It Is Said That Time Heals What Reason Cannot..

~ Pat Schwiebert, TCF, Portland, Oregon

Time heals what reason cannot.

In the end, time will change things.  The intensity we experience when grief is new, where we can see nothing but our loss, and where every moment is filled with thoughts of the one who died will gradually diminish and become softer.  Time forces the big picture of life back into our vision whether we like it or not. 

This happens in our lives all the time.  Remember how when we first fell in love with someone, we were totally preoccupied with only that other person, until gradually a more balanced existence was restored.  Or when we did what we thought was some terrible thing, and we were sure everybody would never let us forget it, we came to find out a few months down the road that most people had forgotten the incident.

In the months (maybe years) following a loss, life will  eventually begin to re-emerge and life on this planet will once again seem possible.  This will not happen because we come to understand the death more clearly but because, with the passage of time, the unanswered questions will become easier to live with.

Time will not remove grief entirely.  The scars of grief will remain, and we may find ourselves ambushed by an unexpected pang or wave of grief at any time.. often times when you least expect it.  But needing to know the answers to the “why” questions won’t seem quite as important as it once was.

Time is a gift that we have taken for granted.  We’ve been given our lives one moment at a time.  This is good.

ABC’s of GRIEF

Special thanks to Joyce Floyd for sharing this with me when she first contacted me after the death of my son Bobby in September 2009... I still read it quite often and thought you might also find it comforting......  

ABC’s of GRIEF....

A is for accepting the loss of our child

B is for the books we read to help us understand the grieving process

C is for the children and the crying.  We cry and we mourn the loss of our child

D is for the door that seems to have closed the day our child died. 

E is for education.  The more we learn about the death, the more we can come to terms with it.

F is for the foolish things people say to grieving families to comfort us.  Forgive them for their ignorance and accept on faith that they mean well.

G is for the gift of life that was given the day our child was born.

H is for the help that we need to seek.  Grief does not know time frames. 

I is for innocence that we lose when we realize that life is not fair.  We no longer assume that life goes on.  Rather, we learn to live today as there are no guarantees for tomorrow.

J is for jealousy that we feel when other families appear to have normal lives.

K is for the last kiss we gave our child, the kiss that showed our child they were loved.

L is for the love that did not die but lives on within our hearts.

M is for the memories that we will cherish forever.

N is for the nurturing we gave our child, and need to continue to give our remaining children.

O is for the openness we need with our family and friends about what we are feeling and need.

P is for the presents that we will no longer be buying. 

Q is for the questions we will ask but won’t receive an answer for.

R is for the rest, which is hard to get, yet which we need to get through the grieving.

S is for the stories that we should tell about our child to keep them alive in our hearts.

T is for the time you must give yourself to grieve.

U is for the understanding that we must have that the world will go on, and our lives will eventually be put back together.

V is for the virtue of overcoming the many roadblocks that life puts up.

W is for the why’s, which can drive us crazy and wisdom to know there may never be answers.

X is for extra strength and love it takes.

Y is for you that needs to bring yourself to terms with you loss.  ONLY you know what helps and what does not help in your grief journey. 

Z is for the end, the end of the alphabet, the end of a life, but NEVER the end of our love.

The Rushing River

These words were written by a Mother as she was attempting to comfort another newly bereaved Mother at the loss of her son. 

~written by JoAnn Farrell~

I thought this morning about where you are and where I am in all this.  I feel it’s like I’ve been thrown into a rushing river.  At first it is DARK and I can only come up for air enough to keep from dying.  Then as the days go on, I feel rocks or the bottom bumping against my feet, but I can’t get any footing.  I keep on going under, gasping for air, then for a moment my feet feel the bottom and I can brace myself for a few moments.  Each time this happens, I can stand longer, but each time I get swept off my feet again.  

Then I notice each time that I stand, I can take a step toward the shore.  I am going to get pulled under a lot of times before I reach the shore, but I will make it…..I have to.  If not for me……for my family.  The one thing that I don’t know, is do I ever get to step out of the river?  I have a feeling that I will always walk along the shore with water to my ankles, occasionally falling into a hole.  Because I will never not miss my son.  But I will be able to stand and breathe.  

I am sure that I will fall into a deep hole occasionally as I walk the bank of the river, but God will take my hand and help me out.  I will be able to feel joy again…..love again….and do the things that God has for me to do.

I would guess that you are still gasping for breath…..and I am beginning to feel some footing.  We will make it…..it is just hard swallowing so much water…..and I miss my baby.

                                                                    

The holidays will never be the same, but....

~ Excert from Susan Apollon’s book, Touched by the Extraordinary, Book Two: Healing Stories of Love, Loss & Hope

"The holidays will never be the same again," she says. "That is true. But life is change, by its very nature. Little by little you will form a new identity and learn to connect with your lost loved one in a different way. You'll form new memories and new traditions. Grieving well can lead to spiritual growth, which means that life itself can become richer and fuller after a profound loss. You'll never forget the person you lost, but you will find joy—even holiday joy—again."

Realize that miracles really do happen at the holidays. Here's the thing about the holidays, says Apollon. They really are magic. You knew this as a child but may have forgotten it. But spiritual occasions like holidays allow us to step outside the box we live in most of the time and let miracles in.

"Paradoxical as it sounds, grief and holidays are a lot alike," she reflects. "They both help us detach from trivial things and focus on what's important, what's real. Open your mind and heart this year and see what happens. Maybe you'll feel a sense of connection with your loved one who passed on, or maybe you'll feel joy for the first time since your loss. Either one might qualify as a miracle."

"It's healthier to feel the sadness and loss than to detach yourself from it," she says. "It's right and normal to grieve; just don't make it the dominant part of who you are."

Remember, says Apollon, the holidays won't always be such a struggle. If you work through your grief instead of repressing it, you'll find joy again.

Thanksgiving-My Child has died, can I ever be thankful?

This time next week it will be Thanksgiving and for many of us who've lost children, we can't imagine being "thankful"...  Almost a year after my son Bobby died and just months after I'd begun this blog and first began receiving emails from mom's and others outside of our group, I received this story about Thanksgiving - I apologize but I didn't save the name of whom sent it to me, but I want to share it with you.. 

The holidays are difficult, and for some, as hard as we try we can't seem to get back into them the way others wish we would...  but I find her comments in the last paragraph comforting and inspirational, and what I've learned since Bobby's death (also 2 months before Thanksgiving in 2009) is that I am thankful - I am thankful he was born, that he was my son, that I enjoyed him for 36 years and 23 days and that he gave me two beautiful grandsons who remind me of him every time I look at them and I'm glad that Bobby is now with his 2 angel sisters in heaven; and I'm thankful for my wonderful husband Dan, 2 incredible sons Ric & Sean & 2 great step-sons Dan Jr & Doug, 5 daughter-in-laws who I love Margaret, Jennifer, Nikki, Suzanne & Mandi, my adopted daughter Jennifer and 9 1/4 grandchildren that I've been blessed with.. Yes - I have a lot to be thankful for..

THANKSGIVING… MY CHILD HAS DIED, DON’T EXPECT ME TO BE THANKFUL!!

~ By Linda Moore

Dear friends...If this is your first Thanksgiving since the death of your child, I am so very sorry. There is nothing I can say here to make it better, wish I could. Everyone has to do the holiday thing in their own way...whatever might make you the most comfortable. I will share with you part of my Thanksgiving story…

For years our family had gone away for Thanksgiving. We were joined by extended family and it was always a good time. When our kids were little, we all went camping, cooked the turkey outside in a smoker. Some great memories there.

As the kids got older, and I figured out that fixing a big meal outdoors was only fun for everyone else, not the ones bringing everything for it and fixing it! Our game plan then changed and we began going to a hotel on the beach in Carlsbad. Now that was the say to go. We had a big suite, nice heated pool at the ocean’s edge and maid service!!

Then one year, Brad died two months before Thanksgiving. I could not fathom feeling Thankful. My child had died!! 


All the hotel arrangements had been made the year before. We were on automatic pilot and just went with the flow. I did insist on everyone sharing a memory with Brad and lighting a candle in his memory. When I made this request, there were probably some anxious moments…I don’t remember, nor did I care. In some ways I think it was good for us sticking with some of the traditions that Brad loved and adding new ones to honor him. Was it hard? No doubt. Should we have stayed home, gone somewhere else? No matter where we would have gone, he still would not have been there...there is no getting around that. The pain would have been with us no matter where we were.

We told Brad we loved him, writing it in huge letters in the sand. I spent quiet moments by myself, walking on the beach. I cried by myself and with others. I even laughed a couple of times as we shared silly moments of other Thanksgiving days with Brad. Most of the day I felt I was in the “twilight zone” - participating but removed.

That night, when I was by myself, I sat and wrote a letter to Brad – a letter telling him how thankful I was that he was my son, that I had him for those 17 years, 364 days...That I was thankful for every moment, great, good and not so good. I was thankful for the love we still had.

Have I ever had a “normal” Thanksgiving again? NO...no, I have rearranged things in my mind...some

things I keep to myself so others can fully enjoy the day. But I always include Brad in some way. I cannot change that he is no longer physically here...so I have to change my world to make way for this new life of mine and make the best of it.

Pain and Healing..

On Pain and Healing... From the chapter, “Time Does Not Heal All Wounds,” of the book, “Good Grief,” by Deborah Morris Coryell

In pain management used for patients with chronic pain, it is taught not to tighten around the pain but to relax and allow the pain to be present.

The idea is that when pain is resisted, it intensifies. When we breath deeply and acknowledge the presence of pain, it has room to move and can dissipate more readily. Pain is there to tell us something, to warn us of possible danger. This is as true for emotional, spiritual and mental pain as it is for physical pain. When pain speaks, we need to listen. All it takes is paying attention to our pain so that when it comes we remember to breathe and get soft. We don’t want to fight with our pain. We want to learn from it.

Time does not heal. But healing does take time. Give yourself the gift of time. To become whole means that as we open to the pain, we open to the loss. We break open and, as a consequence, we get bigger and include more of life. We include what would have been “lost” to us if our hearts and minds had closed against the pain, we include what would have been lost if we had not taken the time to heal.

As singer/songwriter Carly Simon tells us:  “There’s more room in a broken heart.” 

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

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 life¹. 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

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.

Does anyone undesrstand what we are going through?

~ by Cherie Houston

July 31st, 1972 - 39 years ago today, my beautiful daughter Robin died.. She was a beautiful healthy and happy little 7 month old - sharing the nursery with her 16 month old brother Ric - their very patriotic red, white & blue nursery with matching cribs, hers had a beautiful canopy top... We awoke early that Monday morning, to the shock that Robin Marie, our beautiful little girl, had died during the night, a victim of SIDS - yes 39 years ago today, our world seemed to go into a tailspin, that was the day we lost our 2nd child.. God this can't be happening again, but it did.. Our first daughter, Randee Marie, had died the year before on March 17, 1971 - a little more than 9 hours after she'd been born 12 weeks prematurely, but despite the heartache of losing Randee, we were blessed ~ her twin brother, Ric - who was also only 3 lbs - had survived and now again Ric was our "only child".

I've kept a diary since high school and from time to time I go back and read entries from years gone by - funny, sad, philosophical, complaining, angry, proud, amazing, hopeful - such a wide variety of emotions and it helps to see where I've been... I recently went back and read my diary a year after Robin died - not sure I've ever gone back and read the few weeks after her death-that's too painful, but a year later was OK. I was already expecting again - and would be blessed with a little baby boy - yes Ric had a new baby brother - Bobby was born Aug 27th, 13 months after Robin's death and 7 years later we were blessed again with another beautiful baby boy - Sean... Blessings and tragedy seem to be intertwined - on September 19, 2009 our 3rd child would die, when our 36 year old sone Bobby took his own life on September 19th, 2009..... I want to share with you what I wrote one year aftr Robins death, because it reminds me that maybe those around us who can't understand our pain, just truly can't...

Tuesday, July 31st, 1973
I don't remember when or where I heard the expression "the only two things in life that are certain are death and taxes" But I know it's a common statement, so why is it that no one seems comfortable with understanding what death does to those who are left living? Why can't anyone around me understand how painful it is when someone we know or loves is grieving and heartbroken over the loss of their child, parent, spouse or close friend. Why doesn’t everyone around us understand what we are going through? After all everyone is going to experience loss at some time in their life. Or is it that grief is so terribly painful that no one wants to talk about it and those of us who do, we just makes others uncomfortable.

How did this happen – one year ago today my beautiful little girl Robin died, gone – only 7 months old and in just a moment, this healthy happy little girl who had just pulled herself up and took a step was gone… How can this be and why is that no one seems to understand what I’m going through. I watch other young moms and dads who have lost their babies to SIDS and why is that no one around any of us seems to understand the impact that this loss has had on us. Instead, it seems as though others around us, want to yell at us and say “straighten up and get on with your lives – you are young, you’ll get over it – you’ll have another”… Yes, maybe that’s true – after all I am excited about being pregnant again and I’m nervously looking forward to the arrival of this new little girl or boy in a few months, but why can’t anyone understand that I also want Robin back and that this new baby, although he or she will be loved, will not and can never replace Robin – I just want my baby girl back…

It's not fair-what did we ever do wrong to be thrown into this nightmare – like a spooky fraternity with the deaths of our babies in common - yet we have no idea what to do, how to act, what is normal and we are all wondering the same thing – are we all going crazy?? Dr. Sturner has been so wonderful - who could have guessed the medical examiner to do Robin's autopsy would become such a close friend, but he's helped me so much this last year including establishing this SIDS chapter, but he’s a grandfather and although he’s lost a grandbaby to SIDS, he’s blessed that he has all his children – he can’t fully understand how overwhelming this loss is… I’m amazed at the number of “outsiders” who have whispered to us that they themselves, their moms, aunts, grandmas, etc have had a baby who died of ‘crib death also” but they never talk about it – how can that be, I just want to shout it from the roof tops – my baby is gone, my heart is broken, can’t anyone help me… how and why can you keep death a secret??

Each parent I meet, the feelings we share are the same, feelings of devastating pain, all we want are things the way they were ~ we want our life as it once was and our babies back ~ God why cna't anyone understand that this pain is crippling ~ our hearts feel as though they are totally shattered and we aren’t sure if we will ever get through this, how can we cope, will we ever feel better – doesn’t anyone understand how much we are hurting… Is this what we are going to feel forever – it’s been a year, but it feels like this morning – the nightmare repeats itself over and over again in my mind – whether I’m awake or asleep – like a movie that never stops…

But then again I can't be going crazy – because each and every parent I meet who has suffered this same horrific event is feeling the same things, so this must be normal, this must just be what grief is.. But if that's the case, why then, can’t anyone around me understand what I’m going through, because after all – some of them must have been where we are, they must understand what we are going through – because after all everyone is going to suffer the loss of someone they love – after all taxes & death are the only 2 sure things in life that are certain..

So why can’t they understand my grief or is it that they do understand. Yes maybe they do understand more than I think they do, but maybe - just maybe - for them it’s just too painful to go back, so they scurry away from us - almost as though we are contagious and they might catch our grief - and maybe they have to turn their backs on us because they are just grateful that it’s not them…

Never Forgottern

June the month of graduations, weddings, more memories and of course Father's Day... so although this is a blog for Mom's, the next few posts will be dedicated to our partners - our other half in the creation of our child and children... The pain for dads is as devastating and unbearable as it is for each of us moms, but in so many cultures, and sadly that's most, dads seem to feel and be made to feel that their emotions associated with grief are signs of weakness. That simply isn't true - no matter who and what we are, male - female - young - old, the emotions of grieving, in my opinion, are simply the signs of having truly loved someone special to us, but especially when it is our child - someone we created....

So as Father's Day approaches on Sunday, June 19th, this is the first of several things I'm going to share with you leading up to "Father's Day"... And I hope you will share them with a dad or granddad or any male who sadly has joined this club of having lost their beloved child or children.... Cherie Houston

~ Written by Vicki Tushingham, TCF~

I recently had an experience that touched my heart and I want to share it with you. I have a new job as General Manager of a private tennis club. My first week at the club, I met a member known to all as “Old Bill.”

Bill is 92 years old and perfectly independent and active. He comes to the club most every Friday, enjoys lunch and, weather permitting, a game of tennis. “Old Bill” likes to talk, and we became fast friends. He told me how he had lost his wife a few years back and how he misses her, particularly so, he said, because it was just the two of them. Bill then went on to tell me that he and his wife had lost their only child when she was 8 ½ years old.

He asked if the story was boring me; I assured him it was not, because I too, had lost my only child. Bill then sat down and told me the story of his little Shirley’s life and death, just as we all tell our stories at support group meetings. He had the same need to tell it again as we all do. But he told it with pride and joy blended with the sorrow of his loss. “She was a beauty,” he said, “and bright as a button.” If she had lived, she would be 70 years old today; she’s been gone 62 years. In turn, I told him of my Sandy.

Though I cried for Bill’s loss of Shirley as I do for all of us, I was comforted by the confirmation that, while decades pass, our children are never forgotten.

I’ll now know of a little girl named Shirley, who will always be loved and never forgotten by her dad, and as I pass this story along, you too will know “Old Bill’s Little Shirley.”

Our beautiful moms

I stumbled across this quote and thought of each and every mom in our group and I’m sure it applies to every mom who sadly has found themselves in our position – outliving our children… Each of our mom's have a unique beauty and this quote helped me to understand why... Yes, this quote reflects why you are each so beautiful and I’d like to add that I think our souls that she describes shining through are truly enhanced by the those of our children who have gone before us… Cherie Houston

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross explains your beauty so eloquently…


"The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen."

True History of Mothers Day..

Mothers Day is just 3 days away. For moms whose child or children have died, Mothers Day can be a most difficult holiday and painful reminder of our child's death as others are celebrating. I hope that when you know the true meaning of this day, it will help in some small way. Fact is, that the true history of Mothers Day was not intended to be celebratory, but instead was begun from pain, loss and grief...

Yes, Mothers Day began as a ceremony of bereavement and then as a movement for peace and action to stop the senseless deaths of children everywhere. Mothers Day came as an answer to Julia Ward Howe's proclamation in 1870. So no matter how commercialized the day is treated today, know that the real meaning of Mother’s Day came from pain, loss, and grief — the same things that you and I, as moms who are missing our children who have died before us, are feeling…Cherie Houston

...They were handing out fliers sharing the writing of Julia Ward Howe, first published in 1870 as a protest against the carnage and violence of the Civil War. This was a protest led by women whose sons had died! Bereaved mothers started this tradition of Mothers Day! In the beginning, this was a day of protest, an expression of horrified grief from bereaved mothers who were parted from their sons!!

This is what Julia said in 1870..

Arise, then, women of this day! Arise all women who have hearts, whether our baptism be that of water or of fears!

Say firmly: “We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.

We women of one country will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs. From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with our own. It says “Disarm, Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice.”

Blood does not wipe our dishonor nor violence indicate possession. As men have often forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel. Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.

Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, each bearing after their own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar, but of God.

In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women without limit of nationality may be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient and at the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, the great and general interests of peace.

Julia Ward Howe, Boston ~ 1870

May you find peace in your heart this Mother's Day and be thankful that we are and always will be moms - from the moment we conceived, we were blessed to be a mom and we will be moms forever...

THE MYTH OF CLOSURE

by Ashley Davis Prend, ACSW, Hospice of North Idaho

When will I begin to feel better? When will I return to normal? When will I achieve some closure?” grievers often ask. Closure, our culture tells us, will bring about a tidy ending, a sense of completion. Some grievers hope that the desired magical closure will occur after the funeral or memorial service. Others are confident it will come once they have cleared out their loved one’s room. Or maybe after a special personal ritual. Or perhaps after the first anniversary comes and goes—“surely then, we will have closure,” we think. We pray.

The reason we long for closure, of course, is because we would like to nearly seal away all of this pain. We would like to close all of the sad, confused, desperate, angry feelings out of our life. We would like to put all of this behind us. Closure. What an odd concept really, as if we could truly close the door on pain—turn the lock and throw away the key. The truth is far more complex, of course.

Closure is for business deals. Closure is for real estate transactions. Closure is not for feelings or for people we love. Closure simply does not exist emotionally, not in a pure sense. We cannot close the door on the past as if it didn’t exist because, after losing someone dear to us, we never forget that person or the love we shared. And in some ways, we never entirely get over the loss. We learn to live with the loss, to integrate it into our new identity. Imagine if we really could end this chapter in our life, completely. It would mean losing our memories, our connections to those we love.

If we really found closure, it would ironically hurt even more because the attachment would be severed. And this attachment is vital to us—the memories are treasures to be held close, not closed out. Perhaps it is better to think in terms of healing. Yes, we can process our pain and move to deeper and deeper levels of healing. Yes, we can find ways to move on and channel our pain into productive activities. Yes, we can even learn to smile again and laugh again and love again. But let’s not ever think that we’ll close the door completely on what this loss means, for if we did that, we would unwittingly close the door on all the love that we shared. And that would truly be a loss too terrible to bear.

THE HOLIDAY ARMY

~ By Andrea Gambill

Here it comes again — the Holiday Army — in its annual march against us. Some of its generals are called "Thanksgiving," "Christmas," "Hanukah," "New Year’s Eve" and "New Year’s Day." They are no respecters of the heartbroken and emotionally wounded, and their troops are merciless. They take no prisoners! They demand that we participate in their joy and nostalgia or they will mow us down with their militant tanks of holiday spirit.

Actually, we wish them well. All we really want is for them to leave us alone and let us mourn in peace and quiet. We prefer our “Silent Nights” to their “Deck the Halls” and Jingle Bells.” We don’t intentionally spoil their fun, it’s just that our pain makes them uncomfortable. They’ve been conditioned to believe that “The Holiday Season” should have no blemish of suffering or lack of frivolity. We must not only bandage our wounds while in their presence, but cover them with taffeta and sequins besides. They are convinced that all we need is to “put on a happy face” and all our sorrows will magically evaporate.

In their mad pursuit of happiness, they shoot us with the bullets of shopping, piped-in music, special holiday foods and fragrances, gift wrapping, decorations (especially the angels!), joyous children with happy smiles, cards, invitations, parties and gift exchanges. Any other time of the year, snow is considered a nuisance to shovel and plow through. At the holiday season, though, it is touted as romantic and is linked to sleighs and starry nights in front of fireplaces, snuggled close to those we love.

The most devastating bombs they drop into our lives are the images of reunion — times of greeting and hugging folks who are much loved and sometimes not often seen for awhile. They may only be separated by geography; our absent loved ones cannot cross the chasm of loss that looms before our tear-filled eyes. They remind us of things we should be thankful for (and we are more thankful for many of those things than they can ever imagine). They prod us with their spears of delightful togetherness, never realizing that what they celebrate is what we cannot now enjoy. We would not dream of attacking them in these battles for holiday survival. With our noses pressed against the glass that divides us, we actually long to be able to be part of their happiness. We remember the times we joined in their fun and we, too, were part of their army of nostalgia and joy.

Our broken hearts and bleeding wounds do not excuse us from being gracious, however. While grief does not give us permission to be rude and selfish, and we take no overt action against their aggression, we are not without defenses in these battles. We can shield ourselves with the armor of dignity with kind but direct and simple explanations: “We understand your need for celebration, but this year we prefer quiet and private reflection and meditation.” “Right now it’s hard for us to function in large groups and to appreciate laughter and high spirits.” “Our energy is so limited; we’d appreciate some quiet one-on-one time with you in a more spiritual atmosphere.”

We can gently remind them of how important it is for us to remember those we love who are gone. These are statements that clarify our position without judging or criticizing them for theirs. In kind and non-threatening ways, we need to tell them what’s good for us, because they won’t think of it on their own, and they can use the education.

We also can exercise the muscles of our sense of humor. It will take some effort on our part, but so does anything that is worthwhile and good for us. We can teach ourselves not to fall into the trap of thinking that our grief makes us the center of the universe. We can limit our demands that others treat us in “special” and “deferential” ways because of our pain. We can cut them a little slack and remember that once upon a time, we were just like they are now. It’s good and healthy for us to review our perspectives now and then and decide if we’re being fair and reasonable.

We can express our love in simple and unhurried ways without all the frenetic, expensive and often hysterical hype that the holidays can generate. And we must exercise the expression of our love. Grief does not rob us of our ability to love; it reminds us ever more dramatically of our need to both give and receive love while we are here.

Whenever we can take some control in our situations, we empower ourselves, and then we feel less like victims in what seems like a war of “peace on earth, goodwill toward men.” Anytime we can educate and inform with mercy and compassion, we have given a truly spiritual holiday gift of love that will keep on giving forever.

May your season be filled with genuine blessings of peace.

Parental Grief is Nameless & Boundless

It is said that a wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan.

But...there is no word for a parent who loses a child, that's how awful the loss is!

It is frequently said that the grief of bereaved parents is the most intense grief known.

When a child dies, parents feel that a part of them has died, that a vital and core part of them has been ripped away. Bereaved parents indeed do feel that the death of their child is "the ultimate deprivation" (Arnold and Gemma 1994, 40). The grief caused by their child's death is not only painful but profoundly disorienting-children are not supposed to die.

Parents, whose children have died, are forced to confront an extremely painful and stressful paradox; they are faced with a situation in which they must deal both with the grief caused by their child's death and with their inherent need to continue to live their own lives as fully as possible. Thus, bereaved parents must deal with the contradictory burden of wanting to be free of this overwhelming pain and yet needing it as a reminder of the child who died.


Bereaved parents continue to be parents of the child who died. They will always feel the empty place in their hearts caused by the child's death; they were, and always will be, the loving father and mother of that child. Yet, these parents have to accept that they will never be able to live their lives with or share their love openly with the child.

So, bereaved parents must find ways to hold on to the memories. Many bereaved parents come to learn that "memories are the precious gifts of the heart...[that they need] these memories and whispers, to help create a sense of inner peace, a closeness" (Wisconsin Perspectives Newsletter, Spring 1989, 1).


Yes - parental grief ~ like parental love ~ is boundless. It touches every aspect of a parent's being...

Yes, when our children die, we as parents will grieve for the rest of our lives. Our grief becomes part of us - the new us..As time passes, parents come to appreciate that our grief is our link to our child, our grief keeps us connected to the child.

Yes it is true, Children are not supposed to die, but we know hat they do...  We, the parents, expect to see our children grow, mature and live long and happy lives..

Yes it is true, ultimately, all parents expect to die and leave their children behind...This is the natural course of life events, the life cycle continuing as it should.

But yes we also know, that the loss of a child, our child, is the loss of innocence, and sometimes the death of the most vulnerable and dependent.

Yes, it is true, the death of our child, signifies the loss of the future, of hopes and dreams, of new strength, and of perfection.  We, the parents are expected to an must continue on, to live our lives to the fullest; to give meaning to their lives and their legacies and to insure that throught our memories, that they are not forgotten...

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 life¹. 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 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, and you won't, but 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

A Bend in the Road...

“In the book “A Bend in the Road,” David Jeremiah writes “When you’ve walked through the fire, people begin to listen to you. When you have wisdom borne of suffering you begin to have the tools to accomplish something in the world.”

I saw this first hand when a friend of my husband lost his two year old son. He could not wait to talk to my husband. He searched Don out at the funeral and could not get to my husband fast enough.

He grabbed Don and broke down in his arms. I think just Don’s presence comforted him. When he asked Don how he was going to go on, Don told him there was only one way. He listened while Don explained to him about the love of the Lord Jesus and how HE has carried us through our own trial. I believe the death of our children has given us a freedom to speak to others about our faith and they also tend to listen to us in a more expecting way. We have been through the fire. We have the opportunity and the responsibility to reach out and comfort others and in the process we can spread the word about the Love of the Lord.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, there have been gifts given me from my child. Gifts like NO other. Little nuggets of truth, of heroism, of the purest love I have ever known. Purified by fire, I guess. LIKE GOLD.

There is NO gold purer or more precious than this….and yet sometimes it is so bright that it burns our inner eyes and brings tears and pain to the body and soul. Bright as the sun it emits a power that can heal us and also burn us…yet we hold it tightly in our hearts.

We who have this gold…..are blessed….and cursed….the love, the gifts, the loss, the pain, and yet there is no power in heaven or on earth that can take it away from us….nor would we let them.

Today I’m encouraging those of you who can…..to make your grief into a GOLDEN FIRE……to reach out and embrace another who is hurting. In the reaching out to another, your own HEALING will and CAN begin.

“There will come a time when you believe everything is finished.  That will be the beginning.”
………Louis L’Armour

Coping with A Child's Violent Death

Each year 25,000 young people between the ages of 15 and 24 die violently from murder, suicide, or accident. A child's unexpected death shatters parents' most fundamental assumptions about their own future, their self-worth, and the meaning of life.

Finding peace and a new normal and what some would call “a meaning for the loss” after the loss of any child is challenging, but for parents whose children die violently, it is much more difficult. Some specialist say that the key to finding peace is to eventually find some kind of meaning in what feels like a senseless disaster.

Studies have shown that parents who found meaning, reported less mental distress, happier marriages, and better physical health than parents who hadn't made sense out of their children's death. Murphy’s study showed that parents that attended bereavement support groups were the most likely to find significant meaning in their child's death.  Parents typically seek two kinds of meaning.

First, they search for the concrete causes and remedies for their children's deaths. They focus on the drunk driver, the stray bullet, the fateful decision that put someone at the wrong place at the wrong time, or a child's suicidal depression. They may gather details of the accident or ponder obsessively what everyone could have done to prevent the death. Studies show that most parents find meaning at this level within a year, but that doesn't lead to peace.

It usually takes years to find the deeper meaning that characterizes the second stage of recovery. This is when a parent can feel grateful for the 16 years, "we had him/her around". The road to deeper meaning is long and difficult. Only 12% of parents find it within the first year. Usually it takes 3-5 years, and then, only 57% of parents are likely to achieve it, according to Murphy's study.

Most parents who found deeper significance said that they gained new insights into the purpose of life and reordered their own priorities. "I have realized that life isn't just about work, but about people and relationships." Others found existential meaning, coming to believe such things as, "everything happens for a purpose."

Parents whose children were murdered, understandably, find it more difficult to find meaning, but agreed, that attending bereavement support groups helped greatly to find significant meaning in their child's death.

~ Article by Roberta Lester-Britton and Michael Walker who specialize in helping parents cope with their death of their child. www.beachpsych.com (source: Psychotherapy Networker and a study conducted by Shirley Murphy of parents whose children died violently)

THE GREATEST GRIEF

~ By: Peggy Gibson TCF…. Nashville, TN


A sudden accident killed your child. That terrible phone call changed your life with no warning-you didn’t get to say goodbye-this has to be the most terrible of all.

Your child died by suicide-you feel you should have been able to prevent it. Your guilt is devastating. How can you live with such an incomprehensible tragedy?

You only had one child-now you have none and your focus in life is gone. What the point of living? What could be more devastating?

You’ve experienced the deaths of more than one of your children-will it happen again? How does one survive this pain again?

When your baby died, your dreams died-you have few memories and you’re too young to be suffering like this-this loss is the most unfair.

Someone murdered your child – an unbelievable violation – you’re angry and your frustration with the legal system feeds your anger. This must be the very worst.

You’re a single parent – your child has died and you have no one to lean on, no one to share your grief – surely your suffering is the most painful.

The unbelievable has happened – your adult child died – you had invested so much in that child – now who’s going to care for you in your old age?

You had to watch your child suffer bravely through a long illness – you were helpless to ease his pain and to prevent his death –how do you erase those horrible images? – Yours must be the greatest grief.

The truth is that the death of any child is the greatest loss, regardless of the cause, regardless of the age.

Our own experience is far more painful than we had ever previously envisioned, so how could we possibly comprehend what others have undergone? To make comparisons between our own suffering and the pain of others is an exercise in futility. It accomplishes nothing and sometimes can be hurtful to others.

To say that one type of death produces a greater or deeper grief than another tends to place different values on the children who have died.

Each and every child is worthy of 100% of our grief, each person’s sorrow is 100%, and each loss is 100% of our being.

I can’t imagine wanting to walk in the shoes of any other bereaved parent, can you?