I asked Chase to draw his feelings about Faith, and I'm not so sure that this is what I had in mind when he was finished. I am speechless.

My 42nd birthday came and went on Saturday with little fanfare or celebration. The boys and I took Rachel to summer church camp up in the Atlanta area, and the majority of my birthday was spent helping Rachel adjust to life at this camp for three weeks. I have never really made a fuss over my birthday in past years, and this year was no different. There were no birthday cards or presents. It's just another date on the calendar. So, here begins my 42nd year of life, and I can only wonder what the next 42 years will bring for this family.

Joe

A fellow asked me the other day to describe the mind of a workaholic. He is soon to become a member of an amazing group; that of fathers. His son is set to be born in early September, and we had a conversation in our men's group at church about the issue of parenthood; its glory, frustration, and anxiety. It was here where the question about workaholism came forth, as we sat waiting for the Sunday School leaders to release my kids. It was a simple question, "Joe, what goes through a workaholic's mind?" I could have written a book with my answer.

Workaholism is real, and it can corrupt your mind, body, and soul if you allow it to reach that far into your life. It has a grip on you. It doesn't let go. It takes on a life of its own, to the point that you feel useless outside of work. It secretly whispers to you all your faults and your weaknesses, and it tells you that you cannot survive without bowing to its demands. You become so wrapped up in workaholism that you give it life. You make it breathe. It becomes everything about you, and you don't recognize who you are without it. You can look in the mirror, but you lose your identity. Your being becomes your work, and that work always has unattainable expectations. You lose track of your priorities, and you hurt those closest to you. You hurt them, not by your actions, but by your lack of them. Once you're deep into that hole, everything becomes dark around you. You tell yourself that you will change the demon, but you can't change what you don't recognize. Since it's now a part of your existence, it's like air or water. You need it to live. You can't explain it, and you can't expect others to understand. It tells you that you are weak, that you are a failure, and that you are nobody. You alienate your loved ones, and you lose yourself.

I hope that young man never experiences that torture, but too many people do these days. It is a dangerous road, and it's difficult to right yourself once you had stepped too far. It's just not worth it.

I was trying to get Brooks and Chase to release some of their natural childhood energy, so I took all the boys on an outing to the park the other day. Soon after taking a seat on a nearby bench, close to the swings in case my little Spiderman became bored with swinging and began to climb the set, I met a man walking a similar path. We watched our kids on the playground, laughed when one of them created a light moment, and we were what we were as we sat there. We were daddies, hoping our kids were having fun in the afternoon heat. We struck up a conversation, mostly one which revolved around local sports or occupations. He then asked me a question I have tried avoiding over the years, but he innocently didn't know my situation. He laughed and asked if I was giving my wife an afternoon off. I explained my situation, and he apologized. He then explained his situation. His wife died of breast cancer in 2003. He is now left to raise a 10-year-old and 6-year-old on his own. They are both boys, and he told me that having sons is a blessing. He wouldn't have been able to properly raise a daughter. I smiled at that remark. The next few minutes were filled with the silence that usually occurs after explaining what happened to my wife and daughter. After a couple hours, the man rounded his boys up; thanked me for conversation, and he left. I wish I would have asked what his own battle with widowhood and single fatherhood felt like, but the topic never really came up in our conversation. I wish I would have at least offered future conversation. I wish I would have at least known his name. I thank him for the conversation, whoever and wherever he is tonight. I know I'm not alone, and that makes me feel better.

Mom would have turned 70 years old today. Dad, I know you are reading this, and I'm sorry that I cannot relieve your hurt; not only over losing a wife but also the mother of your children. Your marriage and committment to each other has been one of the greatest sources of inspiration in my life.

Kathy, Beth, and Karen; our traditions and values that we hold dear to our hearts; we know the truth. They came from her. I could not have asked for a greater set of sisters; although most of my childhood was spent feeling wrongly accused. We have turned out well, and we have two loving and caring parents to thank for that. Andrew, Josie, Jack, Olivia, Lily, Ryan, Walker, Rachel, Elijah, Brooks, and Chase; you have the gift of an amazing legacy your grandmother left. I hope we can raise you with as much dignity and grace as we ourselves were raised. Natalie, as you sit on grandma's lap each day, please give her a kiss from all of us who long for that touch again. I can't wait for the day when I will see you, Mama, and Mamaw again.

Mom, it has been a decade since we said good-bye. Please take care of my babies up there in Heaven, and watch over the rest of us down here on Earth. Happy 70th birthday. I love you.

Joe

Chase on shoulders

This is Chase's self-portrait (with help from Rachel) of the two of us out on the water of Long Island Sound after a recent trip to Connecticut. Chase told me that he is the "captain" in this picture because he is showing me where to "make the boat go." The kids and I had a great trip to CT this year, and I was also glad that Dad was able to join us out on the water. Lady Luck sailed as strong as ever!

When I was growing up, Mr. Mom was the last occupation on my mind. I wanted to be the starting pitcher on some future World Series winning Yankees team. They were my team. In our neighborhood, there were pretty much two teams. You either liked the Yankees, or you liked the Red Sox. I was blessed with a father who loved the Yankees, and they were my team. Therefore, it's not hard to imagine a boy from Connecticut wanting to play in the magical halls of Yankee Stadium.

As I grew up, my career goals changed. I began playing football as a youngster, but I became serious about the sport when I was an 8th grader. I developed a strong work ethic, and I rode the sport into college. In my junior year, I blew out my knee. My football glory days were over. Still, I had no desire to become a Mr. Mom.

A couple years prior to my career ending injury, I met the love of my life. She didn't care much for the danger of football, although she supported my dreams. Her name was Faith, a perfect name for the angel that God gave to me that day.

Faith and I married on May 11, 1990. We married in a small church ceremony, but I didn't really notice the ones in attendance that day. My eyes were fascinated with hers. I grew up with three older sisters, so I had been convinced from an early age that I did not want children. I learned quick that, to keep my girl, I had to give in a little.

Rachel was born on May 9, 1992. Faith's labor pains were matched only by my nausea that day, as I learned first-hand how amazing life is in its beginning. For the nine months leading up to the big day, I heard stories about how "connected" that feeling is when you see your child for the first time. Those stories are correct. Everyday, I thank God for the gift of a daughter. Rachel would be the only daughter we would have for nine years; because the boys kept coming.

Elijah was born on November 5, 1995. As soon as he came out of the womb, I naturally acted the way any father would act when his boy is born. I counted. Ten, ten, one; it's a boy! His smile lit up the nursery, and so did his cries. Having a boy connects me to my own childhood. It connects me to my father like nothing ever could in this life.

As the boy brigade continued, Brooks blessed the world on March 4, 1997. As I held him minutes after Faith gave birth, I noticed the look in his eyes. He was studying me. He looked straight into my faults, my fears, my weaknesses, and then he smiled (regardless of what others might think). My boy smiled at me.

Our last son, Chase, was born on October 14, 1999. As Faith was sleeping that night, I held him; alone. I poured my heart into this tiny miracle; just as I had done with his brothers and sister. Chase will begin kindergarten this fall. It doesn't seem possible. He's still my baby boy. I'm not ready for that next step.

After Chase was born, I thought we were finished with children. I had my "perfect" family, and I was content. Faith was not, and she held the final say in the baby department. Natalie was born on May 21, 2001. When she was born, time stopped for me. I had never experienced this next particular feeling in any of our other childrens' births. I knew that Natalie was going to change the world. I did not assume; I knew. Natalie was going to change this place. She came out with an agenda on her mind. Unfortunately, I never had a chance to hear it.

You might be wondering, at this point, why this site is titled, "Mr. Mom" when I was obviously married with children. On September 13, 2001, the rug was pulled from beneath my feet. We ran out of milk. I could not have predicted that running out of milk would have been so life-changing at the time.

I was upstairs giving our younger two boys a bath, when Faith yelled to me up the stairs. She told me she was running to the store for milk, and she was taking Natalie with her. About an hour later, I received a telephone call from a local police officer; who also attended our church. He told me there had been an accident, and he would be there to pick me up. I made arrangements with the children to stay at a neighbor's house, and a million different scenerios were flashing through my mind as I sat waiting for my ride.

As Doug and I were driving to the accident scene, I kept praying to God to not take my girls. I told Him He could have anything in this life; anything He wanted from me; if He only let my girls be ok. Unfortunately, I learned that night that God doesn't always answer prayers with an answer that suits you.

When we arrived at the scene, there were emergency vehicles gathered around like they were on a movie set. Then, I saw the scariest image of my life. Our automobile was almost unrecognizable. After an identification process, one of which I don't remember, I was told of the details surrounding the accident. A young man was driving home from spending the night drinking with his friend, and his car met our car head-on coming over a hill. Faith and Natalie were killed instantly, and the young man suffered only a broken arm. He did not even remember the accident. To this day, I still have nightmares of that scene. I can still see my daughter's car seat, smashed between the front two seats. I can still see the lack of skidmarks on the road, and that only makes it more difficult. They didn't even have time to flinch.

Shortly after their deaths, my mother-in-law came to live with us. She helped me out tremendously with the kids, and I owe an awful lot of our coping skills to her. She kept this family grounded. I learned, from her presence, how much I will miss growing old with Faith.

Prior to their deaths, I worked in stocks and bonds in outside employment. However, I quit my job in December of 2001 to be at home with my kids. They needed me, and I needed them. I opened up a tax service, which I still have today. Where I was once a workaholic, working in upwards of 60 hours a week; now I put my children first. I coach Little League, Pop Warner football, and I'm even a "squad father" on Rachel's cheerleading squad. The kids are now 13, 9, 8, and 5.They are growing like weeds, and they are the greatest blessings in this life. Although I have suffered the greatest loss, I have also gained. I have gained an understanding and appreciation for Faith like I never had on this Earth. I owe everything to that little Tennessee girl, and I only hope that I am making her proud.