Being a Man in Today's Culture
As a father, your experience of grief is probably going to differ from that of your partner, not only because you are not the one who has been carrying the baby inside of your body, but simply because you and your partner are two different people with different backgrounds and different ways of acting and reacting. Cultural conditioning, spoken and unspoken assumptions, and other influences will communicate some very clear messages about how others think you are to behave. It is important to find the way of grief that works for you and not be dependent on other's expectations.
In general, Women tend to express grief more openly than do men, but that does not necessarily mean that women feel grief more deeply than do men. Because of the difference, however, the grieving mother of a child who has died typically gets more of the attention while the father is kept from getting the support and help he needs to adequately grieve the death of their baby. And yet at the same time, fathers often have been chided or criticized if they did not openly express grief in the same way, or to the same degree, as their partner.
Typically, a man is expected to be strong, appear in control and be confident, show more interest in thinking than in feeling, endure pain, be brave, assertive, protector and provider. Men are typically not expected to cry in front of others, appear weak, seem insecure, be afraid, be dependent, ask for help, get depressed, lose control. These gender related and culturally imposed characteristics may serve you well in day to day living, but as a grieving father, these same attributes may make the task of successful grieving difficult if not impossible.
Some of the culturally imposed factors that may contribute to a man's unconscious resistance to grief and not permitting grief to flow through himself is listed below:
==> not being able to openly express feelings of pain or loss
==>not being able to accept help from others
==>not allowing yourself to slow down
==>not being able to seek emotional support
Grief work requires a willingness to do almost the opposite of what you may want to do to solve this problem. Grief work requires talking about your feelings instead of repressing them; and acknowledging your sense of powerlessness.
will most likely be to overcome grief
rather than to experience it"
copyright 1996 Perinatal Loss, Portland, Oregon 503/284-7426
A Man's Tears and His Family
When men do cry at home, they are sometimes putting themselves in jeopardy. This problem often comes up when I work with families who have experienced a major loss. Sometimes the family members complain that the man is not openly mourning. The man has been seeing to it that the other family members could grieve but is not openly grieving himself. With a great deal of pressure from the family, the father finally openly mourns. Yet the power of the father's tears and mourning usually shocks the family. The children are often upset to see their father cry. They describe the episodes in disbelief and shock. They are openly frank about their fears of seeing their father cry and describe how scary it is to see the person they view as the foundation of their life in a state of grief.
The men in this situation are leaving the protector/provider role, and the result is that the family experiences anxiety at the loss of that function. They no longer have the protector. This masculine function often goes unnoticed until it disappears. The wife, too, is often a bit upset. Usually she is ambivalent; on one hand she is relieved to see her husband cry, but on the other hand she is uncomfortable with it, feeling somehow insecure and even afraid. The men can feel their family's ambivalence towards their behavior and will seek out a safe place to emote. In addition, the men often quickly realize the discomfort of others with their tears, and this solidifies their solitary grief. This does not seem so unusual to me considering the circumstances, but the media and many mental health professionals are continually condemning men for their private grief. Perhaps a man's stewarding and protecting his family can be seen as one way for him to honor his own grief.
A part of the family's shock at seeing the father cry may be related to the newness of the experience. Perhaps if the men had gradually been more emotional prior to the crisis of grief, the spouse and children would not have been so upset. Even with this being so, the men were not in the same state of need prior to the crisis. In a healthy family unit there needs to be a sharing of the protector/provider role as it relates to containing a space for emotional expression. If you are a man and you are able to cry, consider yourself blessed. If you can cry, and have someone near you who can comfortably honor and contain that, consider yourself twice blessed.
Excerpted from Swallowed by a Snake: The Gift of the Masculine Side of Healing
by Tom Golden LCSW, copyright protected
A Perspective of a Father: Dedicated To ALL My Children, Kristen, Jason and Jordan
I remember the question coming up- ARE WE GOING TO TRY AGAIN? It had only been weeks since we buried our second child, Jason. His death hit Bev and I like a freight train. During the pregnancy, we were totally unaware of any problems with his health. We were told, everything was normal. He was born on July 25, 1984, on Bev's own birthday. That, in itself, seemed to raise the thought that this was a "special baby." The day following his birth, Jason was diagnosed with hypoplastic left heart syndrome. He died in our arms on July 28, 1984.
ANSWERS! We DEMANDED ANSWERS! What had gone wrong? Why did this happen? We were not aware that babies died- rather naive. We were prepared for a new life, now we were preparing for his death. Shocked, stunned, dumbfounded were the feelings I remember. WAS IT MY FAULT? Something genetic? NO ANSWERS. It just happens. I have since learned that the term "syndrome" is doctors lingo for "we don't know what the hell happened!" We received the typical platitudes, "you're young, you'll have another." What a laugh, we weren't going to go through this again. Not only did lightning strike Bev and I as Jason's parents, but our first child, Kristen, was only three years old. She went through this pregnancy with us. She felt Jason move in the womb, she smiled when he rolled. She went through sibling classes and toured the hospital maternity floor. SHE HELD JASON AFTER HE WAS BORN! Suddenly, all of this was ripped away from her, as if she was given a toy, then it was unexpectedly and undeservedly taken away. We now had to explain, in terms she would understand, what had occurred. The hardest question she asked was WHY? I can remember looking at Bev and she at me for the answer to that question. Stunned, I told Kristen that we didn't know why, we just didn't know.
We found ourselves in a quandary. "You'll have another" kept ringing in my head. WHY DO I WANT TO PUT OURSELVES THROUGH THIS AGAIN? Birth control, we needed birth control. "Bev, call the doctor and find out what we should do." We cannot let this happen to us again. Should we? Could we? Would we? WHY WERE WE IN THIS PREDICAMENT? The baby's room was all ready, now, there was no baby. I remember talking with Bev about another child. We found that we were not yet ready to think clearly. We couldn't answer that question, will we try again. "It's too early for you to get pregnant again," I remember the answer coming back from the doctor. "We'll talk about it at your post partum checkup." In the mean while, I just couldn't get it out of my mind that I, as the father and husband of this house COULD NOT ALLOW THIS TO HAPPEN AGAIN. It devastated us all. The "protector" came out and tried to shelter this terrible experience from ever happening again. In my own mind, my decision was made- we would not try again. Not only did I just bury a newborn, I was fighting with my employer, I was fighting with the insurance company (who said that treatment received for this delivery was beyond "usual and customary.") YEAH, IT WAS NOT A USUAL AND CUSTOMARY BIRTH- MY KID DIED! Everybody was a moron. No one understood what was happening to me inside. NO ONE BOTHERED TO ASK! But, the decision, in my mind, was made. I had planned on having a vasectomy.
When Bev visited the obstetrician for her post partum checkup, it was unusual. She never did see the return of her menstrual cycle. The doctor checked everything, as he normally would. Then came news that shocked us even further. Bev was already pregnant! Six weeks after the loss of Jason, Bev had another child developing in her womb! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN? WHY DID IT HAPPEN? I'M NOT READY FOR THIS- IT'S UNFAIR TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN! Too late, the decision was already made, not by myself, as that protector, husband and father, but by powers beyond and above me. "Don't worry," I remember the OB telling us. "Everything will be fine." Yeah, right! It was "going to be FINE" the last time too. We now knew that FAILURES do occur, babies DO DIE. We were not so naive anymore.
The pregnancy was full of difficult periods. We knew that IF this pregnancy ended in the live birth of a child, both the baby and Bev would be put through tremendous physical demands, tests and observations. There was nothing I could do. I was now just a bystander. Nature and biology were now in command. I lost CONTROL! Questions, questions, questions- that's what I remember during this period of time. Bev had read everything she could about pregnancy. I remember all these questions being asked of me. Bev was deathly afraid of doing something to hurt the baby.
One episode stands out in my mind. Shortly after the funeral, I took some vacation time and went to Disney World with Bev and Kristy. We needed time away, I thought. We needed to try to live again and think about some other things. We flew down to Orlando and seemed to be having a good time. On the way back, we found ourselves stuck in Tampa. The flight had been delayed due to bad weather in Chicago. For two hours we sat in the Tampa airport. Every time we went to get something to eat, we had to walk through metal detectors. Out of the blue, Bev asked me, "what does a metal detector do?" I explained how the detector operates, creates a magnetic field, you walk through it and if you have metallic objects, it will disrupt the field, causing an alarm. "Will that hurt the baby?" Bev asked a question that seemed to, in retrospect, become indicative of the rest of the pregnancy.
For the remainder of the term, it seemed that I was questioned about everything. What I did, how I did it, chemicals, how they were stored. I began to feel that Bev was looking for things to worry about. I knew that she was just overly concerned due to our loss, but I began taking it personally. I didn't think she trusted me or had any faith in me. I had also just quit my job, in a dispute over my employment. I was still fighting with the insurance company over payment for hospital services incurred for Jason's delivery and treatment. My state of mind was full of anger. Nothing I did was right, I thought.
I lost total control over everything in my life, my family, my job and now, the beginnings of my own sanity. Little did I realize that this was to be the beginning of my own health problems. Bev's own health became a great concern. Her doctor seemed to plead with her to relax, with assurances that the things she encountered, activities she found herself in, would not hurt the baby. Ultrasounds determined that the baby was a boy. Same sex issues started to arise. IS THIS GOING TO BE A FUNNY JOKE? IS THIS GOING TO BE A REPEAT OF A PREVIOUS FAILURE?
Everything started going sour, marriage, handling Kristy, NO CONTROL. Nothing occurred during the pregnancy to lead us or the doctors to any realistic fears, but WE still thought that there would be, could be a problem anyway. Bev began to slip into panic and anxiety attacks, something that would carry over past the birth. My own state of mind was just plain anger- anger still over the loss, anger over the loss of control of my own decisions, anger over the constant questions. I knew that Bev would be uncomfortable and have fears that I needed to calm. But the constant pressures began to indicate to me, in my mind, that I could not be trusted, I was failing to provide comfort to my wife. After all, even when I HAD the answers, she didn't seem to believe me anyway. I became more bitter, lost most of my friends.
Jordan Matthew Upchurch was born on June 19, 1985, eleven months and TWENTY FIVE days after his brothers birth. At the time of his birth, neonatolgists were present to immediately examine him for any signs of health problems. In the delivery room, I remember his birth, being taken immediately to be examined in the delivery room- "HE'S BLUE- OH NO!" I feared the worse, I hoped Bev could not see, although I knew she followed everywhere that baby went with her eyes. The doctors inserted a tube, drew out fluids, minutes seemed like hours waiting for a whimper a cry.
Finally, noise- the doctors seemed to exclaim he was normal- everything was fine. We named him Jordan Matthew, using the same initials of his lost brother, Jason Michael. He wasn't a replacement- we knew that. He was a very unique baby, because if I had implemented my decision, he would not have been here. The trials and hardships didn't end at the successful birth of Jordan- they just began. Jordan was baptized on July 28, 1985, exactly one year after the death of Jason. We didn't plan it that way, it just happened. Like so many other coincidences and reminders of our previous pain. It was just the beginning of things to come.
After reading all of this, I discovered that I could have probably shortened my perspective quite a bit by writing just one sentence- I LOST CONTROL OF EVERYTHING! I lost control over my decisions, nature, ability to comfort and reason and my career. Jordan, today, is eleven years old. He is a big boy for his age- over 5 feet 7 inches tall and 135 pounds. I look at him, so much taller and bigger than any of his peers, and can't help but think that he is living two lives. He occupied a very warm womb and a piece of Jason lives inside of him and through him.
Copyright 1996 Stuart E. Upchurch
The Magic Wand Theory
After our baby Cindy, died, I found my world turned upside down. I was lost and confused and cared about nothing. At first, my wife & I came together and became closer than ever. There were so many people around, friends, family, and even coworkers offering their sympathy and support. I was pretty worried about Janice, my wife, as people started slowly back to their own lives and stopped the visits and telephone calls, she seem to of fallen apart. There was nothing I could do to make her happy. While Janice stayed home to recuperate, I had to "get on with life" and go back to work.
Our marriage became stressed. We stopped talking and starting fighting, mostly about small insignificant things that suddenly were monumentally important. Nothing I could do would please her. If I asked how she was doing, she cried. If I did not ask how she was doing, I was a jerk. Meanwhile, I fell further into depression though everyone was telling us how great we were doing by getting on with our lives. Work became an escape but I was missing deadlines and worse, not caring about it. Still, at least at work there was some control and accomplishment. I did not know if I could ever make my once happy wife ever smile again. Meanwhile, our marriage was crumbling and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I never thought I would say this but I considered divorce for the first time in our lives. I could no longer make us happy again.
Janice begged me to go to counseling with her but I was doing fine, she was the one doing the crying and having to talk about Cindy....so I thought. As a compromise, I agreed to go to "one" group meeting. Half expecting a bunch of grieving ladies huddled together with a box of Kleenex, I found to my surprise a group of couples who have suffered the loss of their child. Each couple was at a different stage of grief, so while some cried, others offered their understanding and experience. This was the beginning of a very long hard road of us, but also a healing and worthwhile experience. The meetings became an outlet to let my guard down and listen to what both sides had to say. I caught Janice laughing a few times. I had not be able to accomplish something as simple as a smile for my wife.
We decided to hold off the prospects of a family until we became more settled. I have always been somewhat of the 'fix-er-upper'. Know matter what the problem, I was always there for Janice, the protector and lover. After a few years, she became pregnant with Cindy. As the pregnancy progressed, I started to look forward to the aspects of being a father. We set up the nursery and planned our dreams.
Watching Janice go through labor and delivery with the knowledge our baby died was sad and I was crazy with rage. I would of done anything to take away her pain. From that day on, it seemed like I lost my magic wand, the ability to make it better, it did not seem like I could fix anything, not our marriage and not our baby. I use to be able to just wave the majic wand, and make it better. For us, the support group helped. I found an outlet where I could talk about my daughter and my wife learned she was not alone. Furthermore, I discovered there never was a magic wand. I did not nor will I ever have the control. And in letting go of the control, I found myself , our marriage, and life again.
