I’ll Be Back in the Saddle Someday

There’s a tragic reason that I haven’t been writing much over the last three weeks.

If my normal approach to reasoning is logical but not quite rectilinear, the death of my 26 year old stepson Jesse, on September 27, has created something more akin to a Jackson Pollack canvas. Emotions that are normally in check are running wild in all directions. I feel a bit like Mr. Spock when his human side overpowers his Vulcan one, and while unlike Spock I am not at all ashamed of my broken heart and loss of composure, it does make it difficult to go about my job in the usual way.

Let’s face it. A tragic life event like this cannot but cast virtually everything in a new light. The bricks of an established worldview are thrown up like feathers and it takes time for them to settle back into a new pattern. Things that seemed vitally important three weeks ago now seem trivial, and perhaps some things that were on the back burner now have greater urgency.

The last thing I wrote before Jesse died was a piece called A Perilous Week of Deadly Land Mines. I was anticipating the negotiations over the Build Back Better reconciliation bill: “Following along with what’s happening in Congress, it’s easy to see how someone could have a panic attack.” I knew things were coming to a head both in my family life and in Washington DC, and I really was having panic attacks.

On Friday, we’ll bury Jesse and on Saturday we’ll celebrate his life with friends and family. We’ve been keeping busy making preparations for these solemn occasions, but come Sunday our friends and family will go back to their regular lives and we’ll have to sort out what happens for us going forward. I can’t say what that will look like because I don’t know what it will feel like. I know it will take some form of putting one foot in front of the other, but the actual path is obscured right now.

Maybe I’ll go back to writing about politics in much the same way I always have, and maybe I won’t. I’m not sure how much of a say I actually have in that decision. It feels like I’ll be learning things about myself that I never knew, and I can’t predict how I’ll learn to function. If I can function at all, I’ll consider that a good sign.

For now, my focus is on grieving and celebrating– on enjoying seeing the faces of people I love and who cared about Jesse, and who care about me and his mother Erica, father Bert, and his brothers Randy and Finn.

Come next week, I’ll try to get back in the saddle. If the horse bucks me off, that won’t be at all unexpected. I’ll get up and try again.

Author: BooMan

Martin Longman a contributing editor at the Washington Monthly. He is also the founder of Booman Tribune and Progress Pond. He has a degree in philosophy from Western Michigan University.

34 thoughts on “I’ll Be Back in the Saddle Someday”

  1. I’m so sorry for your loss, Martin and Cabin Girl.

    In my life it was a little brother. In the end I learned that grief is a form of love. I need to believe that to accept it, because it never goes away.

  4. For me it is the loss of one of my nephews. He was really coming into his own. We shared some hobbies in common (most particularly landscape photography), and there was just this sense that we were not far away from a moment where we might get to knock back a few beers and swap stories. And then it all gone. My sister and brother-in-law were especially torn up about it. I was as well. In his case it seems a simple misdiagnosis. Docs at urgent care clinics came up with varying diagnoses and treatment plans, and he only got worse. It had a covid-before-covid feel to it. Never really got over that. Grief is a process. It ebbs and flows. Doesn’t really seem to quite go away. Eventually, most days are okay enough. Hang in there. Hold on tight to each other.

  6. Not sure what to say, except I’m so sorry for what you, Erica, Jesse’s father and all the rest of those who loved Jesse are dealing with right now. I had wondered about your recent scarcity, and it’s just awful to find out the reason for it. Wishing all of you peace, Martin.

  10. i had been hoping to fill in for martin while he dealt with this loss. but unfortunately i took a fall on sunday and broke my wrist – typing is difficult. unlike martin, my situation is very temporary. my heart is broken for him.

    1. I’ve been trying to fill in where I can, but with the substitute teaching during the day—ie, the writing hours—I get torn in multiple directions. I’ll try to step it up a bit in the next week. I hope you feel better soon—I broke my index finger a couple of months back and it took two months to heal up.

  11. I’m so sorry for your loss, and I hope I do you both—and Jesse—proud this weekend.
    It gets better. It can take a long time, but it gets better. I’m holding all of you in the light.

  13. Martin, you’ve had some very difficult times. You always come through them. Selfishly I hope you continue to keep this blog going. It’s a daily read and I constantly reference your past work for myself and to share with others. I also hear you when say you are rethinking things for what comes next. I hope you take all the time you need to figure it out. You’ve touched a lot of lives with this creation of yours – this blog. Feeling grateful for you right now and also wishing you to find comfort and unexpected grace during this time in your and your family’s life.

  15. So sorry to read about this tragic death. Please take as much time off as you need. We’ll be here when you get back.

    Sincere thanks for all you have done over the years. I don’t comment much, but I read everything here and greatly appreciate it all.

    Thank you.

  16. Martin, please don’t worry about providing content at a time like this. Had no idea why Nancy and Brendan were filling in, thought maybe you were on vacation. I so appreciate your authenticity and my heart goes out to you and Cabin Girl. Just one more thought. Yes, you’ll go back to work at some point in the near future but the grieving process takes time. Be gentle on yourselves. Something this huge is typically grieved for a long time. If one were to map out grieving timelines across a population, you’d get a bell curve, the middle of which would probably be in the range of two to five years for something as devestating as the death of a child. In other words, the bulk of people (around 80%) would fall in that range.

    Of course as parents a day will never go by that you don’t think of your son (I don’t say step-son because years of family law practice has taught me that parentage isn’t about biology but love), but a day will come when it won’t be overwhelmingly painful. In fact, many of the memories might be pleasant and positive. Just not anytime soon. For a while, your heart will be shattered. This is a time for kindness. To each other and, most of all, to yourselves. Don’t beat yourself up over anything. All parents make mistakes. None of that invalidates the enormous love that you carried and still carry and always will. None of that invalidates the enormous efforts made to raise him well.

    Lastly, so sorry man.

  24. I’ve started a comment on this post several times but I just don’t have the words. Nothing changes your life more than the loss of a loved one, especially one gone far too soon. I’m heartbroken for you and your family.

  26. I’m sorry that you and your family lost your stepson. Do what you need to for you and your family. Take care of yourself and your family. Us frogs will be in the pond when you’re ready to ease back in. Whenever that is. Family first!

  27. Like all of your writing, this is brutally honest & painstakingly real. This is why I have such respect for your opinions and value this site so much.
    I can never get over how human beings are able to carry on in the face of all the terrible tragedies we endure in our lives. You would think that we would all just crawl into bed & pull the covers over our heads. I’m sure some people do.
    Sorry for your loss. I’ll make sure to remember Jesse in my prayers.
    As far as your future plans, you do whatever you have to do to grieve. If you never write another word I’ll still be be a better person for having read you over the years.
    God bless

  30. I am so sorry for your loss. I know the feeling of impending loss because when our daughters were younger, we almost lost each of them, but thank God it never happened. Take the time you need. May Jesse‘s memory be eternal!

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