MartyT

From an article in Hopeline Newsletter by Cathy Heider: We Don’t Have to be Strong I remember when my baby brother died, although I was only about four years old at the time. I must have been told that he had gone to heaven because the next time I saw him, he was in his small white casket. I remember a lot of people crying. I remember my Mom was not. But mostly, I remember never hearing anyone speak of my little brother again. A few years later, my favorite cat disappeared and was never found. I cried over the loss of my pet. My family asked why I was crying, and I said it was because I loved my cat. They said I was silly. People don’t love cats. So I learned to cry in private. When I was 22 my father died. Everyone said I must be strong for my mother’s sake. She cried a lot. I held my tears in. I showed everyone how strong I could be. It was hard to be strong, but I did it because that’s what I was taught. When my daughter died almost four years ago, I found out that I didn’t have to be strong for anyone else. I didn’t have to hide my tears, and I didn’t have to stop talking about her. We need to teach our children and others that it’s normal to grieve over losses. If we help each other, then no one has to pretend to be strong. The real strength of healing will show through in time. We can cry together, not alone. And then we won’t be afraid to talk about our loss. Tears can heal and memories can bring smiles to our faces. – by Cathy Heider, The Compassionate Friends, Algona, IA, in HopeLine Newsletter, February 2005, HOPE for Bereaved, Inc., www.hopeforbereaved.com

Dear One, Your need to know the details of this accident reminds me so much of another post that appeared in this forum two years ago. I wrote it in response to a mother whose son was crushed under a freight train. I am re-printing it here for you, as I think it may contain some useful information, not only for you and your sister, but for others who may be reading it for the first time, too: Like everyone else reading your tragic story, I am terribly shocked and saddened to read of the death of your precious son and the horrifying circumstances of the accident that killed him. That your son “paid for his first real mistake with his life” is beyond understanding, and I cannot begin to imagine how devastating this loss must be for you. I am struck by your statement that no one will tell you how your son actually died, that important details are missing, and that all your questions are being met with a “wall of silence.” I want to assure you that your need to know the details of what happened to your son is NOT “macabre”– it is a normal and legitimate response to the unanticipated and violent manner in which your son was killed. The suddenness of your son's death, the way you were notified about the accident, the fact that you had no opportunity to get to your son to spend loving time with him before he died, or to see and touch and hold his body – all these factors are complicating the grief you are experiencing now. Getting to one’s child as soon as possible after a fatal accident is extremely important to parents – even though they may encounter considerable resistance from law enforcement officials and others in allowing them to do so. Read the words of another mother who found herself in a similar position: Permission was finally granted for me to see Timothy on the condition that I “didn’t do anything silly.” As they watched, I presumed that meant I was not to touch him or disturb anyone. But Timothy was my child; he had not ceased to be my child. (He had not suddenly become a corpse, a body or the deceased.) I desperately needed to hold him, to look at him, to see his wounds. I needed to comfort and cuddle him, to examine and inspect him, to try to understand and most of all to hold him. Yet, I had been told “not to do anything silly.” If I did, I feared my watchers would run in, constrain me and lead me away. So I betrayed my own instincts and my son by standing there and "not doing anything silly." Our society has lost touch with our most basic instincts – the instincts we share with other mammals. We marvel at a mother cat washing her kittens. We admire the protection an elephant gives her sick calf. We are tearful and sympathize when an animal refuses to leave its dead offspring, nuzzling him and willing him to live again. That is exactly what a mother’s human instinct tells her to do. If a mother is not able to examine, hold and nuzzle her dead child, she is being denied motherhood in its extreme (Awooner-Renner, S., “I Desperately Needed to See My Son,” British Medical Journal, 32, 356.) Family members who aren’t given time with their loved one’s body at the scene of an accident or aren’t told the truth about the body tend to imagine images far more grotesque than reality, and they commonly fill in the blanks between the bits and pieces they pick up from the media, the coroner’s office, the police investigators and others. Given only get minimal facts, their fantasies are often far worse than the reality of what actually happened. When the time feels right to you and if you still feel a need to do so, I want to encourage you to find out exactly what happened to your son. There is nothing wrong with your wanting to seek out whoever was the final link to your dead son (the first officer on the scene, the paramedic who put him in the ambulance or the coroner who examined his body and determined the cause of death) and asking for details, including seeing whatever photographs were taken at the scene. (The organization Parents of Murdered Children has developed a very effective protocol for viewing such photographs.) Much of the work of grieving involves remembering – but when remembering produces only traumatic images such as yours, the value of remembering is lost. Specialists who work with trauma survivors tell us that effective grief work cannot begin until the trauma is dealt with first. If you’re still experiencing anxiety, sleeplessness, intrusive images and nightmares, I want to encourage you to seek the help of a trauma specialist – a therapist who understands that trauma work must be done before you can begin the grief work that lies before you, as you come to terms with this horrible death of your son. Go to the TRAUMATIC LOSS page on my GriefHealing Web site for a list of suggested resources. Based on what you've shared with us about your close relationship with your nephew, my dear, I think this information applies to you just as much as it applies to your sister, and I hope it will help both of you to better understand your need to know exactly what happened in that horrible, tragic accident. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Oh my dear friend, you do “fit in” right here, right now! You fit in for the same reason all the rest of us fit in here, because we all are bound by the common experience of loss. You fit in because you have experienced the death of someone you love dearly, and you are hurting in the deepest regions of your soul. There isn’t a person here who has not felt that kind of pain. So please know that you’ve come to the right place, and you are most welcome here. You say that whatever it is you’re experiencing, it cannot come close to the loss and pain your sister is feeling – but I want to suggest to you that it is appropriate and healthy to honor your own loss of this nephew you loved so much as worthy of grief too. The worst kind of grief is the grief you are experiencing right now. Don’t compare your grief with anyone else’s, and know that, at this moment, your loss is the worst thing that could happen to anyone. Where there is great loss, there is great pain. Where there is deep love, there is deep grief. Accept that these are your feelings, that they are very real, and that you have a right to feel them. Respect your own reactions to this loss. Take time to look, listen, experience and understand them, and honor the sorrow that is yours. Know, too, that feelings are neither right or wrong, good or bad – they just are, and we cannot always help what we feel. There isn’t a person among us who would judge you for holding your own children close and for being grateful that they are not the ones who died. And the fact that you are grateful that this horrible accident did not happen to one of your own children does not mean that you are grateful that it did happen to your sister’s child! You say that you are overwhelmed with fear that “something will now happen to one of my kids or to my husband, or even that I might be taken from them.” As I’m sure you know, whenever we experience the sudden, unexpected death of someone we hold so dear, we come face to face with the harsh reality that life is fragile, impermanent and temporary, and that it can be taken from any one of us in a heartbeat. We live in a death-denying culture, after all, and most of us couldn’t get through an ordinary day without deluding ourselves that we are safe, we will continue to be safe, and all our loved ones will be safe at home waiting for us at the end of our busy day. Now that this death has happened, you are no longer able to hold on to the illusion that your world is safe, dependable and predictable. Your assumptive world is forever changed, and it is frightening and overwhelming to know that you must come to terms with that. I understand your not wanting to upset your sister by something you have done or failed to do, whether at the cemetery or anywhere else, but I seriously doubt if expressing the love you had and continue to feel for her son would be “upsetting” to her. Talking with your sister about this young man you both loved so much, sharing stories about him, reminiscing together and remembering him, and finding ways to keep his memory alive can be the most precious gifts you can give to each other as you both find your way through this long and difficult journey of grief. You need not suffer this alone, and in silence, separated from each other at a time when you need each other most. If you haven’t already done so, I hope you will visit and spend some time on my Grief Healing Web site, which offers additional information, comfort and support. See especially the articles and sites listed on the Helping Someone Who's Grieving page. I also hope you will return to this safe, compassionate place as often as you wish, and know that you "fit in" just fine with all the rest of us. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Dear Shell, We're all so very sorry to learn that it is the death of your beloved daughter that has brought you here to us, but please know that you have found your way to a warm and caring place. We are all here to help and support you in any way we can. You say you don't know what to do or say, and I'm not sure any one of us would know what to do or say if we were in your shoes. Perhaps you can begin by simply telling us about your daughter, and sharing with us the details of your story. We are holding you in our hearts, we are here for you, and we are ready to listen . . . Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Rabiah Lily, I am so gratified to learn that my online pet loss course is helping you through what I’m sure is one of the most difficult and painful experiences in your life, and I am equally pleased to learn that it led you to this warm and caring place. Obviously I believe very strongly that, with sufficient information and support, there is much we can do to help ourselves through grief, and when circumstances and schedules are such that we cannot obtain that information and support “in person,” the Internet offers an easily accessible and powerful alternative. I also believe very strongly that, while loss creates a deep and painful emotional wound, it is an injury that can be healed. Your response is a powerful affirmation of my belief that, with help and understanding, the pain of loss can be transformed into a challenging new beginning, and the grief experience can become a healthy, positive and healing process. If ever I needed encouragement to continue doing what I do, your posting does just that. I thank you for presenting me with such a gift, even while you are in such pain. Love and blessings, Marty T

My dear friend, I'm so very sorry for your loss. If there were a way to stop this pain, which you so accurately describe as a runaway train, I’d be the first to tell you about it. The simple fact of the matter is that grief hurts, and there is a reason for it: Your heart has been wounded -- cut, torn and ripped apart. The pain you feel is a measure of your love for the one who has died. It is the price we all pay for loving our animal companions as much as we do. Where there is no great love, there is no pain. I can think of no more accurate description of the agony of grief than this: . . . Grief is a tidal wave that overtakes you, smashes down upon you with unimaginable force, sweeps you up into its darkness, where you tumble and crash against unidentifiable surfaces, only to be thrown out on an unknown beach, bruised, reshaped. Grief means not being able to read more than two sentences at a time. It is walking into rooms with intention that suddenly vanishes. Grief is three o’clock in the morning sweats that won’t stop. It is dreadful Sundays, Mondays that are no better. It makes you look for a face in the crowd, knowing full well the face we want cannot be found in that crowd. Grief is utter aloneness that razes the rational mind and makes room for the phantasmagoric. It makes you suddenly get up and leave in the middle of a meeting, without saying a word. Grief makes what others think of you moot. It shears away the masks of normal life and forces brutal honesty out of your mouth before propriety can stop you. It shoves away friends, scares away so-called friends, and rewrites address books for you. Grief makes you laugh at people who cry over spilled milk, right to their faces. It tells the world that you are untouchable at the very moment when touch is the only contact that might reach you. It makes lepers out of upstanding citizens. Grief discriminates against no one. It kills. Maims. And cripples. It is the ashes from which the phoenix rises, and the mettle of rebirth. It returns life to the living dead. It teaches that there is nothing absolutely true or untrue. It assures the living that we know nothing for certain. It humbles. It shrouds. It blackens. It enlightens. Grief will make a new person out of you, if it doesn’t kill you in the making. — Stephanie Ericsson, in Companion through the Darkness: Inner Dialogues on Grief What to do with the pain? Accept it, lean into it, endure it. Know that with every tear, with every sob, with every wave of pain, you will be moving closer to the cherished memories that will heal your broken heart. In the days and weeks ahead, do whatever brings you comfort, including returning to this forum, and do what you can to remember the love, the good times, and the wonderful memories you’ve been privileged to share with your beloved Rosie. Know too that we are thinking of you and holding you close in our collective hearts. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Valerie, I'm so very sorry to learn of your husband's serious illness; please know that both of you are being held gently in our thoughts and prayers as you travel this difficult journey together. Although I certainly hope that others who read your message here will respond to your specific request and share their experiences with you, I also want to point you to some valuable resources, all of which are listed on the Links / Care Giving page of my Grief Healing Web site. For your convenience, however, I've selected out the ones that I think you will find most helpful. Just click on the individual titles listed, and you will be taken to each of the following sites: Cancer Care Support Services Cancer Care Connection Cancer Guide: When You Need the Right Questions Cancer Hope Network Cancer Foundation: R. A. Bloch Cancer Support Groups and Information: The Wellness Community Cancer Support for Individuals and Families: Gilda's Club Cancer Support Services: M. D. Anderson Cancer Center Cancer Treatment: Chemotherapy Information I also encourage you and your husband to consider exploring the healing power of guided imagery, relaxation and meditation. Read more about such programs at these sites: Cancer, Chemo, and Guided Imagery Imagery to Help with Cancer Health Journeys: Resources for Body, Mind and Spirit Health and Healing: Guided Imagery from The Power Within Finally, here are some articles and books I've read myself and would highly recommend to both of you: Illness: A New Perspective on Suffering The Four Things that Matter Most: A Book about Living Facing Death and Finding Hope Final Gifts Wishing you peace and continued healing, Marty T

My dear friend, Please accept our hearfelt sympathy at the loss of your beloved Maria, and know that you are being held in gentle thought and prayer. I want to point you to a site entitled Hoofbeats in Heaven, a wonderful online source of support specifically designed for lovers of these magnificent animals, in hopes that you will find some comfort there. The site is described as follows: Welcome to Hoofbeats in Heaven, a gateway to horse loss resources created to provide the information, solace and support you may be seeking. Here you will find you are not alone in your grief over the loss of your horse. While society is coming to increasingly accept that a dog or cat is a member of the family, a horse is still largely considered nothing more then livestock. Here we know that we can love our horse as much as any family member and we mourn their death just as deeply. Visitors to this site understand and respect the unique and deep bonds that we form with our equine companions. We know that painful emotional void left from their physical absence. And so our ultimate goal is to help you embrace the precious memories and to find peace in knowing that your horse lives on as long as you carry him in your heart. Hoofbeats in Heaven is all about offering support. Here you can... ...Have a tribute to your horse created complete with photo. ...Join our e-mail support group. You will join over 200 group members who know that you did not lose "just a horse". You lost a beloved friend, and we are here to help you cope with your grief. ...Begin to find healing in the poems, quotes and prayers written in praise of the horse. ...Light an eternal candle in honor of your horse. ...Join our equine memorial webring if you have a web memorial. ...Read others' tributes to their horses which lets you know that what you are feeling is normal and expected. ...Be taken to additional horse loss support information to provide you with as much assistance as possible. . . . You can't love and bond with a horse and not know what spiritual beings they are. No matter what our individual idea of heaven may be, we know that our horse's spirit never dies. We hope that this new site will in some small way help you cope with the pain of losing your horse so that you can feel his spirit live within you once again. You can begin now just by listening to your heart...there it is...that sound that keeps your horse close and can bring peace to your spirit... ...that glorious sound of hoofbeats in heaven. I pray that you will find the comfort and support you need in this warm and caring place, my friend, and when you feel ready to do so, I hope you will come back to us and let us know how you are doing. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Dear Ones, You are not alone. Let me add a firm "Amen" to your chorus, and permit me to share the words and wisdom of some others who would agree completely with the points you are making. Why do we spend so much time and grief over saying goodbye? Twenty-five years ago I did get to say goodbye. I knew the end of our son’s life was approaching, and I got the chance to say goodbye and I didn’t take it. In the last moments of my son’s life, and years later, of my parents’ lives, I did not say goodbye. Goodbye? Why would I want to say goodbye? I wasn’t through saying hello! With the very last breath of my son’s life, I simply said, “I love you.” I was able to be with my mom in her final hours, and I did not say goodbye. I said, “I love you.” And although I was not with my dad when he died, the last words I shared with him as I left his home on what was to be his last night, I kissed him and said, “I love you.” Let go of the hurt you are experiencing if you [can’t bring yourself to] say goodbye . . . Goodbye is simply too final, too harsh, too forever. Surely our loved ones knew we loved them. Surely our loved ones knew we cared. And even if you don’t believe they knew, you can do something about that right now. Go outside, find your special star, and with all your might, whisper, speak or yell out loud, “I LOVE YOU!” Trust me, the universe is listening, and your words of love will travel far to reach the heart of those no longer within hug’s reach. I guess you could yell goodbye, too, if you really want to . . . but why? Why let the grief of saying goodbye rob you of the memories of what you did get to say and how you lived your lives together? Why let saying goodbye steal away the joy of knowing your loved one was in your life and is still a thread in your fabric, to be woven forever around your heart? Goodbye? I’d rather live my life so that my last words are, “I love you.” We never know when an ordinary day will turn into a day that gets marked down in the family history as a not-so-ordinary day. But all of us can live our lives so we can leave with few regrets. Don’t let the [death of your loved one] rob you of your hope, your passion, your joy in living. Let it become a lesson for all of us to live our lives as if there were only moments left . . . because that is all there really are anyway. Moments, just moments, one after another, each special and sacred in its own way, each waiting to be etched forever on our memories or lost in the sea of millions of other ordinary moments. I learned so long ago that any moment can be the last one, so I no longer waste too many of my moments. Oh yes, there are days when I simply plod through the moments, not even aware of their passing. It often takes a cataclysmic event to shake me out of my reverie and reawaken me to the specialness of each moment . . . Take advantage of the moments we have and spend them wisely. Spend them saying, “I love you,” instead of saying, “Goodbye.” I grew up military, married military and gave birth to military, and goodbye has always been a part of my life. But I gave up saying it long ago when I realized “I love you” lasts far longer and feels so much better. Goodbye? I’m not through saying “Hello” and “I LOVE YOU!” – Adapted from an article by Darcie D. Simms, Ph.D., in Bereavement Magazine, January/February 2002. Reprinted with permission from Bereavement Publishing, Inc., 888-604-4673 _____ People's voices continue to be heard after death in the traces of their utterances, in other people's speaking, and in ongoing responses to their words. For the living, this means that, to the degree that we continue to respond to the meanings generated in conversation with someone before they died, those meanings continue to live on. In a quite tangible sense, people can live on after death in and through words and our relationships with the dead need not be considered closed with the nailing down of the lid of a coffin. -- Lorraine Hedtke and John Winslade, in Re-membering Lives: Conversations with the Dying and the Bereaved _____ Grief ebbs but grief never ends. Death ends a life but death does not end a relationship. If we allow ourselves to be still and if we take responsibility for our grief, the grief becomes as polished and luminous and mysterious as death itself. When it does, we learn to love anew, not only the one who has died. We learn to love anew those who yet live. – Julius Lester _____ What does “letting go” mean? This phrase is often misunderstood. Does it mean forgetting, letting go of our memories? Not at all. Does it mean letting go of a relationship with our deceased loved ones? No! Our relationship is changed, not ended. “Letting go” refers to the time in our healing journey when we are ready to gently open our tightly closed fists. In doing so we let go of our pain. We do not need it anymore. Take both hands and close your fists tightly. Hold them closed as tightly as you can and then open them as wide as you can. Can you feel the difference as you open and let go? Can you feel the release? We gradually realize that we neither need nor want what we have been holding on to – guilt, depression, sadness, anger, fear, powerlessness – whatever pain we have used as a connection to our loved one or as a way of protecting ourselves from further hurt. We might even make the decision that we will never, ever love someone again, so that when someone gets close to us, we do something to push them away. However, one day we may come to realize that we do not want or need this particular connection or protection. We have our memories and our bond with our loved one. In fact, to hold on to it fiercely would only ruin our lives. Our holding on would make us bitter, not better. This realization that we can, need to, want to, must let go of our pain is like watching the sun rise or set. It is a slow, gentle, almost imperceptible process that happens day after day, just as we will continue to release our pain again and again. from Grief's Courageous Journey: A Workbook by Sandi Caplan and Gordon Lang. _____ The heart of grief, its most difficult challenge, is not "letting go" of those who have died but instead making the transition from loving in presence to loving in separation. -- Thomas Attig, in The Heart of Grief: Death and the Search for Everlasting Love _____ . . . As the months pass and the seasons change, something of tranquility descends, and although the well-remembered footstep does not sound again, nor the voice call from the room beyond, there seems to be about one in the air an atmosphere of love, a living presence. I say this in no haunting sense; ghosts and phantoms are far from my mind. It is as though one shared, in some indefinable manner, the freedom and the peace, even at times the joy, of another world where there is no more pain. It is not a question of faith or of belief. It is not necessary to be a follower of any religious doctrine to become aware of what I mean. It is not the prerogative of the devout. The feeling is simply there, pervading all thought, all action. When Christ the healer said, “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted,” he must have meant just this. Later, if you go away, if you travel, even if you decide to make your home elsewhere, the spirit of tenderness, of love, will not desert you. You will find that it has become part of you, rising from within yourself; and because of it you are no longer fearful of loneliness, of the dark, because death, the last enemy, has been overcome. — Daphne du Maurier _____ They are not dead who live in lives they leave behind. In those whom they have blessed, they live a life again, and shall live through the years eternal life, and shall grow each day more beautiful, as time declares their good, forgets the rest, and proves their immortality. – Hugh Robert Orr _____ Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Dear Ones, I've just found a beautiful piece I'd like to share with all my fellow animal lovers. It is written by Crystal Ward Kent, and you'll find it by clicking on The Journey Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Sibling Loss Research Survey If you have experienced the death of a sibling, and are interested in expanding knowledge about the experience of sibling loss, you are cordially invited to participate in a current Towson University research study. The study is designed to investigate what resources are perceived to be helpful following the death of a sibling. The following link will take you directly to the survey, where more information about your participation in the study will be provided: http://surveymonkey.com/s.asp?u=138341200698. Please know that if you decide to participate in the study, your participation is voluntary and you may exit the survey at any time. You must be at least 18 years of age to participate. For further information, please contact principal investigator Kaitlin Carrozza, kec1084@comcast.net.

Oh my dear Maylissa, of course your loss is “that important!” The most important loss in the world is the loss that you are experiencing right now, and for that you have our heartfelt sympathy as well as our prayers. I understand that it may seem that when posted messages go unanswered here, it follows that no one is concerned enough to respond, no one notices, and no one really cares. One may then conclude that those unfortunate souls are left to deal with their grief all by themselves – but I can assure you that is not the case. As I have stated elsewhere, I feel a deep personal and professional responsibility to monitor this board in such a way that encourages understanding, growth and healing. I visit this site several times throughout the day, every single day, and I read every single posting in each of the forums here. One of the benefits of our Grief Healing Discussion Groups site is that it offers visitors like yourself a safe place to put your feelings. Like a journal, it's always there, 24 hours a day, free of charge and ready to "listen" without judgment or reproach. Unfortunately, however, the forums are set up in such a way that whenever a new topic is started by someone, the other messages already posted get pushed down the list and can get “lost,” unless our visitors are savvy enough to go deeper into a given forum to find them. If you look on the page that lists the titles of all topics in the Loss of a Sibling Forum, you will see that your topic has been viewed by others at least 20 times. If you scroll down any of these lists, you will also see that several messages have been left unanswered – but that does not mean that no one cares enough to post a response to every single message. Sometimes people send private messages to one another that are not meant for everyone else’s eyes. Sometimes I receive and respond to such private messages too. Sometimes just reading through all the other postings is enough to provide the emotional support and inspiration someone may need. Not everyone coming here feels the need to respond to a given message – and some simply may not have the energy to do so. When I respond to a posting myself, it's usually because I see an opportunity to inform all our readers of something about grief that's not been addressed elsewhere on the board or on the pages of my Grief Healing Web site, or it’s because I want to refer them to some other resources – but even then, there is no guarantee that every visitor will find and read what I have written. I also think it’s important that my colleague Steve and I not be viewed as the ones who have all the answers. Most of the time, we want to leave the floor open to let our visitors share their own experiences with one another, because they are truly the experts here. I would hope that most visitors are finding this site helpful in their time of need, and that they are finding some comfort in offering support to others. I know from reading what you’ve posted in other forums here that you are doing just that, and I hope you will continue to do so by returning on a regular basis to post your own responses here. In so doing, you are helping to model for all our other members and visitors how to post with courtesy, respect, dignity and caring. That is the real beauty and healing power of this medium. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Eliza, We’re all so very sorry to learn of the death of Winnie, your cherished friend and loyal companion for so many years. At the same time, I'm so pleased to know that you found your way to our Pet Loss Forum. Here you will discover that you are not alone in your grief journey. Here you will find yourself in the company of fellow animal lovers who understand the depth of your love for Winnie and like you, know firsthand the agony of losing a beloved pet. I know that in time others will be responding to your post, but for now I simply want to welcome you to this warm and caring place, and to let you know that we are here for you. If you’ve not already done so, I hope you will take time to explore my Grief Healing Web site, where you will find additional information, comfort and support. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Grace, We are all so very, very sorry to learn of the sudden death of your dear little poodle over the weekend. Even though we have no explanations, no solutions, no answers, and no cures, most certainly we share in your pain, and we are touching your wounds with gentle and tender hands. I share the following thoughts and words (selected from my site's Comfort for Grieving Hearts page) in hopes that (as the saying goes) you will "take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away": I am a parent twice bereaved. In one thirteen-month period I lost my oldest son to suicide and my youngest son to leukemia. Grief has taught me many things about the fragility of life and the finality of death. To lose that which means the most to us is a lesson in helplessness and humility and survival. After being stripped of any illusions of control I might have harbored, I had to decide what questions were still worth asking. I quickly realized that the most obvious ones -- Why my sons? Why me? -- were as pointless as they were inevitable. Any appeal to fairness was absurd. I was led by my fellow sufferers, those I loved and those who had also endured irredeemable losses, to find reasons to go on. Like all who mourn I learned an abiding hatred for the word "closure," with its comforting implications that grief is a time-limited process from which we will all recover. The idea that I could reach a point when I would no longer miss my children was obscene to me and I dismissed it. I had to accept the reality that I would never be the same person, that some part of my heart, perhaps the best part, had been cut out and buried with my sons. What was left? Now there was a question worth contemplating. -- Gordon Livingston, MD, in Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart: Thirty True Things You Need to Know Now Coming to Terms with God . . . Months ago I was angry at what I thought was the sheeplike stupidity of people who believed in a God who cared about them. Enraged by Gretchen's death, I could not understand how people, especially those whose children had died, could believe they were loved by God. Having myself grown up with that image of the fatherly taskmaster, I needed something to blame, something to hate for what had happened; and there He was, still present in my memory, somehow alive under layers of consciousness. Shortly after Gretchen died I saw a woman driving a car with a bumper sticker saying GOD LOVES YOU, and I felt like running her off the road. I saw the same message the other day and shrugged. Now that my anger is subsiding, I see Him and all the other gods as not unlike my own "pathetic fallacies," the fantasies of minds and hearts unhinged by grief. I may not believe what others do, but I have experienced the desperate longing to understand, and I know I, too, am one of the sheep. So I don't begrudge anyone a belief that can help them get through the day. — Tom Crider, in Give Sorrow Words: A Father's Passage through Grief . . . Vulnerability to death is one of the given conditions of life. We can't explain it any more than we can explain life itself. We can't control it, or sometimes even postpone it. All we can do is try to rise beyond the question, "Why did it happen?" and begin to ask the question, "What do I do now that it has happened?" -- Harold S. Kushner, in When Bad Things Happen to Good People When we travel the journey of grief, the familiar can become unfamiliar, even unrecognizable. Relationships can be put on hold (though sometimes because we don't recognize the love that surrounds us), our bodies respond differently than before (energy levels, appetite, sleep, general health) and our emotions often become, at best, a wild ride through some very dark and gloomy waters. Even God (our beliefs, values and sources of strength) is different. For some, even the ability to believe in anyone or anything is stretched to impossibility, for a long time, maybe even forever. Sorrow can be a very deep hole, deepened by our perceived loss of that sense of connection. For many it is about despair, fear and hopelessness. For others, a sense of sadness and futility. It may be less severe for many, but it is still there. For all of us still wrestle with the essential questions of life and meaning. Why did this happen? Why did this happen now? What will happen to me? How will I live now? Do I want to go on living? What do I need to do now? These are the questions of life and grief, as old as the ancient psalms and as fresh as this morning's first cup of coffee. What does all of this mean for you and me? The answer (and it isn't really an answer, but a choice, a hunch, a moving through the journeys of grief and of faith all twisted and turned together) is in connecting to myself, my story and my God . . . it is faith, our ability to believe and trust in the outcomes or blessings of even one's suffering, that brings us through our sorrow to a renewed sense of hope. My beliefs help me identify where I am, who I am, where I am going, and how I will get there. Healthy spirituality never dodges the tough bullets of grief. It never diminishes my worth and never dismisses my feelings. My relationship with God leaves me plenty of time and space to wander and to ponder. There is room to be angry, with the encouragement to receive anger's gift rather than be seduced by its rage. I can connect with my guilt, yet welcome forgiveness that restores. My loneliness is embraced through religious community or context, ritual, sacrament and prayer (or whatever fits with your traditions). Grief's anonymity ("Doesn't anyone understand?") is embraced by a God sometimes perceived to be distant and inaccessible, who still knows me by name! -- Reverend Richard Gilbert, M.Div. in "Like Connecting with an Old Friend" Bereavement Magazine, January/February 2002 Reprinted with permission from Bereavement Publishing, Inc. (888-604-4673) Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Why does the loss of one or both our parents hit us so hard? In their wonderful new book, On Grief and Grieving, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler have this to say about the power of grief: The time after a significant loss is full of feelings that we usually have spent a lifetime trying not to feel. Sadness, anger, and emotional pain sit on our doorstep with a deeper range than we have ever felt. Their intensity is beyond our normal range of human emotions. Our defenses are no match for the power of the loss. We stand alone with no precedent or emotional repertoire for this kind of loss. We have never lost a mother, father, spouse, or child before. To know these feelings and to meet them for the first time brings up responses from draining to terrifying and everything in between. And in this insightful article, noted grief expert Kenneth J. Doka explains some of the reactions we may have: When A Parent Dies “Everyone says it is a blessing. She was old and ill for so long. I am 62 years old myself, but she was still my mother.” If Mona were 12 years old, no one would believe it odd that she would grieve the loss of her mom. Why do we assume it is easier 50 years later? Those 50 additional years carry even more shared memories. When I started counseling, I held those sentiments. I expected to see spouses grieving the loss of their mates or parents mourning the death of a child. I was surprised to see so many adult children grieving the loss of their older parent. They taught me that I should not be so surprised. There are many reasons why the loss of a parent is difficult, even for an adult. For many of us, the loss of a parent is our first major loss. We are unprepared. We may be astounded by the intensity of our reactions, the times when we feel the absence of our parents’ presence, and the moments we seek their advice only to realize we can no longer receive their counsel. The death of a parent may bring other losses in its wake. We may have to sell the family home. Holidays once spent there are now redistributed or shared by other family members. Perhaps without the centering presence of a parent, other family traditions seem less significant. Families may no longer seem as close or come together as often. This heightens the experience of loss. In some cases the stress of care giving or conflicts over the estate can create tensions between siblings. This can cause an additional sense of loss even as it further diminishes support. In other cases, we may take comfort in a renewed closeness with brothers and sisters or a new appreciation of family. We may experience a “developmental push.” Now, without a parent we may have to carry on tasks without the assistance of someone we have long counted upon to help. The death of a parent brings not only grief but also profound personal, social, familial, and even financial changes. Acknowledging grief and change is critical. This deep sense of loss is a natural response to the death of parents, whatever their age or however old we are. Our grief is a manifestation of our attachment and our love. We may want to join support groups or seek counseling. Since this may be our first major loss, we should consider whether we need additional support. When the time comes, we may need to find appropriate ways to honor their memories. Each of us has our own traditions and rituals. We may want to put together a collage of photographs or to light a candle on occasions. We may even want to create a new tradition. My mother, for example, was very concerned that the family would drift apart once she died. Now, on the Saturday closest to her birthday, all surviving generations reunite in her honor. -- by Kenneth J. Doka, PhD, MDiv, HopeLine Newsletter, September 2005, HOPE for Bereaved, Inc., NY, hope@dreamscape.com

Dear Jeanne, I’m so very sorry to learn of the death of your brother-in-law last November, and I can only imagine what this tragic event has done to your family. (If you haven’t already done so, you may be interested in another post that appears in this same forum: Very Tough to Move On: Homicide of a Brother.) As I understand it, your primary concern centers around the family’s negative reaction to the developing relationship between Jim’s bereaved girlfriend Sandy and your husband’s younger brother Steve – a relationship which you may be more willing to recognize and accept as their way of coping with this loss. The family’s conflicted feelings about this are understandable. When a sibling dies and one of his brothers begins dating the deceased brother’s girlfriend, it can be very hard for his mother and the remaining siblings to accept, no matter how soon after the death it occurs. Partly that is because they may be feeling a need to remain loyal to their son and brother and respectful of his memory, and they may be worried that these two people will cease to remember and love this irreplaceable person they all have lost. You say that in this family “there is no communication going on” but they all talk to you about it, which leaves you feeling overwhelmed and at a loss as to how to “help ALL of them in this situation.” It may be helpful for you to keep in mind that every person in this family is grieving a different loss, and the relationship each one had with the person who died is very different too. Your husband and his siblings have lost their brother, your mother-in-law has lost a son, and Jim’s girlfriend has lost her partner and the father of her child. (See my article, Understanding Different Grieving Patterns in Your Family.) You say that although they were not married, Sandy and Jim were together for 15 years and had a two-year-old son. I don’t know how close these two were to each other, or anything else about their relationship, but I do know that however Sandy reacts to Jim’s death depends on many, many different factors. To gain a clearer understanding of what Sandy may be experiencing, it may help you to read what newly widowed women have to say about dating and remarriage. (See the article I’ve attached below, How Long Is Long Enough, by Julie Donner Andersen.) Once you’ve read the article, you might even share it with Sandy and ask if any of it rings true to her. If you think they would be open to it, you may want to share the article with other family members as well. This might open up some meaningful dialogue with all concerned. In any event, it may be unrealistic to expect that you must be the one who can help everyone in this family deal with all of this, my friend. As you say, "there is so much to this story that I could write a book on this." What you can do, however, is encourage individuals in this family to get some help by talking to a therapist or professional bereavement counselor, so that their feelings about losing their son and brother and their current difficulties with Sandy and Steve's relationship can be expressed, worked through and resolved. They may have no control over how these two choose to live their lives in the wake of Jimmy’s death, but with help they can find more effective ways to manage their own reactions, get on with their own lives and keep this family together. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T HowLongIsLongEnough.doc

My dear friend, I’m so very sorry to learn of the multitude of losses you’ve experienced in so short a span of time, and it is no wonder to me that you are reacting the way that you are. I doubt if any one of us could go through a week like this without feeling as you do. Your reaction is not unlike what is seen in post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). When a person is hit with sudden, unexpected death – and in one short week, you’ve experienced several – the stress can be overwhelming. Your capacity to cope is diminished because the world as you’ve known it is abruptly destroyed and completely shattered. All your assumptions, expectations and beliefs about whatever control, predictability and security have existed in your life up to now have been violated. Your sense of security and confidence in the world are profoundly affected, leaving you fearful of the next unexpected loss and overprotective toward your husband and your own children, as you try to defend them from another sudden, unforeseen trauma. It is difficult if not impossible to make sense of the accident that killed your friend and eventually took her daughter. Because it happened so suddenly, there was no opportunity to finish whatever relationship you had with this friend, probably leaving you feeling robbed, bewildered, insecure, anxious, and hurt. It’s important for you to know that the reactions you describe (paranoia, depression, insomnia, profound sadness, panic, anxiety, fearfulness, etc.) are normal under the circumstances. When the deaths of loved ones are this sudden, unexpected, multiple, and traumatic, such responses as you describe are typical and predictable, especially at this early point in your bereavement. It is only if these responses go on too long, and if these deaths so severely disrupt your life that your ability to function on a daily basis is seriously impaired, that there would be cause for concern. I want to recommend some online resources that I hope you will find informative and helpful as you struggle to make some sense of all of this. I think it’s especially important for you to learn more about PTSD and how it may be affecting you. See especially these sites, which are listed on my Grief Healing Web site’s Links page, under the Traumatic Loss category: Article: Reactions to Sudden or Traumatic Loss Article: Grief Due to Complicated Death Article: Frequently Asked Questions about PTSD Article: Coping with PTSD Article: Seeking Help for PTSD Gift from Within: National Organization for Survivors of Trauma Trauma Information Pages I also hope you’ll do some reading about grief, bereavement and loss, so you’ll have a better idea of what is normal and what reactions you can expect. A good place to start is on my Grief Healing Web site. Finally, I hope you’ll consider talking to a grief counselor or a therapist about all of this, if only to be reassured that your reactions are normal. In the meantime, please know that you are not alone and we are here for you. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Shelley, dear, We are all so very sorry to learn of the death of your dear father yesterday. Please know that you are being held by all of us in gentle thought and prayer. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

It’s Not Fair by Cecilia Clayton “It’s not fair!” How many of us have heard that and said that? When said by a young child, it is usually accompanied by tears, foot stomping and anger. What is really being said is, “Something in my world is not as I would like it to be. Something in my world is not as I expected and hoped it would be. Something in my world is wrong. Something in my world needs to be fixed, and I want it fixed now.” Sound vaguely familiar? It’s not fair. When a young child cries in frustration about the unfairness of his world, we can take it as an opportunity to offer a lesson in life. We can help, fix, negotiate, investigate, manipulate and try our best to restore “fairness.” Or, when all else fails, as it often will, we can use the opportunity to instruct in the unfairness of the world and teach a lesson in coping and understanding. Some do have more toys than others, some are allowed to cross streets and others are not. Some are able to ride bicycles and others must walk. Some can go to the park and others must play in the yard. Small issues that are big problems to a youngster, but usually “workable” to an outcome that at least brings some satisfaction. Life doesn’t always stay quite so simple, though. We get older, our issues get bigger, harder to deal with, have a greater impact on our lives. It’s not fair! Again, what is being said is, “Something in my world is not as I would like it to be. Something in my world is not as I expected and hoped it would be. Something in my world is wrong. Something in my world needs to be fixed, and I want it fixed now.” But there are events that occur in our lives that are beyond our control. Indeed, at times they are beyond our imagining. They are un-solvable and finite. There isn’t a lot of room for negotiation or manipulation, and things sometimes can’t be “fixed” to our satisfaction. There are things that are beyond our ability to restore to an acceptable level of fairness. “It’s not fair.” Everyone who utters that phrase is totally, completely, one hundred percent correct. It’s not fair. The world is not a fair place. So, we cry out in frustration and fear. We lash out in anger and hurt. We unleash emotions that are alive with a power we never knew we possessed. We will search incessantly, desperately hoping that we will find a way to make everything right. We rage against all who try to tell us that we “just have to understand.” There is no understanding that will bring us the peace we long for and restore our world to what it once was. Now, the lesson we really learn is that “it’s not fair.” Life is full of experiences that we will never fully understand, and yet we are charged with the awesome challenge of creating within ourselves an understanding of how to make these experiences a part of our lives. How does the parent of a child with crippling disabilities come to believe that the world can be a safe place? How does the parent of a dying child come to an understanding of the meaning of life? How does the parent of a child who has died come to learn how to keep on living? How does the spouse who is now “single” after fifty years of marriage, come to gain comfort in the knowledge of love everlasting? How does a young child understand that Mom or Dad will not be there to answer questions or hold a grandchild? How can a brother or sister reconcile within themselves the knowledge that the only other person who shared their unique relationship, with whom the growing years were truly the beginning of growth, will not share any more memories? It’s not fair, and yet we must find the strength to bring balance and trust back into our world – a world resonating with lost innocence – pulsing with the tremendous knowledge of pain unimaginable. No, it’s not fair, and we must all readily admit this fact. To offer platitudes of comfort, to try to create fairness where none exists, is only denying the reality of the situation. The first step in understanding will come from the true acknowledgment that fairness is a code that we create in our minds, not the law of nature we think we know. There is fairness in the destruction of the pine cone by the heat of a raging fire that destroys the growth of trees and allows the sun to shine on the earth so the seed that was released can create new growth. Yes, there is fairness there, but what we see is total, complete, overwhelming destruction. We are not capable, in the moment, of seeing the final outcome. There are events in our own lives, and in those whom we love, that are those times of destruction. We cannot know what is to come of this. Actually, we are trying so hard initially just to survive that looking at a final outcome, looking at the future, is not even within our capabilities. What we see looming in our future is more of what we have now – darkness, emptiness and despair. Gradually, though, the darkness is pierced by slivers of light; the emptiness begins to hold wisps of peace, and the despair gives way to the tiniest fragments of hope. There is always the dawn, but it should be remembered that not every night is bound by the same hours, and not every dawn comes to us in identical intensity. There are blazes of glory that spring quickly through the darkness, illuminating the land with perfect clarity, offering warmth that spreads readily through the cold. But there is also the dawn that breaks slowly with vague penetrations of light, barely burning the morning (mourning) tears of dew from a land that is struggling to bring forth life. This is the world in which we live and the life that we share. We are all connected in this life that is filled with the unfairness of pain, grief, loneliness and hardships. But also a life that is filled with the caring of strangers, the love of friendships, the joys that spring unbidden when we are again able to see the triumphs that result from the struggles. It’s not fair, but it is what we have. Always remember that when the journey is calm on your side, it might be turmoil on another’s side. Therein lies the opportunity to bring some balance by offering our peace to another, to help another in their struggle of life. Fair enough? – Cecilia Clayton, “It’s Not Fair,” Bereavement Magazine, January/February 2002, pp. 22-23. Reprinted with permission from Bereavement Publications, Inc., 888-604-4673, www.livingwithloss.com.

My dear friend, I’m so very sorry to learn that your beloved Emilio has died. As you say, because you are single and alone, he was like a child to you, and losing him is like losing a crucial part of yourself. You feel cut off from something very precious that gave meaning, purpose and security to your life. It’s as though an essential part of you has also died. I’m sure this gives you very little comfort right now, but I want you to know that the thoughts and feelings you describe are a normal part of pet loss. I'd like to address a number of your concerns, in hopes that it will help. You say you’re having thoughts about wanting to join Emilio at the Rainbow Bridge. In my work with grieving animal lovers, I have found that thoughts of suicide are not unusual, especially when the person is deeply attached to the pet, when the animal’s death is sudden, and when the person lives alone. When an animal is such an integral part of someone’s life – in some cases the only friend or family a person has – it can be difficult to imagine life without the cherished pet. There is a vast difference, however, between merely thinking about suicide and acting upon such thoughts. In grief, thoughts of suicide are usually fleeting, and reflect how desperately we want the pain of loss to end. You made the agonizing decision to end your dog’s suffering, but now you’re constantly re-thinking whether it was the right decision. This, too, is a typical reaction in the aftermath of choosing euthanasia for our pets. Deciding when and whether to euthanize your pet is probably one of the most difficult choices you’ll ever have to make. It is tantamount to deciding deliberately to take the life of a beloved family member, and we ought not to underestimate the enormity of that decision. For those of us who dearly love our pets, we always wonder if we’ve picked the “right time,” and no matter what time we choose, it always, always engenders enormous guilt. (See Rita Reynolds’ beautiful piece, Euthanasia: The Merciful Release as well as my article, Loss and the Burden of Guilt.) You say you “kind of feel guilty about getting another dog to replace my loss!!” In the normal course of grieving, for most animal lovers the time usually comes when we feel ready to reinvest feelings of attachment in another pet, although certainly everyone is different and that is not always the case. In any event, it is usually a mistake to rush to replace the pet who was lost. You need time to experience and work through your grief over losing Emilio, and then only with the understanding that there is no way to replace your precious little one. Getting a new dog before the grieving process is completed (and before you want or feel a need to give your love to another dog) may seem premature, and it may feel like an act of disloyaly to Emilio. On the other hand, you may feel quite ready to fill up that empty space in your life and open your heart to another dog who is in need of all that love you have to give. Everyone is different; there is no right or wrong decision here; just give it some time and follow whatever your own heart tells you to do. (See my article, How Long Should I Wait to Replace the Pet Who Has Died? ) Finally, you say you’re at a loss as to what to do next, and how to proceed with your life now. I want to encourage you to do some reading about what is normal in pet loss. Start with my own Grief HealingWeb site, where you will find a great deal of information, comfort and support. Take a look at my online e-mail course, A Different Grief: Coping with Pet Loss. Come back often to this Pet Loss Forum, where you are surrounded by other animal lovers who understand and respect the human-animal bond, and know from experience the awful, devastating pain of losing a beloved pet. No one can take that pain from you now, but there is so much you can do to manage it – and certainly you do not have to do this all by yourself. You are not alone. We are here for you, and we care deeply about what happens to you. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Dear Sonny, In your words I can feel the hurt, the searing pain, the regret, the guilt and the longing for your beloved companion, and I am so very sorry for your loss. You say that you feel strange about posting on a message board this way, but I want to assure you that there is nothing to feel strange about here. Somehow you’ve managed to find your way to this warm and caring place, and we all want you to feel welcome here. You are not alone in your deep love of animals, your close attachment to your dog, and the pain you are feeling in the physical absence of your beloved friend. Those of us who participate in this forum understand that kind of loss, and are very much with you in spirit. I don’t know if you’ve taken the time to read through any of the other postings in this Pet Loss Forum, but I want to point you to one in particular. Like the person who posted about her beloved Baxter, the grief you are experiencing now is complicated by the tragic, accidental circumstances of your dog’s death and by the guilt and anger you're probably harboring now. Please click on this link and read the post entitled Lost My Baby(posted by Hsebes on October 23, 2003). Be sure to scroll down and read all the responses there, including mine, as I think you will find the information relevant and helpful too. At the very least, know that we are thinking of you and holding you with compassionate hearts. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Linda, We’re all so very sorry to learn of the loss of your precious Barney. Even though you noticed that his health had been failing over the past two weeks, this still must come as a painful blow. I’m pleased to know that you found your way to this kind and compassionate group, but I also want to be sure that you know about my Grief Healing Web site, which offers information, comfort and support to anyone anticipating or coping with the loss of a loved one, whether that is a person or a cherished pet. I especially want to point you to these articles, in hopes that they will help: Coping with Pet Loss: Am I Crazy to Feel So Sad about This? When Pet Loss Feels Worse than Losing a Relative Loss and the Burden of Guilt You will find links to these and many other articles on my site's Pet Loss Articles page, and if you visit my Pet Loss Links page, you'll find dozens of other wonderful resources listed there as well. You say you don’t know how to deal with this, Linda, and sadly, none of us has THE answer to that question, because the special relationship you had with Barney is known only to you, and so only you can measure how very much you have lost. Similarly, because you are a unique individual with your own personality, your own history and past experiences with loss, and with your own way of coping with life's crises, we know that you will discover for yourself how you will deal with the pain of this loss. None of us can take away that pain, but we can assure you that you need not bear it all alone. We want you to know that we are here for you, we care about you, and we are sending you our deepest sympathy. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear friend, I'm so sorry to learn of the death of your mother, and I'm sorry, too, to learn that you are in so much pain -- pain that is physical as well as emotional. I understand that you feel lost, but fate is such that you managed to find your way to this site, and I pray that now you will consider yourself found instead of lost. I can assure you that here you are among kindred souls -- people who know from experience all different kinds of pain, people who are struggling just as you are struggling -- and they are some of the most compassionate people you could ever hope to meet, anywhere. I hope you will spend some time reading some of the messages posted in each of our forums, and as you come to know the wonderful people here, I think you will discover that you are not alone. I want to point you to two Web sites that I strongly encourage you to visit, and soon. They are these: IF YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT SUICIDE, READ THIS FIRST! PREVENT SUICIDE NOW By coming to our Grief Healing Discussion Groups and openly sharing your greatest concerns and most private thoughts, you've taken the first important steps toward saving yourself, my friend. Please, please keep going. We are here for you, we care deeply about what happens to you, and every single one of us is pulling for you. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Walt, Perhaps it's just the way I am interpreting it, but I read this to mean how we might feel if and when we are reunited with our loved ones who have died -- whether that is in a dream, through a vision or some other mystical experience, or even after we ourselves have died. Just this morning I read this statement by noted author and bereaved mother Sandy Goodman (her 18-year-old son Jason was accidentally killed when he was electrocuted; she writes of her experiences in Love Never Dies: A Mother's Journey from Loss to Love; visit her Web site Love Never Dies.) My girlfriend told me that there are people who would say that there is something wrong with me if she were to tell them that I feel joy when I think of Jason. She said that they would not understand how I could feel good when I have lost my son. I say it isn't about feeling good or feeling sad. It is about knowing that I have not lost him. [source: Love Never Dies Newsletter by Sandy Goodman, May/June/July 2005] In the same newsletter issue, Sandy included this poem by Deb Kosmer of Oshkosh, Wisconsin. Says Sandy: “As you will guess by what you feel when you read her poems, Deb has a bit of experience with loss. Because of that experience, she is also a Bereavement Support Coordinator.” When I read Deb's poem, I thought of you and what you posted this morning: HOPE Hope like love is a 4 letter word. When you died I was afraid Your love went with you. And I thought hope had left me too. I was alone and in pain Thinking of you Missing you Screaming for you Then one day I felt your love And it was like you were still here And hope returned, I felt it And I knew it was real Like your love for me Was still real I smiled knowing That our love survived And knew that I’d survive. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

It's summer, it's hot. Take time to breathe, meditate, journal, remember. Take a walk early in the morning when the world is still sleeping. Blow bubbles. Fly a kite. Smell a newly opened rose. Send off a balloon, plant a tree, write a letter. If grief is too new, or you are too tired, just rest. Grief will wait in the shadows until you are ready . . . and love will hold your hand. – From bereaved mother and author Sandy Goodman, Love Never Dies Newsletter, May/June/July 2005