MartyT

Shelley, dear ~ as someone posted elsewhere in one of our forums, there are real people behind all these messages, and the friendship you feel here is real. If that is all you have right now, then celebrate it and let it be enough. If love required the physical presence of the beloved, then none of us would be able to maintain our relationships with our deceased loved ones. All of us here know (or are learning) how to continue to love in the absence of the ones we love. Whether we can see you or not, whether you can see us, we still are able to love one another. I, too, hope your trip to Disney is over the top and FUN. No one deserves it more than you do. Take all of your friends here with you in your heart, and we will keep you safe in ours.

Shelley, dear ~ Please see the article I've just posted in our Latest News forum, Understanding Secondary Losses in Grief.

We've talked a lot about time as it relates to grief, and how long it "should" take to "complete" the mourning process. In this helpful article, the author delineates all that may be lost when a loved one dies ~ which may help us explain to relatives, friends, and co-workers why there can be no time limits placed upon this process: Understanding Secondary Losses in Grief Loss forever changes the world of the bereaved. It’s a new environment, personal and social, an environment where the lost object is no longer present. An ending has occurred that demands new beginnings. Before that happens, a period of transition takes place. During this time, the bereaved closely examines what has been lost and what has been gained as a consequence of the ending. What has actually changed? What continues the same? What is new? What experiences, roles, expectations, values, opportunities, fantasies are to be given up? What new ones must be assumed? All of the current and potential losses that follow as a result of the loss are to be identified. Each identified secondary loss requires its own grief response. Unfinished business that involves the loss is also to be identified. Appropriate ways to adjust and accommodate are sought out. It is often difficult for the family and friends of an individual who has recently experienced the loss of a loved one to understand why the grieving process lasts so long. Family and friends want to see their loved one be happy and “get on with life.” It is important, therefore, to be aware of the many secondary losses that can accompany grief. This awareness may help the grieving person, as well as others who care about this individual, to be more patient and move more gently during this period of grief – which often can last at least two to five years. The following are some of the many different losses a person may experience after the death of a loved one: 1. Loss of the Loved One – the loss that is obvious, and consequently considered by many to be the only loss. 2. Loss of a Large Chunk of Self – the part of the self that was given to the other person in love, and that at death seems to be violently wrenched from one’s being. 3. Loss of Identity – the “roles of service” used in the relationship: the feeling of wholeness that is lost when the other person is no longer present and the role is no longer played. 4. Loss of Self-Confidence – the failure to recognize one’s own personal wholeness, leading to feelings of inadequacy, of not being able to do anything right. 5. Loss of Chosen Lifestyle – being forced to begin a new way of life despite one’s personal wishes or choice (e.g. being single again; being childless again). 6. Loss of Security – the uncertainty of not knowing what to expect, what will happen next, or how one will emotionally react or respond. 7. Loss of Feeling Safe – the vulnerability of feeling exposed to the cold winds of life all alone. 8. Loss of a Known Family Structure – the instant change in family composition. 9. Loss of the Familiar Way of Relating to/with Family and Friends – the avoidance of family and friends stemming from their not knowing how to respond to the bereaved’s changed interests, as well as the sadness and anger that often are felt by the bereaved. 10. Loss of the Past – despite the support and acceptance of new friends and acquaintances, their lack of a sense of the bereaved’s past journey of his/her history with the deceased. 11. Loss of the Future – the fear of thinking ahead, of imagining next year or next month or next week without the loved one; the fear that whatever future there is will be as painful as the present moment. 12. Loss of Direction – the sense that nothing seems to matter anymore, that there is no purpose in life. 13. Loss of Dreams – the disappearance of all those plans: for “spending the rest of my life with the person I love,” of “seeing my child grow up,” of “having my parents be grandparents.” 14. Loss of Trust – the insecurity that interferes with trusting oneself, and makes trusting anyone else nearly impossible. 15. Loss of Sharing with a Loved One – having no one (a best friend, a confidant) to listen to the little things (and the big events) of day-to-day living, or to share in the “growing-up years” of a child. 16. Loss of Ability to Focus – the difficulty in focusing on what seems to be the “non-essentials” of the rest of life because one’s entire being is so affected by the loss. 17. Loss of Ability to See Choices – the sense that the bereaved has no control at all over his/her life, since the new life-style was not a conscious choice. 18. Loss of Ability to Make Decisions – the insecurity and lack of trust in oneself that leads to the looking to others for direction and advice (“What should I do?”), followed by confusion and indecision because everyone gives a different answer. 19. Loss of A Sense of Humor – the failure to see anything as funny because one of the most important people in one’s life is no longer around. 20. Loss of Health – the physical problems resulting from the emotional stress and strain of grief work: nausea, migraine headaches, muscle knots, back problems, etc. 21. Loss of Inner Happiness and Joy – the difficulty in recognizing happiness in one’s own life coupled with the normal tendency to look outside oneself for a source of inner happiness. 22. Loss of Patience with Self – the desire to feel better now coupled with feelings of inadequacy and failure, as the feelings of grief normally last for two to five years. It is very important to note that some individuals may experience additional losses not mentioned in this list, and some of the losses listed might not be experienced by everyone who is grieving. This list is presented to help all of us (grievers, friends, relatives and helpers) understand why nothing can replace the grieving process: the period of time it takes for the wound of loss to become a scar, and for the darkness of grief to become the light of life. – Adapted from “Levels of Loss” by Sr. Mary Agnes Sermersheim, OSB, in Hope Line Newsletter, September 2003, Hope for Bereaved, Syracuse, NY, 315-475-9675, hopeforbereaved@cnymail.com See also "Moving After Loss: The Grief of Leaving a Home You Love," by Harriet Hodgson, Open to Hope, January 17, 2014

Good points all, Serl. I’d also like to add this thought about friendships. Unlike a therapeutic relationship (whose focus is on the client and the client’s needs) a friendship is a “two-way street” that, in most cases, requires us to give to the other as much as we get back. Like a good marriage, if it is to last, a close friendship requires fairly constant tending, and also requires that we overlook each other’s faults and shortcomings. In short, maintaining a close friendship is work, and sometimes it can be harder work than we may be capable of doing at the time, given the circumstances in which we find ourselves. We’ve often said here that mourning is hard work, too, although of a different kind ~ but work nonetheless, and it requires a great deal of energy, most especially in the beginning. I suspect that when we are in the depths of grief, we have precious little energy left over to invest in our friendships, and even less interest in and awareness of the other's needs. Over time, I think, our friends begin to notice this, and some of them may not be willing to put more into maintaining a relationship with us than we are able to give back to them. They simply grow weary of our gloominess. Such “fair weather” friends may take a vacation from us and come back later when the weather’s nicer and they think we’re better, or they may abandon us completely, deciding never to be friends with us again. It also seems rather unrealistic to me to expect that we are able to go out and find and develop new friendships at this point in our grief process. We are too needy, too focused on ourselves, too exhausted even to get out of bed in the morning, too vulnerable to whatever insensitivity we may encounter from strangers much less from our friends! The only place we feel even remotely as if we belong is with a therapist, a grief counselor, or with others who are in mourning, too ~ such as the people we would find in an in-person support group or in an online discussion group such as this one. This feeling does not last forever, thank Heaven ~ but it certainly is common in the early period of grief. One of the best descriptions of the differences between a friendship and a therapeutic relationship appears in an excerpt from a book by Terry Wise, Waking Up: Climbing through the Darkness, which I’m attaching as a Word document (see below). In the excerpt, Terry is discussing with her therapist her frustration that she's being treated as a client rather than a friend. (Maylissa, I cannot recommend Terry’s book highly enough to you. It is the amazing account of her long, lonely and exhausting experiences as a caregiver for her husband, his death from ALS, her nearly successful suicide attempt afterward, her later recollection of the early childhood abuse she suffered at the hands of her father, and what she learns about herself in therapy. Her book is one of the most powerful personal accounts of depression – and the therapy she obtained for it – that I’ve ever read.) MaintainingTherapeuticBoundaries.Wise.doc

I just used that URL and it came up fine for me, so I think the address is correct. You might try putting "http" in front of the "www." Meanwhile I will edit David's post so his URL becomes a hyperlink.

I think we all agree that this is a matter of individual choice. I just want to reiterate the very important point made by Harold Ivan Smith that I mentioned in an earlier post, because it's something we may not think about until it's too late: Some individuals will never get around to [deciding what to do with the box containing cremated remains]. Later, their own executors have been surprised to find a box and ask, “What’s this?” If a loved one's cremains are kept in the home, it's important to take the extra step of (carefully and respectfully) placing them in a sealed container, then letting someone else know where and how those cremains are being kept (that is, in what container, and where that container is located in the home).

That is an excellent point, Shelley. You and others may be interested in some of the outstanding resources listed on the Grief at Work page of my Grief Healing Web site. You might consider printing and taking to your work place one or more of these articles, just to raise some consciousness about this issue, or to get a conversation going about it. You could post an article on a bulletin board, leave it on a table in the coffee or "break" room, or give it to your co-workers or your supervisor to read. Eventually you might even persuade your supervisor to offer a workshop or an inservice on the topic.

Dear Haley, Families often wonder what they should do with a loved one's cremated remains. It goes without saying that cremated remains should be treated with the same respect that would be given a person’s dead body. They should not be left on a shelf in a closet, for example, or in the trunk of a car. You can choose from a variety of options. You may decide to have your mother's cremated remains buried in a family plot or placed within a mausoleum. You may place the cremated remains in an urn which then can be placed in a columbarium, a building especially designed to store urns. Each urn in a columbarium is assigned a recessed compartment, or niche, which is encased in glass or ornamental stone. An alternative is to place the urn in a special urn garden in a cemetery. This gives all your family members (as well as future generations) a place to come on special days of remembrance, to pay their respects to your deceased mother. Experience tells us that over a period of time, family members find it reassuring to have some special place where they can visit, to remember and “be with” the loved one who has died. Some families prefer to keep the cremated remains at home, in a special place of honor and remembrance. Nevertheless, in his book, Grievers Ask, Harold Ivan Smith does make the point that in some cases, keeping cremated remains at home can be a problem, or it can lead to problems later: The decision regarding what to do with the cremated remains should be planned as you would plan for a burial. Cremation offers a potential for denial and postponement. Many grievers do not immediately pick up their loved one's cremains. Other mourners delay the scattering or committing the cremated remains because that will 'finalize' their loss . . . Some individuals delay disposition of the cremated remains as a way of avoiding the finality of death. Some individuals will never get around to it. Later, their own executors have been surprised to find a box and ask, “What’s this?” [pp. 155-156] Scattering the cremated remains is another option, although it’s important to understand that once this is done, it is final and irreversible. For some, the scattering of cremated remains is a very traumatic experience. For others, thinking of a loved one as “scattered somewhere out there” is just too vague. Whatever is done with your mother's cremated remains, I encourage you to talk over all the options with your family members, so that it’s not a unilateral decision, the wishes (or presumed wishes) of your deceased mother are honored, and all the survivors are comfortable with the choices made. You might also find this earlier thread helpful: Letting Go of the Ashes

Dear Pebbles, We're all so very sorry to learn that your dad is dying ~ but we are here to support you as you travel through the difficult days ahead. I invite you to read the messages in these particular threads: My Dad Passed 10 Years Ago, My Mom is Leaving Now. I Can't Tell Them See also Should I Tell My Dad He's Dying?

Dear Ones, Another interesting article on this topic: What If Someone Happened Along?

Annie, please read all the messages in this thread: Sorting Through Papers ~ Grieving Deeply for Four Months

My dear Hildie, We're so very sorry that it is the death of your beloved husband that brought you to this place, but we're pleased to know that you had the courage to find your way here and introduce yourself to all of us. You are so right ~ your life as you knew it, as you had lived it up to now, as you had always hoped it would be, is over, and nothing, nothing, nothing will ever be the same. It will take a very long time before you find a new normal, before you learn how to be in this world without the physical presence of your beloved, before you discover who you are now, and who you will become. But you are not alone here. You have found your way to some of the most patient, caring, compassionate, and understanding people you will ever know. We welcome you with gentle hearts, and we extend our tender hands to you as you travel along this difficult journey.

Dear Shubom, It’s very hard to tend to another’s broken heart when your own heart has been broken, too. On the other hand, it may be that in the encounter you had with this man, your own tears already conveyed what words cannot. If talking to him in person is too difficult for you, you might consider simply writing a note and leaving it on his desk. A short and simple message, written in your own hand, will suffice – as long as it is true for you. Something like this, for example: I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m praying for you. I want you to know I’m thinking of you at this sad and difficult time. I know what I went through when my parents died and I still cry for them. If you have a need to cry, too, please know that I’m okay with it. [You might also add that he can cry in your presence whenever he needs to – but say it only if it’s true for you.] I wish you comfort, and I hope to be among those you find comforting in the weeks and months ahead. You might also want to re-visit this message thread, which includes Paul S's perspective as a male struggling with grief: Need Help in Knowing What to Do See also the Grief at Work page of my Grief Healing Web site.

Maylissa, dear, I guess it depends on what you're looking for in a friendship. I once heard a radio psychologist tell a caller (who was complaining about her friend’s lack of empathy for her particular situation) that she needed to remember that her best friend was not put on this earth to meet all her needs or to be her therapist. At the moment I heard it, I thought it was a pretty harsh response, but the more I thought about it, I realized that sometimes I do expect much more from my husband or my adult children or my closest friends than they are capable of giving. (That’s one of the benefits of being in counseling or therapy – rather than burdening your family or your friends with your problems, or being mad at them for failing to give you the attention you so desperately need and deserve, you can tell yourself that you can save whatever’s bothering you until your next appointment, and take it to your counselor or therapist.) When we're particularly needy or hurting about something, the sad truth is that we can simply wear our good friends out. And rare is the friend (or spouse!) who can bear up under the weight of our sorrow and can outlast our need to talk about our grief. (Remember the comment about looking for milk in a hardware store?) Not everyone is comfortable sitting with and listening to another’s pain and sorrow. Maybe they’ve never lost a loved one, so they’ve had no experience with grief – or they’ve never loved an animal as intensely as you love your Sabin and Nissa. The sad fact is that most people (especially men, in our culture at least) simply don’t know how to help – they feel helpless in the face of grief, and watching a dear friend or a loved one in pain and not being able to help is more than they can bear. They also grossly underestimate how long it takes to go through this mourning process, so their expectation is that we “should be feeling better by now” is way off, too. That’s why we look to support groups and online message boards like this one to find the compassion, support, patience and understanding that we need. We quickly learn that it is the people who have experienced grief first-hand who truly understand, who accept us exactly as we are, without judgment or reproach. I can tell you that some of the most wonderful friendships I have are those I've found and developed via the Internet, because my computer puts me in touch with like-minded people who share many of my own interests. Many such people are authors whose works I admire. Whenever I read a book that I really like, for example, I make a point to send an e-mail message to the author (nowadays an e-mail address is included in a book's "About the Author" section, and if not, you can Google the author's name and / or contact him / her through the book's publisher. I’ve never had much trouble tracking down a particular author.) As an author myself, I know how much I appreciate it when a reader takes the time to let me know what he or she thinks of my writing, or to tell me how one of my articles may have helped in a specific situation. I also know and deeply appreciate how much work good writing really is, and I like to give credit where it is due. In almost every case, these authors have written back to me. Not all of them come to Phoenix, but if and when they do, I do my best to attend their programs so I can meet them in person. Even if we’ve never met, we’re still able to develop and maintain our close relationships via e-mail and land-mail. One of the things I would suggest, Maylissa, given your passion for animals and holistic veterinary medicine, is to begin writing to some of the authors whose books you've recommended to me and others (Kim Sheridan comes to mind). This might be a way for you to begin to find and get to know people who share your interests – and you never know where it may lead. I understand that you’re “exhausted with brain function at an all-time low,” and certainly reaching out to authors and writing to them takes time and energy and commitment – but so does composing the messages you post on this message board. So does fretting, arguing with a spouse, beating up on oneself and not sleeping at night. So does going to the doctor to deal with high blood pressure and ulcers. The issue isn’t how much time and energy something takes but rather, how we want to invest our time and energy. Sometimes the best thing we can do to make ourselves feel better is to force ourselves to do something that makes us feel good about ourselves.

Shelley, dear ~ In your post yesterday you said, I am going to try and stand up for myself more, which sounds to me like a New Year's Resolution! As I was doing some work for Hospice of the Valley this afternoon, I came across this article, which I think could have been written just for you: I Hereby Resolve: •That I will grieve as much and for as long as I feel like grieving and that I will not let others put a time-table on my grief. •That I will grieve in whatever way I feel like grieving, and I will ignore those who try to tell me what I should or should not be feeling and how I should or should not be behaving. •That I will cry whenever I feel like crying, and that I will not hold back my tears just because someone else feels I should be “brave” or “getting better” or “healing” by now. •That I will talk about my loved one as often as I want to, and that I will not let others turn me off just because they can’t deal with their own feelings. •That I will not be afraid or ashamed to seek professional help if I feel it is necessary. •That I will try to eat, sleep and exercise every day in order to give my body strength it will need to help me cope with my grief. •To know that I am not losing my mind and I will remind myself that loss of memory, feelings of disorientation, lack of energy, and a sense of vulnerability are normal parts of the grief process. •To know that I will heal, even though it takes a long time. •To let myself heal and not feel guilty about feeling better. •To remind myself that the grief process is circuitous – that is, I will not make steady upward progress. And when I find myself slipping back into the old moods of despair and depression, I will tell myself that “slipping backward” is also a normal part of the grief process and these moods, too, will pass. •To try to be happy about something for some part of every day, knowing that at first, I may have to force myself to think cheerful thoughts so eventually they can become a habit. •That I will reach out at times and try to help someone else, knowing that helping others will help me to get over my depression. •That even though my loved one is dead, I will opt for life, knowing that is what my loved one would want me to do. – by Nancy A. Mower, in Bereaved Parents Share, January 1998, PO Box 460, Colton OR 97017

Oh Trudy, what a touching example of the power of the rituals of remembrance, and what a beautiful tribute to your dear mother! Surely she is smiling down on all of you right now, from her special place in Heaven. Your lovely story has left me in tears ~ thank you so very much for sharing it all of with us!

Pamela, dear ~ I'm so very sorry to learn of the death of your precious PJ, and clearly she was your Joy. What an adorable face! Thank you so much for including those darling pictures of her. Surely your heart is breaking into pieces with the loss of her. It's good to know that you have access to an "in person" pet loss support group, and I know that the dear people here on our site will help you to hold on until January 8th. If you're able to concentrate long enough to do it, I hope you'll read through some of the messages posted in this Forum -- here you will find so many stories similar to your own, all by animal lovers like yourself who are coping with the heartbreaking loss of their own beloved fur babies. If you haven't found it already, I hope you will pay a long visit to my Grief Healing Web site, especially the Articles and Books page and the Pet Loss Links pages. There you will find a great deal of information, comfort and support, which I hope will help you make some sense of what you are feeling. At the very least, know that we are thinking of you at this sad and difficult time, and holding you in our hearts. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Dear Ones, As we usher in this brand new year and decide what we plan to do with it, I offer these thought-provoking words from Pat Schwiebert, RN, Executive Director of Grief Watch: What Does Time Have to Do with Grief? What does time have to do with grief? Everything. Just consider how, in “normal life,” our lives are run by the clock and the calendar. Some of us have a clock in every room so we can keep close track of the time. Few of us have the courage to live without wearing a watch because we’re afraid we might be late for something. Time is precious to us. We live in a society that reminds us that every moment counts, and some of us are masters at cramming as much activity as possible into every moment. And when we are grieving our experience still has much to do about time. Time stands still. When we are grieving we may feel like the rest of the world is going on as usual while our life has stopped. Just last week, after my friend died, I passed a neighbor watering his lawn. He seemed totally unaffected by, and most likely unaware of Sarah’s death. How could that be? He only lives a block away. Didn’t he feel the same shift in the universe that I felt when she died? Doesn’t he realize someone really special is missing? Time’s up. Most people will allow us about a one month grace period where we are permitted to talk about our loss and even to cry openly. During this time our friends will probably seem to be attentive to our needs. But when the month is up they may be thinking, if not actually telling us, that it’s time to move on, and that we need to get over “it”. They want us to get back to normal. We may be surprised how many of our friends (and relatives too) will become uncomfortable with our need to dwell on our sorrow. They may not appreciate that it takes time to readjust our life to the loss. Maybe what they are really saying is, “Time’s up for me to be able to be present to you in your grieving time.” Because of this we may need to redefine what is normal for us, and choosing some new best friends—friends who are willing and able to walk along side us on our personal journey of grief, and who will allow us to determine when our “time’s up”. Doing Time. Grief may make us feel imprisoned in our own version of hell. We won’t like who we are. We won’t like it that our loved one has gone. We won’t like it that our friends can’t make us feel better. We just want out of here, and we’re not sure we want to do the work that grief requires in order to be set free from this bondage. Some of us will remain in this uncomfortable place for a short time while others of us may feel like we have been given a longer sentence. Wasting time. Though in real life I pride myself in being a master at multitasking, in the land of grief I’m much less sure of myself. I find it hard to make decisions because, in my new situation, I don’t trust myself to make the right choice. I want someone else to be responsible if something goes wrong. Sometimes my wasting time is about not having the energy to get started. I am physically exhausted and my body refuses to make an effort to reclaim my former self. And I admit, quite frankly, that I’m not sure I even care enough about anything to make the effort. What’s the use, since it seems like everything I love sooner or later gets taken away from me. Looking back in time. When we grieve we spend most of our time, at least at first, looking back. It seems safer that way. That’s where our missing loved ones are. If we were to look forward, that would mean we would have to imagine our lives without those we have lost. And that’s what we aren’t ready to accept--not yet. So we spend a lot of time thinking how we should have been able to prevent their dying, or wondering if we used our time with them well, as we remember the good times, bad times, silly and sad times. We think we have to keep those memories in front of us, or surely we will forget those whom we have lost. First times. It is natural for us to gauge our life after a loss as we anticipate and then go through the first times --first day, the first week, the first month, the first time we venture out in public, the first time we went back to school, or church, or work, the first summer, the first Christmas, the first vacation, the first time we laughed. These first times are like benchmarks, notches in our belt that prove we are surviving when you weren’t sure we wanted to, or didn’t know we could. Dinnertime. There’s an empty chair at the table. There’s the conversation that seems to be just noise, having little to do with the absent one about whom we are all thinking but not daring to speak. We still prepare more food than we now need because we haven’t yet figured out how to cook for one less person. Sometimes the food seems to have no taste, and is not able to do what we want it to do--to fill that huge hole within us. Time out. Sometimes what we need to do is to take a time out from our regular activities to reflect on what has happened to our personal world, as we knew it before our great loss. To do so is not to run away from life but simply to realize that to act as if nothing has happened doesn’t work. This loss is too big to allow us to pretend that it hasn’t had a big impact on us. It’s in the quiet time, when we shut off our thinking, and empty out the chatter in our head that the healing begins. Others will have to be okay with our need to bow out for a while. Remember that during grief our job is to take care of ourselves, not to take care of our friends. When it’s time to re-enter a normal routine, it’s our choice what we will reinstate and what we decide to lay aside. Loss tends to redefine our priorities. What used to be important may not be as important now. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. 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 start 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 our grief will remain and we may find ourselves ambushed by a fresh wave of grief at any time. But needing to know the answers to the “why” questions won’t seem quite so 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. Questions or comments? Contact the author Pat Schwiebert R.N. at pat@tearsoup.com Reprinted from Grief Watch NewsletterVolume 3, Issue 3 October 2003 http://www.griefwatch.com

Dear Derek and Kay, Julie Donner Andersen, a self-described WOW (wife of a widower), has written a wonderful article on this very topic, entitled How Long Is Long Enough? I've attached it to this message as a Word file. HowLongIsLongEnough.doc

Dear Ones, As each of you accurately observe, this re-awakening of intense grief around the six-month mark is not at all unusual, and in fact is normal and very common. This is why we encourage the bereaved to consider joining a grief support group, most especially at this particualr point in their grief journey. It may help to read what these various authors have to say about finding support in a group (see below). Such writings also serve to explain why our own Grief Healing Discussion Groups can be so helpful: It is often difficult for a widow or widower to express genuine and at times, intense grief, because of our society’s tendency to view death as an unnatural occurrence rather than as a universal phase of the life cycle. Society also tends to put the widow or widower on a time schedule for the grieving process and usually prefers that the bereaved partner “get on with living.” A support group can combat this insensitive societal schedule by encouraging bereaved spouses to establish their own timetable for grieving. Bereavement support groups represent an excellent approach to this highly vulnerable population, because the small-group format can specifically address and lessen “the intense social isolation experienced by most bereaved spouses” (Yalom and Vinogradov 1988). In general, the literature advocates support groups for bereaved spouses . . . Support groups for bereaved spouses have several goals: •To assist members to cope with the pain of grief and mourning by creating a community in which they are deeply understood by peers. •To combat the social isolation that is so pervasive •To support members as they begin to understand the changes facing them as they begin to fashion a new future for themselves •To offer hope; to see that others who also know the darkness of loss are not immobilized by it •To obtain support from others who’ve shared a similar loss [source: The Loss of a Life Partner, by Carolyn Ambler Walter, © 2003 Columbia University Press, p. 229] The worth of [grief support groups] does not emanate from empirically supported treatments, but from something much more simple (yet powerful): the telling of stories. The meetings are anchored in honoring each member’s stories of grief and supporting each other’s need to authentically mourn. No effort is made to interpret or analyze. The group affirms the storyteller for the courage to express the raw wounds that often accompany loss. The stories speak the truth, and create hope and healing. [The leader’s] role is not so much about group counseling techniques as it is about creating “sacred space” in the group so that each person’s story can be non-judgmentally received. Effective grief group leadership is a humble yet demanding role of creating this space in ways that members can express their wounds in the body of community. The very experience of telling one’s story in the common bond of the group contradicts the isolation and shame that characterizes so many people’s lives in a mourning-avoidant culture. And, because stories of love and loss take time, patience, and unconditional love, they serve as powerful antidotes to a modern society that is all too often preoccupied with getting people to “let go” and “move on.” The creation of new meaning and purpose in life requires that mourners “re-story” their lives. Obviously, this calls out for the need for empathic companions, not treaters. Indigenous cultures acknowledge that honoring stories helps reshape a person’s experience. The stories are re-shaped not in the telling of the story once or twice or even three times, but over and over again. Mourners need compassionate listeners to hear and affirm their truths. [source: Companioning the Bereaved, by Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, © 2006, Companion Press, pp. 82-83] I searched the Internet for hours to find groups that could relate to this pain. I was fortunate to know a few other mothers who had experienced the loss of a child. These mothers sought me out to offer me comfort and hope. We should not be alone during this time. We need to hear from others who have been there before us, who can listen to our stories and know what our sorrow feels like. We need to talk about our loved one to strangers, to proclaim to others that our beloved lived and was a real person. Other bereaved people know this and listen willingly. They share their stories also. We help each other by sharing our loss and pain. Eventually we find ourselves on the giving end of this compassion, reaching out to the newly devastated, helping them along, encouraging them, and listening to them. There is an old song we used to sing in church that had this refrain: “Bear one another’s burdens, and share each other’s joys, and love one another, love one another, and bring each other Home.” This is what our lives are all about. There are many people who have suffered the same loss that we ourselves have, who know what our pain feels like and who are able to reach out from beyond their brokenness to help us along. In time, we too are able to turn and help those who come after us on the same road. Together, stumbling, reaching out for help, pausing to offer comfort, walking together, we can complete our journey. In the process, we learn to love and to be loved much more fully. This is one of the gifts of bereavement. [source: Ann Dawson, in A Season of Grief] A knowledge that another has felt as we have felt, and seen things not much otherwise than we have seen them, will continue to the end to be one of life’s choicest blessings. – Robert Louis Stevenson

Shelley, dear ~ I am willing to comply with your request, but I'm feeling a bit confused myself, and I want to be sure I understand what you are asking me to do. Are you wanting me to delete this entire topic (that is, all the messages in the "Given Up" topic that have been posted since November 10), or just this latest message posted by you? For what it's worth, I think there is some benefit in leaving everything just as it is. Your struggle and your ambivalence are reactions that many of our members share (as I think you can see from the kind and caring responses you've received so far from Derek, Lorikelly, Shell, and Trudy). I think you've been on and around this board long enough to know that we’ve discussed the matter of there being no time frame for grief many times in these forums, and we’ve posted several articles on that topic as well. See, for example, I Don’t Care How Long It’s Been, You Should Be Over ‘IT’ We Don’t Have to be Strong In another post, Shell wisely suggested that you print out one or two of these articles for your brother-in-law to read ~ have you considered doing that? In any event, since your most recent posts, I hope we’ve all made clear to you that, whatever you decide to do (leave, stay, keep your posts as they are or delete whichever ones you choose) in this place there is no timetable for your grief, nor is there an expiration date on your membership. We are here for you, Shelley, we will not stand in judgment of you and your individual grief process, and we will not abandon you.

Dear Ones, An interesting article I found today that I think is worth sharing with all of you: How Grief Relates To The Work Of The SoulBob Olson: I'm pleased to be interviewing Laura Scott today on the relationship between grief and soul work. Laura is a psychic, spiritual teacher and channel for healing, and she is going to teach us how grieving is a natural part of our growth process in this journey we call life. Laura, I think it is safe to say that most adults will deal with grief in their lifetime. Do you believe that the grief process is part of most everyone's life purpose? Laura Scott: Hi Bob, it's always a pleasure to connect with you! Yes, sooner or later we will all experience grief on one level or another. It is unavoidable. Grief transcends social classes, cultures, countries, education, backgrounds and more. It is a great equalizer. We grieve the physical loss of loved ones, beloved pets, family members, as well as less tangible things like losses of life roles, health, loss of status, phases of our lives, jobs, ideas, youth, freedom - you name it and someone has grieved for it intimately. Scientists have recently discovered that no matter what the cause, all forms of grief create physical pain and chemical reactions in our body. In other words, grief in any form takes a measurable toll on us physically, one that can actually be quantified and seen in laboratories. The second interesting thing about these studies is that grief over the loss of loved one, whether human or animal, both measured the same identical effects in the body. So whether we are grieving a spouse, or a beloved animal companion the effects in our bodies are equal. That is an important finding because it offers us an opportunity to have more compassion for ALL those who grieve, not just those we can relate to, or those losses we deem 'worthy.' It's a huge opportunity for a lesson in compassion and expanding our inadequate models for understanding grief. Read more . . .

Shelley, dear, From the e-mail messages you’ve sent to me and from the messages you’ve been posting in all of our forums, I understand that you are looking for whatever support you can find. I also understand that you are hurting from the loss of your parents and the home you had with them for so many years, from the loss of your friends and your job and whatever family togetherness you used to feel with your siblings, from the loss of your dog Chelsea who now lives with your brother, and from countless other losses you’ve endured over these last two years as a result of all the changes in your life. There is nothing any of us can say or do to remove your pain or change your circumstances ~ we can offer only our continued presence, and our willingness to walk beside you as you travel this journey. I also want to offer you this. Over the last week I’ve been reading a lovely little book by Daniel Gottlieb entitled Letters to Sam: A Grandfather’s Lessons on Love, Loss, and the Gifts of Life. The book is a series of letters written by a grandfather to his young grandson. The author is truly “a wounded healer,” and knows from his own experience about living with and growing through devastating loss. He was severely injured in an auto accident twenty years ago, left paralyzed with quadriplegia, and has been confined to a wheelchair ever since. He’s also a practicing psychologist and psychotherapist who hosts a call-in radio show for a National Public Radio affiliate in Philadelphia, and he writes a regular newspaper column for the Philadelphia Inquirer. Six years ago Daniel's beloved grandson Sam was diagnosed with autism, when the boy was just under two years old. This book is his effort "to teach [sam] what I've learned about fighting against the kind of adversity that I face almost daily and that I fear he will face in his life. And I wanted to tell him how peace comes to us when we simply stop fighting. Most of all, I wanted to tell Sam about love . . . I wanted him to understand that as he gets older, giving love may be even more important than receiving it." In one of his letters to his grandson Sam, “Losing Your Binky,” Daniel writes eloquently about attachment, loss and transition. In an effort to comfort Sam (who’s reluctantly agreed to give up his pacifier on the occasion of his fourth birthday), this wise grandfather notes that every change in life involves losing something we want, and the older we become, the more we are faced with adjusting to change, and loss, and longing for that which we have lost. He also makes the point that pain is transitional. He reminds us that our reactions to loss are temporary, and eventually they will pass. He writes, Happy fourth birthday! I want to congratulate you on an important year for your growth and development . . . Sam, change is difficult for all of us. The older we get, the more change we face. All change involves loss, and whenever we lose something, we ache to have it back. Everything I have lost in my life – big things and little things – I’ve wanted back at first. So because we know that all change is loss and all loss is change, your mom and dad worried about how you would react when it was time to give up your beloved pacifier – your ‘binky.’ For several months before your birthday, your parents told you that four-year-olds don’t use binkies. In the final weeks, I could see you were both excited and scared about giving it up. On the big day, your mother took you toy shopping and traded in your binky for a toy. When you got home, you cried. ‘I don’t want to be four anymore!” you wailed. “I want to be three!” Many years ago a British psychoanalyst named D. W. Winnicott coined the term ‘transitional object’ to describe how you move from dependence on your parents to independence. Things like baby blankets and pacifiers represent a parent’s touch and help you to manage anxiety and insecurity during this transition. Remember how you cried that first night? Now that you no longer have your binky, you have nothing to protect you from your anxiety. That’s why transitions are hard. Those transitional objects give us the illusion of security. When they are gone, we are left with the insecurity that’s been there all along. Sam, almost everything we become attached to we’ll eventually lose: our possessions, our loved ones, and even our youth and health. Yes, each is a blow. But it’s also an opportunity. There’s an old Sufi saying: “When the heart weeps for what it’s lost, the soul rejoices for what it’s gained.” As much as anyone who loves you would like to rescue you from your pain and give the binky right back to you, that wouldn’t be a good idea. Each stage of growth involves loss. Without it, you can’t have the gain. So when you feel the pain of loss, please don’t grab at something to take away the pain. Just have faith that pain, like everything else, is transitional. Through it, you will learn about your ability to deal with adversity. You will learn about how you manage stress. You will feel pride. On the other side of the pain, you will learn something about who you are. A friend of mine recently told me she had so many difficulties in her life that she felt like she was living in a nightmare and didn’t know what to do. I told her to find the bus station and wait for the bus! She looked at me like I was crazy. I explained that all emotions are temporary, and we can wait for them to pass as though we were waiting for a bus. We can wait with frustration, anger, or feelings of victimhood, but that won’t make the bus come any faster. We could wait with patience and relaxation, but that wouldn’t make the bus come any faster, either! Like all buses, it comes when it comes. We just have to have faith that it’s coming. Everything is temporary – good feelings, bad feelings, binkies, grief. But maybe I don’t need to tell you that. When I visited you last week, just one week after your birthday, you didn’t bring up missing your binky one single time. And you seemed quite proud to be four instead of three. Source: “Losing Your Binky,” in Letters to Sam: A Grandfather’s Lessons on Love, Loss, and the Gifts of Life, © 2006 by Daniel Gottlieb, Sterling Publishing Co., Inc., New York, ISBN1402728832, pp 109-111.

From Sandy Goodman's Love Never Dies Holiday 2006 Ezine: TEN ten christmas dinners ten lighted trees ten nights of candles burning by your grave. ten years, a decade . . . of missing you and still my breath catches when i close my eyes and call you to me and see your smile and hear your laugh and feel your love. you are not gone from our season of joy. you live on and touch us to remind us that trees and candles and family dinners are the memories we fill with the light of love to sustain us for eternity. © 2004 by Sandy Goodman, author of Love Never Dies: A Mother's Journey from Loss to Love and reprinted with her permission. Contact Sandy at sandy@loveneverdies.net; visit her Web site at Love Never Dies. To subscribe to Sandy's e-newsletter, click on Love Never Dies Newsletter and follow the instructions there.

While this author writes from the perspective of a bereaved parent, her observations about “the energy that stems from a passion born out of deep sadness” speak to anyone who is mourning the death of a loved one: When Everything Matters© 2006 by Nita Aasen naasen@wilsonpublishinghouse.com Despite the seriousness of the condition known as clinical depression – a mood disorder caused by a chemical imbalance – the word depression has a tendency to be overused and misused when talking about sadness. The assumption is that these words are inherently synonymous and interchangeable in their meaning; that is, if one is sad, one is depressed. My sadness following the deaths of Erik and David was definitely profound. Caring others suggested that I seek out a prescription for an anti-depressant; the magic bullet that would “fix it” and help me be my “old self” again. Prior to my own experience with parental grief, I would have likely joined this chorus of well-wishers. However, as I learned, situations viewed from the outside frequently seem easier to solve than when lived from the inside. After experiencing the double whammy of a catastrophic loss – that is, living with an intense grief that also resulted in devastation of my world view, I questioned that “easy fix.” Around that same time, I found myself reading a book (Gili’s Book, 1998) written by Henya Kagan-Klein, a bereaved parent and psychologist. She asserted that deep sadness was a more accurate term to use for parental grief than depression, since the chemical imbalance that forms the basis for a diagnosis of clinical depression was, in most cases, not a factor in the sadness of bereavement. Another helpful distinction noted by Kagan-Klein was that those living with deep sadness continued to respond to touch, warmth, and reassurance, whereas those experiencing clinical depression were more likely to feel like giving up on life. When nothing matters in serious cases of untreated clinical depression, it became difficult to function; those affected lack the energy to do the most routine activities of daily living, verbalized a sense of hopelessness, and most seriously, may have had suicidal thoughts. Recently Gloria Steinheim, appearing on CBS Sunday Morning, made another astute observation about the difference between depression and sadness. She succinctly said, “With depression, nothing matters, but with sadness everything matters.” In the world of sound bites, this one actually provided an accurate synopsis of the primary difference between the two conditions. Further clarifying the distinction between sadness and depression, John Schneider (Finding My Way, 1994) asserted that the sadness of bereaved parents was focused on the death of their child and his lost future, whereas those experiencing depression clinical depression focused on distorted and negative thoughts about themselves. Another significant difference was that parents know without question that their sadness was a result of their child’s death, compared to depression where the cause was usually not inherently obvious. Kagan-Klein concluded that a turning point in parental grief occurred when they began a spiritual-like quest for a mission, because it mattered that their lives continued to have a sense of meaning and purpose. A nugget of wisdom from Martin Luther King said, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” With this perspective, individuals are encouraged to give a voice to their mission while living with loss, understanding that continuing to remain silent about things that matter will accomplish nothing. This concept would apply to anyone who is working hard to assimilate, in a meaningful way, the death of their loved one into the fabric of their lives while also readjusting their world view (those assumptions, beliefs, and values constructed to make sense of one’s world and serve as a basic framework for living one’s life) to fit their current reality. There are an untold number of possible missions. Many bereaved become more sensitive to the needs of those experiencing intense grief and provide support by volunteering at a hospice or becoming involved with a bereavement group. Many others choose a mission that is directly related to the cause of the death of their loved one – accident, suicide, illness, or murder. In these situations, their deep sadness frequently becomes the impetus to invest huge amounts of time and energy participating in organizations or projects that work towards preventing similar tragedies because they refuse to be silent about things that matter. As examples, those whose loved ones have died by suicide may become involved in organizations that educate others about the risk of undiagnosed clinical depression, or they actively support legislation that imposes severe penalties for driving drunk, advocate for stiffer laws against sex offenders, domestic abusers or any cause of murder or discrimination. These actions, having strong connections with their loved ones, have frequently resulted in laws that have saved lives, protected victims, and/or stiffened consequences for offenders. Their passion to do something positive in honor of their loved ones and to make this world a better place becomes a major driving force in their efforts; it gives them a reason to get up in the morning and to keep on going on. Just as important, these bereaved individuals begin to sense that their lives continue to have purpose. The energy that comes from a passion born out of deep sadness has frequently yielded impressive results when everything related to life, death, and love matters. However, other missions, seemingly unconnected to their loved one are, in fact, deeply connected. The daughter of a bereaved parent couple loved animals. While horses were her passion, another of her dreams was to have a family-operated dairy farm. Following her death, her parents took a significant financial risk to bring the dream to fruition. Their sense that their daughter’s spirit was cheering them gave their lives a purpose that went well beyond the basic need to generate an income. It mattered. Through reading the literature following Erik and David’s deaths, I came to understand that my deep sadness was the catalyst in my search for a mission honoring my sons. My initial goal was to use insurance monies and memorials to establish several scholarships and other tributes carrying Erik and David’s names because it mattered that their names be remembered. Over the years, I cross-stitched a number of hand-made gifts for those who had been a significant influence on their lives; it mattered that I thanked them for that relationship. About two years after the accident I began writing to other bereaved parents. Even though there was nothing I could say or do to diminish their grief or deep sadness, I could acknowledge their emotional pain and their never-ending love for their child; it mattered that they know that they were not alone in their grief journey. As my mission evolved, I began writing essays. Since I did not readily sit down to write except as needed for my work life prior to my sons’ deaths, it was rather surprising that writing became my primary survival strategy. While writing helped clarify the many issues surrounding my grief journey, more than that, it mattered that I do my part to shed some light on the grief experience for others, including those who want to provide appropriate support to their bereaved loved ones. Kagan-Klein also point out that any mission is subject to unplanned twists and turns as it evolves. Some outcomes may be slightly or significantly different from the original vision. Despite the disappointment some experience, what tends to matter most when everything about life, death, and love matters is that no stone has been left unturned in the process. Being able to say, “I did my best; I gave it all I had,” is likely to bring a degree of purpose and solace into one’s life. With this insight, the bereaved discover just how resilient they are while also gaining the hope and strength needed to continue seeking meaning as they are learning how to live with loss. – Source: Living with Loss Magazine, Summer 2006, pp. 32-33, www.livingwithloss.com Reprinted with permission of the publisher. [Working as a nurse in various clinical settings for many years, Nita Aasen cared for countless patients and family members as they confronted death and dying, loss and grief. As a nursing instructor she brought these clinical and educational experiences to the classroom. But it was years later, when two of her three young adult sons (Erik, 27 and David, 25) were killed in an auto accident on Thanksgiving Day, 1994, that Nita learned how little she truly knew about grief. Her book, Living Still, Loving Always was published in 2004 by Wilson Publishing House.]