Tag Archives: grief

Passing Times, Birthdays, Grief and Morgan

Do you believe in the concept of the “circle of life”?

On this plain of existence, we come into the world on a definite day. Our birthday or name day. We leave this world on a definite day. From that perspective, life seems linear. We celebrate the first day. We mourn the last day.

Artificial intelligence software programs tell us the concept of the “circle of life” generally refers to the continuous cycle of birth, growth, death, and renewal that exists in nature. It emphasizes the interconnectedness of all living things and the idea that change is a constant and necessary part of existence. This concept is often symbolized by a circle, representing the cyclical and unending nature of life. 

And so, are we destined to learn about birth, life and death from a software program? A machine? Some black figures and letters on a white background generated by an unfeeling device of our own creation. Ironically, a device which cannot fathom nor understand the depth of the love, the depth of feelings a parent has for their child.

Those programs are designed to imitate us. They are but spectators looking in from the sidelines as we fragile, flawed creatures play the game of life. A game ironically, we cannot win. Those artificial programs cannot feel. They cannot love. They are not sentient. Those artificial programs are but hazy images reflected in our mirror of life.

They cannot understand the reality that birthdays and remembrances of the day a beloved child takes their last breath are often inextricably intertwined.

Sunday, August 10, 2025 would have been Morgan’s 32nd birthday. A day which should have brought great joy. Instead, it is a solemn reminder of she who has been taken. Only parents who have had a child taken can fathom the grief which comes from that tragedy.

Grief is like a river. It ebbs and flows. Sometimes gently bubbling, calm, peaceful. Other times cascading out of control resulting in death and destruction. Rivers change course and carve new pathways. As does grief. Grief is always there impacting parents like us. And yet, grief also effects those people around us. It is eternal.

Whether we give in to our grief, become inundated and swept away by the flood of our anguish, or whether we are able to stand strong and resolute depends not just on our individual gifts and attributes, but by the support given by our loved ones. Those in whose loving arms we find strength and hope.

Regardless, grief becomes part of our identity. It constantly shapes us into whatever result we are destined to become. And unless a person has been subjected to and endured that type of grief, one cannot possibly understand the life altering experience which results from having a child taken from you.

Often, people will look upon you as if you had not suffered that tragedy. It is easier for them that way. In looking at you, they may be feeling to a greater extent, their own destiny. All of our destinies. They cannot possibly understand the all-encompassing way it changes your identity, your very existence. Your outlook on life. Your outlook on societal and political issues. Your outlook on all issues. Who you are.

Especially since culturally we seem to be devolving into tribes defined by our feckless political parties, demanding that you remain in your own echo chamber; to close your eyes and ears to those who do not agree with you. Combine that reality with the manner in which grief has manifested itself within me and the result is daunting. And for many, frightening.

In life, Morgan was direct. She pushed boundaries. She was intelligent and creative. And she could be manipulative. She did not suffer fools gladly. She would argue with you, turn your own points against you and she knew how to exploit people’s weaknesses. Her foibles and flaws were obvious.

Should it be a surprise from whom she inherited those traits? Should it also be a surprise when those same traits in me are magnified because of the grief I suffer daily? Through memories and reminders of Morgan.

Morgan, I will not say Happy Birthday. Instead, I will say … You are a warrior. You have the heart of a lioness! Keep exploring. Keep expanding your existence.

Your soul is boundless and eternal.

Through Tragedy, We Can Find Our Soul

The forces that descended upon the Guadalupe River in Texas’ Hill Country in the very early hours of Friday, July 4, 2025, were a generational, worst-case scenario.  

Four months’ worth of rain fell in just a few hours. Water-laden thunderstorms stalled in place. When combined, this “perfect storm” gave rise to a wall of water that surged down the river in the darkness of the night. This in itself limited the number of people who could get warnings and move to higher ground.

Sunrise revealed the devastation and horror inflicted upon Texas. Summer camps along the Guadalupe River were buried under a choking tsunami of flood water. And yet, we still did not understand the extent of the tragedy to be revealed. Reports began to trickle in of people whose lives had been taken by this tragedy. Search and rescue operations conducted by numerous first responder units were shown on television and on social media. The grisly numbers began to be disclosed.

11 dead and many missing. 20 dead. 30 dead. The number kept rising just as surely as the flood waters had. The confirmed death toll reached 70 on Sunday afternoon. 90 or more on Monday morning, over 100 Monday night. Many of those found dead had not yet been identified, including children.

For the parents of the children who are still missing or have not been identified, they are existing in the worst hell imaginable. Sleep will not come to them. Their hunger is gone. A terror which can only be experienced by a parent who has had a child taken, grips their every moment. For some, it even snaps their will to live.

If ever there was a time for our nation to come together as the search continues, as hearts are broken, as souls are taken, that time would surely be now. Families are far greater and more important than any political party. The pain caused by the death of innocent children is universal. This would be the time and event which could start the path of healing. One could think that. And yet, one would be wrong.

Even as first responders and volunteers were placing their own lives in harm’s way, as a parent’s worst nightmare played out before their eyes, the social injustice, keyboard warriors, including some in the eating disorder community, began to spew forth their hate filled narrative. A narrative which gave new life to a quote widely attributed to Josef Stalin, “One death is a tragedy. A million deaths is a statistic.” Perhaps we have a tendency to feel more deeply individual losses rather than full scale tragedies. Regardless, the tsunami of political venom flowed with incredible force.

At this point, it would have been so easy to wrap oneself in righteous indignation, to call out the callous and unfeeling. To point out how people, lost in their own self-importance and identification politics, have exacerbated the pain for those families whose loss cannot be imagined.

Numerous people use social media as the vehicle to parade their ignorance. They believe that an entire segment of our society, literally millions of people are fundamentally bad because of whom they supported in the last election. As a society, we cannot allow ourselves to degenerate into this madness.

I choose to believe that people have the ability to rise above a crisis and to embrace the very best in humanity. That we can see the best in people. That when confronted with seemingly overwhelming strife, we have the ability to care the most for our fellow human beings. We hug parents who have experienced the most horrific loss possible. We honor those brave warriors who saved so many lives.

We remember. We mourn. We cry. We support those who must bear the most horrific loss possible. We feel and must remember our humanity.

In this article, I had intended to go off on those who had used this tragedy as a platform upon which to build their own destructive narrative. But then, loved ones (all 2 of them) and friends (all 3 of them) in essence stated, “Dunn, you are a f*cking loon if you do that! You will be no better than them if you do!”

They were and are … right. And I would have been so wrong. Wrong to pontificate. Wrong to inflate my views above all others. I cannot and will not, castigate others while my character flaws and faults are so prevalent and are a work in progress.

My heart goes out to those parents whose beloved children have been so cruelly taken. I know what it is like to experience that type of pain. The agonizing, soul crushing pain. But it would be so wrong to impose my own narrow views upon others. We are all unique, singular souls. And so, I mourn with you. And should any parent reach out, I will cry with you, I will hold you … you have a safe place.

And maybe, just maybe for the briefest period of time, we can escape our pain, our sorrow, our anger, our fear, through grace. And perhaps through humor. For me, Robin Williams provided that respite from heartache at least for a little while. I hope everyone can find their own goodness and love of life somewhere. Somehow.

Merry Christmas Daddy.

Christmas… the Holidays… the joys of the Season. That time of the year when we draw closer to family. When we remember and embrace the very first Christmas gift given to us … Love.

A parent’s love. Pure as the first snows of Christmas. For God so loved His children that He sent His Son, that someday we might return to Him.

And yet culturally, and as a society, we seem to be distancing from that impactful message.

Cynicism, self-absorption, greed and tribalism seem to be the primary motivational and identification factors of our society. We identify by whatever political party we voted for. And we shun those who voted for someone else. In our fear and ignorance, we only want to hear those voices which agree with our own opinions.

We are subjected to an endless stream of new Hallmark movies every year. Movies which usually involve a career driven person in a large city going home to their small town to save a hotel, or Christmas tree farm or small business. And, while doing so, reconnecting with the first love of their life. But, that is not real life.  That is not reality. Especially during these holiday times.

The Holidays are a time for families. A time to celebrate with loved ones. A time to remember those whom we have lost. A time to reflect on the past year. And a time to look boldly ahead.

However, for parents like me, we feel the loss, the anguish, the grief caused when a beloved child is taken from us. That grief is so much more acute at this time of the year. Further, that grief can rear its head in unexpected and unforeseen ways.

In the holiday comedy movie, The Family Stone, the story of a dysfunctional but loving family is told in humorous ways even as difficult, heart rendering topics are addressed. Then, one brief scene happens. It seems almost like a throw away interaction between two characters. Late on Christmas Eve, one of the daughters, the pregnant daughter, is sitting on a couch, her sister asleep on her lap, Judy Garland’s version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas is playing on the television. The lights are turned down low, the lights on the Christmas tree in the background.  The father, who is carrying the weight of an incredibly heavy burden walks past, looks upon his daughter and lovingly says, “Good night, Susannah. Merry Christmas.” Susannah looks at her father and with obvious love in her eyes simply says, “Merry Christmas Daddy.”

That is when the dagger is pushed into the heart. Knowing that I, and many other fathers like me, will never hear those words again from our daughter. It freezes our soul. And we die just a little inside each time.

And yet, we cannot let that grief become our masters. We cannot let it define us until the end of our days. Yes, we must acknowledge that grief exists and always will. But we must find ways of persevering. Of finding strength and character to continue with our life’s journey. And often times that strength and resiliency is brought to us as a present … as a gift.

In 2018, it was a 10 year old boy. I wrote about this incredible soul:

https://dadsjourneywithed.blogspot.com/2017/12/and-sometimes-angel-appears.html

That is the story of a 10 year old boy with an incurable disease and only a short few months to live. That day two firetrucks, along with many firefighters, appeared in front of my apartment building. As I looked at this boy, who knew his time was going to be short, he was so animated! He was laughing, waving his arms, putting the fireman’s helmet on, he worked the siren, and a joy, a sweet, innocent wonder just emanated from him.  

All I could do was stand there and look at him.  His hair neatly combed, his face absolutely glowing.  His smile was this incredible, pure expression of the joy and love that surely must have been in his heart.  There were about 6 firemen around him … most had tears in their eyes and tried to look away so the boy would not see that. And in that boy’s presence… you could feel a divinity at work. And that boy allowed me to keep my grief at bay.

This year again, I was feeling the sting of loss particularly deeply. Frustration, dejection. I also knew I could not actively seek out inspiration and redemption with the naïve hope that I would find those attributes. Those blessings have to come to you. And I had lost hope that those blessings would find me and lift me from my despair.

I should have had more faith.

On one of my social media pages, The Book of Faces, an extensive thread appeared. It was started by a friend from a number of years ago, a friend and her husband with whom I had lost touch.

https://www.facebook.com/amey.b.strothers

There are 37 photos in this thread. And the topic? Her battle against cancer over the course of the past 14 months or so. And the photos were so open, so graphic. Photos which brought to life their journey. Photos of her hair (and his) being shaved and them lovingly touching their bald heads together. Her sitting through chemo treatments.

Photos of them at various hospitals. Her smiling, laughing, crying and… persevering.

Then, when you read her words about this journey.  A journey she brings to life as she lays bare her emotions. Overwhelming fear. Hurt. Anger. And then? Resiliency. Courage. Love. Belief. Strength. And Faith. Faith in her God. Faith in all around her.

And now, the doctors report her to be cancer free. I can only imagine that life must seem so incredibly new for her. That she feels reborn. That she feels free, unshackled from the burden of fear, of her own mortality.

From her incredible words, from those stirring photos we can find … inspiration. We can find love. We can find faith. We can find … a renewed purpose at Christmas.

Amey and Richard. You may not have known it at the time but you have brought to the world an incredible Christmas gift and allowed it to be shared. You manifested the very meaning of the first Christmas gift given to us. In addition, you have given us hope.

Hope, faith and love.

Thank you. Thank you for making me feel renewed inspiration and strength to persevere.

Merry Christmas.