Since Rees’ passing I have come to realize that there are no coincidences…

Today was a really rough day for me personally, and I was just not feeling the Halloween Spirit. Normally, I go all out for Halloween.  One of the many perks of being a Middle School Teacher is that I get to dress up for Halloween and act out like the big kid that I am.  Over the years my costumes have ranged from as simple as Fred Flinstone (whom I share more than a passing resemblance to) to my most complex one:  a full, home made, Optimus Prime Costume. Keeping with tradition,  this year I was supposed to be Captain America, and the girls purchased a Captain America shield for me to complete my costume.

As the day progressed I just never really got into the Halloween spirit, and as time to head out Trick or Treating came around my lack of enthusiasm sapped my will to don my Captain America Costume.  I figured since  I already had a Superman Shirt on (I wear a Superman S everyday since Rees died)  I was going out in that alone and it would be good enough.  The look on the Girls’ faces revealed their disappointment that I was not dressing up, so as a consolation, I grabbed the Captain America Shield at the last minute and said I was  ”Super Soldier”.  The girls both glared at me with a skeptical eye, but dismissed it as Daddy being silly and the crisis was averted.

So we headed out, the whole family including all of the Grandparents, and we made up for the Halloween that did not happen for us last year.  I reveled in seeing my little girls go house to house, dressed as superheros, like their baby brother would have been.  Fleeting smiles faded to imperceptible grimaces as I imagined Rees joining his big sisters for the first time and what could have been… what should have been.

We proceeded to go house to house for about an hour, and the girls scored quite a haul of candy that should fuel the next three weeks of sugar rushes.  Sam and I stayed back for the most part and merely kept a keen eye on them as they progressed door to door, asking politely for candy.  It was a nice family moment, the feelings of which eroded away my sour mood that marked the beginning of our trek.

Eventually, Lori started to grow tired and we began to make our way back home.  Abby and Lori both took inventory of their new-found candy treasures and their laughter and smiles served to fuel my soul.  For that brief moment, all was right in the world and I smiled.  It was at this time that I spotted another family making their way down the street.  I saw multiple children dressed as fairy tale princesses and various comic book heroes.  One hero stood out in particular:  Captain America.  A little boy, no older than maybe 5 or six was wearing a full Captain America Costume, with one glaring exception: his shield.  Without even thinking I approached the diminutive Super Soldier and asked him where his shield was?  His parents said he didn’t have one and I immediately removed my Captain America shield and gave it to him.  I told him Captain America can’t go far without his shield and wished the family well.  As I walked away I immediately thought to give them a ReesSpecht life card and realized that I had left my wallet in my car.  Oh well. I thought to myself, it’s the act that matters – Rees knows.  As we made our way home the thought that  I did not have ReesSpecht Life cards with me tugged at my brain like a child pulling their parent’s pant leg.

I really felt like I had missed an opportunity to share Rees’ message.  When we arrived home some 15 minutes later it was time for me to go pick up the pizza we had ordered earlier.  I grabbed a couple of ReesSpecht Life cards and decided that I was going to try and find Captain America’s family and give them the cards.  I drove around for about ten minutes before I spotted them, and when I did I immediately got out of my car and headed over to them.  My first thought was that these people are going to think I was some nutcase, or that I wanted my shield back.  I told them that I wanted to give them these cards when I gave their son the shield, but that I did not have any on me.  I politely asked them to pay the kindness forward and started to walk away.  It was then that Rees’ spirit intervened and the real trick and treat of this Halloween happened…

“Are you the father?” a woman asked.  I looked at this woman, who seemed vaguely familiar to me but I could not place her.  I replied that no, I was not the Boy’s father.  ”No, the cards, Rees – are you Rees’ Father?” she said eyes wide open.  If this hadn’t happened to me before I would have been more surprised than I was, but with over 20,000 ReesSpecht Life cards out there, and 11,500 followers on facebook I am finding these moments are increasing in frequency.  I told her that I was indeed Rees’ father and what she said next sent a chill through me (rather apropos for halloween).  ”I was the nurse in the ER on that day”, she tenderly said, “I was the one who wrapped him in the blanket and gave him to you”.  My whole world stopped right there.  I realized, in some ways, I was staring at the first Rees’ piece.  Her simple act of swaddling our little Boy so that we could hold him one last time was the ultimate gift in an untenable situation.  She gave us the gift of saying “Auf Wiedersehen” (I don’t believe in goodbye’s) and a last tender moment.  I immediately hugged this woman, whose name I forgot in the intensity of the moment, and thanked her.  I did not know what else to say.  She told me that what we were doing to honor him was “Beautiful” and I thanked her again and walked away, trying to hide my tears that just burst through the wall of my last reserves of will power.

I got in the car and immediately drove away, blubbering like a little child and thanking Rees out loud.  Again, he came to me when I needed it most.  Had I not forgotten the cards at home, or had I not had that nagging feeling to get them later this moment would never have happened.  Every time that doubt creeps into my mind, glimpses of Rees’ presence make themselves known.  In the past year I have seen too many signs, too many pieces of Rees to think that anything else could explain my experiences.  Today, of all days, when I faced a trial of life almost as difficult as losing Rees, he made himself known to me.  My gaze rarely needs to wander far to find Rees’ pieces – I find them everywhere now.  Prior to this past year I believed that every “amazing” or “unexplained” event we gave meaning to was merely a coincidence – a conformation bias we create to make ourselves feel better.  Rees’ pieces continue to prove otherwise:  I don’t believe in coincidences anymore…

October 25th, 2012, 2 days before the moment that would change my life forever, is a date that I remember for only one thing:  It was the day which forecasters confirmed that Long Island, NY would be struck by Hurricane Sandy.  I recall constantly checking various weather sites to confirm other’s predictions – and the ominous feeling that multiplied with each identical forecast.  It was unanimous,  Sandy was on its way and it was going to be BIG.  A so called “Super Storm” was on its way and preparations were in order.

The news reports were filled with the usual precautionary warnings of stocking up on essentials and preparing for the worst.  Lines at the grocery store were burgeoning by the hour, as anxious islanders attempted to heed the advice of our news anchors.  Normally, I would most likely have joined the throngs of people preparing for the worst, but this time  I took the storm warnings with a grain of salt.  I did not rush out to the store to stock my fridge.  I did not feel the need to fill my tub with water.  I did not board up my windows or even think about cleaning up my lawn furniture.  This time, I was firmly in the “I’ll believe it when I see it” school of thought.

My reluctance to immediately act on preparing for the storm was due in large part to events which transpired a year earlier.   The year before we were hit by Hurricane Irene, and though it was not as powerful a storm as the weather prognosticators had predicted, it did do considerable damage to the power grid on Long Island.  The entire area around my home lost power with one glaring exception: my street.  Hurricane Irene knocked power out to almost all of Suffolk county NY, except a few pockets that stayed powered up and we were lucky enough to be one of those few.  During the nights of the outage my home was an illuminated island surrounded by a sea of darkness.   I remember thinking that our neighbors must have envied our still intact power, TV and internet connections – and that they were probably cursing our good fortune!  I also recall Samantha and I standing outside at night in awe of the darkness that surrounded us and the site of a celestial sphere teaming with points of light we never could see before punctuated by the distant drone of generators powering a handful of homes.

Before Irene arrived I had luckily placed an order for a brand new generator for our property in Upstate NY.  The generator arrived several days before the storm was to hit and I felt reassured that in the event that the power were to go out, we would still have the comforts of 21st century living.  I was prepared for this storm.  I cleared all of the lawn furniture off our deck and from our yard.  I made sure to get to the store, parroting the mantra of other concerned islanders:  ”Gotta get the bread, gotta get the milk!”.  I was prepared for Irene in every conceivable way, and waited for her to come and try and blow my house down – or drop a few trees on it.  Well, Irene came and went and we escaped unscathed.  No damage, nothing whatsoever.  My preparations were all for naught.  We had a generator, extra bread, milk and batteries and no reason to use them.  I remember actually feeling disappointed that I did not have the opportunity to use them.

I recall talking to Sam the night of the 25th of October 2012 about me taking a trip to our property in upstate NY to get our generator.  I hemmed and hawed about the prospect of making the trip, hoping that this storm would be no worse than the previous year’s “superstorm”.  I rationalized that since Irene was a dud, Sandy would be too.  I spent so much time preparing for Irene last year for nothing, I felt like this year would prove just as futile.  Still, Samantha ever the voice of reason, argued that I should make the trip anyhow… “Just in case”.  I did not want to go.  Perhaps it was a false sense of security buttressed by my experience of the previous year, but I felt like I was somehow “shielded” from any harm from this storm.  In my mind, this storm would be no worse than Irene – and as such there was no point in taking the time to do all the things I did the year before.  Irene’s damage, it turns out, did not manifest physically.  Irene’s greatest damage was providing me with a false sense of security…

I eventually, reluctantly, agreed with Sam and I began to make plans to go up to my property and retrieve the generator.  I remember asking Sam if I could take Rees with me, as this would have been his first chance to go away with me alone.  Sam did not like the prospect of parting with Rees overnight, but gave me the ok – no doubt deferring to my own feelings, knowing this would be a positive experience for both of us.  Things were set, I was going to go upstate on Saturday and Rees would be going with me.  This should be where my story ends.  The following words I should be writing should be a recollection of the great time Reesie and I had while we made our quick trip upstate.  I will never be able to write those words.  Instead of recounting a tale of a grand adventure of a little boy and his Daddy, the story is the one you know.  The decision I made at this point is what precipitated my fall.

I felt no urgency to get the generator.  I did not believe that this storm would damage us.  I falsely believed that my home was protected in some way and that getting the generator was not a priority.  Even with the prospect of spending time with my little man, I did not want to drive 4 hours up and 4 hours back.  Being the problem solver I was, I realized that I had another option: the easy way out.  It turns out that at this very time, my current student teacher, former student, and eternal friend, Bobby was at his college in Oneonta for the weekend to attend a mandatory seminar for student teaching.  Realizing that his school was no more than 30 minutes from my property I asked Bobby for a favor:  Could he pick up my generator and bring it home with him when he returned on Sunday?  Bobby never hesitated and immediately said “Yes”.  Weather be damned, I was getting my generator and I didn’t even have to go get it.  The machine that wasn’t going to be necessary would be dropped off on sunday.  No doubt it would never be used – but that didn’t matter now because it didn’t take any effort on my part.  Problem solved.  I think I actually patted myself on my back for my ingenuity:  ”Take that nature, you can’t disrupt  my life!”, I smugly thought to myself.

In the two days that followed, with every hour that passed, the forecasts worsened.  Sandy was no Irene, this much was clear.  By Saturday, October 27th, there was no doubt Long Island was squarely in the cross-hairs of a monster storm.  That morning I decided it was time I took Sandy seriously.  I told Samantha that I would make the necessary errands that day to get food, milk and supplies.  I also told her that I would take care of the lawn furniture and clear out our yard of any potential Sandy-fueled projectiles.

Originally Sam was going to take Rees shopping with her and the girls, but his unusually cranky behavior was enough for her to leave him with me.  I told her I would take him shopping with me and that I would take care of the furniture later, or when they returned.  Time was of the essence that day; not due to the immediacy of the impending storm, rather because we actually had plans for a date night that night.  Sam asked me to confirm that I could get everything I needed done that day and still be ready for our date night at 5pm.  She was stressed, overwhelmed with countless checklists in her mind of the things that needed to be completed before the festivities of the evening  and the looming storm.  The tension she had in her chest was tangible, augmented by the girls bickering,  and Rees’ crankiness.  I remember thinking that our date night could not come at a better time to help relieve the stress that was building inside her.  She was upset, overstressed and tired.  I remember her angrily leaving our house, my last words to her that day to “not stress the small stuff.  We will get everything done.  Go out with the girls.  I’ll take Rees”.  I recall Rees crying, banging on the door as she left.  Little did I know that would be the last time he would ever lay eyes on his Mommy again…

As it turns out, our own “Superstorm” hit that evening that ravaged everything I was to my foundation.  This storm was a force of nature I could never have hoped to prepare for.  It left no physical signs of its magnitude and no visible signs of damage.  The eye of this storm centered on Sam, the girls and I, with our other family members on the periphery, spared the direct hit reserved for Sam and I.  Friends, neighbors and co-workers became on-lookers who did not experience the storm at all – islands sheltered from harm but within viewing distance of the destruction it wrought.  This time the roles were reversed:  it was Samantha and I shrouded in darkness while others lights kept shining.  Even among the throngs of family and friends, we were left marooned on an island of despair.

It is an unusual, and unsettling feeling to be surrounded by family and friends and yet feel so utterly alone.  It’s as if the damage from our own superstorm knocked out the power that illuminated my soul, and I was left in the dark – cloaked in a void acting like a one way mirror.  I could see out, but no one could see in.  That feeling persists, to some extent, to this very day – one year later.  At times I still feel like an “invisible man” that people look through to avoid seeing the damage done.  Most of the time it is hardly perceptible, but other times it’s blatantly obvious.  There are still some people at work whose interactions with me are terse and forced.  People with whom I used to joke around with or share stories about being a parent.  People I used to tease about their poor choice in sports teams and who teased me right back for mine.  Many of these people now just give me a quick hello, head down, eyes focused elsewhere.   I don’t fault them for doing it, but it still hurts.  The other night while I was out to eat with my Daughter Lori, a friend of a friend who would have normally come up to me and at least said hi, completely ignored my presence.  I know they saw me, but they kept their heads down and avoided eye contact with me.  I briefly made eye contact with them and they turned their head, feigning a yawn, physically disavowing any acknowledgement of my presence.  I thought about going up to them and saying hi and just being me, but it felt disingenuous, so I just left – site unseen, word unspoken.

I have come to expect that there is some damage from my own personal Superstorm that I cannot repair, no matter how much I try.  I also find myself on guard now for any signs of an approach of  other potential storms.  I find myself more protective of my girls than I ever was before – and much, much more concerned about their safety when I am not around them.  My pulse quickens with every scratched knee or mild abrasion.  I hesitate to let them play outside for fear of some unknown, identified danger taking them from me.  It takes all of my composure and resolve to make sure that I do not smother them, yet at the same time remain vigilant in their protection.  In a sense, I find myself now ALWAYS preparing for the storm, even when the sun is shining and the skies are clear.

It seems ironic that a day in which I was preparing for a storm now finds me in place where I am constantly preparing for a storm of another kind.  Storms, after all, are the manifestation of the chaos in our atmosphere and nature’s obligation to restore balance.  Real storms redistribute the energy of our Planet so that nature can regain its equilibrium.  Storms are agents of change;  a necessary evil that viewed singularly appear to be a terrible disruption but when viewed from a larger perspective are necessary to restore balance overall.  It is with this perspective in mind that I now find myself viewing the storm that hit me one year ago today.

Viewed as a single moment that storm seemingly took everything from me, but when looked at from a wider perspective it takes on a new visage.  Without my own personal storm ReesSpecht Life would never exist.  There would be no emails, letters and facebook messages from people telling me that their lives have changed for the better because of Rees’ story and what we are doing.  There would be no stories of a hurting father, lost in self pity, who re-evaluated his perspective on life upon reading our story.  There would be no college student whose despair over the tragic loss of her boyfriend put her in a dark place that only Rees’ light was able to pull her out of.  There are literally hundreds of positive stories that would not exist today without that storm that befell us.  While the damage from the storm done to my family and myself will never be repaired, I must acknowledge the overall good it is doing for countless others.  Without the loss of Rees there would never be ReesSpecht life.  The winds of change can be at the same time destructive and life-giving.  A tree felled by that mighty wind will also spread its seeds over a wide area.  It is the knowledge of this that reminds me that the seed sewn in Rees’ death have spread far and wide, and with a little cultivation from those who his story has touched we can reap a harvest of kindness that can change this world for the better…

A year ago this time perhaps I was you.  I had everything I could ever need in life, yet the feeling that I wanted more tugged on my brain like a child incessantly pulling their parent’s pant-leg to get their attention.  I deserved more pay for my job.  I needed a bigger home and a better car.  I required the latest and greatest iPhone to uphold my status as a true “technophile”.  My taxes were too high, gas was too expensive, my lawn wasn’t green enough and my bank account not nearly full enough.  Yes, not too long ago I wanted more – and that want filled me with a repressed jealousy of those who had that which I desired.  Family members who took extravagant trips, neighbors with better landscaping, friends with bigger TV’s all served to fuel my desire  on a daily basis.  It wasn’t fair that these people had these things.  I worked just as hard, I faced as many, if not more hardships, and I did everything I was supposed to do, yet I still did not “have it all”.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a bad person.  I gave to charity.  I held doors open for people.  I left tips for my waiter/waitress (and always gave more for exceptional service).  I thanked people who did nice things for me.  I lent tools to neighbors who needed them – and thanked them when they reciprocated in kind.  I did all the “nice” things I was supposed to, yet inside there existed a part of me that  felt an entitlement to niceness from others for no other reason than I was owed it.  In my mind, I truly believed that you should get what you give, and since I was so nice, well dammit – I should get some of that back!

This feeling of entitlement was often exacerbated by other’s rude actions.  If someone cut me off while driving it was my moral imperative to make some rude gesture or lay on my horn to remind them of just how awful a person they were for doing that.  People who I did not care for were afterthoughts – and more often than not, perceived as obstacles I needed to maneuver around so that I could make my way in the world.   If I was in a rush to get somewhere, and and someone in front of me was slowing me down, I was rightfully justified in letting them know they were the cause of my inconvenience.  If someone had the nerve to criticize my opinion,  it was on me to re-educate them because I was confident that my experience and knowledge was superior to theirs and their ignorance must be corrected.  Yes, it was my duty to ensure that people knew what was right, and damned if I wasn’t going to let them know in order to help them see the truth…

386 days ago everyone else but me just did not “get it”, and they deserved  little of my attention because, frankly, my wants and needs were more important.  I walked through life with a Cheshire Cat grin buttressed by my cocksureness.  I had it all figured out until my world came crashing down and the reality of true loss made its presence felt in a tangible way that tears at the fabric of my being to this very day.  Rees’ death was a supernova that destroyed everything I thought I “knew”.  Immediately following his death, the Rich Specht that was ceased to exist.  Rees’ passing gutted me, literally and figuratively.  The pain of his death rendered me and Samantha completely inert – and totally dependent upon others.  I was no longer the smug, know-it-all Mr. Fix-it;  rather I was the broken, humbled and shattered mirror image of myself whose family and friends were left behind to try and pick up the pieces… and put them back together they did as best they could.

I would love to say that the pieces all fit back together again, but that would be a lie.  As I approach the one year anniversary of Rees’ death, there are still pieces that are missing from what once was, leaving gaps in the reflection.  Every once in a while there seems to be moments where I discover those pieces;  sometimes they catch a flicker of light and I have the opportunity to put the piece back myself and other times I seemingly step right on them, their razor sharpness slicing their way painfully back into the mosaic of my shattered being.   Regardless of how many pieces I replace,  the mirror will never be the same, as the cracks remain ever present reminders of event that shattered me in the first place.

I now stand, one year later, a changed person:  The tragic events of October 27th serving as the catalyst of the reaction that produced my current state.  My changed perspective finds me appreciative of what I already have, and sorrowful for that which I lost.  No longer do I believe that happiness and kindness is something I am entitled to.  I look upon others and realize that their own perspective probably means they think the way I used to – and it is no more their fault for feeling that way than it is a tree’s fault for crashing through a home during a storm – it’s just nature.  I now realize that people’s perspectives never change unless the agent of change is wrought upon them by an external force.  In my case the agent of change of was the death of my son.  My good friend, Rob Edwards, told me that some people are put here on Earth to change others, and that it may very well have been Rees’  job to change me and my perspective.  If that is the case, then it only stands to reason that it is now my job to carry on the essence of the hardest lesson ever taught to me and use my experience to help change others’ perspectives.  Regardless of what I accomplish for others, I do know that there are two little girls who see what we are doing and recognize the importance of making it a priority to respect each other.  If ReesSpecht life were to end this very moment, I know that my daughters saw their parents take this awful experience and use it to do something good.  In turn, they will now carry on Rees’ legacy to their family and friends.  This essay my daughter wrote proves it:

In losing our little Rees Specht’s life, my family gained a Respect for Life.  Our perspective is not what it was, and our hope is to change that perspective for others, one piece at time.

In many ways life’s journey is much like traveling down an unknown highway complete with detours, speed traps, hazards,  unexpected sights, sounds and smells.  Each of us starts our trek as an unwitting passenger in our parent’s own journey. At first our own path is indistinguishable for that of our Mother’s and Father’s as we are incapable of forging our own path – our biology ensuring our dependence on them for years. Yet, while we begin tethered to our parent’s own journey, the yearning to forge our path develops almost immediately. As time progresses the yearning to make our own way in the world grows and we begin heading off on our own side travels, stretching the limits of the ties that bind us until, after further and more frequent stretching, the tie is completely severed and we begin the process of forging our own way down life’s highway – though usually never too far from our forebears.

Regardless of when we do break off the path our parents have blazed; there is almost never a time in our lives when we travel this world alone. For most of us life’s road is like a congested highway packed with countless others taking the same route as us, trudging along on the daily grind.  While they may not share our conveyance, the others sharing our roadway of life are all on a similar path – and it is in this “life traffic” we find comfort as it reminds us we are almost always in the company of others, strangers though they may be. Aside from these strangers, our social nature ensures that there is a wide array of fellow passengers we take along on our individual ride, with most of us reserving a seat for a co-pilot with whom we intend to spend the balance of our journey. For others, the road may be more like a smaller side street with fewer fellow riders, but by no means desolate. Regardless of which road we travel, there are few who choose a path that is untraveled, and even fewer still who blaze their own path, completely isolated from any other travelers.

Loneliness is a fear shared by every man, woman and child on Earth. We fear being alone almost as much as we fear death – and for many of the same reasons. By itself, being alone exponentially magnifies the fear of the unknown. Without someone to assuage our fears, or pass along our strength we are cut off from one of the key elements of what is to be human: sharing this existence and pondering life’s questions together. Our social nature isn’t a coincidence. Evolution carefully selected our ancestors based on their ability to work together to solve the problems they faced while traveling the often perilous road of life. We know today that another species of Human (Homo neanderthalensis), went extinct some 40,000 years ago precisely because of their solitary ways.  The Neanderthals, it would seem, never figured out how to carpool down life’s highway.  The Neanderthal’s demise serves as a reminder that loneliness and isolation equals death – two sides of the same coin.

Before Rees died my travels down life’s highway were, for the most part, relatively smooth and rather unremarkable. Sure there were some bumps in the road as I lost older relatives along the way and faced an illness that nearly stopped my journey altogether. As hard as those obstacles appeared at the time for myself, looking around I saw others facing the very same disturbances in their travels, providing me with a sense of comfort that I was not facing these obstacles alone. It is reassuring knowing you are not traveling an unknown road all alone, no matter how difficult that passage may be. That all changed on October 27th, 2012.  At that one moment my life’s journey came to a screeching halt. I remember feeling like a detached observer of myself watching others around continuing to zoom along their own paths, some slowing down a bit like a rubber-necker observing a tragic accident along the road. I watched my loved ones take their own detours and stop what they were doing to lend a Samaritan hand to Samantha and myself.  I remember watching everyone come and go, wishing that I could go with them and leave this accident behind and just join their journey – forsaking my own path if only to make it easier. I recall looking back down the road, its freshness and relative short distance an agonizing tease of what once was, wishing that I could go in reverse with the sad cruelty being the knowledge it was impossible… life’s road only has one direction: forward.

The hardest part of losing a child, and something no one could prepare me for, was the fact that the impact is not felt immediately. The unknown road ahead doesn’t change; it can’t because it is what it ever was and always will be: unknown. The view from the rear view mirror never changes either – it’s locked in perpetuity – a permanent etching that can never be erased. The present is all we know, and all we have. Even though I lost Richie almost a year ago now, it is here, in the present that I feel the impact of his loss. There are countless moments every day that act as little road signs designed to remind me of his absence spread out at uneven intervals. Some days there are only a few, and the signs are small. Other days the signs are giant, illuminated bill boards that I cannot ignore nor escape. Although my path to the future is not defined, his loss is eternal and it will never change, ever – no matter how far into the future I travel I know his absence will always be there and those signs will never stop appearing.

The loss is felt in so many ways.  When I see a father playing with his son I see Rees’ empty seat traveling along the road ahead with me.  When I hear my colleagues talking about their children and the milestones they are reaching I ache with the realization those times will never come to pass with Rees.  I relive the pain when I clean up around my house only to find a toy, or a shoe or some other trinket that Rees left behind when he was starting his journey with me.  I am jealous of smiling parents doting over their families who have thankfully never had to feel the loss I have – who lack the perspective to realize that it can all change in an instant.  I smile and cry simultaneously when I see his smiling face plastered on our refrigerator and the walls of our home only to realize there will never be another picture to replace the ones we already have…

Even though my wife and my children have all experienced the same the loss, in reality our pain is unique and that can be incredibly isolating.  All of these feelings, all of these reminders, serve to create a sense of loneliness that creates the illusion that you are now heading down life’s highway completely alone – even though, in reality, you are surrounded by those who love you most.  If man’s greatest fear, other than death, is to be alone then it is nature’s cruelest trick to feel so desolate in your loss when you are literally surrounded by those who love you.

Thankfully, there is some light on this lonely highway:  those who have lost children as well who are willing to share their journey with you.  I am thankful for the wonderful handful of people we have met who can unfortunately count themselves a member of the “unfortunate fraternity” of parents whose lives have been shattered through the loss of a child.  People like Kathleen B. whose circumstances were so much like our own, and whose strength is a beacon of hope for Samantha and I and whose positive influence on my daughter Abigail when she needed it most came at a time of something more than mere cosmic coincidence.   Couples like Deirdre and Jim H. ,John and Jean B. , and Tom and Jeanine S.,  who were there to share their stories and just listen to ours,  helped us feel a little less isolated and alone.  There was also the influence of people whom I have never met, yet through their written words and contact through facebook proved to be a source of inspiration for Sam and I as we try to get ReesSpecht Life off the ground.  I cannot thank Kate Long,  from “Chasing Rainbows“,  enough for her kind words of encouragement and support.  Her strength through multiple tragedies continues to amaze and enlighten me in my dark times.  I also am thankful for Erik Rees, the founder of “NEGU: The Jessie Rees Foundation” for his helpful words and for setting the bar which I wish to reach with ReesSpecht Life.  All of these amazing people shed light onto the dark road I find myself now traveling – and I truly believe that without them my current position on life’s highway would not be where it is today.

Not a day goes by in which the thought of where my life would be today had Superstorm Sandy never threatened to cross the path of Long Island last year.  I imagine all the happy moments I was supposed to experience with my little man and even find some time to smile about those moments I did have in his short life.  Every morning I wake up I look to the wall of pictures next to my bed hoping to find that I awoke this morning in some parallel universe where my best friend told me he was going inside and that he was leaving Rees with me.  Sometimes, I check out the window to see if the pond that stole my Son’s last breath, that we filled in almost immediately, is there – its very presence a confirmation that the road I find myself on right now was nothing more than a bad dream.  When that morning fog in my mind clears I repeatedly find the same thing; the pictures are there, the pond is gone and so is my little boy.  I know that I cannot alter the road already traveled… it can never, ever leave my rear view, but I can set the course for my future.  I know the road ahead has more obstacles and detours for me and my family to navigate, but at least I can rest comfortably in the knowledge that I will never, ever be truly alone in this journey.  Even though Rees is no longer along for the ride with me here, I know that somewhere out there, where Snoopy is flying with the Red Barron, my little man is riding right beside me on his Tractor helping to keep my course true…