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January Issue 2006
Waiting for Answers
?
Years
ago I left My first meeting of The Compassionate
Friends and drove home in tears. My son, Max,
had died a few short weeks before and I had been
anxiously awaiting this evening. These people
must have some answers, I thought. With paper
and pen in purse, I was ready to take notes and
do as they prescribed. I would do anything to
ease the ache in my soul.
But when I walked out into the
spring air later that night, I felt betrayed. I
hadn’t heard any answers. Instead of learning
how to leave my grief behind, it had been
confirmed, made more real with expression. I
knew I would miss Max forever. Would it always
be this way, a flash of pain aligned with every
memory?
During the next months and years, I
attended TCF meetings and conferences, read
books, raged, kept busy, sometimes spent the day
in bed. I wrote, cried and talked about Max.
Slowly, I discovered the answers I had long
feared were true: yes, I will grieve
forever, and yes, my memories will often provoke
tears. But something had changed.
My grief was now more forgiving, my
tears almost a sweet with memory. Max’s life
took shape again as the anguish of his death
began to recede. If I would always miss him, I
would also always have him with me in so many
ways. I wanted to carry his memory into the
future: the joy, the lessons, and the inevitable
pain. How could I do otherwise?
As I walked to my car after that
meeting, the TCF chapter leader caught up with
me. “How can I stop this pain?” I asked. She put
her arm on my shoulder, “Just do what feels
right to you,” she said, “Listen to your heart.
And we’ll be here to listen, too.” Sometimes the
best advice is none at all.
Mary
Clark, TCF,
Sugar Land-SW Houston, TX
January Issue 2006
Steps To Making Progress
Allow Yourself
To
be imperfect
Whatever brings you pleasure and a little peace
To
remember your child in whatever way you feel
appropriate
Force Yourself
To
keep communication open
To
accept offers of help from family and friends
To
go through the old routines again
To
really listen to your spouse and children
To
try an activity that you use to enjoy
Convince Yourself
That every member of the family will and should
grieve differently
That you won’t feel dead forever
That confusion about intimacy with your spouse
is normal
Teach Yourself
To
establish small goals
Everything you can learn about grief
To
ignore well intentioned, unhelpful comments of
others
To
let go of the moment of your child’s death
To
embrace the memories of your child
Talk To Yourself
To
change the negative ways you think about
everything
Forgive Yourself
For
not being the most perfect parent
For
all the things you did or did not do
Find Yourself
Now
that you have changed into a different person
without relying on drugs, alcohol, etc.
By
relying on positive techniques
Indulge Yourself
By
being selfish and doing something just for you
because you deserve it
Express Yourself
By
talking out your feelings in a safe atmosphere
Through a new activity,
such as writing
January Issue 2006
Believe
Crocuses poke their heads through the crusty
snow
To let
us know the long, bleak winter is ending and
spring will come again.
So,
too, the long, bleak winter of your
Aching,
breaking heart will end and
Spring
will come again one day.
Be
patient ~ but believe it ~
Your
spring will come again
Betty Stevens, TCF, Baltimore, MD
Acceptance
Do we ever really accept the death of
our child? After reading my journal,
reading the newsletter articles,
listening to others, I do not think so.
Following the first year or two of
shock, disbelief and intense pain I
experience times when I really think
of David’s loss that I literally get
sick to my stomach and my heart hurts.
With all of these feelings I still have
visions of David walking through the
door and this nightmare is over.
Sure, I found a day to day life, meeting
my obligations, caring for my family and
even having moments of laughter. I know
on one level that David is no longer
part of this life, but, to me, I still
cannot accept it.
Lois Copeland, TCF, Arlington, VA
Five Years
Five years, but only yesterday.
You were twenty-one but still our kid,
our youngest.
How little you were
while trying to keep up with your
siblings.
Not knowing that a fourth child is
suppose to be quiet.
You were funny, witty, but intense;
social, but private.
So many friends, so cool, but giving to
all.
Your struggles overcome,
just reaching your mountaintop,
when struck down in an instant.
Our lives changed for ever.
I still have nightmares of that snowy,
wintry, morning,
Mothers don’t leave their child out in
the cold.
At that moment, I learned that we don’t
always live happily ever after.
We grieved.
We cried; in our cars, at your grave, in
our private places and we cried
ourselves to sleep.
We wondered if we could go on living.
Our tears did not bring you back.
At first light for just an instant we
thought it was a bad dream.
Just a trick our minds played.
We went back to work, to school.
To our dismay, life goes on.
In our pain we wanted time to stop. But
it did not.
January 30, 2005 five years; January
31…..
Lois
Copeland, TCF Arlington (VA) Issue of
January 2005
Observing the Day
How
do you observe the day your child, sibling, or
grandchild died? The answers are as varied as
how your child passed away. Many go to the
cemetery, say prayers, refrain from working,
plan a special meal, light candles, set up an
altar, special family time, or a time of
seclusion.
Our
family rented a house secluded in the mountains
of West Virginia for several days. No
television, radio, or telephone. We talk,
reminisce, cook, listen to music, read, hike,
play games and just be. Since we go the end of
January we always have a roaring fire going.
This adds warmth, spirituality, and serenity. On
the day of David’s passing we light candles and
spend the day quietly. Some of us go to the
cemetery.
The
time together is not always peaceful: there may
be tension or frayed nerves. We try to remember
we are not in the same place in the grief
process. This is especially important.
Our
children (who are young adults) learned that
winning at Scrabble is not always the longest
words, but placement and strategy (taught by
their father after many late night games). They
also learned to play Bridge and Pinochle and
increased their skill at Hearts.
Each
year is different. The first two years was more
emotional and intense. There are few rules;
respect for one another and cooks don’t do
dishes. We plan ahead, but our emotions and mood
set the tone.
Each year
ends with massages. Our children never had a
massage; this was a new experience for them. The
massage and massage therapist is critiqued for
the rest of the day. We’ve had quite a few
laughs. This has become part of our tradition.
Last year we bought the house in West Virginia.
David has never been to the house, but the house
is infused with his spirit! This is our family’s
ritual.
We each observe
this sad day differently. The way to manage this
day, at least initially, is to take charge and
make a plan. Create a new day of remembrance, of
ritual.
Lois Copeland, TCF Arlington (VA)
The Lost
Earring
Several
months ago I lost something very precious; one
of the earrings my son David gave me in 1996
when he was living in Montana. He found two
small gold nuggets by a stream and made them
into earrings for my birthday. I loved the
earrings and wore them along with my other
earrings.
Once David
died, January 30, 2000, the earrings took on a
special significance. I wore them all the time
and developed a habit of touching each ear lobe
several times an hour to make sure they were in
place. Approximately four months after David
died I touched one ear lobe and the earring was
gone. Frantically I looked everywhere, but the
ring was nowhere to be found! I felt
cheated-first my son dies and then I lose a
precious gift he gave me. I felt like I lost
David. Several days later, Jay, my husband,
found the ring in our dog’s coat while petting
him. I prayed, thanking G-d.
Several
months ago, while washing my hair, I touched my
ear and the earring was gone. The small gold
nugget probably fell down the drain. Again I
retraced my steps, called a plumber to check the
drain, but no earring. It’s gone, just like
David is gone; but I held onto the thought that
the earring cannot be really lost. G-d would not
allow that to happen. After weeks of searching:
no earring. But this time, though upset, I
accepted the loss. I don’t need the earring to
remind me of David and the beautiful, wonderful,
thoughtful gift. The memories of David’s love
and his wish to make those gold nuggets into
earrings sustain me.
Lois
Copeland, TCF, Arlington (VA)
Issue of September 2004
WHERE OUR CHILDREN ARE THE STARS
Thousands of stars, on banners surrounding blue
and white placards announcing workshops, on the
memory boards, in the hospitality rooms, all
with pictures of children that have died, our
precious children. Many of them were
represented at the 27th annual TCF
Conference in Hollywood by a parent, grandparent
or sibling and many of the pictures were sent by
loved ones not able to attend. Whenever there is
a gathering of Compassionate Friends, all of our
children are represented and remembered.
Everywhere you looked there were people wearing
buttons with pictures of their “Child”. No
matter what the age they are someone’s children.
As
I arrived at the Conference, my thoughts
immediately spiraled back to that time when I
was waiting for my granddaughter to be born,
that time when all was right with my world, that
time when I had never heard of The Compassionate
Friends. My beautiful granddaughter, Sarah
Louise was born September 27, 1998 and would be
entering the first grade this fall, however that
will not happen because she died November
23,1998. She will always be two months old, not
much time on this earth, is it?
I
had come to the Conference to present a workshop
for Grandparents that I call “Double Blessing,
Double Pain”. That is what it is when you have
a grandchild, that blessing because your own
child is now a parent and you a grandparent and
then the pain of watching your child suffer the
most horrific pain imaginable when the child
dies. How can you comfort your child when your
own heart has been ripped from your body and
torn to shreds? This is not something that a
band-aid and salve will fix.
In
the years since Sarah Louise’s birth and death I
have had an education I never wanted, though
accept it I must. One of the things I
discovered was that there aren’t many resources
available for grandparents and this is why I go
to the meetings and why I became the editor of
this newsletter. This is a way that I can honor
her memory, by helping others understand what a
grandparent goes through during this time.
Many times I
have heard a mother say “ I don’t think my
mother-in-law is at all upset, she never cries
or wants to talk about the baby”. This is when
I can offer; “maybe she doesn’t want to upset
you and is trying to take a cue from you. I
guarantee that she does cry, she does it alone
not wanting to upset you.” That communication
between the generations is so important, just as
it is important to educate the outside world
about what it is like when a child dies. I
continue to learn from those who are in the TCF
meetings and those who attend the workshops I
present. At the panel discussion for parents
and grandparents, a dad asked me “when do you
stop being the parent taking care of your child
and get to be the grandparent and take care of
you?” It is a very good question and the answer
is, “at the monthly TCF meetings, when I am
preparing a workshop or doing the newsletter,
and especially when I write letters to Sarah
Louise.” My letters to her are written when I
have something happening in my life, when I have
a bad day, when I have a good day or just
because. As a matter of fact I wrote to her
several times while I was at the Conference.
On my journey
from VA to CA and back I had many conversations
with people who wanted to know why I was going
to Hollywood. Here was a decision to make when
I was sitting next to someone on an airplane,
how much do I say? Interestingly the ones that
were most receptive were a father and his
15-year-old son. We had been talking sports
since they had just been to a baseball
tournament and I have grandchildren who play
competitive ice hockey, when the boy asked” the
question”. I realized it was a risk and I
plunged in to tell them” the who, what and
why”. The boy seemed genuinely interested and
when they left the plane to go home and I to
continue on, he smiled at me and said, ”thanks
for sharing Sarah Louise with us, and good luck
with your workshop for grandparents.” He got
it!
The final
morning as the walkers lined up to participate
in the “Walk To Remember” I was once again
reminded of our reason for being there. With a
very full heart I went out to cheer on those who
were walking and as they left I saw a woman
sitting alone on a bench crying. I walked over
and asked if I could join her. By the time the
walkers returned there were five of us sitting
there sharing our stories, proof that “We Never
Walk Alone”.
Betty C. Farrel, Sarah Louise’s Nana,
Arlington, VA Chapter TCF
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