GRIEF THREADS

~ Written by Deb Kosmer

Everyone says “grief is hard work.”  What they don’t always remember to say is watch out for the threads.  

You know those loose threads that pop up from time to tome on your favorite shirt or sweater and no matter how many times you clip them or twist them, before too long, there they are again, defying your best efforts to keep them hidden.  Well, in case you haven’t; noticed grief  has those annoying threads as well.  

Threads that insist on popping up from time to time; leaving you to wonder if you will ever be through with this “grief thing.”  Sometimes a thread comes when you see someone who looks a bit like your loved one.  Sometimes it’s something as simple as seeing caramel apples at the store or smelling their cologne on someone. 

Little things that don’t feel so little when they are taking you places you thought you’d left behind, yes those are Grief Threads...                                                                                            

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

WORK AFTER THE DEATH OF A CHILD

THE HEARTBREAKING JOURNEY OF RETURNING TO THE WORKPLACE AFTER THE DEATH OF A CHILD
~ by Angela Thomas-Jones
Losing a child is a horrendous, life changing experience and returning to the workplace soon after is something that could be considered an enormous task.
Returning to work after the death of a child is a heartbreaking and traumatic experience. The loss of a young or grown child affects a family in certain ways. It is difficult to inform family let alone work colleagues and strangers of the loss that has just happened to your family.
The loss of a newborn, miscarried or stillborn baby has different and lasting affects. The mother does not only have to deal with the loss of a child and all the plans that she had for its future, but she also has to deal with telling people of her loss while still physically showing signs of her pregnancy. So how can you deal with this situation?

• Take a few days and decide whether you want to tell people straight away or whether you want to wait a while
• When you are ready to tell people at work of your loss start by choosing a communication device. I found that email worked well, because you can tell a large amount of people in one hit and you only have to write the story out once
• If you don’t feel that you can do it yourself find a trustworthy work friend, who can answer the questions for you. Tell them as much (or as little) as you would like people to know and let them know which people you want to be told
• Be honest with people. If they ask you about your pregnancy you have every right to tell them the truth. Don’t ever feel ashamed of what has happened, especially if people are being nosey – a side effect of being pregnant
• Look after and protect yourself. While you may want to tell people straight away, don’t forget to take the time to grieve your loss. A miscarriage through to a full-grown child were all once the same size.
• Take the time to mourn, but find your own way to deal with it
• Go back to work at your own pace, which may be full or part time. Do what you feel like. It’s your work life!