their hopes and fears regarding their children with each other save for one, ultimate fear: the potential of losing their child.

The fact that we can lose our children is a gnawing fear that permeates nearly every facet of being a parent, yet it is almost never mentioned among parents and rarely even acknowledged to the self.  Much like Voldemort from the Harry Potter series of books, the fear of losing a child  is omnipresent yet “must not be spoken of”, perhaps out of an additional fear that mentioning it could potentially awaken the fates and place their gaze upon you and your most precious of belongings.  No one wishes to “Tempt Fate”, and as such we keep this fear locked away from its prying eye.  Thankfully, for most us, we never have to face that fear head on.  Statistically speaking, most of us in the modern world, will never face the specter of losing a child – yet we nevertheless fear it constantly.

Statistics do very little to comfort those unfortunate enough to have lost a child.  For those who have lost the most precious thing their world, there is almost nothing that can be done, or said,  that will take away  or even mitigate the pain.  Knowing that the pain is untenable for the suffering parent may cause some to stay away, figuring there is nothing they can do to stop the pain.  The people who fall into this category seem be people with whom you were friendly but perhaps not “friends”.  I have mentioned before that there are still people in my workplace who look down and away when I come down the hallway, when they used to look up and greet me.  I don’t blame them, or judge them…  I think they do it because the very site of me, and what I am going through,  is a reminder that unimaginable can happen – and seeing someone they know go through it hits too close to home.  I believe in their eye’s it is easier to avoid the fear than face it, so they look away, hoping I wont engage them and confirm the reality they dread .    Still, for the vast majority, most will go out of their way to try and help – regardless of how uncomfortable or reality affirming the situation may be.   It is in the conversations I have with these people that the universal refrain is “I cannot imagine what you are going through”…

The real  truth is that everyone who states they have no idea what we are going through is incorrect.  In fact, every parent knows exactly what it feels like to lose a child:  it’s the manifestation of the fear that is always there that we never want to acknowledge.  The feeling every parent has had when a child trips and falls, bangs their head, wanders off out of site – all of these moments illicit the fear of “What if?”.  What if I had not broken their fall?  What if I turned my head for a second longer?  What if they walked out of our view in a crowded place?  What if?…  Every time we as parents face these “What if?” moments, and walk away untouched, we thank good fortune, or God.  We breath a sigh of relief and catch our breath and we regain our relative peace and comfort knowing everything is ok.  In these times we tuck away the “What if?” back into the recesses of our brain where it cannot come out and hurt us or taint the good times ahead.

For a parent who has lost a child the fleeting fear that lived in the backs of our minds as a “What if?”  becomes real.  Like Voldemort,  ”he who must not be named”  attains its corporeal form and becomes an ever present facet of life, haunting you and causing immeasurable pain. This pain permeates every aspect of your life.  Interests that once brought joy are rendered inert.  Activities you used to count on to alleviate the tedium of life now only serve as agents that promote it.  Everything changes, and you are forced to accept a “new normal” that places an asterisk on your life that you cannot shake, ever.   The realization that life will never be the same makes things even worse, as you begin to think that you will never really enjoy life again.  ”What if?” becomes reality, and the reality is something you never, ever want to wake up into again.

My wife and I live the “What if?” nightmare every day.  I wake up every morning to a collage of pictures that will never be added to – a reminder of happier times that also serves to reinforce the permanence of his absence.  In our case the “What if?” morphed from a fear to a longing for what could have been.  Instead of fearing about losing Rees, we lament what could have been.  In my case, my “what if(s)?” are now a recurring cycle of thoughts about what I could have done differently on that October day.  What if I hadn’t played one more video game that afternoon during his nap? –  I could have done the furniture while he was sleeping.  Ironically, it was a “What if?” that stopped me from doing that, as I distinctly remember thinking what if he gets hurt while I am outside not able to hear him?  What if I just closed those garage doors and joined my friend and Rees?  What if I didn’t yell at Craig for giving Rees that toy truck that wasn’t age appropriate?  What if? What if?  What if?…

What if is a double edged sword:  It can drive me mad as my mind computes the permutations of what I could have done differently that day, but it also caused me to aspire to do something audacious.  What if we take the worst thing that can happen to a parent and turn it around?  What if we counter a great negative with an equally strong positive?  For a scientist, the words “what if” are what lead us to the answers of tomorrow.  I no longer worry about what if I did this or did that…  My what if’s are now solely based on what I hope to do with the foundation we started in Rees’ name.  What if we raise enough money to get truly meaningful scholarships in schools that reward students not for athletic prowess or academic acumen, but rather for simply being a good person in their community?  What if we start so many acts of kindness that people begin to think of others first, before themselves? What if I fail at my goal and Rees Specht life does not take off?  What if one day children everywhere are as familiar with Rees Specht Cultivating kindness as they are the Wiggles making fruit salad?    What if people grow tired of our message and move on to the next big thing?  -  There certainly is the possibility for any of those “What if’s?”- yet the beauty of “What if”, is that I can still dream of those possibilities becoming reality.  If that happens I wont look back at the end of my days saying “What if?” –  I will look back and smile knowing that we helped make this a better world, one little Rees’ piece at a time…

 

 

 

 

There was a time when I was Santa Claus – or at least I played him,  for six years…  Back when I was in High School I was approached by my manager at the local drugstore I worked at and was asked to play Santa.  At first I thought it was insulting, thinking that my pudgy frame was her reasoning for asking me.  I remember thinking that I did not want to do it, after all how can someone who is only 17 and a Junior in High School pull off being Santa?  After mulling it over for about a day, I told my manager that I would do it and she was elated.  She immediately took me to the storage area and showed me the costume…  It looked exactly like what you would think a local drugstore’s 20 year old, bottom of the line, made in China Santa suit would look like.  I was taken aback when I saw it and told her there was no way I could do it.  The costume consisted of a felt red “jacket”, pants and a  black vinyl belt held together with staples and scotch tape.  The beard was literally made out of cotton, and had brown stains around the mouth from where the previous “Santa” had apparently enjoyed one of many smoke breaks.  The wig was made of the same cotton-like material and had the stains of 20 years worth of perspiration inside  it.  To say this costume was terrible was an understatement, but it was all I had to work with so I went with it.

I remember putting on the costume for the first time and walking out of the store room and entering the store.  I bellowed the heartiest and happiest “Ho Ho Ho’s” that I could – trying to mask my young voice with guttural growl that made me sound more like Batman than Santa.  I recall walking around and having people laugh at me due to the ridiculousness of the cheap costume.  At the same time I also recall parents commenting on my dedication to bellow out those hearty Ho Ho Ho’s and give it my best.  After some time I really started to get into the role and refined my “Santa Voice”, trading the growl for a trembling vibrato that seemed to hit the mark and matched my hearty Ho Ho Ho’s.  For the two days that I played him, I was Santa and I loved it – and so did everyone else.

My manager got so many positive comments about my Santa that she asked me to promise to do it again the next year, and I happily obliged – with some conditions.  Being the diva that I now was, I demanded upgrades to Santa’s suit, claiming that it would only help.  She told me the budget did not allow it, but she would see what she could do.  Some days later she told me that central office had agreed to get me a new wig and beard, but that was it.  I still had to deal with the costume.  The next christmas came and I played Santa again – this time a bit more convincingly with a beard and wig that was more like hair and less like the end of a cotton swab.  I continued to play Santa over the next few years, with each year finding the store making more improvements to the suit until it became the perfect suit.  Armed with a new suit, I really took hold of the role and I would walk up and down the strip mall and out to the road in front of our store and “let loose”.

I looked forward to playing Santa every year and it just felt so good to be dressed as someone that everyone loved.  The smiles I saw on children’s faces made the stifling heat of the costume easy to bear.  The gratitude from thankful Mom’s and Dad’s who appreciated my enthusiasm fueled me desire to be the best Santa I could be.  It was great, but the inevitable time where I had to hang up my Santa suit came two years after college when I started teaching.  I remember going back to the store that first year and seeing the “New” Santa and I was so upset.  Gone were the Ho Ho Ho’s from my iteration, replaced with unenthusiastic “Happy Holiday’s” and not much more.  It was disheartening to see the legacy I had built get torn down and thrown to the side.  I felt bad for the children who were expecting to see the Santa that was there for six years and were greeted instead with a seemingly soul-less Mecha-Santa.  I figured that would be the last time I ever played Santa and resigned myself to accepting that there are some things I just cannot control.  Oh well, I’ll never be Santa again, I thought, it was a good run.

It turns out I was wrong.  I did get to play Santa again, but in a way that my 23 year old self would never have imagined…  Three months ago Samantha asked me if we could do something that would mark Rees’ third birthday and also do something for others.  Since we did not have Rees to shower with toys and playthings, she rationed that it would be great if we got some toys to donate to a local charity that needed them.  She asked around and found the Family Services League and was excited about the prospect of trying to help them with their annual “Project Toy”, toy drive.  She explained to me that we would collect some toys and give them to the league and that on Rees’ birthday we would help out with the distribution to the families who were in need of a little Christmas help.  Sam asked me to make up flyers, and I did, using our new logo I placed a sleigh with toys behind it and thus our Toy drive had an official image.

I never could have imagined the success we would have in this drive.  What started out as a simple request for people to donate toys at 1 of 2 locations quickly grew into three times as many drop off spots and multiple other “mini drops”.  When all was said and done, our “few” toys burgeoned into the thousands and we literally did not have enough space in our cars to deliver the toys…  (Santa’s magic bag would have been a big help!).  Needless to say, we got the help we needed and delivered the literal mound of toys three nights before the distribution and I was in awe of what the collective kindness of people.  I literally saw what the collective acts of individuals could do when we all work together towards a common goal and it was both inspiring and amazingly rewarding.  Every toy that was donated from ReesSpecht Life was donated because of the legacy of kindness of our little boy.  It is clear that Rees’ pieces are a force of good that will hopefully continue to grow and do more and more collective good.  It is clear that we are all making a difference, one little piece at a time.

Tonight found me in a different position than three nights ago.  We were asked by the family service league to come and see how their toy distribution works – and we thought that Rees’ birthday was the ideal time to do it.  What better way to help us focus on the positive than to directly see the results of the kindness performed in his name?  While we were not there for long, I was in awe of the feeling of compassion and respect that permeated the family service league “Toyland” tonight.  Parents from all walks of life, who found themselves in the unfortunate position of not being able to provide their children now had the opportunity to provide a christmas for their children through the selflessness of strangers that they will never know or meet.  I saw first hand the grateful smiles of parents who reveled in finding that perfect gift that would make their children’s eyes light up with a sense of holiday wonder.  It was at that moment, in that singular place in time, that I realized that I only played Santa for those six years.  Tonight was my first time being “Santa” for real, and the feeling I derived from it is indescribable.  I watched my two daughters help the shopping parents find the perfect toys and I was in awe of their willingness to help others – and I reveled in thought that Rees was present, smiling down on all of us in that room.

We were told that the donation of toys we made was one of the largest, if not the largest, single donations they had ever received.  More importantly, I was told that because of the contribution of ReesSpecht Life, the family service league of Brookhaven would be able to get toys to all 1150 families in need plus all of the families on the stand by list.  On a night that could have been much more difficult and sad, I was able to revel in the kindness of strangers and happiness of those whose holiday dreams had been salvaged.  Instead of lamenting the loss of my little boy and grieving about his absence on what should have been his very happy 3rd birthday, I got to see what Santa see’s when he stealthily places those presents under the Christmas tree on Christmas eve.  I saw, in my mind’s eye, at least a thousand children’s smiles on Christmas morning – and one very special little boy looking down on them, smiling himself, knowing that he helped them in his own way.  Happy Birthday, and Merry Christmas little man.  You helped me be Santa again, only this time for real.  I love you more than words can express… keep cultivating that kindness from above.  You are making this world a better place, one little piece at a time.