On a Child's Death

There are so many poems I keep in my nightstand for those nights when sleep is illusive and the stark reality of a future that is changed forever, you know that heartbreaking reality that we re moving forward in the time "after a child's death" - yes those nights that seem to hold me in their grip.. it is poems like these that help soften the pain and heartache  and sadness of losing my children... I hope that when we share poems like these, that you also will find them a source of peace..  Cherie Houston

ON A CHILD'S DEATH

~ BY Virginia Ellis

All heaven was in mourning,  The day that young man died;
When He closed His eyes, they said, Ten thousand angels cried.

The angels shed their many tears, Because He was God's Son;
But there is a special sadness, When God takes the very young.

At times like that, I question God, Why let a child die?
I cannot understand it, And I need to ask Him why.

I, too, have heard the angels cry, I've heard them cry first hand;
For I, too, gave up a child, And I've tried hard to understand.

Yes, I received God's comfort, Though I'm grateful, I want more;
I want reasons;  I want meaning, I am a parent who's heart-sore.

God can give, and God can take, I am well aware of this;
But, why my baby ... why my child?
Why did God put him on His list?

Did I love my child too much? Was he too good for this old earth?
Had his purpose here been filled?  Was that why he was taken first?

I awake each day with questions,  I fall asleep at night, the same;
So many times I ask God why,  I'm both saddened and ashamed.

But then, in reflective moments, When my prayers are most intense,
One word keeps going through my mind, Patience ... patience ... patience.

Maybe now is not the time, To explain this great heartache;
Even if I knew God's reasons, What difference would it make?

Can't I just be grateful, For any time we had?
Accept God's action without question? Why is that so very bad?

What's my hurry ... why my pressure? Is my faith not strong enough?
God will explain it when He's ready,  Surely I can trust that much.

God understands my broken heart, He, too, gave up a Son;
He knows the pain of one lost child, He weeps with me, and we are one.

Just as I talk to God each day,  I talk to my precious child;
I blow him kisses, and I say,  "See you, honey, in a while."

Adapting to the loss of our Children

Thank you Paula B. for sharing this article with us - Paula is a member of BP/Bereaved parents in Ohio and shared this within months of when I first began this blog...   she said it helped her to realize she was going to survive the loss of her beloved daughter Sara, who was 20 when she died several years before in an auto accident..  I hope it will also help you as you strive to find peace and your new normal...

"Adapting to the loss of a loved one"

~ by Wendy Bridger

Have you ever sat down and played a piano where one of the keys wasn't working? Or made cookies and left out an ingredient? Perhaps you've started listening to a favorite CD, and just when it gets to your favorite part of your favorite song, you realize that there is a scratch in it.

In some ways, losing a loved one is similar. Here you are going easily through life, and then, BAM, they are gone and life will never be the same. That piano piece sounds different because the middle C is broken, the cookies just aren't the same, and at times, we are frustrated like we are when our CD gets scratched. 

Unfortunately, with the loss of a loved one, it is more difficult to fix than the piano or the batch of cookies, and your loved one was irreplaceable, unlike the CD. Short and simple, this is what grieving is: learning to cope with the loss of someone who was apart of what made us what we are. So, what do we do? How do we go on after they are gone? I have a few suggestions that might help you through.

First of all, just as each of us has different personalities, each of us grieves in a different way. There is no right or wrong way to feel or act, as long as you are not endangering yourself or others. Some of us cry. Others of us bury ourselves in work or hobbies. If the person is still living and only the relationship has changed, it is very easy for us to do all we can to change things back to how they used to be. At times, it may take a while to truly even admit that they are gone. We just might feel numb. Some of us might even feel guilty if we don't feel sad enough! So, take your feelings and actions for what they are and be patient with yourself. After all, you have just lost a part of what makes you who you are.

Also, find a way to transition your loved one into your new life. My father in law lost his dad last year and he hung a picture of him up in the living room to remember him. Others write goodbye letters to their loved one, giving themselves a chance to tell them things that they never got to say. Some of us keep a little box full of pictures and memories only to be taken out when we want to remember them, because remembering them all the time would be too overwhelming. I had a friend who's little brother died. She got married on his birthday as a way to include him at her wedding. Once again, it depends on you and your relationship with the one you loved. For instance, burning every picture you had of an ex-boyfriend might be the perfect way to transition.

Another thing, you usually don't ever "get over it." Your loved one is gone. If you no longer have an ingredient to make cookies, it's easy to realize that replacing it with a different ingredient would not make the cookies start tasting like they used to. To expect that you will be able to replace your loved one is also unrealistic. This reality may sound even more depressing. Frankly, I love chocolate chip cookies, and the idea of not ever having one again is quite upsetting! But in time, if I had to, I could grow to love other sweets, like banana bread, sweet potato pie, or brownies. So, even if you aren't going to get over it, in time, you will adapt to the loss and find fulfillment through other experiences and relationships.

So, be patient with yourself. Losing someone isn't easy. It turns your life upside down. Naturally, it's going to take a while to pick up the pieces and transition to life without your loved one. Remember, Beethoven composed some beautiful music after losing his hearing, and you will find happiness and fulfillment again in your life after losing your loved one.

¹Wordern, J.W. (1991). Grief Counseling & Grief Therapy: A guidebook for the Mental Health Practitioner. Springer Publishing

Will it ever be the same again?

Sorry, but it can never be the same again...   (author unknown)

When a child of ours has died, or any one else whom we love for that matter, we hope and even pray that things will somehow be the same…that our life – our family – will get back to “normal”  As time goes on, we realize that “it will never be the same.”  We will always miss our loved one who has died.  At special holidays and family gatherings, there is always one person missing.  Some family members and friends assume that we are back to normal.  They just do not understand.

Once the horrific initial shock and sense of total denial of the initial few months begin to pass, the enormous and sad reality begins to become clear and for most of us, that is the time that seems the most difficult.  Our grief seems unbearable and we wonder if our heartache and sorrow is our new reality.  But life does go on and we don’t have a choice – we will and must go through this. 

What seems to complicate our grief is that once a few months have passed, many of those around us – our friend, co-workers and even family members, feel we are “getting better” and “moving on” but we know that’s so far from the truth – we are simply surviving and existing or when we don’t “get over it quickly enough” many people who we assumed would be there for us, pull away out f their own frustration of no knowing how and what to do to help us.  This is so common.  It is believed that this can be attributed in part to a general lack of knowledge of what grief is, leading to unrealistic expectations being placed on those who are grieving.  Sometimes it is helpful to communicate about our loss with someone new, since some old friends often just want us to return to our old selves again, which is unrealistic on their part.

So many times during the first year of mourning, especially following the holidays or anniversary of the death, those around us, as well as those of us who are grieving, may expect that everything will finally be OK and get better…  Be careful not to expect too much; because if and when things don’t magically “get better” many become discouraged.  

There is and never will be a timetable for grief – it is different for each and every person on this journey and different for each and every time the journey is made…  So be gentle with yourself and those around you..  It’s best not to have unrealistic expectations and remind yourself over and over again, there is no timetable for grief.. 

It will never be the same...

Unrealistically we hope that things will somehow be the same…that our life – our family – will get back to “normal”  As time goes on, we realize that “it will never be the same.”  We will always miss our loved one who has died.  At special holidays and family gatherings, there is always one person missing.  Some family members and friends assume that we are back to normal.  They just do not understand.

Once the horrific initial shock and sense of total denial of the initial few months begin to pass, the enormous and sad reality begins to become clear and for most of us, that is the time that seems the most difficult.  Our grief seems unbearable and we wonder if our heartache and sorrow is our new reality.  But life does go on and we don’t have a choice – we will and must go through this. 

What seems to complicate our grief is that once a few months have passed, many of those around us – our friend, co-workers and even family members, feel we are “getting better” and “moving on” but we know that’s so far from the truth – we are simply surviving and existing or when we don’t “get over it quickly enough” many people who we assumed would be there for us, pull away out f their own frustration of no knowing how and what to do to help us.  This is so common.  It is believed that this can be attributed in part to a general lack of knowledge of what grief is, leading to unrealistic expectations being placed on those who are grieving.  Sometimes it is helpful to communicate about our loss with someone new, since some old friends often just want us to return to our old selves again, which is unrealistic on their part.

So many times during the first year of mourning, especially following the holidays or anniversary of the death, those around us, as well as those of us who are grieving, may expect that everything will finally be OK and get better…  Be careful not to expect too much; because if and when things don’t magically “get better” many become discouraged.  There is and never will be a timetable for grief – it is different for each and every person on this journey and different for each and every time the journey is made…  So be gentle with yourself and those around you..  It’s best not to have unrealistic expectations and remind yourself over and over again, there is no timetable for grief.. 

~~ Author Unknown

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

Each grief journey is unique

~ by Cherie Houston

Today I remember my son Ric and his twin sister Randee Marie, who were born 41 years ago yesterday, March 16th, 1971... Yesterday Ric celebrated his 41st birthday - he is a wonderful husband, father, son and loved more than he knows... Today, 41 years ago, Ric's baby twin sister, Randee Marie died March 17, 1971 - they were born very premature - 12 weeks, so it was a miracle that Ric survived, but he thrived and is now a dad to 2 wonderful children of his own..  Life is amazing and we never know what's in store, because as I remember my beloved daughter today, I also celebrate the birthday of Ric's youngestr child, his little girl "Randee Marie" - yes RandeeMarie was born March 17th, 2003 - 32 years to the day that her name sake, her dad's twin died... There's no doubt, despite the sadness, life certainly can be incredible....

No matter who or what we are – male, female, young or old, rich or poor , despite our race, ethnicity or religion, throughout our lifetime, we will each be impacted by overwhelming & devastating loss, it will sadly happen more times than we’d like to imagine, and that is simply the reality of living and loving ..

During each of these journeys, as we adjust to the death of someone we truly and deeply loved, we will realize that this isn’t a task or skill that we can simply master so that it will be easier in the future. No, grief is simply something we warily learn to adjust to and live with and we must face the reality that each loss is and will also be unique.

Another reality is that as the months and years go by on this journey of grief, each of us must and will find our own way of dealing with the pain and the daily challenges that are a result of our grief journeys.. Yes, in time, the heartbreak will begin to heal and further into our journey, we will even learn to find peace and joy, but despite what others may tell us, there will never be a return to the normal that existed before that loved one died. No, despite all the clichés about "time heals all", our hearts will never be the same as they were before, they will forever be very different.

Personally, I think that a result of the harsh reality of this grief journey, that as our hearts heal, in some respects they become softer, more compassionate and bruise more easily… But, they also grow – they get stronger allowing us to face those bruises and challenges that we thought impossible and as our hearts change, they actually allow for more love than we ever thought possible. Yes our hearts and minds will change, and we have to be willing to accept those changes..
Sorry - there is no cure for this “affliction” we call grief, we can't simply walk & raise money and erase this journey.. The path we take during this journey will be different for us all, and sadly enough we will all make this journey several times during our lives for parents, siblings, friends and for all too many of us, it will be a grief journey for our children who go before us... but each and every one of these journeys will be unlike the other. No, no two journeys will be same, each and every time we make this journey it will be different from the last, they are each unique. Reality is, that grief is not a learned skill, no matter how many times we make the journey, we can never fine tune it and become prepared, so that the next time, and yes there will be a next time, there is no way to complete the task of “grieving” and getting thru it more quickly…
For me, each and every time I’ve made this journey I’ve realized I must be patient with myself. It is so hard for others to comprehend what this horrible loss and the resulting grief journey feels like... When I've tried to describe how I feel to others, I liken this grief journey and learning to cope with the deaths of my 3 children, as to having woken up one day, all alone in the middle of a foreign country - no idea how I got there.. Not only am I alone (yes I have family but they are far away in their own reality), but here, I don't know my way around, I don't know the terrain so I can't prepare for the struggle of climbing the rugged mountains that lay ahead or sliding down the slipperly slopes; I don't know or understand the language so I find it so difficult to communicate even my basic of needs to those around me...
But despite being dropped in this foreign land, I also know that I can't simply stand still. No, instead, each day I must force myself to move forward just a step or two. I have to learn another word or two, so others can hear and understand me… Eventually, I will learn to accept that this is where I now live, there is no going back and it will never be the same. No I will never be who I was before each of my children died. But in time, and with patience, I will learn the terrain, recognize the intersections and begin to understand the language…

Be patient –don’t rush the journey – because if you do, most find that it will become more difficult and complicated in time. So go easy – tread lightly – it takes time to become acquainted with your new and unfamiliar surroundings, but in time, you will and you will learn to smile when you look back.
So remember and take heart, that despite the overwhelming heartache we experience on the grief journey, that life is wonderful and despite it all, it's better to have loved & lost than to have never loved at all...  There's no doubt, despite the heartaches, life certainly is amazing...

Cherie Houston ~ In Loving Memory of my angel baby, Randee Marie Wood  March 16-17, 1971

The Blessing of a Friend who Cares

~ by Henri Nouwen

When we honestly ask ourselves which person means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.

A true friend can and will be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion..

A true friend can and will stay with us in our hour of grief and bereavement..

A true friend can and will tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing..

A true friend can and will face with us the reality of our powerlessness..

Yes that indeed is a true friend, one who cares.

Yes a true friend who cares is a blessing indeed...

And remember:

Friends are angels who lift us to our feet

when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.

I WAS ONCE YOU

By Colleen Fledderman, Newtown Square, PA, Bereaved Mother

I have never met Christa McCaulife's mom, Carlie Brucia’s mother, Nicole Brown Simpson’s mother, Polly Klass’s mother, Princess Dianna’s mother, Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s mother, Laci Peterson’s mother. But I know them all intimately. I know what dwells in their hearts and souls everyday. Like them I buried my daughter.

What am I now? Am I a daughterless mother? That sounds like an oxymoron, two words that contradict themselves. My eighteen year old daughter, Amy Marie, died on May 25, 2001. My life is forever changed. Burying a daughter is a surreal experience.

There are no words in Webster’s Dictionary that can explain the grief, the heartache, the pain, the depression or the anguish. Heartbroken is too small a word. The words don’t exist because it is not supposed to happen. There are no plausible definitions that could accurately describe “bereaved parent.” Groups of words can’t be strung together on a typed page to accurately explain the grief. It is impossible to bury your child, yet it happened.

Logically, the factual part of my brain processed the information. The emotional part of my brain argues with the fact everyday. Each and every morning it is still a shock to my entire being! I still peek into her bedroom and expect to find her perfectly made bed a mess of jumbled covers with my daughter snuggled deep inside of them. Parents don’t bury children! Headstones read “loving mother,” “cherished wife.” They don’t read “beloved daughter.” That is not the natural order of the universe. This was not supposed to happen to me. It always happens to other people.

I see reports on the evening news, articles in the newspaper describing horrible events that resulted in the death of someone’s child. It isn’t supposed to be my child. How can this be? It can’t be changed. I can’t say, “Amy, want to go to the mall?” “Let’s go out to lunch.” She can’t tell me about her “freaking bio test” that she has to study for all night long.

Things I want to say to her are forever left unspoken. How will I go on? I can’t go on, yet I do. My body wakes up each day. I don’t ask for this to happen, it just does. My lungs take in air, it is automatic, something that I have no control over. My physical body now controls the course of events in my life. I breath, I eat, I walk, I talk, I put one foot in front of the other. I load the washer and shop for food. I can work. I can teach. I can think on the job about the job. My spiritual being merely exists. It cannot flourish or soar ever again.

When my daughter died, my emotional self was buried with her. When she died, I also buried her future husband to be, my future grandchildren, my daughter’s future wedding, my daughter’s college graduation ceremony, my holiday, my joy. I buried my best friend. I buried the once perfect life that I knew and lived everyday. Tucked into the corner of Amy’s casket is my happy husband. My despondent bereaved husband now lives with me. I buried my fifteen year old daughter’s future matron of honor. I buried Renee’s future nieces and nephews. There is not enough room in Amy’s casket for all the things that died with her. Dreams, hopes, joys, lives, emotions, hearts and souls slipped into that casket with Amy. They occupy every square inch of that place. One day my fifteen year old daughter will be older than her older sister. Can my brain every understand that? Renee will have a nineteenth birthday. Amy did not. How can the impossible happen?

Bereaved parents go on. We go on because we have no other road to travel. It is just we are not “normal” anymore. We used to be you. We used to be the PTO moms and the Girl Scout leaders. We brought lovely frilly fancy holiday dresses for our daughters. We were once carpool moms and soccer moms. We sat at musical recitals and listened to the first melodious squeaks and squawks of their instruments. Forgotten homework assignments were rushed to school for our children. In our heads we planned our beautiful daughter’s future wedding. Vision of the bridal gown and the reception danced in our heads. We couldn’t wait to have grandchildren and baby-sit and enjoy. We wanted to tell our daughters that their children were just like them. Our daughter’s christening gown is carefully preserved and awaiting to be worn by her own children. We wanted to hold our grandchildren’s chubby little fingers in our hands and remember holding our daughters chubby little fingers in our hand.

We used to answer the telephone and hear, “Hey mom, what’s up?” Now the phone doesn’t ring. And it will never ring again with that sweet voice we so desperately would love to hear. Now we are set apart. We are not normal anymore. People choose to walk down a different aisle to ignore us. It is too painful for them to think about our lives. They might take a moment to wonder how we go on. They say, “I can only imagine your pain.” That is not true. No one can imagine it unless they live it. We now belong to a new group. We never wanted to be a part of this group, bereaved parents. No one lines up for this membership. We wish our membership would never grow.

I am glad you are not me.

Surviving the Death of a Child - Part 2 of 2

Thank you again to Gayle Stewart from Florida for sharing this with us... she said she reads the entire article almost daily since the death of her 8 year son last fall... it reminds her that she is "normal" as she continues on her journey from mourning to joy...

~ by Donna Lamb, LSCSW ~ Senior Social Worker, The Menninger Hope Adult Program

Each parent had a unique relationship with the child and this uniqueness will be reflected in the grief process. Each parent’s characterological differences will make their external and internal experiences of grief different: one may need to talk about the child constantly, while the other may find mention of the child too difficult; one may seek out friends for support, while the other may withdraw; one may want to allow surviving children to witness his/her grief responses, while the other may want to protect the children from the parent’s pain; one may want to resume sexual intimacy, while the other may feel that enjoying any aspect of life is a betrayal of the child; one may find comfort in returning to work quickly, while the other may be unable to function.

It is not unusual for grief responses such as despair, anger, guilt and feelings of loss of control to increase in mothers for several years after the death. Fathers, on the other hand, typically experience a decrease in symptoms after the second year (Fish, 1986). Therefore, as the mother’s grief is intensifying, the father’s is decreasing, which further contributes to the isolation each parent feels in the marital relationship.

Especially problematic in parental grief is guilt, resulting from the parents’ deep sense of responsibility for and helplessness after a child’s death. Miles and Demi (1986) identify the following sources of parental guilt.

• Death causation guilt: resulting from parent’s perceived contribution to or failure to protect the child from death
• Illness-related guilt: resulting from perceived deficiencies in the parental role during the child’s illness or at the time of death
• Parental role guilt: the belief that the parent failed to live up to self- or societal expectations in the overall parental role
• Moral guilt: resulting from the belief that the child’s death was punishment or retribution for something the parent did or failed to do
• Survival guilt: the belief that children should outlive their parents
• Grief guilt: resulting from the parent’s behavioral or emotional reactions of grief at the time of or following the child’s death

It is often thought that the death of a child is a death knell for the marriage. This is not true. If a marital relationship was struggling prior to the child’s death, the death will add another dimension to the struggle. If the marriage was strong, however, the relationship often ends up stronger than it was before. Communication concerning what each needs and expects from the other is critical, balanced by an awareness that the partner may not be able to provide the support that is requested; other family members or friends may be needed for support. Most importantly, partners must realize that any distance they feel in their relationship during the grief process is not necessarily a true reflection of real feelings for each other.

 What may be seen as complicated grief responses in individuals, who have experienced the death of someone other than a child, may be seen as normal in parental grief. As long as the behavior is not physically, emotionally or psychosocially dysfunctional for too long, it can be viewed as normal parental grief. As painful as the grief process will be, it is important that parents allow themselves to feel the pain of separation from their child so that they can, in the future, live a life that is not governed by intense pain. If attended to, the pain of parental grief does diminish, and a new life, which incorporates a spiritual and psychological relationship with the child, will unfold.

Surviving the Death of a Child - Part 1 of 2

Thank you to Gayle Stewart from Florida for sharing this with us... she said she reads the entire article almost daily since the death of her 8 year son last fall...  it reminds her that she is "normal" as she continues on her journey from mourning to joy...

~ by Donna Lamb, LSCSW ~ Senior Social Worker, The Menninger Hope Adult Program

Upon becoming a parent, most people are surprised to find within themselves a previously unrecognized capacity to love and a fierce need to protect; parents take on the role of provider, problem solver and advisor.

This emotional bonding between parent and child occurs long before the child’s birth, as each parent begins to fantasize about the child, imagining the life they will share. Parents dream of having someone whom they can love unconditionally and who will love and need them; children provide the opportunity for parents to correct mistakes made during their own childhood and serve as carriers of the family name and family genes.

Children provide a sense of purpose for the parents and, therefore, become an integral part of the parents’ lives. The greatest fear of most parents is having a child die, as they cannot imagine being able to emotionally cope with such a loss.

A child’s death, no matter the age of the child, is incomprehensible to parents. Bereaved parents feel oppressive feelings of failure in their roles as parents; their inability to prevent their child’s death leads to overwhelming feelings of helplessness and of being violated. Their sense of self diminishes, and they feel disillusioned, empty and insecure. Parents, looking through their pain, are disoriented and confused to see that somehow the world continues on even though nothing makes sense any more. Their instincts to provide for and protect the child continue after the death, but they are unable to act on these instincts; stormy nights often find bereaved parents awake, wondering if their child is in a safe, dry place.

It’s interesting to note that in other types of familial death, there is a term that denotes a change in relationship: bereaved spouses become “widows” or “widowers” and “orphans” denote children who have no parents. There is, however, no word that reflects the changed status from “parent” to “bereaved parent.” It is a change that defies vocabulary.

Because bereaved parents represent the worst fear of every parent, they are avoided more than other mourners. Other family members are experiencing their own grief, friends don’t know what to say or do and society expects parents to return to work in three days, being as productive as before. The child’s death is socially invalidated. Parents often report feeling disconnected from reality, similar to being in a sensory deprivation chamber; without feedback from others; judging reality becomes impossible.

Numerous secondary losses accompany the death of a child, including loss of the family as it existed prior to the death. Surviving children lose the emotional, and perhaps physical, availability of their parents, grandparents “lose” their children to parental grief and spouses lose the support of each other–each whose emotional plate is so full that they cannot be there for the other. The impact of a child’s death on a marital relationship cannot be underestimated. Neither parent will be the same person as they were before the death.

Just for today

Just for today I will live through this day only, and not set far-reaching goals to try to overcome all my problems at once. I know I can do something for 12 hours that would appall me if I felt that I had to keep it up for a lifetime.

Just for today I will be happy. Abraham Lincoln said, “Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.” He was right. I will not dwell on thoughts that depress me. I will chase them out of my mind and replace them with happy thoughts.

Just for today I will adjust myself to what is. I will face reality. I will correct those things that I can correct and accept those things I cannot correct.

Just for today I will improve my mind. I will not be a mental loafer. I will force myself to read something that requires effort, thought and concentration.

Just for today I will do something positive to improve my health. If I’m overweight, I’ll eat nothing I know to be fattening. And I will force myself to exercise – even if it’s only walking around the block or using the stairs instead of the elevator.

Just for today I’ll do something I’ve been putting off doing for a long time. I’ll finally write that letter, make that phone call, clean that closet or straighten out those dresser drawers.

Just for today before I speak I will ask myself, “Is it true? Is it kind?” And if the answer to either of those questions is negative, I won’t say it.

Just for today I will make a conscious effort to be agreeable. I will look as good as I can, dress becomingly, talk softly, act courteously and not interrupt when someone else is talking. Just for today I’ll not improve anybody except myself.

Just for today I will have a program. I may not follow it exactly, but I will have it, thereby saving myself from two pests: hurry and indecision.

Just for today I will have a quiet half hour to relax alone. During this time I will reflect on my behavior and get a better perspective on my life.

Just for today I will be unafraid. I will gather the courage to do what is right and take the responsibility for my own actions.

Just for today I will expect nothing from the world, but I will realize that as I give to the world, the world will give to me.