MartyT

My dear Walt, You are one of the first to have joined our GH family. As the bereavement counselor assigned to monitor and moderate these forums, I have read every single message ever posted on this site (all 14,686 of them), and I can assure you that whether you choose to post or not, your continuing presence is noticed and highly valued by all of us, most especially by me. As I hope you will see from reading the other responses to your most recent message, whether you realize it or not, your presence is enormously helpful to others. One of the things that makes this site so special is the wonderful mix of people who make up our family. We are all at different places in our own individual grief journey, and that’s okay. Sometimes we mourners feel as if we’re in a class called Grief 101, and while everyone else seems to be passing with flying colors, we are the only ones who are failing the course! But when you have the courage to tell us that you’re not as far along as another member might be, you normalize and legitimize the feelings of every single person out there who may be feeling exactly as you do. You see, Walt, each of us is exactly where we need to be at any given moment, and when we are here on this site, we don’t have to explain ourselves or apologize to anyone for that. No one here is judging you for being where you are and where you need to be. If you look at the figures at the bottom of the main page of our site, you will see that we have over 2000 members, and the majority of them have never posted at all. Some of us are more verbal than others, and some feel more comfortable writing. Others prefer simply to read what other members have to say. Some simply don’t have the energy to post; others may not feel as if they have anything positive to offer, and that’s okay, too. There is room enough for all of us here, whether we are visible and verbal, or quietly reading in the background. When you have a moment, Walt, it may be helpful for you to go back and read some of the posts in this thread: Do You Think They Miss Us?

Teny, dear ~ I am so very sorry. These things are so very difficult for us to understand ~ the unfairness of it all ~ as if losing your beloved was not enough for you to endure . . . We all are thinking of you, holding you in our hearts, and praying for the safety and protection of your countrymen.

Hi Chuckles, You will find a schedule of all the "in person" support groups sponsored by Hospice of the Valley here: Hospice of the Valley Bereavement Services (Once there, click on the link entitled Hospice of the Valley Grief Support Groups.) In addition, since you're looking for a group that meets on a particular day of the week, you can always contact the HOV Bereavement Office for a referral to a group that fits your schedule, even if it's not sponsored by HOV. Just telephone the office, at 602-530-6970, and someone there will be happy to help you. Be sure to see the articles, books and online resources listed on the Death of a Parent page of my Grief Healing Web site as well.

Dear, sweet Kay ~ You bring such valuable perspective and wisdom to all of us ~ whatever would we do without you? Thank you for being here with us, for all of us.

Rosanne, dealing with the insensitivity of others when we are in mourning is one of the more difficult aspects of grief for all of us, and it is a subject very dear to my heart. Sometimes (if you are so inclined) it helps just to offer such folks a printed article or two, or even a booklet, on this important topic. You may find some of these articles and resources listed on this page helpful: Helping Someone Who's Grieving

Erica, dear ~ I know from your e-mails to me yesterday that (like me ) you're not really comfortable with computers, and since you're so new to our site I want to be sure you know about one very helpful feature. (It occurs to me that some others reading this post may not know this, either.) As Derek points out, although he is farther along on this journey than you are now, he still remembers how he felt when he was where you are now. To get a real sense of that, you can simply click on Derek's name (dpodesta). That will take you to Derek's Member Profile page. At the top right of the page, click on the link entitled Profile Options. Then you'll see a pop-up window appear. Click on Find Member's Posts. Now, if you like, you can read all of Derek's posts (all 18 pages of them!) since he first joined our family back in June, 2006. Actually, anyone can do this by clicking on any member's posts on our site.

Annie, dear, we've been with you every step of the way, and we are with you now. You are in our hearts.

Good point, Annie! One excellent resource I've found in this regard is offered by AARP. You will find it online here: Final Details See also many of the other resources I've listed on the Care Giving page of my Grief Healing Web site.

Rosanne, dear, It hurts my heart to think that you're feeling guilty for calling hospice at a point in your mother's illness when she was asking you to take her somewhere to get help, and pleading with you not to let her suffer. Hospice is the one thing we can do for our loved ones when there is nothing else to be done ~ when the illness cannot be cured. The very purpose of hospice care is to transform the experience of dying, to provide comfort so that our loved one does not suffer alone and in pain. So I think you should be commended for having the courage and the good sense to do what you did. I understand that you live in a rural area and that all hospices are not the same, but the fact is that you did the best you could with what you had, Rosanne, and no one can fault you for that.

You can listen to a two-minute clip of Katie's song, I'll Find You, which she wrote as a tribute to her grandfather, here. (When you go to the site, select song #10.)

Tracey, dear, I’m not sure what you’re asking me, but it seems as if you are not getting the help you need, or whatever you’ve tried so far isn’t working very well for you. I cannot emphasize enough the importance of positive self-care strategies in the face of grief and loss. The only way to make grief more manageable is to empower ourselves to take good care of our bodies, our minds, and our hearts, so that we stay physically and emotionally healthy enough to deal with it. Are you seeing your primary care physician regularly, so he or she can evaluate the effectiveness of whatever medication has been prescribed for you? Oftentimes finding the “right” medication(s) requires a certain amount of trial-and-error time, and your physician should be monitoring you closely to see what is working or not working for you. Have you found an “in person” grief support group? Are you meeting with a grief counselor who can help you work through all that guilt you’re carrying around with you? Have you done any reading about grief so you know what is normal, what reactions you can expect, and what you can do to cope with and to manage those reactions? Have you tried writing as a way to get some of those feelings outside yourself and into a journal? (See, for example, Writing As a Way of Healing: How Telling Our Stories Transforms Our Lives, and Writing to Heal the Soul: Transforming Grief and Loss through Writing.) Since you have access to the Internet, you have so many resources to turn to, Tracey, right here at your fingertips. Find and try out whatever helps you to identify, acknowledge, honor and express your feelings. As an example, just look at all the resources I’ve listed on the all Links pages of my Grief Healing Web site. There are literally hundreds of them there, and since I have personally visited and evaluated every single Web site that is listed on my Links pages, you don’t even have to expend the energy to search for them ~ all you have to do is click on the links! The difficulty you’re having with sleeping is something you can discuss with your doctor, but you might find this article helpful as well: Coping with Sleeplessness and Insomnia in Grief.

The topic of grief dreams is fascinating, and one that we've discussed previously in these forums. If you've not seen it already, you might want to read the post in our Behaviors in Bereavement forum entitled "Strange Dreams about Death," dated 28 November 2005. You can access it directly by clicking on this link: http://hovforum.ipbhost.com/index.php?show...st=0entry2900 See also Is It True? Will I See Her Again?

Dear Ones, I've just watched an online video (on YouTube) that shows Social Worker Byron Katie working with a man who is frustrated with his sister for what he perceives to be her failure to "get over" the death of her daughter. It is fascinating to see what the therapist does with this man's concerns, all in the space of a few short minutes. To watch the video, click on this link: www.byronkatie.com/2007/07/video_my_sister_wont_let_go_of.htm

Gail, see also John's Book List . . .

Teny, dear, our support goes with you wherever you may go. If you can carry Yiany with you in your heart, you can carry us with you, too. Just because we are not physically there with you does not mean that we're not right there with you, in spirit. You are not alone.

Dear Deonna, Annie is right ~ the most precious gift you can give another in grief is your presence. Your being there for your friend, especially when you yourself are in such pain, speaks far more eloquently than anything you can think of to say. You may find these threads (that were posted earlier) helpful: Husband's Grief Helping Someone in Grief

My dear Teny, You may find this post helpful: The Use of Antidepressants in Grieving I'd also like to share with you a post I wrote to another member quite some time ago, as I think it may speak to you as well: Posted by: MartyT Tuesday, April 25, 2006 @ 02:24 PM I'm so glad you found your way to this kind and caring place, although I'm very sorry for the reasons that brought you here. Please accept my deepest sympathy for the death of both your parents. I agree that going to receive your award and following through with your studies is important, provided that you acknowledge that nothing changes the reality that both your parents have died so close together, and your grief will accompany you wherever you go, whether you want it to or not. Grief is extremely powerful and not something we can easily avoid; if we don’t acknowledge what we’ve lost and how we feel about it, we may find ourselves expending enormous energy just trying to keep a lid on it, and often unsuccessfully. We cannot always predict or control the timing of sudden upsurges of grief, especially when our losses are so recent. Much as we may try to avoid them or ignore them, our various reactions to loss can pop up when we least expect them. They can be triggered by something as simple as a song on the radio, an advertisement in a magazine, or a face in a crowd that reminds us of the person we have lost. If we’ve had little or no prior experience with bereavement, we may be caught off-guard and feel totally unprepared to deal with this when it happens to us. Not knowing what to expect, we find ourselves wondering if our reactions are normal and dreading what may be coming next. But when we’re armed with an understanding of grief, and know what feelings and experiences we can normally expect, we are able to face the weeks and months ahead more readily. Much as you may want to do so, dear Tara, there is no way to avoid this grief of yours. You cannot wait it out, you cannot postpone it, you won’t simply “get over it,” and nobody else can do your grief work for you. It’s called grief work because it is hard work, and if you put it off, like a messy chore or a sink full of dirty dishes, it will sit there waiting to be done – and the longer it waits, the harder is becomes. I want to suggest that, as you follow through with your plans to pursue your studies and your career, you also set aside some time to do your grief work. You can do it in pieces, you know – you don’t have to do it all at once! What do I mean by grief work? I mean doing the things you already know how to do: writing, journaling, meditating, dreaming, reading, remembering – but with the intention of paying attention to your grief. Just as you will do with your studies over the next year, set aside some time each day to pay attention to your sorrow at losing both your parents. Experiment with it as you go along, and take it in manageable doses, say for a half-hour each evening, at the end of your day. Just for that specific time-frame, immerse yourself in memories: bring both your parents to mind, talk to them in your mind, remember them and recall or write down your favorite stories about them. As a very wise woman once said, “If their song is to continue, then we must do the singing.” Accept your award in their honor, and dedicate your work to them. These are what Thomas Attig calls “sorrow-friendly practices,” and you already know how to do them. Do some reading about what is normal in grief, so you’ll have a better idea of what you can expect. Keep reading the messages posted in this and other forums on this site – there is no better place to learn about grief and how different people react to it. You say you feel isolated and alone (another normal feeling in grief!) but you've already met some very experienced and compassionate people right here on this site – and one of the most wonderful things about them is that, if you have access to a computer and the Internet, you can take all of them right along with you, wherever you go! Now that you have found us, remember this: You are not alone on this journey, no matter where you are physically, or where your studies and work may take you. We are right here beside you, every step of the way. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Hi Spela ~ Welcome Home

This insightful article was written by Julie Donner Andersen, dear friend and author of the award-winning book, PAST: Perfect! PRESENT: Tense! Insights From One Woman’s Journey As The Wife Of A Widower. How Long Is ‘Long Enough’? By Julie Donner Andersen A widowed friend of mine fell in love with a man she had known throughout her entire twenty-five year marriage, two months after her spouse’s death from terminal cancer. She confided to me that while she would probably never get over her husband’s death, her grief was now “manageable”. She mentioned that during her husband’s year long fight to survive, her overwhelming duties as his caretaker had plunged her into an early grief long before her husband actually drew his last breath. She felt confident that she had reached a point in her grief journey where her heart could make room for both her new love and her memories of her late husband. However, friends and family alike clucked their judgmental tongues and warned her that two months was not long enough for her to have come to grips with her loss. They concluded that my friend’s new relationship was “transitional” at best, and that her feelings for the new man in her life couldn’t possibly be real. They decided that her grief must have rendered my friend lonely and confused, and assumed that she couldn’t be ready to love again so soon after her tragic loss. Finally, they determined that by openly parading her new relationship around town, my friend was acting irresponsibly and insensitively to her late husband’s memory. They felt her actions were downright shameful. My friend soon ended her relationship with her new love, but not because she felt that she was stuck in a stage of the grief cycle, or because she stopped loving him. She just couldn’t bear the lack of support, the negative reactions to her happy news, and the pointing and whispering that went on behind her back. She died six months later, brokenhearted and alone. I can relate to my late friend’s fear of negative societal response. When I met my previously widowed husband, his wife had been gone for almost three years. While he was certain within his own heart and mind that he was mentally and emotionally prepared to rejoin the living and move on with his life, his circle of supposed supporters were just as quick to admonish him. Three years, they decided, was not a suitable timeframe in which to complete the grief cycle, and cast a deciding vote against not only his new life but also on me as his new love interest. I believed that by the three-year mark, my then-boyfriend would have already dealt with his grief issues to everyone’s satisfaction. I naively judged that three years was definitely the “kosher” amount of time for someone to lose a spouse, do some grieving, and move beyond bereavement into the dating scene again. Imagine my shock to learn that in some folks eye view, in total opposition of my own, three years was like a drop of water in an ocean of time. So who was right? Were my husband’s friends correct to disapprove of his three year waiting period? Was it accurate for me to assume that three years was long enough? And what about my late friend? Was two months not long enough, and if not, then how long IS “long enough”? Our society is made up of people with vastly differing opinions. One person’s definition of “right/enough” is another person’s judgment of “wrong/not enough”. Therefore, a standard against which to measure the appropriateness of a widow’s or widower’s readiness to rejoin the dating pool does not really exist. Grief is an emotion, and as with all emotions, grief has no boundaries, nor does it come with its own timetable or set of rules. Like any other emotion, grief is neither “right” nor “wrong” – it just is. While three years may be the “suitable” amount of time for some survivors’ grief cycles to come full circle, it is definitely not “long enough” for other widows or widowers. But one thing is for sure - only the man or the woman who is struggling to move beyond bereavement can make that determination. No one else can, or should, make it for them. Society bases its judgments on its own comfort level, and inevitably makes sweeping generalizations based upon them. If we are not comfortable with bi-racial marriage, then we claim it is “wrong”. If we are unnerved by homosexuality, then we shout from the rooftops that it is a “deviant lifestyle”. When people allow ignorance to cloud their rational thought, which in turn leads them outside of their comfort zones, the resulting concrete judgments make everyone suffer, and compassion, tolerance, and acceptance are damned to the wayside. This same theory appears to hold water in regard to widows and widowers who wish to re-enter the dating world. Society is simply not adequately informed about the totality of grief, but still allows this ignorance to cast stones at the widow/er for contemplating dating or remarriage. To its benefit, perhaps society does so to protect its weakest at the most vulnerable time in its members’ lives. We do not like standing idly by and watching a broken spirit be taken advantage of, nor do we want such a fragile heart to be hurt again, so we rush in to defend a widow/er’s honor in the name of protecting him/her from making a mistake. However, in doing so, we disregard that widow/er’s personhood and assume that they are far too grief-stricken to formulate rational thoughts and decisions, thereby confusing the bereaved even further and causing “fits and starts” in what otherwise might be a healthy new relationship with a new partner. Perhaps we, as a society, are skeptical of widow/er remarriage because those of us who have had long and happy marriages cannot even begin to fathom doing so ourselves should we lose our spouses. It is hard to guess how we would react within the realm of grief, much less if we would consider loving again, while walking through the stages of grief. But therein lies the rub. We cannot make assumptions about something or someone we know nothing about. What society fails to recognize about the journey of grief is that people grieve in their own distinct ways, and in their own differing lengths of time. No two grieving individuals share the same grief journey because they, like people themselves, are unique to each person. To make judgments about the move beyond bereavement being “too soon” or “long enough” without ever having personally stepped a foot on the path of grief is like opining about giving birth when you have never been pregnant. Sure, you could read the literature and make an intelligent speech about the mechanics of the birth process, but you would not be viewed as credible when speaking of the mental and emotional aspects of carrying and delivering a child. Only a birth mother could do that. It would seem to follow, then, that fellow widows and widowers would understand their counterparts and give them latitude in regard to loving again or wanting to remarry, no matter what the length of time between loss and newfound love. Ironically, though, other widows and widowers who have yet to find new love, or could care less about finding it, are often the least supportive of their fellow loss survivors who are already at that point in their personal grief journeys. One possible explanation of this is what I refer to as “The Pedestal Effect”. Grief researchers and scholars have noted that most widow/ers experience a period during grief where they "canonize” their late spouse’s memory, thereby placing the deceased on a pedestal too high for anyone to approach. In this stage of grief development, the bereaved can only remember that his/her late spouse was perfect in every way, and that no one could ever “take his/her place”. A new love interest who may be compared to this unattainable standard of perfection is doomed to pale. Many widow/ers feel that they must remain single/widowed to preserve the memory of their late spouse. This act is self-sacrificial in nature, but is often the antithesis of personal growth. To these particular widow/ers, loving again is akin to dishonoring a deceased’s memory, and they can be very critical of another widow/er who dares to defame their own respective “saint”. To love again after loss takes an extreme amount of courage, considering the obstacles that stand in the way of a widow/er’s own personal happiness. However, if you are a survivor who has been alone for either a few weeks or several decades and are wondering what the answer to the question “How long is ‘long enough’?” might be, I can tell you without hesitation - it’s whenever YOU decide the time is right. Copyright © 2003 by Julie Donner Andersen. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission of the author.

My dear Jay, Since you’ve asked for some input about getting a new puppy, I want to address the last part of your post in particular, but first I need for you to know how much your story touches my soul and tugs at my heart. I am so moved by the devotion you felt for your precious cocker spaniel Ginger in the last days and hours of her life, and all I can think is how blessed this darling little dog was to have been a member of your family. How blessed your wife and children are, too, to have a husband and father who models so beautifully what it means to love and lose a cherished companion animal, to be with her when she dies, and to mourn for her in her absence. You say you’re having second thoughts about getting a new puppy, and I’d like to help you sort through what you may be thinking. First, there are very good reasons why you may be reluctant to go out and obtain another puppy right away. For one thing, you know that if you allow yourself to love another dog, you certainly don’t want to have to go through all this pain again at some future point when that dog dies, too. I can tell you that the one sure way to avoid repeating the pain you're feeling now is to decide never to love like that again. Yet we all know (intellectually at least) that whenever we take a companion animal into our lives, sooner or later we are going to lose that animal, simply because the life span of a dog is so much shorter than our own. We like to delude ourselves into believing that our animals will be with us forever, but deep down we know that cannot happen. When we are confronted with the death of our cherished animals, this reality is very hard for us to accept. Far better that we acknowledge that harsh reality when we opt to bring an animal into our lives in the first place. Grief is the price we pay for loving our animals so much. You cannot grieve deeply unless you’ve loved just as deeply. What also often stands in the way of our loving another pet is our sense of loyalty to the one who just died. We confuse loving another animal with "replacing" the one we've lost. It feels like an act of disloyalty, a violation of Ginger’s memory, an intrusion. Of course there is no other pup or dog who will ever “replace” your beloved Ginger, because, as you say, she is absolutely irreplaceable. Please don’t look at “replacement” of Ginger as your objective here. You are experiencing what many dog lovers feel as you come to terms with the loss of Ginger’s physical presence in your home. Clearly she wiggled her way into every aspect of your daily life, and as a result, right now you’re constantly bumping into reminders of her absence. It is only human to be longing for something, anything, to fill that huge, Ginger-sized space in your heart and in your life. There is nothing inherently wrong with wanting to bring another dog, even another cocker spaniel, into your home, and there is no right or wrong time to do so. After all, we human beings have an infinite capacity to love, and most animal lovers have a heart that’s big enough to accommodate any number of additional companion animals. Just make certain that, before you bring another puppy into your household, you’ve considered certain things. For starters, grief takes an enormous amount of energy, and you (and / or your wife) may not have a lot of emotional energy left over right now to place onto another puppy. If that is the case, getting a new puppy right now wouldn’t be fair to either of you (or to your children), and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to the new puppy. As I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, grief brings with it a whole mish-mash of conflicting and confusing feelings, including lots of negative emotions and sometimes unreasonable expectations of others. Whether it’s by posting here, or by talking with your wife or a trusted other, make sure you’ve both found a way to process your grief at losing Ginger, and you’ve given your kids an opportunity to express their feelings, too, so you’ll all have room in your hearts to welcome another puppy. And even if you feel ready to do so, it’s important that all the other members of your family feel ready, too, to love this new little fur person for him- or herself, and not as a replacement for Ginger. Grief is different for everyone, and not all members of a family process their grief the same way or within the same time frame. (See, for example, my article, Understanding Different Grieving Patterns in Your Family. See also How Long Should You Wait to Replace a Pet Who Has Died? and the other articles listed on the Children and Pet Loss page of my Grief Healing Web site.) As I write in my booklet, In the normal course of grief, the time will come when the child is ready to reinvest feelings of attachment in another pet. It is a mistake, however, for parents to rush to replace the pet who was lost. Both parents and children need time to finish with this pet, and then only with the understanding that there is no way to replace a loved one. Getting a new pet before the grieving process is completed (and before a child wants or feels a need to give love to another pet) suggests that the lost pet was insignificant and disposable, diminishes the importance of the new pet, and deprives the family of the opportunity to find meaning in the whole event. [source: Children and Pet Loss: A Guide for Helping, © 1996 by Marty Tousley, p. 14] I hope this information helps, Jay, and please know that we’re all thinking of you and your family at this sad and difficult time. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Lori, dear ~ There is little I can add to what other members have said already, but since you’ve asked, I will offer what I can. As you picture yourself at the cemetery for this stonesetting ceremony, ask yourself, “What is the worst that could happen?” Do you think you will cry uncontrollably, lose control of yourself, or otherwise “fall apart” in front of the other people there? If so, how do you suppose those others would react? Would they pass negative judgment on you, or would they instead accept this as normal and even expected behavior in such a setting, perhaps even reading this as a measure of how much you love and miss your mother? Would they be appalled at your behavior, turn around and leave in disgust? Or would they empathize with you and recognize your need for support? And who are these people who will be at the cemetery with you, anyway? Will they not be your closest family members, the ones who know you best and accept you as you are? In your message of July 24, you say you’re glad that you’ll have “lots of family around me in case I need a shoulder to cry on.” That sounds to me as if you like the people in your family and you can trust that they will “be there” for you in a compassionate and supportive manner, just as you would be there for them under similar circumstances. Harold Ivan Smith often says that the rituals we create can be great models for other people, and that our willingness to shed tears of grief in public can give permission to others to express their grief more freely, too. Maybe you can look at this as an opportunity to teach your other family members how better to help one another in grief. If you really believe that you will lose control of yourself or do something embarrassing during this ceremony, Lori, what would happen if you share your concerns with one or two of your closest family members in advance, and ask for their understanding and support ahead of time? For example, you could say something like this: “I have no idea how this will go for me today, but for weeks I’ve been scared to death that I will do or say something stupid or silly or worse. If that should happen, please just bear with me, and know that I am doing the best I can. I need you to be there for me today, and one day, when you are in my shoes, I promise I will be there for you, too.” I’m reminded of something I read several years ago that I’ve placed on my Web site’s Comfort for Grieving Hearts page: Remember that it won't always feel this bad. Somehow it does change. It does get better. At the moment, take heart from those around you who want to care for you and be present for you in your distress. They don't always know how, they don't always do it right, but they try. Sorrow is a matter of taking turns. This year, it's yours. Next year, it might be you setting the table for someone else who feels that they cannot cope. ~Deidre Felton In your post of July 22, you say, "I want to talk to my mom alone at the cemetary after everyone leaves. I want her to know that I'm there for her and that she will always be with me." Why not let your family know (again, in advance of the ceremony) of your needing private time to do this? You could even designate one family member who, at the agreed-upon-time, could quietly usher everyone else away from the site, so you can have your private time to to talk with your mom alone. The key to all of this, Lori, is good communication with your family members. You know yourself better than anyone else does, you know what you want and what you need to help you get through this, and you also know which person(s) in your family you can most rely upon to help you. In addition, you know that all of us will be there with you too, because you will carry us in your heart ~ won't you?

This article appears in the current issue of HOPELine Newsletter (a publication of HOPE FOR BEREAVED, a not-for-profit community organization providing hope, support and services for the bereaved in Syracuse, New York). While the author's intended audience is the bereaved parent, I think her words speak eloquently to all of us who are mourning the death of our loved ones: Incomprehensibleby Carmen Brining, Indianapolis, Indiana Through the years, as my children were growing up, I observed and listened to mothers with children older than mine. That way, I had some idea of what to expect as my boys grew and I could consider ahead of time solutions to situations before they came up. You see, I always liked to be prepared. No one told me that, while running with friends, our healthy, fourteen-year-old son would suddenly die from what would later be determined an undiagnosable death. I had never considered preparing for this! What do you do? How do you go into an emergency room and see your strong, handsome, lanky son lying still forever? How do you hug him, stroke his hair and say goodbye to him and to the future as you expected it? When Tom died, he took away the sunshine and storms that all our days used to have. Life is altered. The zest is gone. When he died, something, some part of us, died that day also. The rest of the world is the same, but we are different. We have been thrust into an existence that we neither asked for nor wanted. How do you cope? How do you live with the pain? How do you go on with your other life when your inner self is shattered? How do you make sense out of nonsense? Am I doing this thing called “grieving” right? What is the right way? There are no right ways because each person must find his or her own way on this new journey in life. When we called family and friends, they knew immediately the immensity and finality when we told them, “Tom is dead.” Yet its full impact eludes me still. I have become accustomed to his absence, but from time to time, gently or like a thunderbolt, comes the reality: he is not here because he is dead. Then I recognize his gone-ness will last for the rest of our days. That reality is still overwhelming. I find I am not quite ready to have my son dead. Not yet. He is my son. I am his mother, and I am not done being his mother. So, I live over and over again our talk in the car that morning, picture him practicing basketball in the backyard, his self-confident grin, his tilting back his chair at dinner. No, I cannot allow him to be gone. A psychologist who spoke at our Compassionate Friends meeting said it takes several years before you can emotionally release your child. Yes, that is where I am. Right now, I’m in no hurry to release my son. Not yet, thank you. Maybe not ever. I don’t know. I find coping is a struggle. In the beginning, I tried to keep life as normal as possible. Tom was gone, and that couldn’t change, but we were alive and must go on. I did so beautifully. It seemed I came to a quick peace at what was. Partly, it was because I was in shock. Because I still woke up each morning, I went about the workday and tended to the rest of the family. Partly, it was a struggle to keep from being pulled so far down emotionally that I would never be able to come back up. Incomprehensible? Yes. That is a good way to describe the death of a child. I cannot fully comprehend what it means for Tom to be dead. One day, a few months after Tom died, I called my friend to announce I was going to be sad. I was finally ready to acknowledge that, for us, life would never be what it had been. I realized I needed to mourn, not only for our son who was gone, but also for life as we had expected it to be. Since then, I have been able to allow the intensity of grief to run the course it must. I find I stay away from some parties and functions. I cannot attend just now. Nine months after Tom died, we had three different events over one weekend. Although I felt fine about going, Sunday night when we drove home from the dinner theater, I burst into tears. It was overload. My many thoughts and feelings confound me. They are confusing. They isolate. They hurt. Even as I allow these feelings to run their course, I wonder why I feel this way; why do I think this way? Yet I know this also is normal. On the outside, I appear the same as before; but, oh, how different I am on the inside. What is certain on this new journey in life is that it is impossible to predict if and when a deep sadness will swoop down and take residence for minutes or maybe days. I find it better to allow these feelings to happen. There is something right about it, although I don’t know exactly why. It’s amazing how much pain there is. It isn’t a physical pain, yet it is. It weighs me down and wears me out. Sometimes when the pain is so intense, I feel it has an energy all its own that goes beyond, far beyond, me. I think surely it must reach out so far that it touches Tom, and through that we are united once more. Surely. So I will have my pain. Oh my, this is such hard work! My husband and I attended a presentation by Dr. Alan Wolfelt. It was good – oh so good! His comments assured us that life is and will be different. Lately, I have sensed an undercurrent to close the door and get on with life. Yet, there is something in me that stubbornly resists. I am torn by the messages I receive from others and by my own deep down feelings. I am dealing with enough. Do I need to cope with this conflict, too? There are some comments that have helped us: “When a child dies, part of the parent dies.” That is what we instinctively knew, but how good it is to hear that being acknowledged. “You will never get over this.” Oh, thank you. How refreshing this is to hear when we are pressured by others to put the tragedy behind us. “Grief and mourning are not the same. Grief is the inner pain and turmoil, and mourning is the sharing of grief outside oneself. Grief needs mourning to begin the healing and reconciliation. Go ahead and cry and grieve and mourn.” Now I can understand why I have such a need to share some of the confusion and pain. Not only is it normal, it is necessary. Thank goodness for all these snatches of information that help us on this journey. I realize it was not only the beginning, but now, months later, that I need listeners who allow me to talk about what I am experiencing, who listen but do not judge, who do not say what I ought to do. The problem is, I find it harder to find listeners. Life has gone on for others. In their concept of time, Tom died long ago. They hope I have come to some resolution by now. I am not angry about this. Until last June, I thought that way myself. Oh, how I appreciate those friends who recognize my needs and are there. I am also grateful for having met other mothers whose children have died. We can talk to each other. Without these companions, I fear I would not know what to do with the hurt and pain that lives inside me. Now I know that mothers and fathers whose children have died can and do return to the everyday routines and even joys of living. But scratch the surface and there is a wound deep in the heart that is always, always there. ~ © June 1991, by Carmen Brining, Indianapolis, Indiana. Reprinted with permission from Bereavement Publications Inc., 888-604-4673, www.livingwithloss.com.

Shelley, dear, I'm so sorry to learn this very sad news, and I certainly do appreciate your concern for the children. Please keep us posted on Bailey's condition, and when you have a few moments, be sure to explore all the resources I've listed on our Children and Pet Loss page . . .

Dear Friend, Have you ever noticed that it's only the good people who feel guilty about what they did or failed to do in circumstances such as this? Clearly you were caught in the middle of an impossible situation: how to be in two places at once. The fact that you feel guilty about choosing to be with your wife to witness the birth of your daughter speaks volumes about what sort of husband and father you are, and what sort of man you were raised to be. As I often have said to others in these forums, just because you feel guilty about something does not mean that you are, in fact, "guilty as charged." I think it's safe to say that, when someone dearly loved dies, every single one of us can find something to feel guilty about ~ but feelings aren't always rational, accurate, or justified, and they aren't necessarily right or wrong ~ they just are. We can't always help what we feel, and guilt is just one of many feelings that are normally experienced in grief. When you come to a forum such as this one, and surround yourself with others who understand what is normal and common in grief (because they are in mourning, too), you feel safe to say what you feel guilty about, which enables you to get it off your chest and expose it to the light of day, where it can be examined more objectively. In addition, as you read all the responses you receive from others here, you begin to realize that no one is judging you as harshly as you are judging yourself, which enables you to evaluate your own behavior more objectively and more realistically. You say that you're feeling distant from your wife and others, reluctant to share your feelings openly with them. That, too, is normal, particularly for a man. Perhaps these articles will help explain further: Understanding the Grief Process Understanding Different Grief Patterns in Your Family See also the Death of a Parent page on my Grief Healing Web site, where you'll find links to dozens of other helpful resources. (Your wife may want to read some of the articles listed on my Helping Someone Who's Grieving page.)