James Valentine Peake

Articles About James Valentine Peake

An Unexpected Dedication

February 12, 2010

Robert Peake reads a poem next to "Elliot" the bear

Photo by Randy Graham

I broke away from work to attend the dedication ceremony for my neighbor Mark Benkert’s new memorial sculpture to the Aliso Street Bear (a.k.a “Elliot”). In introducing me to read the poem I wrote dedicated to the bear, Mark also mentioned something remarkable about the process of sculpting the memorial.

For both Mark and I, the loss of the bear resonated deeply with the loss of our sons. As Mark was inscribing the letters “J” and “B”, the initials of his son, Jonah Benkert, the “B” also read much like a “P”–and he mentioned that “J.P.” reminded him of our own son, James Peake. Needless to say that by the time I took the microphone, I was nearly unable to speak.

Yet I managed to read my poem, honoring the bear, our sons, our community. The rest of the dedication meant a lot to me–from written poems and prose pieces, to impromptu verbal tributes, a song, and drumming. It was also a moment of catharsis for our community, coming together once more to honor all that the bear brought to us.

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By Robert Peake | Posted in Community, Grief Recovery, Life, Poetry, Readings | Also tagged Aliso Street Bear, Jonah Benkert, Ojai | Comments (3)

The Fourth Year

January 24, 2010

Our son, James, was born four years ago today. His brief life changed mine inexplicably. Since that time, I completed a Doctorate in Spiritual Science, and an MFA in writing poetry, since spiritual practice and poetic expression are two oars by which I navigate the underground waters of grief.

And looking back on the first, second, and third anniversary, I see a clear trajectory toward healing, and toward integrating this profound experience into my life–not as a tragedy–but as a source of strength. I recently found the courage to hold a baby in my arms again, and felt, in that moment, only joy. I have also discovered more of the blessings, strange as it sounds, of the complicated nature of grief.

This experience reaffirmed a few things for me: that art can make life meaningful, that compassion is always the most appropriate response, and that my wife is still the bravest woman I have ever met. Today, I say, once again: godspeed, my son. And thank you.

By Robert Peake | Posted in Fatherhood, Grief Recovery, Life | Comments (7)

Generativity and Letting Go

August 11, 2009

“We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”

-Joseph Campbell

Recently, we began the process of giving away baby items bought or given to us for our son, James. Since he never came home from the hospital, they remain unused. Several months ago, we moved them out of the shed, into a closet at my parents’ house. But the time has come for another step. We are beginning to pass these items on to friends and family who are becoming parents. We have been unable to have another child, and are not in a position to adopt. And so, in the same gesture of giving that celebrates the new parenthood of people we care about, we also acknowledge it is unlikely that we will raise a child of our own. Neither of us ever thought it would be this way.

Since our young neighbors moved in across the street with their infant and toddler, I have been unable bring myself to exchange more than a passing smile or wave on this otherwise friendly block in our quaint small town. More than two lanes of quiet asphalt stretch between us. As much as I realize, rationally, that I sometimes idealize the hard work of child-rearing, it is tempting still to wish for a different life. And yet, over the past three years, I have had the opportunity to face down some of the deepest questions about my life, and how I must make meaning in it anew.

Perhaps a branch of my family tree will end with my name on it. But I have not lost the chance to influence my world for the better. Sharing my love of poetry is one way. As I slowly wake from the long dream of grieving, I am sure I will find others. For now, we are taking small steps toward the next crossroads–one bag of diapers, one box of clothes, one bassinet at a time.

By Robert Peake | Posted in Fatherhood, Grief Recovery, Life | Also tagged Generativity, Hope | Comments (20)

The Third Year

January 25, 2009

Yesterday, had he lived, our son James would have been three years old. Looking back on the first and second anniversary, it is clear we have come a long way. Last night we saw “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” a film based on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short story wherein a man is born old and grows younger, ending up as an infant who dies in his true love’s arms. Even a year ago, I might have had to walk out after the doctor’s (incorrect) prognosis, early on in the film, that the old-man-baby would not live long. Instead, I sat through it, and am glad I did. It is a compelling (if stylized) look at the transitory nature of life and love.

On one of our bookshelves, I have lit a candle next to a picture of James. Though he never opened his eyes, our baby was beautiful. Yesterday afternoon, I went in for new head shots to post to the company website. As the makeup lady dabbed my lips with flesh-toned gel, I thought back to my goth days in San Francisco, when I would trace my lips with black lipstick before a night out on the town. Then, as I felt her moving along the peaks of my lipline, I thought of James’s lips–a cupid-bow-shaped miniature of my wife’s own lips. Moments later, I was smiling into the flashbulb.

My inner life is my real life. In it, I carry the memory of my son. Over time, he has gotten lighter, as I have come to embrace greater hope, and to acknowledge the blessings he brought. Were it not for James, I might not have started writing poetry again in earnest, let alone completed an MFA. I would not know what I know now about fatherhood, the depth of support that can come from friends and family, or the strength of our marriage to endure. Though I have come a long way in recovering from grief, it still pricks me like the thorn Antonio Machado described in his own poetic heart–influencing all that I experience and express, and reminding me, poignantly, of that heart.

Godspeed, James. Thank you.

By Robert Peake | Posted in Fatherhood, Grief Recovery | Comments (19)

The Second Year

January 24, 2008

If he had lived, our son would be two years old today.

Several close friends have had children in the past year. I have been too afraid of breaking down in front of the parents to accept invitations to meet them. Just the other day, however, we were at a restaurant and some friends came in with their nine-month-old twins. I decided I was feeling strong enough to finally meet them.

Before approaching them, I washed my hands in the bathroom, since I have been fighting off a cold. I pumped soap from the dispenser, and ran my hands under the tap. Absentmindedly, I began lathering up my wrists and rubbing furiously. I was back in the hospital, scrubbing up at the sink inside the entrance to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Back then, I washed my hands vigorously, thoroughly, twice in a row–up to the elbows and underneath each fingernail. I shuttled over colostrum and came back with empty bottles, stole away in the night while Val was sleeping off the anesthetic, aware each visit could be the last. Every time, I scrubbed down furiously, as though some miracle of cleanliness could restore the electricity to our son’s brain.

It has not been an easy two years. But James’s death caused me to reevaluate what matters. I rediscovered the young idealist, who left the engineering department at Berkeley during the height of the dot-com era to study poetry instead. I recommitted to my writing, and signed up for an MFA. With such loss has come not only grief, but great compassion. I want to write about what makes us human, because never has it impressed upon me more that this is precious in its entirety–from my flashback in the bathroom to the radiant abandon with which infants squirm in their highchairs. There is so much to life. Sometimes it overwhelms.

I say once again: Godspeed, little James. There is so much more to love than could ever be comprehended.

By Robert Peake | Posted in Fatherhood, Grief Recovery, Life | Comments (13)

Thank You, James

January 24, 2007

It has been one year since the birth of our son, and in three days’ time, it will be the first anniversary of his passing. My mother raised me to always write thank-you notes for gifts I received. His was one of the greatest so far in my short life.

Foremost, he helped me to rearrange my priorities into something far more human. I have experienced, although briefly, the selfless love of fatherhood. And I know loss. The hustle and buzz of technology, the pleasures of the mind alone–no longer hold so much sway. More and more humanity seems like a single organism to me. More and more, I feel compassion, poignancy–how much everything matters that is done with love.

I came back to poetry after a four year hiatus, and upped the ante by enrolling in an MFA program. It hasn’t been anything like an easy year–even now as I’m writing this, I’m quite sick and somewhat miserable. Yet the effect of such profound love and loss this year is something I would not trade. I can’t be sure I’ll keep feeling this way in the coming three days, or even in the coming years. It’s been pretty rocky at times so far. But when I get down to the heart of this experience, strange as it sounds, I am grateful.

Thank you, James. And Godspeed.

By Robert Peake | Posted in Fatherhood, Grief Recovery, Life | Comments (4)