A FABLE

~written by Jeanette Isley, TCF Topeka, (from BP/USA of MD, Newsletter)

There once lived a family who felt that they had been specially blessed by God. They had health; they felt secure in their love of God and their love for each other.

On the mantle of the fireplace stood a vase. It was a strong, sturdy vase – attractive but not extravagant. It had been a wedding gift and to them, it symbolized their family. It had with-stood the bumps of moving and toddlers’ antics as the family had withstood the buffets and ordeals of life. The scars and chips could be detected only on very close scrutiny.

The day the oldest son in the family died, the vase was found on the mantel, shattered into many pieces. No one bothered to gather up the pieces. It was left for some time in its broken condition on the mantel.

After some time had passed, thought was given to putting the vase back together. Little enthusiasm was generated, but eventually the task was begun. The family worked together, each adding a piece or a suggestion about getting it mended. Each one of the family members got discouraged and more than once some one of them was heard to say, “It just can’t be done.”

Finally, after many months, the vase was back in its normal pace on the mantel. To the casual observer, it looked strong and sturdy and no one would guess it was less than perfect. But, on closer examination, it obviously had been shattered and put back together, and on turning it around, one could see that one large piece was permanently missing. It had never been found and served to remind the family that, although their hearts could mend and heal, their lives would never be the same.

{Note: I often tell bereaved parents that our hearts are broken and can never be the same. They will always have the cracks but also a piece is missing that can never be replaced……} Brenda/editor of BP/USA Newsletter

SUPPORT

~written by Martha J. Morrison

Come lean on me a bit

I know just how you feel

I’ve felt your fear and loneliness

I know your pain is real.

For I have been where you are now

Walking that long, dark road.

Then someone came to comfort me

And share my heavy load.

They helped me find new courage

And hope where I had none.

They let me lean on them awhile

‘Til my battle was won.

So come and lean on me a bit

‘Til your ordeal is through.

Then find someone who needs your help

And let them lean on you.

Getting thru Valentine's Day with a Broken Heart

~ By Cherie Houston

February 1st 2010 and we've made it thru our first holiday season without our son Bobby: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years and lurking just around the corner is Valentines Day. My reaction to the chocolates, heart shaped cards and stuffed animals surprised me - it actually took my breath away - but then again, Valentines is more than just a holiday for lovers.

As soon as our children begin school, so does the tradition of sharing valentines and so, it is another holiday that reminds us of special times we’ve shared with our children and for those moms who have lost infants, it is a reminder of special times that will never be… Either way, the sense of overwhelming loss is once again thrust at us.

At first I feared it would be another painful day, but I don’t think it has to be.  Instead I hope we can celebrate our love for them - nothing and no one can ever take away the love you shared with your children, so we should honor them – celebrate that mutual love.  As usual I searched the internet for suggestions and found several that I think apply to those of us who are remembering our children who are gone too soon  ..

I believe what is important is for each of us to find a special way to celebrate their memory and their relationship with us no matter how brief their stay with us might have been… We are who we are because of them - no matter how short their stay - and that is something to celebrate for sure…

• Honor your Valentine’s Day traditions – do them in your children’s memory.
• Write them a valentine or note and save it in your memory box (if you’ve done this in the past, explore your memory box and enjoy the memories)
• Decorate and light a special candle in their honor
• Write them a note, put it in a balloon and send it off towards their new home in heaven
• Volunteer some time – whether it’s at a hospital, shelter, hospice, or food pantry-there’s no doubt that helping someone else can ease our pain
• Listen to their favorite songs
• Look back thru pictures or videos if you have them - it's okay to smile and it's okay to cry
• If your child was older, consider sharing the day with his or her young family, it might help you all as you share memories together
• Make your loved one’s favorite breakfast or dinner and enjoy it in their memory 

As with all holidays, special days and anniversaries the anticipation is often worse than the day itself. But being prepared for the day helps us to get thru it – the important thing is to remember our children, remember our love for them and their love for us, and as moms, that is something we do without the tag of Valentines Day..

SEASONS OF GRIEF (Part 3 of 3)

~ by Sandy Goodman

When my son died in 1996, I had no other option but to change my thinking. I could not live another day presuming he no longer existed. By saying to myself often I am changing my perception of death, I announced to the universe and my higher self that I intended to change what I believed. I placed my intent, reached for it, and settled for nothing less.

I began searching for and finding information to support my new perception. I read books about life after death, mediumship, after death communication, spirituality, and reincarnation. I perused websites, joined email lists, and joined chats where these topics were addressed. I found like-minded friends who understood what I was feeling. I observed mediumship activities on television, at seminars, and on the Internet. I began to support my new belief system with knowledge.

I invited experiences by talking to Jason and asking him to come to me in a dream or to give me a sign of his presence. I meditated and made myself more aware of that which isn't seen or touched. I opened up a doorway of possibility and welcomed all that came from love to enter.

Finally, I accepted what happened and expressed gratitude. When the lights went off and then on again for no apparent reason, I was quick to say "thank you." If I was only thanking the power company, it didn't matter. No one knew. The more I accepted as real, the more I experienced. We hear often that "seeing is believing," but this is about "believing is seeing."

My journey has been both desolate and inspiring. There have been moments when I thought the cold and darkness would never end, and moments when tears of joy washed away the pain and light permeated my being. I invite you to walk the path of grief a little differently: to nurture winter's bleakness and look deep into its purpose. And just as we must think differently to see winter's grace, we must think differently to see the gift of grief. It is there, buried beneath a frozen crust that protects and restores while the winter of our soul . . . ensues.

Note: Sandy Goodman is the author of Love Never Dies: A Mothers Journey from Loss to Love (Jodere Group, 2002), and the founder and chapter leader of the Wind River Chapter of The Compassionate Friends. She has presented at national conferences for The Compassionate Friends, Bereaved Parents of the USA and the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors.

SEASONS OF GRIEF (Part 2 of 3)

~ by Sandy Goodman

My grief transformed me. It tore out everything within me and said There! It is GONE! What are you going to do? You have NOTHING LEFT TO HANG ON TO! You must begin again. You must change.

And change is what I did. As winter alters the earth, my grief changed me. It gave me a period of time to step back from living and just be, a space in my existence to feel only that which I needed to feel. It was a time for reflection, reprioritizing, and searching. Without it, I would remain as empty as a garden that never rests.

"But it was painful, horrifying, and devastating," you say. "How can you be thankful for such a thing?"

Grief, like winter, freezes our world. Both appear painful, horrifying, and devastating, but it is our preparation for, reaction to, and perception of that creates our discomfort. It is our need to label that which appraises discomfort as bad. If we deny that death is possible for those we love, we will be stunned and terrified by its occurrence. If we react to the first blizzard of winter with panic and fear, we will be too afraid to honor its power. If we perceive a fatal ice storm as an act of God, we will shake our fist at Him and spend more time than we have asking why. And if we distinguish death as the end of a loved one's existence, we will be eternally saddened by their absence.

The path to spring, to the end of winter, requires only our patience and perseverance. The path to healing requires that and more: it requires that we learn to think differently.

We are a society that fears death. We consider it an end to life, love, and all that came before. Those who die either cease to be, or they exist in a place that is unavailable to us. It is not surprising that fear is present. However, if we alter our beliefs, we can then change our preparation for, reaction to, and perception of death. If we come to know that death is a change in form and not an end, we will not eliminate the winters of our grieving, but we will lessen our suffering.

Note: Sandy Goodman is the author of Love Never Dies: A Mothers Journey from Loss to Love (Jodere Group, 2002), and the founder and chapter leader of the Wind River Chapter of The Compassionate Friends. She has presented at national conferences for The Compassionate Friends, Bereaved Parents of the USA and the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors.

SEASONS OF GRIEF (Part 1 of 3)

~ by Sandy Goodman

It is winter today. There is no sun, not even a flash of light to focus on. The air has become murky as if it has solidified, losing its clarity. Ice covers everything, smothering any life that might have been. Staring out my window, I compare the bite of winter to my grief: the coldness, the shadows, and my reluctance to breathe in any more discomfort. Grief, like winter, appears uninvited and unwelcome. We abhor the pain and wonder why we must endure the distress, while all along we feel the imminent arrival.

Winter compels the earth to rest. Everything stops struggling, stops performing, and sleeps. Abruptly, nature's need to "do" is gone and "being" is all that is necessary. All that was living before appears lifeless. The leaves disappear from the trees, flowers no longer grace our gardens, and the grass is entombed by snow. But what is going on beneath that which we see? Are the flowers really gone, or are they only changing . . . becoming new, becoming different?

I ponder how much further I dare go with this. Can I contend that grief, like winter, is a gift? Can I talk about the metamorphosis of grief, and contemplate gratitude for its presence? I do not know, but that is where my thoughts are leading me.

Grief necessitates a sabbatical from living. We stop struggling, stop performing, and freeze. Our compulsion to "do" dissolves, and "being" is all that is possible. Our life as we knew it disappears, dreams are shattered, and our hearts are ripped from us in the blink of an eye. We are gone, lost in our grief. But what is transpiring in our heart? Is everything gone, or is it only changing . . . becoming new, becoming different?

Grief is harsher than winter. The tasks of daily living are amplified, and what was once soft and blurred becomes sharp and ragged. While winter invariably ends and I remember that spring will arrive, grief makes no such promise. I must wait without assurance. There are moments when winter is beautiful: a blanket of fresh snow on Christmas morning or the surprise of a warm breeze in February. There are nights when winter is hard and ugly, when temperatures plummet and the howl of the wind threatens our sanity. Grief is the same. A special memory comes into my heart and grief becomes bittersweet . . . beautiful. Then, a letter addressed to my son arrives in the mail, and I am back to the harsh reality that he is gone.

Note: Sandy Goodman is the author of Love Never Dies: A Mothers Journey from Loss to Love (Jodere Group, 2002), and the founder and chapter leader of the Wind River Chapter of The Compassionate Friends. She has presented at national conferences for The Compassionate Friends, Bereaved Parents of the USA and the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors.

WHEN TOMORROW STARTS WITHOUT ME

~ by David M Romano

When tomorrow starts without me, And I'm not there to see,

If the sun should rise and find your eyes all filled with tears for me,

I wish so much you wouldn't cry the way you did today,

While thinking of the many things, We didn't get to say.

I know how much you love me, As much as I love you,

and each time that you think of me, I know you'll miss me too.

But when tomorrow starts without me, Please try to understand,

That an angel came and called my name, And took me by the hand,

and said my place was ready, In heaven far above,

And that I'd have to leave behind All those I dearly love.

But as I turned to walk away, A tear fell from my eye

For all my life, I'd always thought, I didn't want to die.

I had so much to live for, So much left yet to do,

It seemed almost impossible, That I was leaving you.

I thought of all the yesterdays, The good ones and the bad,

I thought of all the love we shared, and all the fun we had

If I could re-live yesterday, Just even for a while,

I'd say good-bye and kiss you, And maybe see you smile.

But then I fully realized, That this could never be,

For emptiness and memories, would take the place of me.

And when I thought of worldly things, I might miss come tomorrow,

I thought of you, and when I did, My heart was filled with sorrow.

But when I walked through heaven's gates, I felt so much at home

When God looked down and smiled at me, From His great golden throne.

He said, "This is eternity, And all I've promised you."

Today your life on earth is past, But here life starts anew

I promise no tomorrow, But today will always last,

And since each day's the same way, there's no longing for the past.

You have been so faithful, so trusting and so true.

Though there were times you did some things, you knew you shouldn't do.

But you have been forgiven and now at last you're free.

So won't you come and take my hand and share my life with me?

So when tomorrow starts without me, Don't think we're far apart,

For every time you think of me, I'm right here, in your heart.

Celebrating the memory

~ Written By Joanne Cacciatore, PhD, MSW, FT, Founder of the www.missfoundation.org, in Peoria, AZ, after the loss of her child, Migi

To let go of the pain does not mean we have forgotten the child who has gone ahead of us. There are many ways to keep our children alive in our hearts and in the hearts of other people as well. There are rituals we can perform or little things we can do to keep the relationship with the one who has gone ahead of us.

Migi had always been fascinated with dinosaurs, and in the first year after his death, I found myself buying every little dinosaur book that I could find in the bookstore. Perhaps this was my way of coping and remembering him. I've since ceased to shop for the books, but the collection remains in a chest filled with his favorite toys.

This experience reminds me of a sad story I heard about a lady whose only daughter died at birth. For many years until she had a child again, she would buy a doll during her daughter's birthday and bring that to her grave. Her family and neighbors could not understand the gesture, and thought she was going out of her mind.

It was only many years later, when she told the story to her counselor, and the counselor said, "What a lovely gesture" that she broke down and cried. All those years she had been hurting from the comments of neighbors and friends, and it was only when this one person appreciated and understood what she had been doing, was she able to work through her grief.

There are countless ways to celebrate the memory of a beloved child. On a birthday, for example, you can release balloons or plant a tree in your garden in his or her honor.

You can also do something nice for the young patients at the hospital where your child died (if the child passed away in a hospital), or celebrate his memory by spending the day with less fortunate children and doing your bit to help them. You can also begin a crusade or an awareness campaign if the death was a violent one or a tragic one.

I have found that it is in reaching out to others, in stepping out of the shadow of one's sadness that one is also able to heal. Investing oneself in activities that give meaning to the loss helps alleviate the pain and aids in building a new life that would keep the memory alive and well in our hearts and, I am certain, make our children proud.

Don’t Say You’re ‘Fine’ When You’re Not

by Sandy Fox on December 19, 2009

When we are on a grief journey and someone asks us, “How are you feeling?” the tendency is to say, “I’m fine.” But we’re not fine, and one of my friends pointed that out to me a few months after my daughter died. She said in a rather exasperated voice, “You’re not fine and don’t say you are!”

I was briefly taken aback and then realized she was right. Why say you’re “fine” when you’re not? From that point on, I told the truth. My answer became, “I’m doing the best I can. Each day is a challenge and I try to get through it as best as I can.”

What a relief it was to tell it like it was. According to author and grief counselor, Dr. Lou LaGrand, grief is a normal human response that seeks expression when the person is facing massive change due to the death of a loved one. If you try to pretend you are doing well when you’re not, you’ll guarantee that the pain will spill out in unexpected ways.  He says, “You will not only prolong the intensity of your grief process, you will add loads of unnecessary suffering to legitimate pain and sadness.” He suggests five essentials used by millions of mourners who have found peace through expression. I paraphrase and add my own comments:

First, admit you are hurting, tell it like it is. Don’t suppress or repress the things you feel because it won’t make you look good. Suppression and repression are the two actions that often lead to reactive depression when mourning.

Second, cry when you feel like it, no matter how long it continues and no matter who is watching. You have lost something very precious to you and can’t bear the thought of never seeing them again. Crying relieves pent up emotions and allows you to breathe normally and relax eventually.

Third, being alone in a quiet place is good for you for short periods of time. It gives you time to reflect on the relationship you have now lost. But don’t become isolated. That is not of help in the grief process. You need to be around others to seek their advice and help. At grief group meetings, hearing how others cope can help you along in your own journey.

Fourth, examine some literature about other mourners who were convinced they had a sign or message from a deceased loved one. Explore the possibility. Many do believe in life after death. At a recent Compassionate Friends national conference where I spoke, I was fortunate to hear another speaker whose son died. He showed us proof of the fact that we get signs from our children who have left us that they will always be around for us.

Finally, there is a wide range of normalcy in grieving. Grieve at whatever pace seems right for you even if you find yourself going from a good day to a bad one. When we choose to love, we automatically choose to grieve. And although the person is no longer physically present, love never dies; it lives on forever. Follow your own agenda. The history of loss shows you will survive. “Treasure what you have—a way to peace, knowing that your loved one lives on through you and what you have learned from your experience with him or her.”

- Sandy Fox is the author of “I Have No Intention of Saying Good-bye.” The book tells the stories of 25 sets of parents and how they moved on with their lives after the death of their child offering hope and survival techniques. Sandy, who taught high school for 28 years and also received many awards for her writing, has been a journalist and freelance writer her whole life and now enjoys speaking to bereavement groups around the country, trying to help others through their grief journey. She has been head of two national bereavement conferences for childless parents in the last four years. Her web site is www.sandyfoxauthor.com for additional book information, and her blog site for information, thoughts and personal stories on surviving grief is www.survivinggrief.blogspot.com. Sandy can be contacted at sfoxaz@hotmail.com

You Know You’re Getting Better When...

By Helen Fitzgerald, CT

Helen Fitzgerald is a Certified Thanatologist, author and lecturer. Her books include The Grieving Child: A Parents' Guide , The Mourning Handbook and The Grieving Teen . She has appeared on the CBS Morning Show and the NBC Today Show and was previously the director of training for the American Hospice Foundation. You can ask Helen a question about dealing with grief and loss by visiting Ask Helen on the American Hospice Foundation website.

The progress through grief is so slow, and so often of a "one step forward and two steps backwards" motion, that it is difficult to see signs of improvement. The following are clues that will help you to see that you are beginning to work through your grief:

• You are in touch with the finality of the death. You now know in your heart that your loved one is truly gone and will never return to this earth.

• You can review both pleasant and unpleasant memories. In early grief, memories are painful because they remind you of how much you have lost. Now it feels good to remember, and you look for people to share memories with.

• You can enjoy time alone and feel comfortable. You no longer need to have someone with you all the time or look for activities to keep you distracted.

• You can drive somewhere by yourself without crying the whole time. Driving seems to be a place where many people cry, which can be dangerous for you and other drivers.

• You are less sensitive to some of the comments people make. You realize that painful comments made by family or friends are made in ignorance.

• You look forward to holidays. Once dreaded occasions can now be anticipated with excitement, perhaps through returning to old traditions or creating new ones.

• You can reach out to help someone else in a similar situation. It is healing to be able to use your experience to help others.

• The music you shared with the one you lost is no longer painful to hear. Now, you may even find it comforting.

• You can sit through a church service without crying.

• Some time passes in which you have not thought of your loved one. When this first happens, you may panic, thinking, "I am forgetting." This is not true. You will never forget. You are giving yourself permission to go on with your life and your loved one would want you to do this.

• You can enjoy a good joke and have a good laugh without feeling guilty.

• Your eating, sleeping, and exercise patterns return to what they were beforehand.

• You no longer feel tired all the time.

• You have developed a routine or a new schedule in your daily life that does not include your loved one.

• You can concentrate on a book or favorite television program. You can even retain information you have just read or viewed.

• You no longer have to make daily or weekly trips to the cemetery. You now feel comfortable going once a month or only on holidays or other special occasions.

• You can find something to be thankful for. You always knew there were good things going on in your life, but they didn't matter much before.

• You can establish new and healthy relationships. New friends are now part of your life and you enjoy participating in activities with them.

• You feel confident again. You are in touch with your new identity and have a stronger sense of what you are going to do with the rest of your life.

• You can organize and plan your future.

• You can accept things as they are and not keep trying to return things to what they were.

• You have patience with yourself through "grief attacks." You know they are becoming further apart and less frightening and painful.

• You look forward to getting up in the morning.

• You stop to smell the flowers along the way and enjoy experiences in life that are meant to be enjoyed.

• The vacated roles that your loved one filled in your life are now being filled by yourself or others. When a loved one dies he or she leaves many "holes" in your life. Now those holes are being filled with other people and activities, although some will remain empty. You are more at ease with these changes.

• You can take the energy and time spent thinking about your loss and put those energies elsewhere, perhaps by helping others in similar situations or making concrete plans with your own life.

• You acknowledge your new life and even discover personal growth from experiencing grief.

The You Know You’re Getting Better When article was originally published on the American Hospice Foundation website. © 2002