Jun 19

Jun 19 Father's Day

When a child dies, concern is often focused on the mother. Perhaps that is because women are more often the primary caregivers, or society has some subconscious perception that women are more emotional, less strong, or have a closer bond with their children. We’re smart enough now, though, to know these misconceptions are false and that concern and compassion should be evenly spread between both parents. As Father’s Day approaches I asked Miguel to share his experience grieving Adelaide because other men need to know they are not alone in their grief journey. Just as Mother’s Day can be a minefield for some, Father’s Day poses its own challenges for others. Or, maybe, there is peace.

Happy Father’s day to all you dads out there. My wife told me that I could play as much golf this month as I wanted. So… I have been celebrating Father’s Day for a little while.

In a year with a lot of stresses:

Covid - WEAR A F-ing MASK!

Homeschool - Teachers are heros! Give them more money!

The protests for BLM - GO MAKE SURE YOU ARE REGISTERED TO VOTE! Change is coming!!

And the Broadway shutdown - No, I have no idea when Hamilton will be back. I will let you know as soon as I know.

It is nice to spend a few hours outside on the golf course to get your mind off of the real world for a while. And I think I am getting a little better at this infuriating game which is a bonus. It is weird though, on Mother’s Day we all get up and take moms to brunch and clean the house. Maybe they get a spa day and we give them pretty flowers. It feels like on this day we spend a lot of quality time with the gals who do all the heavy lifting when it comes to making a baby. They are the most important people everyday but especially on that day. On Father’s Day, it seems dad often gets sent away. "Go do something fun, Dad. Hang out with the guys. Go play golf. This is your day to do what you want." That happens right? It is not just my wife that sends me away, is it? Well, maybe that's just us but it does sort of speak to a difference that might exist between moms and dads and the children that they raise together. I can't speak to families with two moms or two dads but maybe it is just something that happens when two different people, raised in two different worlds, work together to raise a child. We have different responsibilities and different styles when it comes to raising our children. And if you are one of the unlucky ones, different ways of grieving them.

I am often asked a question when I meet new people:

"Yes, I have met Lin-Manuel Miranda and he is a very nice guy!"

Kidding, that’s not the question I’m referring to. No, it’s this question that catches me off guard. Every time.

"Do you have any kids?"

What do I say here? ”Yes.” Then off we go, right? Nope, then there’s the follow-up:

"How many? How old are they?"

Ok. Decision time. I can't say one. That is not true. So, I answer, “Two”.

“Great. How old?”

"Well my son just turned 8 and . . . . "

I don't know what it is like to be a mom. But as a dad, all I want is to keep my babies safe. To usher them into the rest of their lives as well equipped as possible to handle all the shit that will be thrown at them. I YELL at my son when he forgets to look for traffic on his bike. I have watched tears well up in his eyes as I scold him. I don't do this to scare him or out of anger. I do this because it is my job to protect him. To do everything I can to prevent him from experiencing pain or harm.

I watched my daughter suffer.

I heard her scream.

I saw her body betray her.

I could not scold her. "STOP DOING THAT OR YOU WILL GET HURT!!!"

I could not protect her. So, when she died I felt calm. I felt relief. I felt unimaginable sadness and pain of my own. But for her, I felt peace. That was everything I had ever wanted for her during her short life.

Grief is a very personal emotion I think. Kelly and I spoke to a counselor after Adelaide died and one of the things he said was that as two different people we are allowed to, and should expect to, grieve differently. My perspective on the death of my daughter, as her father, is different than my partner, her mother. Just as we each had a different relationship with Adelaide during her life. I have watched my wife grieve her daughter in her way and as logic would follow my process has been, well, different. I will find myself staring at a picture. Remembering a life from a story that seems like a long time ago. I step into her room and remember coming home from the theater and checking in on her for a few minutes. Machines beeping and whirring. I cry when I think maybe I should have spent more time stroking her hair or holding her hand. Maybe I should have sang to her just a little more. But in the moment I felt like I did all I could. I have felt overwhelming guilt that I didn't do more. Unbelievable anger that my daughter is gone. Blinding jealousy at the family of four walking in front of me.

Today, I find myself living in a world where I know things are better. For her. For us. I know that we did do everything we could. We were the best parents that little girl could have ever had. She had a superhero for a mom and a dad that loved her little chubby neck with all the strength he had.

My answer to the question is:

“Two. My son is eight. My daughter was three but we lost her last year. She was very sick. We are ok. It sucks A LOT but we are ok. She had epilepsy and we work with CURE. Do you know those people? You should."

I watch as eyes get glassy unsure of what to say. I feel bad because I don't want folks to feel sad. But I love my family. How it was. How it is. And how it always will be.

As we prepare to head back to New York, I know this will be my last Fathers Day in Chicago. I also know that Adelaide's legacy will forever be felt here and that is something that would make any dad proud.