Surviving the death of your child...

Thank you to Jeanette Moss from Bellingham, WA for sharing this with us - it was sent to her by her sister in law shortly after Jeanette's 31 year old son Michael's unexpected death in 2010 and like many of us who find comfort in certain articles, feels this one helped her tremendously to know she "wasn't crazy" and she would survive her unimaginable loss.  Cherie H.

The Death of Your Child: How Does a Parent Survive? Written by Ron Zurko in July 2009

"I have a piece of my soul missing and will until the day I die. Parents are not suppose to out live their children and there is nothing on this earth to prepare you for the emotions when you do. My son has been dead for four years now, and I am not sure if time has made it easier to cope, or if I have been desensitized to the feelings from the years that have gone by. Either way time has made life easier to live and I am thankful for that.

The first few weeks after losing my son are some what of a blur. The funeral and visits from friends and family are not something I remember clearly. I was in a fog, or so over come from grief that I might have been in an undiagnosed state of shock. I do remember wanting to stay in bed constantly and I would only get up after major coaxing from my family and friends. At the time I had wished that they would all go away, but looking back now, I realize that without their support I do not know where I would have been today.

There is no one word that can accurately describe the sadness I felt constantly for the first month. I could not watch television with out feeling angry about people laughing or smiling as they carried out their sitcom. How could life go on after something so horrific and dreadful happening. I remember feeling anger at friends when they would make small talk about their daily goings on. It was not their fault, everyone was doing their best to bring me back from the endless black hole of grief that had over come me. There was no distraction or respite from the feeling of dread that was in every bone and pore of my body. It was steady and although sleep took me away from it for a short time, upon wakening it flooded back into my head so quickly it made me nauseous.

The guilt of being on this earth with my child gone was overwhelming. The constant state of mental pain had me searching my soul for something to make it go away. I just knew that this was the end of my life as I once knew it . I thought I would never experience happiness again and just live in this hollow and painful state. I was wrong, You can learn to live with the emptiness and void that is present after losing a child.

A month had gone by since the death of my son and I realized that the pain I was feeling would subside for short periods. By this time I had started back to my daily house hold routine, I wasn't ready to return to work yet. If I made a graph of my feelings, it would look like peaks and valleys. Sometime the pain and dread were right there and it surrounded me, almost like the first day that this happened. Other times it felt like it was further away and I could breath easier and see clearly. A friend of mine compared the ups and downs to a spiral. It comes in quickly and goes out quickly. I was spending less and less time in bed and doing little things that gave me pleasure, like baking or gardening.

My friends and family were very present in my life during this time. If they did not drop in for a visit, they would call every day. This was helpful to a point. the distraction was very welcome but I found it awkward that everyone was talking to me about everything except my son who had died. It was so apparent that their words were being chosen very carefully through all of our conversations. If I mentioned my son, a sad look would appear on their face and they would quickly change the subject. I know it was done in my best interest by trying to keep me from experiencing the painful feelings all over again, but I felt hurt by these gestures.

I was very sad that my son had died, but I would not feel better by forgetting him. He lived and was loved and for twenty five years he was in my life. I needed to talk about him to feel the warmth in my heart by remembering the wonderful life we had together. Six weeks had gone by and I decided to return to work. My co-workers were a wonderful group who had called me often while I was at home. The hardest part returning to work was the first greeting from everyone you came upon. "I am so sorry", was repeated frequently throughout that day . The first week back at work, I again experienced the same phenomenon from them as I did from my family and friends. Everyone went out of their way, blatantly so, as to not mention my son.

I needed to talk about about my son and the good things in life that he shared with me. By doing this I was able to change my sadness into a warmer and happier feeling. As time went on I was able to share this fact with the people closest to me and soon their conversations became less and less guarded. I cried often through out the days and weeks that followed , which is normal and probably a healthy way to deal with overwhelming pain. I let myself experience the daily grief, but I found by searching for wonderful memories, such as my son at the beach fishing, I would start to feel better.

Two months after his death I started to function close to normal. I have learned to live with the loss of my son by carrying his memories close to my heart. I talk to him at times, and tell him I love him and miss him terribly. I do this for me. I feel a connection to his soul and I know of no other way to communicate. I am sure he is in a much better place than we could ever hope to find here, on this earth. I also know that I will be with him again someday. No matter where or what that might be. For those of you who think it is nothing, then I will be in nothing along side of him. But for the majority of you who know that there is something, you know that we will all be there together someday. This brings me comfort.

Death is a part of life. None of us will ever escape it's fate. The hole that is torn from your soul after the death of your child will always remain. Fill it the best you can with all the warm memories that you have. 

Carry them with you and embrace them, for they are something you will never lose. Love cannot be put to death and that is something that will always remain between you and your child. It is like a line connecting your souls until you meet again. And you will."

Forgive me, My Daughter......

FORGIVE ME, MY DAUGHTER

(Especially for Grandparents)

 ~ SIDS Survival Guide

I want you to be the little girl, who tore her many-layered petticoats on the parallel bars or in school and once even  chipped a tooth.

I want you, too, to be the child with bloody knees who had matching holes in her new leotards.

Or maybe the one who fell from a swing and needed a half dozen stitches beneath her eye.

Oh, I could hold you then there was magic in my kisses that stemmed the pain and a doctor nearby for more tangible aid.

But what do I do now, now that you are a woman and your sorrows are commensurate with your age?

I stand immobile as your wan face leans over the broken turf where your infant son, your only child, will soon be interred.

I clench my fists, knowing there is no solace any longer in my arms for agony of this magnitude.

You are deaf, too, to my murmurings; you hear only the echoes of his laughter and his cries.

Of course, I am here when you need me.  But I can only pretend I am a strong and wise grandmother, when in truth, forgive me, my daughter, I remain a mother, heart-broken twice.

Why Clichés Drive Us Crazy

Why Clichés Drive Us Crazy
~ by Erin Linn

Erin Linn is well known to members of the TCF community. Her first book, CHILDREN ARE NOT PAPER DOLLS, was written after the death of her six-year old son, Michael. Her growing interest in the bereavement of children resulted in the publication of her second book, I KNOW JUST HOW YOU FEEL, which addresses the topic of clichés and what people can say to a bereaved person.

In 1974 my six-year-old son Michael was hit by a car and died instantly. Before this tragic accident, I had no idea it was possible to hurt with such intensity. When others would speak of their losses, I really thought I understood. I would say things like "Time will heal" or "I know just how you feel." Then I would retreat into my own little world of security and thank God under my breath that it wasn’t me. I did hurt for these people, but it was so hard to relate to a level of pain that I, myself, had never experienced . . . .until Michael died.

Throughout our lives most of us spend some time being comforted or being in the comforter, being consoled or being the consoler. Both roles are painfully difficult and, at time, can be overwhelming. It is human nature to want to reach out and help those who are in pain. When we know of someone who is grieving, we offer words that we hope will both soothe and comfort. Unfortunately, our soothing words may be the most feared of all verbal weapons -- the cliché. By its very definition, a cliché -- a trite and commonplace expression -- is misused, misunderstood, or overworked.

How to approach the bereaved person is something that people have agonized over since the beginning of time. How often have we said or heard someone say, "What can I say to them?" How often has the bereaved person asked, "Why did they say that to me?"

Clichés are a manifestation of our innate inability to deal with a grieving person, and unfortunately, clichés are inevitable. If we analyze the problems with clichés, then, hopefully, we can learn how to defend ourselves against them. First of all, many clichés tend to focus on the future and do not deal with the real problem – the actual pain of the bereaved person at that very moment; For example, sayings such as "You’re young and you will be able to make a new life for yourself" or "There is no sense dwelling on the past" tend to discount the immediate pain of the bereaved person at a time when the future seems impossible to comprehend. When your child has died, you will feel stuck in "yesterday," and even getting through the existing day will seem to be a monumental task. "Tomorrow" is out of the question, and the future can seem light-years away.

Secondly, clichés too often express how the consoler thinks the bereaved person "should" feel, and usually this is in direct contradiction to how the bereaved person really feels. "You should be over this by now" is possibly one of the most offensive and destructive of all clichés, because it is usually said long before the full effect of the loss has even begun to sink in, and it causes bereaved people to think that there must be something terribly wrong with them if they are still grieving. It is a cruel quirk of fate that most grieving people are just beginning to realize the depth of their despair at the time when those around them presume that they are almost healed.

Another problem with clichés are that they try to give profound answers and easy solutions to overwhelming problems. How often have we heard it said, "Only the good die young." If this is true, then shouldn’t we all pray for death at birth? If it is true that "God never gives us more than we can handle," then why do people commit suicide or attempt to obliterate reality through drug abuse? "He is happy now for he is with God" could cause a severe knee-jerk reaction such as "Wasn’t he happy with me?"

Also, many clichés are true if taken at face value but are too difficult for the bereaved person to believe in the midst of his grief. "Time will heal" sounds so easy and it is usually true, but in the beginning it is hard for any bereaved person to believe that the unbearable pain will ever stop. "If you look around, you can always find someone who is worse off than yourself" is certainly true, but who wants to feast on the misfortune of others?

Last but not least, clichés can place expectations on a bereaved person that are impossible to meet. "You’ve got to get hold of yourself" sounds like good, sound advice but is obviously said by those who have never lost a child and have never experienced despair. William Shakespeare so aptly put it when he said, "Every man can handle grief but he who has it." "Big boys don’t cry" – will someone please tell me why big boys can’t cry? Where did this ridiculous cliché come from? Crying is therapeutic. The tears shed in sadness have a different chemical makeup from those shed in laughter or physical pain. Maybe this cliché would be more accurate if it read "Big boys don’t cry – if they are inhuman."

Now that we know how ridiculous and inadequate most clichés are, let’s explore why people say these things. In defense of the consolers, I truly believe that their intentions are honorable and they really want to help. What may appear as insensitive comments from friends and relatives can really be words of love – sometimes they are simply expressed in a clumsy awkward way. As bereaved person, try to keep in mind that the comforter is, also, searching for answers and ways to deal with these tragedies.

Our society suffers from a severe lack of death education. It has only been within the last fifteen years or so that we have begun seriously to research the bereaved person’s journey through grief. Death – not only ours but that of our loved ones – is the one thing (along with taxes and clichés) that we will all have to face at some point of our lives but is the last thing we want to read about, hear about, talk about, or learn about.

As a result, reactions to the grief-stricken are more well-intentioned than well-informed. Clichés have been accepted as comfort far too long. Consequently, we tend to fall back on things that are familiar and comfortable in times of stress, and these stale phrases tend to perpetuate themselves from one generation to the next.

Most consolers feel a need to say something profound. There is a desperate need for the comforter to supply an answer or provide a remedy for the bereaved person’s pain, lest they fail to really help. Most comforters cannot accept the fact that a hug and three simple words, "I am sorry," is all they really need to say. If we speak from our hearts with all the honesty and love we each possesses, these canned remedies – clichés – would not be a necessary. Why can’t people just say, "I feel so terrible that I don’t know what to say."

As a bereaved parent, there are a whole medley of clichés that you are sure to hear. Some you will find comforting, and others will be terribly upsetting. A cliché that at first may give you great solace may be one that you will come to detest as time goes by. They will range from the ridiculous to the sublime. You will hear such remarks as "God needed some flowers for His garden in Heaven, new sheep for His meadow, new angels for His baseball team," or heaven forbid, you could even hear "At least now, you have one less mouth to feed."

Although unintentional, clichés can be hurtful and harmful. These misunderstandings and miscommunications can greatly inhibit the grief process. Some clichés may make you feel abnormal, maladjusted, or even unholy.

Friends and relatives may be the worst offenders. Our expectations of those close to us are so high that it is inevitable that at least one of our loved ones will disappoint us by saying the wrong thing or not saying the right thing.  It is easy to agonize over things that are said to us. Hurtful words seem to stay with a bereaved person longer and might cause pain and anger that may never be resolved.  Because of increased sensitivity during times of mourning, what might have been said as an innocent remark by the consoler could be construed as terribly hurtful and hateful by the bereaved.

As awful as some clichés can be though, it is usually better to be hit in the face with a bad cliché than to be tortured with silence. The most painful words can be those that are unspoken. It can be unbearable to go back to work and have nobody mention your child’s death, to be at a family reunion and have nobody mention your child’s name. This "conspiracy of silence" can be worse than all the bad clichés that were ever written.

I hope that you now have a better understanding of clichés and how you can control your reaction to them. You can choose to be offended by them, or you can choose to brush them off as another dumb statement said by someone who doesn’t know what he is talking about. 

We can even go one step farther. Instead of just reacting to clichés, how can we go on the offense?  This may seem too much to ask of a bereaved person because grieving can sap a person’s strength and energy. But if someone were standing on your foot in a crowded elevator, wouldn’t you ask him to move? Of course you would. Then why should we let people stand on our feelings without saying something about it? We must let our needs to known, instead of begrudgingly accepting the painful words that are said to us.

Because it is traditional in our society for bereaved people to smile in public and cry in private, we give the message to the outside world that we are all right. This is misleading, but it is a game we are all forced to play.

Because of these ground rules, we must give some degree of understanding to the comforter, who in most cases is reacting to our "acting." We are not helpless. We do have choices.

Someday we will once again be called upon to set aside our role as the comforted and become the comforter. Hopefully we will have improved in both wisdom and understanding so that we may become the comforter that we would have wished for in our own despair.

Happy New Year to you and your families

Happy New Year to you and your families..   

I want to apologize for the lack of postings since Christmas Eve.  In addition to the normal hustle and bustle of the holidays, I had been dealing with some major back issues.  While in Boston for the holidays, visiting our family, I finally said "uncle" and gave in and had a necessary medical procedure on my back.  As a result, and much to my dismay, I was unable to spend anytime on the computer (not an easy task for me) as most of you can imagine.....

But I'm pleased to say that I am finally feeling better and look forward to getting back to blogging and teaching...  I wanted to share some resolutions with you that were shared with me after my son Bobby died, that might help you as you continue on your journey through the uncharted waters of your grief and begin this new year....

As we begin this New Year, our "resolutions" are probably going to be quite different than those that others we know might set... We hope these resolutions might help you to find peace and joy throughout the new year ahead…

·        I will try not to imagine the future and take one day at a time.

·        I will allow myself to cry, both alone and with my loved ones.

·        I will not shut out family and friends from my thoughts and feelings.

·        I will take care of my health. A sick body will only compound my troubles. I will drink a lot of water, take multivitamins, rest (even if I don’t sleep) and exercise moderately. I will help heal my body as well as my mind.

·        I will keep a journal to see my progress through grief.

·        I will be patient with myself

·        I will learn to accept that the journey through grief does not meet a specific timetable

·        I will share my feelings with friends and let them share with me. I realize I am coming out of my shell when I care about the pain of others.

·        I will try not to expect so much understanding from those who have not walked the same path.

·        I will learn to accept the help and kindness of others.

·        I will be kind to myself, and appreciate my health, appearance, and time alone.

·        I will try to be more considerate of my spouse and children; I know that they are also grieving and deserve my help.

·        I will try to concentrate on my blessings, instead of my losses.

·        In memory of my child, I will do something to help someone else. This way, my child can live on through me.

·        I will celebrate my child, instead of focusing on the circumstances of their death.

·        I will remember that I owe it to myself and to my child to enjoy life.