MartyT

Jamie, dear ~ So much of what you've said rings true for all of us who are in mourning for our loved ones: the pain, the overwhelming sorrow, the tears, the confusion, the lack of focus. You sound so concerned about how you are "doing" your grief, but I want to assure you that there is no right or wrong way to "do" any of this -- there is only your way, and you must discover that for yourself, as you go along. Your grief is as unique to you as your fingerprint -- I once heard it described as your griefprint -- and what works for you may not work for someone else. Nothing you've described is unusual, abnormal or "wierd." The best rule of thumb is to do what brings you comfort, and don't worry about what someone else may think. After all, the only one who really understands completely how very much you've lost and how you feel about it is you. You said, "I so wish I could share with you all the eulogy that [Herman's] sister Martha read at the funeral service, you would know exactly what kind of man he is....generous, loving , alway thinking of everyone else except himself." Does Martha have a written copy of that eulogy? If so, why not post it here for all of us to read? We would love to know more about your precious Herman and what is special about him. This is one place where you can talk about your beloved as much as you need to, where you can keep his memory alive, where you can maintain an ongoing relationship with him in your mind and in your heart -- and where we will always, always be here to listen to whatever you have to say.

Hi Shelley, and welcome back! We've missed you As I was doing some online research just now, I came across this insightful article that I hope will speak to some of your concerns: Loss in the Season of Givingby Laura Slap-Shelton, Psy.D. How hard it is to be bereaved during the winter holiday season. The demands of the season for cheerfulness, socializing, and giving are intense even for those who are not in the midst of mourning. How is it possible to join in the spirit of these holidays? Your emotional reality is that you are sad, angry, possibly depressed, maybe anxious. Your social reality is that you've lost someone who is extremely important to you, possibly the key person in your interpersonal sphere, and basically, you would rather be alone, or maybe with just one person whom you trust. In terms of giving, well, metaphorically, you've just given, i.e. you've just taken one of the biggest losses you've ever experienced, and you haven't been able to find any sense of joy in the process. So how to cope, and even find meaning in all of this? Read more . . .

When I read your most recent post, Charlie, I thought, "Hmmmm. I wonder what would work best for this man?" So first I clicked on your name, which took me to your "member profile" page. Then I clicked on the "Profile Options" button on the right side of the page. When the drop-down list appeared, I clicked on "Find member's posts." As I read through all the messages you've posted these last few months, I learned so much about what you do to soothe yourself as you ride this roller-coaster of grief. It's clear that you have some very healthy coping mechanisms already at your disposal, and you know how to use them (e.g., pausing for a moment to see and appreciate the beauty of a sunrise, seeing the world through a child's eyes, recognizing that your journey requires two steps backward for every one that takes you forward, etc.) I'm sure that our other members will offer you some additional suggestions, but may I also suggest that you take a trip through all your own postings since last May, and see the wisdom that is contained there? See also this article: From Surviving to Transcending Your Grief.

My dear Maylissa, I would not presume to attempt to talk you out of your guilt (or anything else you may be feeling, for that matter), but I do want to talk to you about the guilt you are feeling right now. Like many other reactions in grief, guilt is a feeling. A feeling is neither right or wrong, good or bad, and it is not always rational and accurate, either. In my work with bereaved animal lovers, I’ve noticed that (in general) there are two kinds of guilt: justified guilt and unjustified guilt. In this world there are lots of things people do to animals about which they ought to feel guilty: animal cruelty and neglect, for example. In a case such as yours, however, when you did everything humanly possible to give your baby the best care you could possibly deliver, the guilt you’re feeling now is what I would consider to be unjustified. Because you are such a good and decent person, however, you feel guilty nonetheless. (Did you ever notice that it is only the good people who feel guilty about such things?) I want to suggest that, just because you feel guilty about whatever you did or failed to do for Nissa, it does not mean that you are, in fact, guilty as charged. And if you were “on trial” for whatever “crime” you think you’ve committed against your baby, ask yourself this: Would there be enough evidence to convict you? If you were on trial for Nissa's wrongful death, and every person who participates in this Loss of a Pet Forum sat in a jury box, what do you think their verdict would be at the end of your trial? You see, Maylissa, even if your husband and every single person here tells you that you are not guilty, even if Nissa herself appeared to tell you that you are not guilty, even if God Himself and all the angels and saints shouted out in unison that you are not guilty and you are forgiven for whatever sins you think you have committed against her, it still would not be enough to erase the guilt you are carrying around with you. Why? Because the one person from whom you need forgiveness is you, Maylissa – and there is not a person on this earth who can do that for you. The simple truth is that you have to find some way to forgive yourself for being unable to save Nissa from dying. I have a theory about guilt which I’ve often shared with people in my pet loss support group. It goes like this: Your guilt will diminish only when and to the extent that you feel as if you’ve punished yourself enough for what you did or failed to do. You know the statue that sits outside the Supreme Court building – the one of the woman wearing a blindfold and holding a balance scale? If you were to put all your guilt on one side of that scale, and all the punishment you need to feel on the other side, the scale will not come into balance until the weight of the punishment equals the weight of the guilt. I think that right now you are in the punishment phase of guilt, and you won’t get your balance back until and unless you believe that you’ve been punished enough. Such punishment takes all sorts of creative forms, including self-flagellation. (Think of those cultures where people march in the streets, beating themselves with reeds or chains until their flesh is bleeding.) I see you punishing yourself now, by pushing away the very ones who do love you and want to “be there” for you, including your husband and all the people on this site who care about you so very much. Because the rest of us are only human, too, Maylissa, we cannot possibly “be there” for you in exactly the way you may want us to be. Besides, none of us can give you what you really want, which is to have Nissa back here with you. So in a sense, your husband and the rest of us are doomed to failure. You say yourself that “No one ever helps me w/o my having to suggest, ask or strongly plead, finally, in anger ( only my girl did this, willingly, of her own accord).” You say you “have no reason to go on,” you’re “obviously not worth the effort or the compassion,” and you’ve lost the very point of your existence. But we’re still here, Maylissa. We haven’t gone anywhere. We still value and need your presence here with us, no matter how much anger and guilt you bring with you and no matter how awful you make yourself out to be. We’ve all felt our own anger and guilt at one time or another, so it does not frighten us when we see it in someone else. Just be here with us, however you need to be at the time, and let us be here with you, and let it be enough. If you’re not feeling up to helping or reaching out to others right now, that’s okay. We can wait. We have faith in you, and we know you have all the strength and determination you need to get through this. It’s okay to be exactly where you are in your grief process – there is no pressure here for you to be anywhere other than where you are. Let this be the time to let others reach out to you, to fight for you, to care for you. Try to take what is offered with an open heart – and that is our acceptance of you exactly as you are, without judgment or reproach.

Dear Teejay, I'm so sorry that you're having such a difficult time. Since you did not respond to my earlier message to you, I'm not sure if you read what I posted to you on September 18, under the topic you started entitled Today Is a Week. If not, I hope you will read it now. Just click on this link and you'll go right to it: http://hovforum.ipbhost.com/index.php?show...8287entry8287 Please follow all the links in that post, and read the articles I've suggested. See also Loss and the Burden of Guilt. It's good to know that you've started seeing a grief counselor, but you sound uncertain as to whether it is helpful. I don't know if this is the case with your counselor, but do be aware that not every grief counselor understands and respects the human-animal bond and the close relationships we can have with our animal companions. A counselor without this understanding may misinterpret the strength of your attachment to Blacky and the depth of your grief over his death. I hope that with your particular grief counselor you feel accepted, supported and understood in the reasons for your pain -- and if you do not feel that way, then you have every right to find another counselor. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

The following comes to us from Nina Bennett, dear and kindred spirit, bereaved grandmother and author of the beautiful book, Forgotten Tears: A Grandmother's Journey through Grief. National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness MonthBy Nina Bennett In order to increase understanding and awareness of the over 1 million deaths each year of babies in pregnancy or in the first few months of life, in 1988 President Ronald Reagan signed a resolution declaring October as Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. The Awareness Month, meant to bring to light the devastating losses suffered by so many each year, is marked by ceremonies, fund-raising walks and memorial services. I know all too well the devastation of this kind of loss. My precious granddaughter Maddy, after a healthy full term pregnancy and normal labor, with no indication of fetal distress, slid still from her mother’s womb. She was a perfectly formed, beautiful baby, with no known reason for not surviving delivery. My response to anything is research, and what I discovered while seeking information and support added yet another layer of pain to my devastation. According to the March of Dimes, stillbirth occurs in about 1 in 200 pregnancies. Each year in the United States more than 26,000 babies are stillborn. Simply put, 71 babies are stillborn in this country every single day. 142 mothers and fathers return with empty arms to a home filled with shattered dreams. 284 grandparents are devastated on a daily basis, feeling isolated in their own grief and powerless to help their children. The medical care providers are left shaken and mourning as well. Up to half of all stillbirths occur in pregnancies that had seemed problem free. The International Stillbirth Alliance reports that “unexplained stillbirth in late pregnancy is the single largest cause of death in perinatal life in the Western world.” And these statistics are only for stillbirth. This may actually be an underestimate, because there are no national standards for reporting stillbirth. In 2003, the National Institute of Child Health and Development (NICHD), which is one of the National Institutes of Health, announced funding for a five year national research effort to study stillbirth in the United States. The Stillbirth Research Collaborative Network consists of five research centers around the country. While some factors leading to stillbirth are known, the cause of more than half of all stillbirths is not. In the press release announcing this initiative, NICHD states that the number of reported deaths from stillbirth is equal to that of all infant deaths combined. The Stillbirth Research Collaborative Network has enlisted specialists from many disciplines, including grief counselors. In 2001 Arizona took a commendable step by passing legislation to issue a Certificate of Birth Resulting in Stillbirth. Since then, 13 other states have joined Arizona. Beyond the psychological benefit to parents, which is enormous, this legislation allows for increased accuracy in tracking and reporting stillbirth. The toll stillbirth takes extends far beyond the medical cost of caring for women and their babies. There is no way to assess the emotional impact on families eagerly awaiting a new member. Perinatal loss is rarely mentioned in our society, thus disenfranchising not only parents but also grandparents, siblings, aunts and uncles, from their grief. As a society, we have made great strides in acknowledging and supporting family members bereaved by cancer, which once was an unspoken illness. It is time for our society to take action to reduce the incidence of perinatal loss and infant mortality, to speak openly about the void left by the death of a baby, and to acknowledge the large numbers of its citizens who struggle to rebuild meaning in a life challenged by the most horrific loss of all. © 2006 by Nina Bennett. Printed with permission of the author.

In this insightful article, bereaved mother and author Sandy Goodman observes that since we react according to the way we feel, we intentionally can make adjustments in our thinking that will point us in a more positive direction as we proceed on our own grief journey. She challenges us to stop, to become aware of our thoughts and feelings, and to make a conscious effort to think differently – before we speak and before we act. Thinking Differently I have two jobs. Well actually, I have one job . . . and one passion. My job rewards me with a paycheck every two weeks for providing supervision, structure, and guidance to at-risk adolescents. My passion rewards me with insight and inspiration every time I learn something, or teach something, about death or loss. Somehow, these two very separate paths have crossed recently, and what I have learned while wearing my “puts food on the table” hat, has come into play while wearing my “what really matters” hat. I am pretty amazed by it . . . I hope I can share it in a way that will at least cause you to pause and ponder. In my work as a Resident Manager, I have learned and tested many methods of behavior modification. The one procedure that seems to work (when used consistently and with commitment) is a simple one-step process: Consciously change the way you THINK – BEFORE you act. Two things will happen if you can do this. I know, I know. You already know that your reaction will change. However, something else happens before that. Your FEELINGS will adjust first. And, because we react according to what we feel, our actions (or reactions) then change. Very simple, but what does that have to do with grief? Let me explain. It has been nearly ten years since my son died. A decade has passed, and my journey has taken me from ground zero to the stratosphere and then back to somewhere in between. The only place I have not visited was the point I left when I was abruptly deposited at the trailhead. There were breaks to simply breathe, stops to change direction, and interludes to ponder where I had been. There was time to reflect, time to miss Jason, and time to find him again. At some point during the last few years, there was a place in the path where I needed to listen to those who were new to the mystery of grief. The marker I am referring to on my metaphorical grief journey recently led me to The Compassionate Friends (TCF) Chat Room. Every night of the week, a group of 10-30 bereaved parents meet and talk about their pain, their memories, and their healing. I began logging in nearly a year ago and I feel as if I know each one of the moms and dads who spend an hour or two every night sharing their child’s life, and their own. Even though a conversation in a chat room is not too different from a face-to-face discussion, seeing the words in black and white (or purple and pink if you are talented) was like hearing them for the first time. As I sat and “listened” to the dialogue, I became aware that we, meaning we who grieve, have an almost ...well...dysfunctional way of “talking.” It is almost as if we say things, think things, and feel things, to justify our pain. I think the only way to clarify what I am attempting to put out there is to give you some examples. Joe: What was your son’s name? Frank: His name was Billy. Sue: Tommy was so loving. He was a wonderful big brother to his little sister. Now, I am guessing that most of us believe that our loved ones who have died still exist, in some form. Perhaps you believe that they are in another place and will meet you again when you die. Perhaps you believe they are angels, living with God or Jesus. Maybe you think of them as souls, or as some type of energy ...or perhaps you consider them to be always in your heart. Some of you think they are still here with us in this life, but are just not visible. It does not matter what your idea of the afterlife is, as long as you believe there is one. (If you do not agree with such a belief, that is okay, too, but this article probably will not really interest you.) So back to the example – WHY do we use past tenses? Does Billy no longer have a name? Is Tommy no longer capable of loving? What if Frank stopped to THINK, I know he is still here, still a part of my life . . . instead of . . . I miss him so much, and I cannot live without him. I think he would FEEL hope, and might react by saying, “His name IS Billy, and he is named after his dad.” Another example: Annie: My daughter passed away ... I just cannot say the “D” word ... she passed away a year ago last Monday. Why do we insist on giving death so much power? Do you believe that death can snuff out a soul and destroy the love between you and your loved one? I don’t, and I will not give the “D” word any more power than the “L” word. Death is nothing at all. The only thing death does is stops a physical body from progressing. When Jason died, his body stopped growing and was of no further use to him. What if Annie would have stopped and THOUGHT – I know that death does not destroy a soul. It is only a change in form. She would probably feel less fear, and more serenity. She might react by saying, “My daughter died last year. But we know she is still only a thought away.” One more example and then I promise to wrap this up. Alice: I know that Sherry is in heaven. She is in a better place. Bob: Yes, you are lucky to have such faith. Alice: I just don’t understand why God took her. What did we do wrong? Do you see the irony there, folks? Sherry is in heaven, in a better place (sounds like a good thing) but yet Alice feels punished, not rewarded. What if Alice were to THINK – I am not sure where Sherry is, but I know that we are connected by love. I also know that she lived 100 years of joy in the 16 years she was here. She would FEEL love and gratitude and would probably reply with something like, “I know there is more than what I can now understand. I am willing to keep learning.” All of this rambling was intended to simply suggest to you that you be aware of your thoughts, your feelings, and the words you choose. Learn to adjust them, to lean toward the positive, to come from love and not fear. I am not proposing that you “fake it ‘til you make it.” I have always said that the only way to the other side of grief is right through the middle, and I still say that. You have to feel that pain, that hopelessness, that horror, until it changes. When you reach that part of the journey, and you have to pick yourself up, take your loved one’s hand, and say, “Okay, come on. We are moving forward, one step at a time,” your ability to change the way you think will be a welcome item in your pack. Expect Miracles, Sandy www.loveneverdies.net © Sandy Goodman, 2006 Source: Living with Loss Magazine, Fall 2006 Reprinted and used with permission of the author.

My dear Roslyn, I’ve just now visited your tribute pages to your beloved son, and I am overcome with sorrow to think that this precious life has ended so soon – way too soon – as your darling Matthew “swam into Heaven” ten weeks ago today. (What a lovely description that is! It took my breath away.) Your online tribute to your son is very moving, and I thank you for sharing it with all of us. What a strong, fit, handsome, affectionate, happy young man I see looking back at me in these beautiful pictures! As a mother of two adult sons myself, I know that right now you are living a mother’s worst nightmare, and I cannot imagine the depth of your pain. I don’t know if you’re familiar with Sandy Goodman, mother of three grown sons and author of Love Never Dies: A Mother’s Journey from Loss to Love, but I want you to know that the two of you have a lot in common. Sandy’s 18-year-old son Jason, a perfectly healthy young man (and a twin), was electrocuted when he touched a power line hanging near some fire escape stairs. Jason’s death in 1996 started Sandy on a path of spiritual exploration through her grief; four years later she realized she had survived the unthinkable and she began writing her book, which was published by Jodere in 2002. Sandy maintains her own Love Never Dies Web site, edits a monthly newsletter, has presented at national bereavement conferences, and is a regular contributor to Living with Loss Magazine. On her Web site Sandy writes, When my 18 year old son died in 1996, I found an endless supply of information to assist me in the journey through what is believed to be the universal stages of grief. I found articles on "closure" and books about "moving on" but I found nothing that gave me permission to continue my relationship with my son. Everywhere I looked, death was an end to whatever existed before. I had no desire to stop being Jason's mother. I wanted to work my way through the grief, but I intended to come out on the other side with my connection to Jason still intact. If you wish to do so, you can contact Sandy at sandy@tribcsp.com. See also the vast array of helpful resources I’ve listed on the Death of an Infant, Child or Grandchild page of my Grief Healing Web site. The loss of a child is a burden much too heavy to bear alone, and I hope that by joining us here, you will continue to let us help you carry that load. If you haven’t already done so, I also encourage you to contact your local chapter of The Compassionate Friends, whose mission is to assist families toward the positive resolution of grief following the death of a child of any age, and to provide information to help others be supportive. You'll find the chapter locater at TCF Chapter Locations. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Dear Derek, Thank you for that. I love it, too. It's from the last verse in the poem In Memoriam by Alfred, Lord Tennyson: I hold it true, what'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.

KayC, please know that your entire GH family will be right there beside you tomorrow, riding in that car with you, pulling for you during your job interview, and holding you in our hearts until you are safely back home again. You are in our prayers always, and you are not alone.

Dear Ones, Please see my post in the Loss of a Parent or Grandparent Forum, under the topic, Holidays?

Hi Kathy, I notice that you are not alone in your thoughts about handling the holidays; as we head into Autumn and the holiday season that follows, several of our members are expressing similar concerns. So as you begin to think about those dreaded days and how you want to spend them, I want to point you (and others who may be reading this) to some resources that may help you plan ahead and feel more in control of your life. Just click on the Coping with the Holidays ~ Articles page of my Grief Healing Web site, and you'll find a list of links to some very helpful articles by several different authors devoted to that very topic. See also Permission to Mourn This Holiday Season.

Oh my dear Sarah! Your heart must be broken into a million tiny pieces at the loss of this magnificent creature. I've just viewed your amazing slide program, and you must be so grateful to have so many lovely pictures of Marnie. I hope that in the days and weeks ahead it will bring you some comfort to re-visit these pictures and remember all these wonderful moments you shared with your baby. You've captured so much of her personality! I especially love the ones of Marnie flat on her back with her tummy exposed; playing with her canine friends; draped over the arm of the chair or the sofa; opening her Christmas gifts; watching herself in the mirror; and wearing the "Stud Muffin" t-shirt I can see that she is truly a gentle giant with children. Her bearing is regal and her face is so beautiful -- she has the eyes of a wise old soul, doesn't she? I've never seen a Great Dane with floppy ears before, but I love the look -- so much softer and more feminine than cropped! I'm sure her ears were as soft as velvet, and I cannot imagine how you must miss kissing and caressing them. The picture you included with your first post nearly broke my heart -- but your slide show has torn it in two. I am so very, very sorry . . .

My dear Sara, I, too, am so very sorry to read your tragic story, and I'm grateful that you've found your way to this special place that offers you the companionship, comfort and hope that you are seeking. As Lori and William and STOO have said, you are not alone with all of this, and we are here to offer whatever help we can. There is a great deal of information on this site and in these forums, if you take the time to read through many of the topics posted here. In your particular circumstances, however, I think you may find this post quite helpful: Explaining Suicide to Children: To Survivors of Parental Suicide

My dear Holly, We share in your sorrow at the tragic death of your beloved son Aaron, and we welcome you to this warm and caring place. I don't know if you've had an opportunity to explore some of the topics posted by others in this forum, but I want to point you to this particular one, as it contains some information that I think you may find especially helpful: Griffin...forever 17 And as you approach this double birthday shared by your son and daughter, you may find these articles helpful as well: Including Your Absent Loved One in Holiday Celebrations Creating Personal Grief Rituals

My dear Kay, As I read your posts over the last few weeks my heart just aches for you. I know you’re struggling with so much right now, and I cannot imagine how overwhelmed you must feel with all of it. As I’m sure you are aware, your grief becomes more complicated each time you’re given yet another piece of unwanted and unsolicited information about your husband from these so-called “friends” who have such a need to share this unsavory stuff with you – and the uncertainty and doubt it creates in your mind and heart keeps chipping away at your image of the relationship you thought you had with George. Add to that the disappointment and rejection you must feel each time you gear up for an employment interview only to learn later that you didn’t get the job, and it’s a wonder that you have any self-esteem left at all. But keep in mind that, regardless of what you have learned about George since he died, regardless of your present joblessness and indebtedness, you are still a good and decent person – a person of great value and worth – and you have done nothing, nothing, nothing to be ashamed of. I want to recognize and honor your willingness to share so openly and honestly with us all these secrets you’ve discovered and how you feel about them, Kay. I know from reading your posts that your feelings run the gamut, from deep love to confusion to disappointment to anger to murderous rage, and all those feelings need to be acknowledged and expressed, so they can be confronted and resolved. It’s extremely important that you don’t keep all of this bottled up inside, especially since you don’t have a therapist to confide in right now. At least posting in our forums gives you one way to get some of this off your chest and to find some relief, and I encourage you to continue to do so. I’d also like to offer some additional suggestions. All these revelations about your husband leave you with questions unasked and unanswered, with so much left unfinished and unsaid. As a result, you may feel restless, “stuck” and unable to move along on your grief journey. Until you can seek help from an “in person” support group, grief counselor or therapist, is there anything you can do to get started on resolving some of this unfinished business with your husband? Think about how you might confront George on his behavior toward you before his death. Make a written list of everything that was left unfinished when he died. Think about how you would have wanted it finished and write it down, perhaps in the form of a letter. Include all your frustrations, hopes and dreams for this relationship. Take as much time as you need to get this letter written, and when you’re satisfied that you’ve included everything you need to say, construct some sort of ritual during which you can bury or burn the letter. (It’s wise to make a copy first, in case you want to share its contents later with a counselor, therapist or trusted friend). Another option is to put a picture of your husband in a chair opposite your own, so you can have a talk (or several talks) with him. Another powerful, effective and fairly inexpensive self-help tool that you might seriously consider is guided imagery. The ones I highly recommend are by Belleruth Naparstek, nationally recognized innovator in the field. At less than $20 apiece, her audio CDs are affordable and, in Belleruth’s words, highly effective in “reminding your body what it already knows how to do: self-soothe.” She describes guided imagery as “the poor man’s meditation; it’s cheaper, portable, more accessible, and dependent on the self (that is, it returns control to the user).” I think you would find these tools quite helpful, Kay, not only in processing your feelings but also in bolstering your self-confidence and self-esteem as you continue your job-search. The two I would recommend for you are A Meditation for Relaxation and Wellness and A Meditation to Help with Anger and Forgiveness. Click on the titles and you can read Amazon’s description and reviews of each. (Another one of my personal favorites is A Meditation to Ease Grief.) See also Belleruth’s Health Journeys Web site, where you can download her catalog and listen to samples of her programs. At the very least, Kay, please know that you are not alone. Here you are among many good and caring people who identify with your struggles, admire your honesty and courage, and are pulling for you every step of the way. We'll stay right here beside you, and we will do whatever we can to help you get through this very difficult time.

My dear Maylissa, You said, I don't want to do ANYTHING....no grief-work, no nothing... and yet I see that you’ve managed to respond to some of our other members’ posts today. Good for you – I know that this takes enormous effort and no small amount of courage. I also believe that it is one of the most important ways for you to find your balance again, after having been knocked completely out of balance by the death of your beloved Nissa. I believe that your gift for reaching out to others in their pain can be very healing for you as well as for the people you help, Maylissa. Perhaps by helping others, we each give ourselves some brief respite from needing to be helped. In this way, we all can take turns being strong and being weak. I read a poem today that made me think of you, and I hope it will speak to you as it did to me: Heart-Room by P.G. White When I first took the measure of my heart, I could not see, the light was dim. A friend held the lamp while I looked in. There was room for someone’s sorrow and another person’s pain. And plenty of room for other people’s tears, that feel like rain. The depth of my compassion, everyone could see. But none of it really mattered until there was room in my heart for me. Source: Sibling Grief: Healing after the Death of a Sister or Brother, © 2006 by P. Gill White, TheSibling Connection

Welcome home, Kelly. We're glad you're back here with us, too

Oh Leann, We're so very sorry . . . You are in our hearts . . .

Good for you, Leann I think it was Edmund Burke who said, ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ In this case, it seems to me that the only way we can combat the insensitivity of others toward the bereaved is for us to stand up and say, "Ouch!" when we are hurt. I am proud of you for documenting your experience, and I know you will write that letter when you are ready to do so. If you save just one other bereaved person from the pain that was inflicted upon you by this individual, you will have performed a noble service for all of us.

My dear friend, You said, I have more people on the other side than here. Maybe my imagination is MY way of coping? I hope it comforts you to know that imagination can be very helpful for those of us in mourning, because we need to find a safe place for our deceased loved ones to be. For many of us, the thought of our loved one’s death is just too difficult to bear – unless and until we are able to hold onto, develop and nurture some sort of inner relationship with the person who died. Keeping all my dead loved ones alive somewhere in my thoughts is by no means a crazy thing to do; rather, it is a normal and healthy way to maintain your ongoing relationship with those who have died. In her wonderful book about child loss and maternal grief, certified Jungian analyst and bereavement specialist Charlotte Mathes writes beautifully of the importance of imagination, which she considers a gift of grace: Although we are often unaware of it, our knowledge and love of family and friends is based on images: my grandmother knitting by the fire or uncle showing off his new car to the neighbors. Archetypal psychologist James Hillman maintains that by actively creating such images we maintain and renew our sustaining intimate connections: "If the character of a person is a complexity of images, then to know you I must imagine you, absorb your images. To stay connected with you, I must stay imaginatively interested, not in the process of our relationship or in my feelings for you, but in my imaginings of you. The connection through imagination yields an extraordinary closeness." We learn to know a person intimately when we recall her many images stored in our memory . . . we continue knowing our absent but surviving children by imagining how they are maturing, how they react in certain situations, what personality traits they are acquiring. Similarly, if we continue to imagine our deceased child, we maintain a connection with her throughout life. For some grievers . . . this connection occurs naturally, a gift of grace, enabling them to feel their child’s presence . . . Most mothers report that this lifelong bond is a “natural” part of their inner life, and [one mother reports she] even believes she is closer to her child in death. [p. 218] Such inner acts can help a mourning mother more fully answer her most urgent question: Where is my child now? While response to the question may involve many psychological levels – including religious beliefs, subjective experience, or spontaneous connection with symbols, she can also actively seek to find a home where she meets her child (i.e., at the cemetery; in all of nature; in another person or even an animal that symbolically holds the child’s spirit; in heaven lovingly surrounded by other deceased family members and watching over her; in an object that’s become a symbol and therefore a locus for the child’s presence; or simply feeling the child living by one’s side). [p. 219] Imagining our children residing happily in the afterlife and occasionally visiting us brings great comfort. [in her book, Finding Hope When a Child Dies] Psychotherapist Sukie Miller laments that Westerners’ concept of heaven grows foggier and clergy describe it in less detail: "Today I encourage my clients to steep themselves in imaging the afterworld, to ask their minister or rabbi or priest for explicit descriptions of life after death, to picture a life as full and rich as they can for their children now. For this is the way people in other places find solace when their children pass out of their world – not by freezing them in a familiar time and place but by imaging them in a well-defined world after." [source: And a Sword Shall Pierce Your Heart: Moving from Despair to Meaning after the Death of a Child, by Charlotte Mathes, © 2006, Chiron Publications, Wilmette, IL, ISBN 1888602341]

My dear Maylissa, I too am relieved to know that you’ve come back to us, even though I know that doing so was extremely hard for you. But in coming back, you’ve given us the gift of being here for you, just as you have been here so many times for us, with all the patience, wisdom, compassion and love you’ve given to so many of our members in the year that you’ve been with us. Your warm presence has been sorely missed by all of us. Please let us take care of you now, and know that we are here for you, holding you in gentle thought and prayer.

Dear Ones, I'm so very sorry that you've been treated so poorly by these people, and if I were in your shoes I'd feel exactly the same as you do. It occurs to me, however, that the ones in charge of these individuals (that is, the dentist and the funeral director) may not be aware of what their employees are doing, and therefore may not know how poorly they are representing their employers to the public. If I were that dentist, I would want to know how rudely and insensitively you were treated by that person on the phone, Leann, and if I were that funeral director, Haley, I would want to know how inappropriately that funeral home representative was behaving in public -- which in both cases would give me an opportunity to do something about it. In general, I would expect employers to be much more sensitive to their public than their employees may be, because as business owners, they know they need the loyalty of their customers in order to stay in business. You may be too angry and too upset right now (and if you are, I certainly wouldn't blame you) -- but when you feel more in control, you each might consider writing a letter to this dentist and this funeral director, describing what happened, the behavior you observed in their employees, how you feel about it, and the effect it's having on your decision to continue doing business with them. Doing so won't change what happened to each of you, but it may prevent the same thing happening to someone else.

Kerri, dear, I agree completely with what Ann has told you, and in addition to her wise counsel I'd like to point you to some of the very helpful resources listed on the Death of a Sibling or Twin page of my Grief Healing Web site. I also recommend an excellent book by P. Gill White, Director of The Sibling Connection, entitled Sibling Grief: Healing after the Death of a Sister or Brother. The author is a bereaved sibling herself and works as a sibling grief counselor. She was 15 years old when her sister died of cancer. White and her family never talked about the loss until decades later when memories began to haunt her. Her book is a powerful mix of personal reflections and useful information.

My dear Chrissy, Brooke and Jenn, I'm in the process of reading a wonderful new book that I think might speak to you in a very personal way, and offer you hope as well. Entitled Love You, Mean It, the book is written by four young women whose husbands were killed in the attacks on the World Trade Center on September 11. Here is the editorial review from Publishers Weekly: Four young women widowed by the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center were so bereft, so inconsolable, that they ended up forming their own support group, the "Widows Club." True, they found sympathy everywhere—from in-laws, co-workers, friends, grief professionals—but even their dearest intimates couldn't offer the absolutely unconditional acceptance and understanding of a sister sufferer. Collins could weep and tell stories about Tommy for hours, days or years, and Haynes wouldn't find it tiresome. Gerbasi could tell Carrington she'd seen "signs" of Bart—a bird outside her window, a bedside light flickering—and Carrington would understand, because her Caz was also sending messages. None of these women were interested in being "the perfect September 11 widow," working on protest committees, testifying before Congress and organizing fund-raisers. They just wanted to get through a day without dissolving into tears. In interfolded accounts, they each discuss how they met their husbands, how they spent September 11 and all the many ways they grieved. In the end, they each found ways to open themselves to new love, careful to keep the "Boys" and the Widows Club ever dear. "Love you, mean it," they'd tell each other over and over—and readers will love them, too . . . Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.