KITE MEMORIES

Isn't it amazing how so many little things remind us of our children when they were little, and for those of us whose children have "gone too soon" those memories can be so very bittersweet.  They can bring a smile one moment and trigger an avalance of tears the next...  For me "kites" can do that - remembering my boys when they were little and how much they love to fly kites.  This is something that Dan and I love doing now with our grandchildren, at my favorite spot in Newport, RI - on the edge of the ocean, but now even with all their smiles & giggles and running about, those kites also remind me of this poem and our wish that our children who are gone too soon, might also be "floating freely - peacefully - above"...   Thank you Marcia for sharing this with us... Cherie Houston

KITE MEMORIES
~ by Marcia Alig, TCF/NJ

Brushed golden by the sun

A kite flies free above greening meadow,

Drifting lazily until it turns to catch the eddy of

A flock of trumpeting geese homeward bound.

Fragrance of early Spring flowers

Makes me giddy with the thought

That You too fly unfettered to drift or chase dreams,

Dreams beyond imagination,

Unrestrained by life or expectations.

Now I cherish each kite that rises to the wind

 Because it fills me with memories,

Memories of your gifts of love. 

BUT….only sometimes…..

I wonder whether you remember, too.  

April Showers

~ Written by Beverly Mangum, TCF, Tri-County WV
And the rains came…they ceased, and they came again. The little memory I have of the time just after our son was killed is mostly that I thought I would never stop crying. There was no control and that would frustrate me, and I’d cry that much harder. My eyes were so swollen I had to ice them to see, and the crying, coupled with the inability to eat, dehydrated my body.

I could tell my crying only upset those around me, so I learned to cry when I was alone. Then I was able to take deep breaths and control some of the tears only to get a headache with my heartache. Gradually the crying eased up. It’s been a few months since I’ve had a really hard sit-down-and-sob crying spell. We try so hard to be strong and pent the emotions up, and then ‘wham-o’, the big one strikes. It is exhausting, but I think the release can be good.

At last month’s meeting we had a new Mother – the word “fresh” kept coming up as we each tried to console her. It was “fresh” for her – her son was killed the month prior. Her presence and emotions brought back for each of us those first months. The anger, the denial, the unanswered questions, the tears – none of us would want to relive those days again, but we all did with her at that meeting. No one can tell you that you’ll be just wonderful again, but you will slowly get better. 

The fact that this “fresh” Mother and the others who continue to come to the meetings was a sign of strength. It takes a strong brave soul to admit that she could use some HELP. The person that reaches out for comfort is the one that will mend. We are not crazy, we have not done anything wrong, and we are not being punished. 

The death of a child – no matter what age, no matter what cause – is the hardest thing to happen to a parent, and to seek compassion and support is the healthiest thing we can do for ourselves. We have been there, we know what you feel, and we understand, and we do care – that’s why we’re called The Compassionate Friends!

One of the subjects we discussed was the things that pop up out of the blue that bring on an emotional reaction. A son, a daughter, a situation, a similar looking person or expression, a TV show, a word – it’s like a bomb dropped on your head! It hits hard – when you least expect it – and it hurts. Even when the death of a parent, relative, friend or someone we don’t even know occurs – it all comes back again. 

As one Mother so well said – you take each moment as you go along and to the best that you can. There are days I feel I’ve gained or done nothing, and there are days I actually make some headway. I may not always do as much as I did before, but when I have a good day, I try to make the most of it. I don’t know how much earthly time I have left, but I’m not going to let it go to waste. 

It’s not how much time we have left, but the quality of the time given to us. No one will make it for us, we must do that on our own.

A Bereaved Parent’s SPRING

~ By Terre Belt, BP/USA , Anne Arundel County Chapter

Regardless of the calendar or the meteorologists, April marks the beginning of spring for many of us. The world outside begins to awaken from its winter slumber and the sights and sounds and smells of spring abound, from the flowers peeking out of the ground to the birds chirping merrily outside our windows to the smell of the blooming trees as we venture out for our first walk of the season.

This is what spring is all about unless, of course, you are a “newly” bereaved parent and then you might just be oblivious to it all. In fact, you may even resent the reappearance of spring and its symbolic rebirth. The message to you from an “old timer” on this grief journey is to be easy on yourself…it won’t always be this hard and just fell whatever you feel. Don’t let anyone tell you how you “should” feel this spring (or next.)

Like all seasons, spring will have its share of emotional triggers for the newly bereaved – graduations, Mother’s Day, planning for summer vacations, favorite flowers and just waking up. But just as April showers bring May flowers….the tears of grief will ultimately sow the seeds of hope and someday you too will see the beauty of spring again.

For those of us who have been on our grief journey for awhile, not only do we recognize (and welcome) the beauty of spring again, but we also see our children in everything that is beautiful in spring. It is our way of carrying them with us through spring and through all of the seasons.

So, as spring unfolds, here’s wishing each of you peace and whatever joy you are able to find.

"Why does God allow innocent children to die?"

~ by Cherie Houston, Journey from Mourning to Joy, LHC, AZ

I’m certainly not a theologian or philosopher or grief counselor; I am simply a mom, who after the deaths of 3 children, still ask this question…

I remember watching an interview with Bill Cosby when he was asked about the death of his 27 year old son Ennis, who was shot to death in Los Angeles January 16, 1997. He said that he is often asked what and how hi friends and family had done to help comfort him and what if any, words had helped..  "No words can help" he often says, but one comment he seems to vividly remember, was a comment that most of us have heard since our children have died.. You know the one when we are told that “what has happened to us was God's will”. Bill Cosby said he always answers this comment with “I choose not to consider God carrying out his will with a bullet to my son's head."

I think we all agree with his response, that there is no way that it is "God's Will" to watch our children or us suffer….

When a child dies, whether during a pregnancy, shortly after birth, when they are very young or into adulthood ~ the death of a child isn’t something that God does to punish us, to watch us or them suffer, or an action that God caused or was too busy to help with...

When our children first die, I do agree that the most natural response for almost every parent is WHY??? Why did God let this happen? Why did God make this happen? Why didn’t God step in and stop this from happening?

Personally, after the deaths of three children, I have learned to believe that God didn’t make or let this happen to any of my children, but I believe with all my heart that he was there and welcomed them home..

I’m not saying I didn’t blame God – or get angry at God – and there are still days when I have to admit I still get angry and I’m never quite sure who's going to be the receiver of that anger(including God and my poor husband Dan), because there are still days (31 months since Bobby's death and more than 40 years since my daughers died) that I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that my two beautiful little girls who died when they were infants in the early 1970's and now my 36 year old son Bobby who died in September 2009, are truly gone from this earth...

But I do hope, knowing that death – like birth – is a fact of life, that God – whatever God or heavenly spirit we each believe in, is and will always be there to help me and each of us deal with what life brings…

We all know, that there is nothing that anyone can say to us when we are coping with the death of our children that will help… We simply wish people would understand that it isn’t what they do, or what they say that’s important - it's their patience with us that helps..

When we lose our children, like it or not, we are numb, we are incapacitated and we are angry… Although these emotions fade, they are with us forever.. The best thing others can do for us, is simply be there – let us talk about our children, let us ask our Why's? Don't ask us if we are "over it yet" - Understand that we will ask Why? for as long as need to ~ Eventually – the strength of those emotions will fade – but know that they never go away entirely, we need to feel them..

I pray that our family and friends understand this as best they can and with their help, and the help of God, we can face the future, with peace, without our children……..

SPRING HAS COME !!

~ By Betty R. Ewart, BP/Bereaved Parents

“Spring has come, The grass has riz, I wonder where the flowers is?”

For some reason that poem, bad grammar and all is going through my head over and over this year. Our Ruthie died on Easter and spring came and I guess the grass and the flowers “riz” that year; but I don’t remember it! This year we have had so much bad weather and cold that it seems that spring will never come. 


Somehow we expect that, when the weather gets sunny and warm again, and the growth comes back, we will be all well again. Somehow, the fact that what died in the fall and winter and is now showing new life and coming back is not the answer. Then we think, let’s have our children come back now and we can get back to “normal.”


It’s hard to look at spring those first years after the death of our child and not have these thoughts. However, if we have a belief and faith in the resurrection, we may one day come to realize that all life is a cycle and there is and will be a resurgence of life at times when it may seem the dreariest.


So, when the grass and flowers begin to come back and when those of us who like to garden begin to plant and clear the garden, we can begin to have hope that we will see our children again some day.


Another lesson spring brings to us is that those flowers, when they come back, are not the same flowers. They have a new life and a new look. We also know that this is true of us. We are not the same people we were before our child died. We “come back” into life a changed person – hopefully a person changed for the better.

So, the grass, flowers and butterflies will soon be back and maybe we can begin to clear the cobwebs and concerns in our lives and become a new spring creation too. It won’t happen overnight and maybe not this year, but it will happen!

Love you from Heaven

LOVE YOU FROM HEAVEN

~ Author Unknown

As I sit in heaven

And watch you everyday

I try to let you know with signs

I never went away

I hear you when you’re laughing

And watch you as you sleep

I even place my arms around you

To calm you as you weep

I see you wish the days away

Begging to have me home

So I try to send you signs

So you know you are not alone

Don’t feel guilty that you have

Life that was denied to me

Heaven is truly beautiful

Just you wait and see

So live your life, laugh again

Enjoy yourself, be free

Then I know with every breath you take

You’ll be taking one for me…

Love you from heaven XOXO

A Different Easter

From our family to yours, may you find peace and joy this easter season and I truly hope that a spark of hope will awaken in each of us, reminding us that there is life eternal and that our children will be there to welcome us when it's our time...Cherie Houston

A DIFFERENT EASTER ~ by Chris Gilbert, TCF, Tampa, Florida

Easter bunnies, brand new clothes, egg hunts, candy and baskets, the start of Spring. How exciting is this time of year? A new beginning, everything so fresh, so invigorating! But, unfortunately only painful and sorrowful memories are here for those of us who are bereaved parents and grandparents.
Gone is the laughter, the excitement in a special child’s eyes, the feeling of a whole new aspect in life. Spring is here and the world appears ready to bloom again with new life, new hope, and new wonders.
How can we view life in this way when part of ourselves is now gone, forever lost to us? How can our lives continue to go on when one of us is missing, no longer able to share this “newness” of life? It seems so unfair! And yet, out of our “darkness” comes the first signs of hope – a “bud” of survival, a moment of laughter, a memory of a happier time.
The Easter season usually represents rebirth; let this season be the “birth” of your finding your way back to life again, of finding the ability to heal, and of being able to resolve your grief so that hope and comfort are once again in your life. 

Let this time of the year show you that you CAN make it through this deepest, most difficult, and sorrowful time of your lives.  And your angel child will be there to help you each step of the way.

Please, Yes, Do ask me about my child who just died (Part 2 of 2)

Part 2 of 2 - Continued from Sunday, April 1st, 2012

By Katie Allison Granju – Knoxville, TN

And now I am one of THOSE parents, and I find that I am in almost daily contact with people who are well aware that Henry died at the beginning of the summer, but who likely just don’t know what to say to me, just as I used to not know what I should say when faced with the parent of a dead child. How do I know that people are unsure what they could or should say to me regarding Henry?

Well, I base this observation on the fact that about 90% of the time, people I see socially or happen to run into or whatever simply don’t address the fact that Henry just died at all. The subject never comes up in any way, shape or form. They don’t ask me how I am doing. They don’t bring up his name. They don’t invite discussion of my grief or loss in any way. And I have to tell you, that feels really weird and painful to me. If I spend time with a friend or acquaintance who is aware of Henry’s death and that person doesn’t touch on it in any way, or if they act like everything is all hunky-dory-normal with me, it feels completely bizarre. It’s like there’s a big, dead elephant in the room that nobody dares touch.

I totally understand that people are afraid of hurting or upsetting me if they mention anything related to Henry’s death, and I in no way want to make anyone feel bad for NOT mentioning him (I’ve been there with being unsure of the protocol when dealing with a grieving parent, remember?). But I am here to tell you that only a few months past my child’s death, I absolutely want and need to still be asked on a fairly regular basis how I am doing and how the other kids are doing.

I welcome questions about how the criminal investigation is coming along because that makes me feel like people still care whether anyone is held accountable under the law for what happened to my child. If we both know you read a sensational and disturbing story about my son on yesterday’s front page of the local newspaper, please go ahead and bring it up. That’s far better than us both wondering what the other one thinks about what was written in the story and in the online comments appearing below it.

In other words, when you run into me at the grocery store or go out to lunch with me or drop by our house, please do say Henry’s name out loud. Invite me to say it too by asking me about him; I welcome the opportunity. Basically, what I am saying is that I would like it very much if people would actively acknowledge in whatever way they are comfortable that I am still in the fairly acute phase of parental grief. Please don’t act like what just happened didn’t happen. That hurts.

I am different. I am changed. I am in pain. It’s okay to acknowledge that. Acknowledgement won’t make me feel worse; it makes me feel better. And don’t worry; if you are thoughtful enough to bring the subject up, Henry’s death doesn’t have to be the only thing we discuss when we see one another… or even the primary thing we discuss. But just hearing a genuine expression of concern with the words, “how are you?” from someone who then takes the time to actually listen to my answer without flinching or turning away makes me feel much more whole and sane. When people proactively ask me how things are since my child died, it helps me to feel like Henry didn’t just vanish without a trace.

So yes, please do ask. It’s totally okay to mention the fact that my teenage son died not so very long ago. In fact, it’s more than okay. If you care about me, I still need you to ask.

Again, thank you to Pauline Emmett in Sneedville, TN for sending me this wonderful article to share, which Pauline received last fall, shortly after her own little girl Cheyenne died as a result of a traffic accident… And yes Pauline, in those first few months and years after the death of our child, you are so right - the following is so well written and very reflective of the way in which so many of us feel and can’t quite express. Oh how we want to be asked our child who has died, we want and need to hear their name and know that they and we are not forgotten….…

Please, Yes, Do ask me about my child who just died (Part 1 of 2)

Thank you Pauline Emmett in Sneedville, TN for sending me the following to share..  She said it was sent to her last fall, shortly after her own little girl Cheyenne died as a result of a traffic accident…  And yes Pauline, in those first few months and years after the death of our child, you are so right - the following is so well written and very reflective of the way in which so many of us feel and can’t quite express.  Oh how we want to be asked our child who has died, we want and need to hear their name and know that they and we are not forgotten….…  

PLEASE, YES, DO ASK ME ABOUT MY CHILD WHO JUST DIED (Part 1 of 2)

By Katie Allison Granju – Knoxville, TN

You know how if you are a parent, you sometimes secretly allow yourself to “go there?” How you sometimes let your mind truly imagine – just for a heartstopping moment – how it would be if your child died? Or maybe you’ve had a terrible nightmare once or twice in which your child was lost to you forever in some horribly tragic and permanent way. You know that dreadful feeling? I used to have those “what if” moments and those occasional bad dreams just like all of you do, times when I tried to even begin to imagine the pain of one of my children dying in a car accident or from cancer or at the hands of someone evil and cruel. But then I’d shake my head and turn on the radio or roll over or do whatever it took to drive the dark vision and the momentary sick feeling of dread from my consciousness.

Then it actually happened to me; my worst nightmare, your worst nightmare – EVERYONE ON THE PLANET’S WORST NIGHTMARE actually happened. The most primal human fear became real for me, like some terrible horror movie leaping off the big screen and into my lap. My beloved, gorgeous, talented firstborn baby died after suffering terribly in two hospitals for five long weeks. He died a painful, cruel death, and in the last hours of his life, his father and I held him in our arms and tried to be brave for him as we assured him that he could go on ahead to the next place, and that we would be along to join him later.

But I wasn’t really brave at all. Inside I was screaming and wailing, and every fiber of my being longed to run out of the room and go find the nurse or doctor who would turn the machines back on.

So he died. And he’s gone. It’s been less than four months. Since May 31 (2010), I have done my level best to continue functioning on a day to day basis – for my other four children, for my husband, on the job, in the community. After a few weeks of complete shutdown following Henry’s death, I began to re-emerge back into the world because I knew I had to. I’m actually pretty proud of how well I’ve managed to hold it together and move forward. I hope I am setting a good example for Henry’s younger sisters and brother, who will undoubtedly suffer losses as adults themselves (although I pray to God that none of them ever experience the loss of a child).

Because I am trying to move forward and be strong, I think that on the surface, I must look relatively “normal” to other people. I go to work. I laugh. I sing along with the radio. I get haircuts. I sit in the bleachers at J and E’s games. I’ve even begun easing back into the occasional public social occasion, like lunches with coworkers and friends. This Sunday, I want to try returning to church (haven’t been able to go since Henry died).

But no matter how normal I look on the outside, the fact is that I just lost my child. He died. In my arms. As his brilliant mind swelled and swelled and swelled until it could expand no more. He opened his eyes once near the end, looking absolutely terror stricken, and then he was gone.

This is my reality. This is what I walk around thinking about every day. Even when I’m able to turn off the specific memories of what happened, there is a leaden hurt that lives in my chest all of the time. I hope and assume that one day, the pain won’t be quite so acute, but after all, it hasn’t been that long, so it’s normal, I think, that I am still hurting this much.

I have never known exactly what to say to someone after their loved one dies. It’s hard to know what to say, and every grief stricken person is different in what they want to hear from others. I know that I found it particularly difficult to know what to say when two people exceptionally dear to me lost their toddler son in an accident in 2005, and then later, in 2008 when my friend and coworker lost his gorgeous 6 year old daughter to cancer . Because losing one of my own children was so terrifying to me, I couldn’t figure out what to say to these parents who had had the Worst Thing Ever actually come to pass.

Part 2 of 2 continued on Thursday, April 5, 2012