It takes a village ...

Almost everyone has heard the expression "it takes a village to raise a child". What most people would not understand is that it most certainly takes a village to send your son on the last canoe ride … On september 3rd at approximately 1:20 pm my son drew his last breath. It was on highway 93, 1.7 km north of saskatchewan crossing in alberta Canada. The circumstances of who was present is a bit sketchy. I hear accounts of people who attempted providing life saving efforts. I have read the medical examiners report, and in fact physically laid my hands on most of his body in the following days preparing him for a home funeral. I have felt his brokenness, and experienced the overwhelming joy and connection of the village of individuals who have stepped up to the plate and assisted me in his final send off. Let me take you back to that fateful day. More than 11 hours later an officer and 2 victim services workers were knocking on my door. I knew immediately that death had crossed my doorstep as I invited them in to my living room. I didn't need to know why at the time … (I think for me the why is still not forefront in my mind). At the time all that i was focused on was the "who". When I heard the name "Baxter Douglas Goerz" I immediately realized that I had just received my invitation to the club that no one wants to be in … but choice has no bearing. I knew this would rock my world view and challenge the assumptions and cognitive reframe strategies that I use everyday in my professional world; bad things happen to good people, shit happens, and the colloquial phrase that I never have used professionally "God doesn't give you anything that you can't handle" Please forgive me as I ramble. Know that my grammer isn't perfect, my thoughts are a bit disjointed, and my posts will seem out of order. Today 13 days later I need to try an organize my thoughts in word form. My reaction of "there are no words" now are filled with a cascade of words, memories, emotions and sensations. Today I need to open a blog entitled "it takes a village: Can the building of a box contain a fathers grief at the loss of his son? …"

https://boxmakingvillage.blogspot.ca/

Owen's box

Today I have a long phone conversation with Sheryle Steeves. Sheryle is the spouse of Owen and if you remember, she was left for dead and her husband and best friend were brutally murdered at their ranch down the blackwater road almost 4 years ago. I was thinking about including "owen's box" as one of the chapters in my book and I needed to make contact with her in order to get her permission to share her story. I ended up recording the phone conversation, and she felt excited that I would write some of this story down. You see she has seen psychiatrists and counsellors over the years and has never made the connection necessary to heal from her wounds. She said that when she came out to my house, and built Owen's box, the was the only time she felt safe and connected to her work of grief. I look forward to being able to connect with her by phone and I hope to meet her in person when I drive through Kamloops in March. Please scroll down to connect to the link to "a box for Owen"

http://owensbox.blogspot.ca