Patrick Henry F.

Patrick F., 16 January 4, '76 - June 29, '92 drown

This is "My Patrick"
--- He "has my eyes", was teased in Junior High of having "Chinese eyes", tilting upward. I told him, no, not "Chinese eyes", but my eyes -- but on him, I think they fit well.
---Taller than I, he would have "toppedd out' about my Dad's height of 6'4".
--- A delight to have as a son, and a delighht to his classmates --
    that devilish twinkle in his eye of someone ready to "do something" shows.
--- A good and promising artist, he had suchh talent, and loved doing artwork. When we ran out of paper in the house, he'd draw on cardboard (That's a signal, Mom.)

'My Patrick' - Patrick F. - 16 1/2 years old

by (Mom) Roxanne F.

I could fill up a whole book telling you about my wonderful son, Patrick Henry F. He was the light of my life. A good, kind, and generous person. I couldn't have asked for a child that would give so much joy and meaning to my life. He was going to go to college and art school, and he would have been great! Mature for his age, it was not easy for him growing up with our family situation. His father and I were divorced when Pat was one year old. It affected my daughter as well, I'm sure that her rebellious teenage years were even more so because of it, but it wasn't anything I could change. Patrick had a form of ADD and was on a medication that helped him (Cylert). We didn't know if he was going to have to take medication for the rest of his life or not. There were so many times that he wasn't taking medication and could concentrate extremely well on the things that he WANTED to, like his art work, I always felt that at some point things would change.

He had a terrific sense of humor, that would get on some of his teacher's nerves (to the delight of his classmates!), and the teachers would call me or send notes home to tell me what 'Your Patrick was doing ...'. Usually, after one of those phone calls, I'd confront him and say, 'I hear that 'My Patrick' has been doing ...' He knew when he 'pushed it', he'd be paying the consequences of detention, or something. Sometimes he would come home from school and gripe that he had a Saturday detention because of some comment he made - and I told him that he knew the rules - annd I knew where he'd be spending Saturday. I would ask him 'if it was worth it', and sometimes he'd smile a terribly devilish smile, and reply, 'YES!' It was so nice of one of his teachers to tell me at his funeral, that he'd be talking and look at Patrick and feel he wasn't paying attention. And then Patrick would ask a question that showed he had been all around the edges of the topic, and was 'coming at it from another angle', and it would throw that teacher off guard. I remember, one time, at one teacher's conferences, I 'saved the best for last', his art teacher DID NOT list 'bad classroom behavior' (or whatever). I asked her why, didn't he make comments in her class? And she said, 'Yes, quite often.' I said, 'Doesn't it bother you?' and she replied, 'No, actually, if you listen to what he says, he's quite bright, and has a clever sense of humor.' BOY, she made my MONTH!

Patrick broke his leg in January of '92, in 10th grade gym class, running down the stairs. He had broken both bones below the knee, and had a spiral fracture going down into his ankle. The doctor showed us the X-rays, and showed the 'growth gaps' in his bones, and said he wasn't 'near' done growing yet'. He was taller than I am – and I remember the day that I noticed I had to look slightly UP to look into his eyes and it amazed me. We didn't know if the break was going to effect his growth in that leg, he might have had to have surgery later. I feel he would have ended up at 6'3" or 6'4", about my Dad's height. With a cast to the top of his thigh, he spent some time out of school, doing some school work at home, but he was soon back in school on crutches. Maybe it's a mother's love and pride, but I thought he was a good looking young man and I have a feeling that he didn't lack of girls that would offer to carry his book bag from class to class to help him out! I had to drive him to school every morning and my Mom or Sister would pick him up and drop him off at home. The months that he was in the full length cast, and then the knee high cast, were so hard for him. He knew he could call me and I would have gotten him whatever he wanted at home, but he was so independent, that even going from his room to the kitchen to get a snack, he wanted to do it himself. He would make a couple of sandwiches - he HAD to have hollow legs, because he could EAT, but was thin - put them in a plastic bag and carry it back to his room in his teeth. Pop would get tucked in the waistband or pocket of his pants, the empties would come back out the same way. Through all that time, not even ONCE, did I hear him complain! He had plenty to moan and groan about, but I am still amazed at the fact that he didn't.

The house that I could finally afford to buy was a real fixer-upper, and he was such a help to me around the house and the yard. After school got out in '92, I borrowed a roto-tiller and was planning to put up trellis' around the patio for climbing plants that would give us some privacy. He wanted to use that thing, and I watched him like a hawk, afraid he'd run his foot over, or something. I planted three trees in the back yard that spring, and Patrick ran over one with the lawnmower - forgot to watch for it. Would you believe, that THAT TREE is bigger, thicker, and stronger than the other two?
I like to think Patrick 'is keeping an eye on it'.

When my son, Patrick age 16 1/2, died in June 1992, I thought my world had ended. (He died suddenly, in an accident while he was out with friends.) I did not know how I was going to 'go on' with life. I didn't have thoughts of suicide, but all I could picture was a life of drudgery with no hope of joy or laughter ever, EVER, again. I have a daughter (19 1/2 then), but at that time she wasn't living at home (my choice) because I had previously decided that I couldn't watch her kill herself slowly (or suddenly) with her life of drugs and alcohol and 'friends' of the lowest form. Patrick saw what she was putting me through, and I know he wouldn't have joined in the lifestyle that his sister had. I'll never be 'over' Patrick's death, I still cry when I'm touched by memories, and I know that it is necessary and okay. I think about Patrick every day, miss him so much, wonder what he would be like now, what his life would be like. But I feel we will be together again someday. I am not anxious for death, but I do not fear it.

Luckily, the funeral home that I choose to handle Patrick's arrangement, had a counselor for individual and group counseling. That was good, but after those were over, I still felt I 'needed something more'. Without the financial resources for private therapy, I was sure that I had heard about grief support groups, but I didn't know where to look. Luckily, I came across an announcement for the First Sunday group 10th Anniversary Candlelight Ceremony, so I called for directions and hoped I would get some information there. That group, at Troy Beaumont, was a lifeline thrown to me. Because of attending that group, I was able to expand and attend other support groups. Every one of them are different, and offer things for different people. I attended my first Compassionate Friends meeting in April '93. It was (is) hard to talk about my feelings, and share them with a group because I really am a very private person when it comes to the things that are really personal to me. But I learned that by doing this, it helped me through the grief work (and it is WORK) and be able to get through the process enough that there could be joy again, I can laugh again, I can find meaning to life again. Our leader, and chapter founder, Dolores, asked me to 'help out' with the group in small ways, and after some time - before becoming even more involved with our chapter - I was starting to feel that I didn't need to attend the meetings any more. I had enough things going on in my life to keep me very busy (I joined the grandma ranks), and since I didn't 'need' to go, I was going to 'drop out' of the group, Well, as things change and happen, as they always do, our group needed MORE help, and here I am! (our chapter's 1996's co-leader and newsletter editor, and wanting to do a web page to boot!)

I do feel that I am 'giving back' in a way that I can, to a group that is necessary to be available to people in our circumstances. I am grateful that there was something available for me when I needed it. I have no professional training, I hold no position of authority, really, and I am not an expert in grief. But I have lost my 'baby' (I used to tease him that when he's 40, fat and bald, he'll still be my 'baby', and his reply was, 'That may be so, but I just know, I won't be bald!' – No, my darling Patrick, you'll never be bald.) I have gone through most, if not all, of the emotions and feelings that all bereaved parents have. The 'would have, should have, could have' syndrome could have buried me. Guilt?! I have learned to have regrets, not guilt. And I know that I am not alone with wishing I could go back and do it all again, maybe doing some things differently. But I still wouldn't have traded having Patrick, even for such a short time, for all the riches in the world! I have lost others in my family that were close to me, most recently my Dad who lived in California (who was heartbroken to loose his only Grandson, and I feel that they are together, catching up with each other and looking out for me), and my other Dad, that lost both his Daughter and his Grandson during his life. And so, for a while anyway, I will be a part of the group and give what I can and how I can. I'll make mistakes, forget things, but I do try my best, I know you'll forgive me.

In case you were wondering, my daughter, Dawn, is living a good life with her son, Robert Patrick (when he was firmly entrenched in terrible-two's, I told her that they'll last for the next 20 years - ha ha!), and Eric - my son-in-law. She is becoming a nice person, who actually NOW believes her mother may know something (surprise!!!), so she asks about things she doesn't understand or know about (what?!?). Her son is a little cutie, but a handful, and is just what she deserves, ha ha!! (I mean that in a nice, but 'I told you so' way, as I'm sure all parents will understand!)