Talking to Toolman

December 28, 2012

On Tuesday, January 2 around noon, my dad, aka Toolman, died. 

While my dad did not have good health, this was unexpected. He had his annual pneumonia-type symptoms in mid-December, but there was nothing that seemed out of the ordinary, based on his medical history. We still don’t have a cause of death, but this post isn’t meant to deal with that, but how we dealt with it with the two lights of his life, Owen and Sophie. 

From Christmas day:

Toolman had a special relationship with both. Sophie and my dad would whisper into each other’s ear, something that Sophie only did with my father. He’d nuzzle up to her ear and whisper/blow lightly, and she would light up. She didn’t let out big laughs or have a huge grin—just a happy, content smile that she was sharing a special moment with my dad. Then she would do the same to him.

Owen’s relationship was deeper, being older, sturdier and so on. When he got into Cars he assigned all of us favorites, and Toolman was of course Mater, a rusty old tow truck. Whenever Owen came over, my dad would “fix” Owen’s shirt, pulling the back bottom up over his head. They’d go swimming with Wally (an inflatable dinosaur). During football season, there was our “Go Giants!” catchphrase, and when he was wearing his "72" shirt, Owen would tell my dad how to pronounce Osi Umenyiora. Owen would give my dad high fives so hard, my dad's hand would stick to his head, and only Owen prying his arm away could get it off. My dad was his supplier of hotdogs and egg noodles, pancakes and corn muffins, Arby's and french fries.

But the biggest connection was that Toolman was the toughest guy Owen knew.  Just a few days ago, we were explaining to Owen (again) that he always needed to be gentle with Sophie—she never reacts well when Owen is even slightly rough with her. So we made a gentle-rough scale, with Sophie at the bottom (1), then Nana (4), Grandma (5), Joanne and Grandpa (15), me (50) and Toolman (80). I started Owen on the tackle hugs and he’d do that to my dad while he was sitting in his chair. Owen would come running at his top running speed and jump into the chair, and it wouldn’t phase Toolman at all.

We decided my mom would stay at our house Wednesday night, and Joanne was insistent we have a plan to tell Owen the news when he got home. We reviewed info on the topic (it seems like there’s one source that then underwrites all other advice pieces), and went with the direct approach—that Toolman died and we wouldn’t see him anymore.  Joanne brought him home from school, and told him Nana was at the house, and he asked Joanne if Toolman was there too. When he came in, he was excited to have Nana there. We told him that we had some sad news and had him sit.  We explained to Owen that Tooman died and went to heaven and told him that if he had any questions we would answer them.  He saw that we were downcast, and his expression matched ours. We asked him if he understood what we had said, and he said he did. He didn’t have any questions at that time, and he soon bounded off to get his cars and talk about the Lemon cars he wanted to get for his birthday (a normal reaction according to what we had read).

That night Joanne put Owen to bed, and he said he had a question.  He asked that if Toolman was in heaven, who would be Daddy’s Dad.  Joanne told him Toolman will always be Daddy’s Dad, and also asked “do you know how Toolman and Nana’s parents were already in heaven?”  Owen started to ask “So does that mean that Toolman…?” but he seemed not to know how to finish the question.  Joanne told him “Yes, Toolman is now with his Mommy and Daddy.” But that wasn’t all:

After I finished reading to Owen, I turned out the light and told him a story (as usual).  When I was finished, he, of course, asked for another story.  I told him no more stories, but if he wanted to say a prayer, we could.  I told him that now that Toolman was in heaven we could pray to him.  He asked “I thought only God could hear our prayers?”.  I said we could ask God to tell Toolman something for us.  I asked him what would you tell Toolman?  He then whispered “I love you”.   

The next morning, he picked out some older socks that he doesn’t wear often anymore (they’re small) that had footballs on them (his USA puzzle has a football on the state of Ohio, and even though Owen knows my parents are from New York, he referred to Ohio as Toolman’s favorite state because of the football on it). I asked him if he picked them out randomly or on purpose. He said twice “I picked them.” 

I think he understands. 

Owen demonstrating the "fixed" shirt

Owen's First football game, Nov 20, 2012

Thanksgiving 2012

September 2012

Super Bowl Sunday 2012

February 2012

September 2011

May 2011

April 2011

Christmas 2010

Ringing in the new year

Owen rung in the new year by ringing his graduation bell at his swim class. All done with survival, now it's on to actual swimming!  And here he is on the medal stand:

He did that by completing his airplanes (floating on his back and no kicking), turning to superman (face down in the water for 3 seconds, kicking allowed, hands together over the head), then flagpoles (on his side and doing a stroke) on the way back to airplane. He was fortunate to have his class, which normally has two other boys, all to himself, so he had a lot of instructor time. He did the above sequence the width of the pool, then did length of the pool, and after a short rest, the deck manager came to watch him do it.  It took approximately 10 minutes but he did it.

That's just the simple version though. At a class in early December, he made it across the pool in his swimsuit, but to graduate, he had to do it again with pajamas (to simulate clothes). The instructor cautioned that it usually took kids a few sessions to adjust to the different sensation of the clothes. Still, on his first week in pajamas, Owen made it the width of the pool, so a manager came in watch him do the length.

And... nothing. His legs constantly drifted apart on his airplanes and then he'd kick, which ended up moving him the wrong direction. So that test got cut short.  The following week, was a similar sequence: good across the width, technique breakdowns on the length. And then we missed a week since the facility was closed for Christmas.

Since the switch to swim class in PJs, we've built up graduating and what he needed to improve upon: keeping his legs together in airplane and not kicking, staying in superman for a long three seconds (he turns over pretty quick--a self defense mechanism, I'm sure, since it's dangerous to have your face submerged in water, and Owen is very big on self preservation), and scooping better in flagpole to get some movement. On the way to class last night, we talked about those three things, and concentrating on them the most. Of course Owen was concerned that then he wouldn't do the other things right if he was focused on those things. He was very excited to graduate, though, and was confident he would. To help the cause, I switched him from lightweight, but loose pants, to too small tight fitted pajamas to cut down on what I thought might be some sensation of drift with his legs.

The class went along as normal, decent across the width, making it the length, then having a short rest for the deck manager to come in and watch.  I was hopeful, but still had doubts. He was doing a better job of staying in his supermans longer, but it was still inconsistent; his legs drifted in airplane, but he'd get them together to do make the turn. And the boy was tired--he didn't have a lot of rest in class, and he's only had one decent nap in the past two weeks. He was breathing pretty hard before the final length started. The instructor moved far away from him (the deck manager was on the pool deck).  I started the recording above, but stopped as it looked like it was either going to take a long time, or he was going to be stopped again.

The benefit to having the class to himself was that they could give him as much time as he needed since there were no other kids to work with. He had a period half way in which he didn't move much, then made it to three quarters at a decent pace. Then he started to slow down. I gave him some encouraging words, then moved to the end of the pool. 80%, then 90% percent, then another pause. The wake from the end of the pool messed him up a bit. Three different times his head was almost next to the deck, but instead of turning and grabbing the wall, he  pushed away from the wall, so what could have been 3 more cycles ended up being 9. He started to get visibly upset at this point, but the instructor told him to relax and take his time, and he soon made it!

Coming out of the pool, Owen wasn't excited. He was very tired, cold, and probably didn't enjoy the experience all that much. They had him do one more jump test (jump into the pool, turnaround in the water, and grab the wall), which he did well enough (he has had the tendency to turn in the air). So then he rang the bell, signifying his graduation. He then said he wanted to skip the play noodles and go home. He was flustered, so I picked him up and carried him to the changing room to take a shower (in a not warm shower area, waiting too long for the water to get warm), further upsetting him. I managed to coax a minor smile out of him on the medal stand, but he wasn't really in a great mood for the rest of the evening. But he did graduate.

What's left out of that perhaps-too-long narrative is my reaction to watching it happen. Joanne posted on Sophie starting to walk last time. What made that so special was that it felt like more than a milestone for Sophie, it was a true accomplishment. She's not quite 2 1/2, and we knew she'd walk some day, but still, with all she's been through and has to deal with, we couldn't be so certain that time was really near. If you watch the video, you can see Joanne crying (I did as well, though not in the recording).

And I cried a bit last night also. And it wasn't that him graduating was a big accomplishment, but his perseverance in doing so was. Owen's generally been a perfectionist in that if something is not right, it bothers him and then he gets upset and gives up/looks for help. When he tries to do something that doesn't go right, he struggles to want to try, try again. But last night he did. Sure, the situation was set up to make him  persevere, but as a said, he got visible flustered near the end, but he was able regain enough composure to finish. I told him at least a dozen times that I was proud of him, proud of his effort, and proud of him accomplishing a goal he had set. He wanted to graduate last night. And he did.