“Family Guy” Kills Off Beloved Pet; How Will I Handle the Loss of a Pet Now That I’m a Parent?

Posted on November 26, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

I haven’t watched Family Guy in years, but when I read that this past Sunday’s episode included the death of Brian, the Griffin family’s much loved talking dog, the show succeeded in getting me to ponder how I’ll deal with such a crisis now that I’m a parent and how I’ll explain the death of a pet to Sienna.

If you’re an animal lover, especially of cats and dogs, pets become members of the family and thus their deaths can be brutal. I remember a girl in elementary school coming in positively grief-stricken because her cat had been hit by a car. Yesterday she happened to post a picture of her latest cat who had died the previous year. Elaine got a cat tattoo when, while in college, she learned of her pet’s death. She said she cried for days. She then followed that up with another tattoo, this one of the cat’s name, Sam.

I grew up in home filled with animals (not all at the same time) – a dog, cats, gerbils, hamsters, salamanders, lizards, turtles, fish, birds, a guinea pig (pray that you never have to hear the blood-curdling screeches of a guinea pig having a stroke), even a fiddler crab that decided to climb out of its tank and somehow made it down the stairs before realizing it was a fiddler crab and needed to be in water. There was a lot of death, but none so impactful as the loss of our dog and our cats. Peanuts, our only dog, was adopted before I was born and lived 13 years. I think she died when I was 10 or so. I remember my mom bawling outside the vet’s office when we put her to sleep, but I cannot recall how she explained it to me. My dad misses her every day (he’s not a cat person).

We adopted our first cat when I was around 4. I named him Twinkles. (Hey! I told you was 4! Besides, he was rechristened “Fat” because as an indoor/outdoor cat, he decided to go down the street for food and then come home and eat some more. He weighed more than 30 pounds!). I don’t remember how long he lived, but I was hysterical when he was found dead near our neighbor’s house. Timothy, our next next cat, lived about 13 years and into my 20s. He developed kidney failure and we kept him going on IVs for months because he wasn’t in pain. My mom still keeps pictures of Timothy and her next cat, the late Ferris, on the fridge.

For me, the sudden death of my cat, Zeeb, at age 9, was completely traumatic. I was in my mid-30s when it happened. He was diagnosed with cancer and went within weeks. Overnight he went blind and the awful wails when he tried to jump on the bed but jumped in the wrong direction and missed still ring in my ears at times. It took me a month to throw out his chair and after doing so I developed unexplained migraines. They went away when Elaine mentioned the connection between their onset and me throwing out the chair, but it wasn’t long after that that I had my severe nervous breakdown. You see, Zeeb was intuitive and got me through some terrible times. He knew when I was feeling down. He’d climb on me and purr almost immediately. That type of unconditional love is amazing and I guess his death pushed me to the psychological brink. I didn’t break until a little while later, but that’s not relevant to this blog.

Sienna’s growing up with two cats – Zeeb’s brother, Gleeb (14) and Minky (4). Cats can live 20 years or more so it’s possible Gleeb will be around when Sienna’s 6 or 7. Minky, who shares the same intuition Zeeb possessed, will hopefully live a lot longer. I have no idea how I’ll explain their deaths (or my own devastation) to Sienna. I guess a lot will depend on her age. Do I go the “we took him to a farm” route? Do I explain life and death to her? Do we hold a formal funeral like they did on The Cosby Show when Rudy’s goldfish died? Will Sienna forget quickly or cry for days? Will Elaine and I cry for days? I guess we’ll face it as a family when the time comes. For now it’s all about teaching Sienna how to treat, love and play with Gleeb and Minky. For now it’s all about their being a big part of our little family.

One thing I do know – there will be no sitcom-style “must find an identical replacement” antics.

Sienna playing with Minky

“Hunger Games” Eve Brings Me Back To Sienna’s Birth

Posted on November 21, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

Left – Sienna’s birthday (3/20/13); Right – Sienna and me today, 11/21/13. I’m wearing the same shirt I wore the day of Sienna’s birth

Today, on the eve of the release of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, I’m brought back to Sienna’s birth. Why? Sienna was born on the eve of the first Hunger Games film’s release, March 20, 2012. So since the second film is due to be released tonight, exactly 20 months and 1 day after Sienna was born, I’m drawn back into thinking about the day that changed my life and the night afterwards when Elaine allowed me to go to the movies to get out of the hospital for a bit.

Here’s what I remember: fear. Lots and lots of fear. And exhaustion. Because Elaine was a high-risk patient (she has a heart condition), Sienna was a scheduled c-section. I recall Elaine being wheeled into the delivery room at NYU Hospital as I sat outside dressed in scrubs, positively terrified. I sat there for 40-something minutes as Elaine was prepped. At one point someone left the room and I got a glimpse of Elaine being hooked to up to a zillion tubes and monitors, her belly seemingly about to burst. Her OB, Dr. Frederick Gonzalez, a great, funny man who looked like Santa Claus sans the white beard, was, at the time, the very definition of professionalism. Through the door I heard him giving orders, but still with a hint of humor, always making sure to keep Elaine calm. I took a self-pic:

Then I was in the room, comforting Elaine while shaking in my scrubs. I asked Dr. Gonzalez if he was ready to go all “Freddy Krueger” on my wife. He laughed and made finger blade noises. I remember Elaine screaming, begging for more drugs. I remember Sienna crying while she was still inside Elaine (I didn’t see it…I only have Dr. Gonzalez’s words to base this on). I remember them knocking Elaine out because the pain was too much. And then it was over. They took my daughter away to clean her up. They stitched Elaine up. I have no idea when I first held Sienna. Was it in the delivery room? In the recovery room? I was a father. Suddenly it was all too real. I was a father, something I never thought I’d be.

I remember my parents being there, but I don’t know when they arrived. Suddenly they were grandparents, something they never thought they’d be. They were beyond excited. My memory is fuzzy. I remember Elaine’s room. The recliner. I don’t know when they brought Sienna in. I don’t remember when Elaine awoke, when she first held her daughter. We had the room to ourselves save for the nurses that were coming in and out, giving advice, trying to get Sienna to suckle. This little, tiny thing. My child. I was so tired. I remember going to the cafeteria. I think I ate hummus. Every few hours Sienna cried, wanting milk. I remember struggling with swaddling. I never mastered it. Strangely, though, I had no problem with changing her. I still don’t.

The next day is a blur. Visitors, balloons, crying, pictures. Bits of sleep here and there. But that night Elaine said it was fine to head to the movies to watch The Hunger Games. She only wished she could go too. I stood in line. It was near midnight. The air was cool. I wore a wristband listing me as Sienna Giselle Jaffe’s father. I spoke to people in line. Told them my wife had given birth the day before and urged me to take a break, to go to the movies. Congratulations left and right. How did I stay awake during the film? I kept touching the wristband, thinking of my new little family. That tiny creature awaiting me a few blocks away. I was more afraid than Katniss Everdeen could ever be. Still I enjoyed the movie. Then it was back to the hospital. Back to my new daughter. Back to this beautiful thing that took me more than 6 months to love:

I’ve been a stay-at-home dad for 20 months and 1 day. I’m in love with my daughter. I love to hear her laugh, see her smile, discover new things, say new words. I’ve witnessed the first time she connected the word “moon” with the actual celestial object. I taught her that cows say, “Moo!” That sheep say, “Baa!” I’m teaching her that zombies say, “Brains!” (She needs to be ready for the Zombiepocalypse, right?). I still don’t take her out enough because I’m anxious. I’m still terrible with food because I’m afraid of cooking. But she’s alive. She’s happy. She sleeps through the night (mostly). I have to set an alarm because she lies in her crib and talks to herself when morning comes. I’ve joined the NYC Dads Group and met some great people. I’ve started blogging about my life with Sienna and my battles with depression and anxiety. I’ve learned so much and come so far.

Now I just need my parents to watch their granddaughter so Elaine and I can catch a showing of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, the sequel to a film that will forever be associated with Sienna. I’m sure they’ll be happy to babysit. Seriously, how can you resist this:

Sienna on her 20-month bday

Any Given Sunday Guilt Can Be Your Enemy

Posted on November 19, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

First I want to thank everyone for all of the comments from my last blog. I’ve been completely overwhelmed by your kindness, so much so that I’ve been unable to fully address your support. I’ve also been paralyzed, my brain taunting: “How am I gonna top what I last wrote??” I’ve been battling that and simultaneously trying to absorb all the wonderful advice and encouragement. I promise to get back to each of you. For now, I have to write about yesterday even though it doesn’t involve Sienna.

For a few years now, my two oldest, closest friends (one friend, whom I met in 2nd grade, lives in Maryland, the other, whom I met in 6th grade, lives in Florida) and I have annually reunited to go to a Giants game; for perspective purposes, we’re all turning 40 next year. The fourth spot in our reunion quartet has changed over the years for one reason or another. This year I decided to invite another old friend who coincidentally also lives in Maryland. We met in 3rd grade, I think, but we fell out of touch for some years post-college. Thanks in part to Facebook it’s like those lost years never happened.

To give you a little background, this friend of mine had an extremely rough childhood. I witnessed harsh verbal and emotional abuse from his parents that eventually led to psychological damage manifesting itself physically as stress-related seizures in JHS and the sudden development of an allergy array that boggled the mind. His allergies have since abated, but the seizures have followed him into adulthood, through two bad marriages, high pressure jobs, etc. Thankfully he’s happier now than he’s ever been. I was very protective of my friend when we were kids (I still am), always telling my parents about what he went through, but they felt I exaggerated because knowing his parents, they couldn’t believe some of the things I described most of which they couldn’t have done anything about, but a couple of which directly involved me. I held this grudge against my parents until it was finally resolved in family therapy a few years ago, but it helped establish in me a deep-rooted need to be understood and believed that remains to this day. It’s partly the reason why I write this blog – to be understood.

Anyway, we chose the game in July, but as the day neared, my friend discovered he couldn’t get away Saturday and needed to be at work early Monday morning so he decided to drive up Sunday morning and then drive back right after the game (I thought this was audacious, even nuts, but I deferred because he so wanted to go).

When my friend from Florida arrived on Friday, we happened to meet up with another one of our good friends from elementary school. I mentioned our annual tradition and how our fourth for this year was facing a crazy schedule. I asked if should my friend have to cancel, would he be interested in going to which I got a hearty yes. I thought it was logical to secure a backup just in case, but I never imagined what would unfurl.

Four and a half hours before the game I got a text from my friend saying that he’d had a seizure while driving and totaled his car. He was unhurt, somewhere in New Jersey, and still wanted to go to the game. His closest friends, (two very sweet women whom I’ve met on several occasions) were driving from Maryland and he wanted them to take him to the stadium. Shaken and stunned, I called him and said he was acting crazy, that his health was a hell of a lot more important than a football game, and that he needed to go to a hospital and head home. He was adamant about it, though. He wanted to see us. He’d make the game. He hung up because he needed to talk with an officer.

The women were already on their way. I spoke to one of them and begged her to talk my friend into going home. She said he’d had a rough work week but had been looking forward to the game for a long time, building it up. Because she loves him, as do I, she was naturally scared about his health. We were both on the verge of tears. I had a feeling guilt was involved. He didn’t want to let us down. He didn’t want to see the ticket go to waste. I told her I could get a replacement, that he shouldn’t worry about the ticket. She agreed guilt could very well be raising its insidious head. She’d call him.

As I waited, my facial tic started going (it only appears now when I’m severely anxious). I’d been hit by my own guilt wave: I somehow caused this by enlisting a potential replacement. My friend would hate me if I refused his going to the game. Do I tell my other friend and have him come to the stadium with us just in case? If so, would HE hate me if he wound up stuck in a bar instead of at the game?

Guilt and clinical depression go hand-in-hand. Over the last few years I’ve allowed absurd guilt to slash my rational mind to ribbons. My therapist always tells me guilt is a dangerous emotion when it comes to living with depression. It prevents recovery. It prevents living.

Elaine and my other friends were trying to calm me down, telling me I was being irrational. I tried to listen, but my brain wouldn’t compute. This was somehow my fault via some ridiculous cosmic event.

My friend called back. He’d decided he was too shaken to go and was just going to go home. The truth was he did feel guilty about the ticket and about not seeing us. Through tears I told him I loved him. I said we’d make a plan to visit him, maybe even watch an old Giants game. His health superseded everything. My other friends agreed. We all took turns talking to him, making sure he was ok, telling him not going to the game was the smart move. When he hung up, my emotions collapsed and I started crying in front of Elaine, my friends, and worst of all, Sienna. Elaine took me into another room to hug and soothe me, constantly telling me it wasn’t my fault.

Eventually I settled down and the four of us headed out. We had a good time, but I couldn’t shake the guilt. Several times my friends had to tell me I was being ludicrous. I kept pictured my friend in Maryland curled up, beating himself up because he’d disappointed us and himself. At one point I had to take a walk. It took until the second half to untether myself, to mostly (still not completely) stop the guilt from eating away at this reunion of my closest friends. Although I couldn’t really get into the game, I did manage to joke around and talk and remember how lucky I was to have these people in my life. I also got a text that my friend had made it home safe and sound.

Guilt almost made my friend make a terrible decision that put his health in jeopardy. Meanwhile, my own crazy guilt nearly sucked any enjoyment from seeing my closest friends. Thankfully we both were able to eventually overpower our own irrationality. I fully plan to teach Sienna about the dangers of guilt when she’s older. Further, I will do my best to never use guilt as a weapon (even in a joking manner). I’ve seen more than enough of it in my lifetime. I’ll also make sure she knows I trust and believe her lest she somehow (and I’m sure she will at some point) blow it, but of course, she’ll be able to earn it back. If she tells me about something going on with one of her friends, I’ll believe her and explain whatever options might be available, that I personally don’t have the right to take charge, but she should be there for her friend and encourage her/him to reach out to the proper authority figures be it guidance counselors, social workers, teachers, even police; only if there’s legitimate proof can I act myself.

Now I have two things to look forward to: a soon-to-planned reunion in Maryland and next year’s annual Giants game.

At the Giants/Packers game on 11/17/13 posing with former Giant great, Stephen Baker “The Touchdown Maker”

Tumbling From the Moon and Getting Back Up

Posted on November 14, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

It took less than one day. Less than one day for my depression/anxiety to once again rear its ugly head. Less than one day after I’d blogged about the wonderful jolt I’d felt when Sienna pointed and yelled out, “MOON!!!” I’d spoken with my therapist about the experience and the blog, how it was probably the first time I’d really felt life through my daughter’s eyes, and about how I, for once, actually thought I’d written something well. I’d talked about how I thought it was time for me to really do something with this blog, gain a bigger audience. I mentioned the Dad 2.0 Summit, a large gathering of dad bloggers and dads and sponsors. I thought maybe I should go. She agreed.

That night I couldn’t sleep. I left the bedroom and began researching going to New Orleans for the summit. Between the ticket, flight, hotel, etc., it was going to cost a fortune. Should I still do it? I watched a video taken from last year’s gathering and saw hundreds of confident people, a few of which I know, and I began to panic. The burst of wonder I’d written about morphed into icy fear. My mind swirled. I wasn’t good enough for this. These bloggers are so much better, so much more competent. They’re invited to interview celebrities, review films and test out new products. My blog’s puny by comparison. I barely get any comments. I had to do something. My hands shook as I posted my blog in a Dad Bloggers group on Facebook, terrified I wouldn’t be accepted.

I had to change tactics. Think of something else. I know. Coupons. We need to save money. I used to be a coupon fiend, so good that one of my former coworkers told me I should make a business out of it. That’s when I stopped cold. Once the possibility of making it a business came into play, I could no longer do it. Now I had to get back into it. I researched coupon sites while and was overwhelmed. Then I started thinking about the holidays and finding gifts for people. My chest hurt. My brain hurt. Nasty thoughts bombarded me. I suck as a blogger. I’m weak. Can’t do the coupon thing anymore. I’m a failure. At around a quarter to two in the morning, I posted on Facebook about the Dads Summit and feeling panicky. Then I got the hell away from the computer, went back to the bedroom, and tossed and turned for hours before falling into a fitful sleep.

Elaine was off the next day. The plumber was due to come fix our shower. I woke up feeling horrible. Nervous. Scared. Two hours later it was a full-on panic attack complete with chest pains, dizziness, stuttering, crying. Elaine ordered me to the bedroom, but I fought her; I couldn’t leave her alone to take care of Sienna while the plumber was there. I looked at the responses to my FB post from the previous night. Positive responses that I twisted into negative thoughts. I’d lost all control of my mind. I was falling apart in front of Sienna. I finally submitted to my Elaine’s order and went to the bedroom. I apologized, but she refused it saying we’re a team, that it was my turn to lose it (she’d lost it a few days before because of job-related things). I chastised myself for failing her, for being a failure in general. Eventually I fell asleep. I slept for almost six hours.

I still could barely function after awakening. I sat on the couch like a stone wanting only to curl up under a blanket. Elaine took care of everything, feeding Sienna, playing with her, cleaning up her messes. She comforted me, told me she loved me, that we’re in this together, that in no way had I failed her. The words didn’t stick. I’m not sure how long it was before bedtime when I took a melatonin and slept peacefully.

I awoke the next morning feeling better. Elaine was working so I was once more alone with Sienna, though the plumber had to return to fix a few things. I realized I wasn’t ready to go to the Dads Summit. Not this year. I reread the comments on my FB post and one really stood out:

“1- You haven’t been blogging for long. Continue finding your voice for now and set a date to take off. 2- Set goals. Last year I sat down and came up with a business plan for my blog. The plan was for my eyes only, but I had a plan in place. The plan took new shapes along the way, but I felt good that I had a plan. 3 – Being a dad blogger is great, but taking a break now and then is fine. 4- You’ve got good stuff, but sometimes it takes a while for others to catch on to it.”

This both encouraged and scared me. I’m terrible at planning. I can barely make a grocery list, but the person was right in that I hadn’t been blogging long. I’ll probably need to talk to my friend who posted the comment about planning and I’ll most likely need Elaine’s help, but it’s something that needs to be done. Baby steps. My therapist always says I need to take baby steps because I usually jump straight to the end and judge myself harshly that I’m not there yet and so many others are.

So my first step is to write this blog and get all of this out there to show people how quickly depression/anxiety can attack. Having depression and/or anxiety disorders is not fun. It’s not a joke. They’re insidious diseases that you have to battle at all times. It’s like walking a tightrope without a net. There’s lots of wobbling and if you fall off there’s nothing to catch you. Those of us with depression/anxiety need to surround ourselves with people who love and understand us at all times (even if we can’t figure out why they do). I’m lucky that I have Elaine and my parents; a few friends to turn to; my sister; my therapist. As difficult as it is, I need to stop comparing myself to others and I need to take baby steps even if I need guidance in doing so.

Baby steps all the way to the moon.

Sienna & the Moon Remind Me How Lucky I Am

Posted on November 11, 2013 by Lorne Jaffe

Her utter excitement and bewilderment swept through me like nothing I’d ever experienced, for as much as I’d like to say I’m seeing things anew this might have been the first time where I truly felt the power of watching the world through my daughter’s eyes. It was a crescent moon, the type of moon that in the immortal words of Cookie Monster, “looks like a cookie, but you can’t eat [it].” In my arms Sienna stared at the sky, eyes wide, mouth agape. She pointed.

“MOON!!!!!”

Her rush of joy filled me. Sienna had been saying “moon” for some time now because she has a toy that lights up and spreads a starry sky across her bedroom ceiling. Elaine and I spent time in her darkened room save for the electric stars and crescent moon teaching her words. This was the first time I could remember her seeing the celestial body and calling its name.

The moon disappeared behind some fast-moving clouds. “Where’d it go?” Sienna asked, arms outstretched, palms up, questioning. I assured her it was still there. We waited until it reappeared.

“MOON!!!!!”

I felt so lucky to have witnessed something so wonderful, a parent watching a child’s recognition of Earth’s natural satellite, an occurrence that’s been going on since the beginning of human existence. In that moment I felt no fear. The heaviness of failure that I’d applied to myself because I am a stay-at-home dad was further than the moon from Earth. It was so special that it made me realize how quickly Sienna’s language skills are developing. How because I’m a stay-at-home dad I’m fortunate enough to enjoy childhood leaps and bounds that generations of men could never experience. I feel like I can see Sienna’s mind and personality flourish, the gears turning behind her eyes. I’m head over heels for my daughter, even if I need a break from her quite a bit.

My one regret is that Elaine wasn’t there to share the moment with me; my family was incomplete. Because she’s currently the breadwinner, she does miss out on certain things, and I know she’s devastated by that. But she’s an incredible mom and when she’s home with Sienna the love between them is palpable. When she’s home Sienna runs to her, so excited to see Mommy.

I never thought I’d have a girlfriend, let alone a wife and a daughter. My brain still fights me when it comes to having it all. My view of success remains warped. I still feel like I’m depriving Sienna by not taking her to a different museum or park or class every day, but I do feel enriched when we’re home together singing the old “Batman” theme while she pumps her arms up and down, Batman in one hand, Joker in the other.

It’s been thought forever that the moon has special powers. I’ve never believed that, but last night proved me wrong.

“MOON!!!!!”

My body’s still shivering with child-like wonder.