Left Behind

Never in my 62 years on this planet have I ever met and truly connected with 20 new brothers the way I did at my first TAPS Men’s Retreat at Camp Operation BBQ Relief (OBR) at Lake of the Ozarks. That miracle happened in the days and nights we spent together in late July. I think every man there used the word “connection” multiple times in our conversations. That is just what we did. We connected with each other.

Prior to my arrival, I had expectations for myself that I hoped I would be able to express and allow to come to fruition. I also arrived with some fear and anxiety related to the unknown. That fear sensation diminished almost immediately when I arrived at the Kansas City airport and met up with my old mentor, Jon Ganues. We sat and talked in the USO for a few hours while waiting for the other attendees to arrive. 

I held onto the expectations for the event, though, which traced back to the day I had a very heated conversation with God in my Suburban while on my way to visit my son, Sammy, for the first time since his memorial service at Western Reserve National Cemetery. I was literally screaming at God, “Why? How could You not answer all of my prayers for healing Sammy — so many prayers of making him healthy and whole, giving him a good life?” God put on my heart in that moment that He, indeed, did answer every one of those prayers. He did it His way, not mine. Sammy is whole again. He is healed; he is in paradise now. 

In that very moment, I lost my anger toward God, but the anger associated with the loss of my son still found ways to manifest itself toward others and in life in general. My wife Suzie took the brunt of that anger over the last three and a half years. And not only anger — our relationship had also taken a hit by my inability to be present when we were together. Suzie deserves so much more from me. She is my rock.

So there I was at camp, ready to work on myself and hoping this retreat would seed the ground for growth. I believe it was our group chat around the fire pit that first evening when Jon Ganues asked a profound question, “What do you want to leave behind here at camp, and what do you want to take home?” 

That question hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew that I wanted desperately to leave my anger and lack of presence behind, and I wanted to take home a husband who could once again feel joy and really be present. 

As it turned out, expressing my expectations that first evening sparked several conversations over the next few days. There were a number of men there whose spouses or significant others were not the mothers of their sons. (Suzie is not Sammy's mother; she met him just two years before he enlisted.) The other men at camp and I found healing andunderstanding in this common thread. We learned things from each other’s situations. For me, it always felt like Suzie’s grief was different than mine, but what I came to understand through the conversations at camp was that my Suzie was grieving for me — yes, of course, she was grieving for Sammy too — but she was grieving for me! 

These conversations also made me think about Sammy’s sister, Taylor. She no longer got everything from me that she was used to before losing Sammy. I am always honoring her brother and always celebrating his life. I came to realize that I was, in a way, not giving her the same attention that she deserved. When I got home from the retreat, we spoke openly about this. Of course, Taylor told me that she has always felt loved and supported throughout our loss. But I know we both appreciated that talk and came away from it even closer to each other. 

While sitting at the airport on my way home from Camp OBR, I texted Suzie and asked her to write down the top two or three things that she needed the most from me at this time — I let her know that this was very important to me. She did, and I am currently working on those things (she actually gave me four). 

I left much of my anger behind at Camp OBR, am far more present in Suzie’s company, and ultimately came home a better husband and father. I have never been as motivated to do the hard work of grief as I am today. Had I not been invited to spend this time with my TAPS Family at the Men’s Retreat, it may have taken years for me to make these realizations. It’s easy to see why I am so filled with gratitude — I love my TAPS Family.

Scott McCutcheon is the surviving father of SPC Samuel Christopher McCutcheon, U.S. Army.

Photos: TAPS Archives