MartyT

My dear friend, We’re all so very sorry to learn that you’ve lost your precious Tara. Seventeen years is a very long time, and I can only imagine how much you miss her physical presence in your home and in every aspect of your daily life. Your message is filled with the sort of “if only’s” and “should have’s” that we all feel in the aftermath of loss. It is only human nature to go back over every detail of this horrible experience, searching for all the things you wished you would have or could have done differently. It stems from your natural desire to change the outcome, to re-write the ending of this terrible tragedy: Undo it, take it back, make every day the previous one until I am returned to the day before the one that made you gone. Or set me on an airplane traveling west, crossing the date line again and again, losing this day, then that, until the day of loss still lies ahead, and you are here instead of sorrow. — Nessa Rapoport, in A Woman's Book of Grieving You ask does the pain go away, and I’m afraid you already know that the pain of losing someone you love so much never really “goes away.” Rather, for all of us who’ve loved and lost these precious little creatures, the pain becomes more bearable over time, as we confront and come to terms with the reality of the loss, as we learn to live with the absence of our loved one, as we find ways to process our grief and cope with our reactions. You also ask when does it get better, and although I cannot tell you “when,” I can only promise that it will. You’ve taken an important step by coming to this warm and caring place, by sharing your story, by reaching out through your own pain to offer support and inspiration to others. None of us can take away your pain at this sad and difficult time, my friend, but we can assure you that you need not bear it all alone. Please know that we are thinking of you and holding you in our hearts. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear friend, I am touched by your statement that "every time I start to go through the different closets and cabinets I have to stop." You've reminded me of a touching and beautiful piece I found in Bereavement Magazine: Sorting For most of five years she sorted. One must sort through the papers . . . medical bills in this stack, condolence notes in another, bank statements, retirement benefits, death benefits, life insurance . . . so much paper. Hours and days she sat at the kitchen table crying and sorting. “Still sorting?” we would ask. “Yes,” she would say through her tears, “there is just so much.” On and on through the first year she sorted . . . court papers, sympathy cards, letters from friends, tax forms, her kitchen table still piled high with papers. “Still sorting?” we’d ask. “Yes,” she’d sigh, “there is just so much.” And on through the second year she sorted . . . suits to Goodwill, sweaters and shirts to her grandsons, tee shirts to the granddaughters to wear in the dorm. “Still sorting?” we’d ask, noticing the house in disarray as it never was when he was alive. “Yes,” she’d answer wistfully. “There is just so much.” And through the third and fourth years she sorted . . . guns and tools, cuff links and tie tacks, golf clubs and fishing poles. Nothing was thrown out or left to chance as the house remained cluttered with his things. “Is she okay?” we began to ask. “Why does she take so long? Will she ever finish? Can’t she get on with her life? Why this endless sifting and sorting of the things he left behind?” “Still sorting?” we’d ask impatiently. “How long must this go on? Is there still more to do even after all this time? Are you okay?” “Yes,” she’d answer patiently. “You don’t understand. There’s just so much.” But now, we do understand . . . as we sort. Comforted by her things around us as we laugh and cry as we consider each item. And sometimes we find the treasures . . . a scarf that still smells of her, a letter she forgot to mail, a diary we won’t read, pictures of her as a girl, a young wife, a new mother. It’s been more than a year now, but we are in no hurry to finish the job, because there is just so much . . . and then no more. – By Paula Moore Hurtt, in Bereavement Magazine, May/June 2003 Reprinted with permission from Bereavement Publishing, Inc., 888-604-4673, We are so very sorry to learn of the death of your beloved mother, and our hearts are reaching out to you in sympathy. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Lynn, I’m so sorry for your loss, and you have our deepest sympathy. I hope you will take some comfort in knowing that you did all you could to make your brother’s last days as easy for him as possible. Since you were one of the two people he wanted at his bedside when he died, surely he loved you dearly, and he must have known how very much you loved him, too. As I read your story, a number of your statements suggest to me a sort of “stiff upper lip” approach to crises in your family, and I’m wondering how that expectation may be affecting your ability to move through your own grief now. You say your brother never really “came to grips” with his terminal cancer, even in his final days. He didn’t want people to “fawn over him or feel sorry for him,” he didn’t want your parents to worry, and he permitted only you and his wife to be present when he died. You describe yourself as “the one holding everything together,” taking care of everyone else in your family, working hard to shield your parents from the harsh realities of your brother’s death, protecting others by keeping your own thoughts, feelings and memories to yourself so as not to upset anyone else. And as you face the prospect of attending yet another funeral, you’re “apprehensive about handling it myself without falling apart.” I wonder, Lynn, what would happen if you gave yourself permission to “fall apart?” Sometimes we fear that if we show our sadness, there will be no end to it. We worry that, if we allow ourselves to cry, especially in front of others, the tears will never stop. We think that once we “let ourselves go,” we will lose all control and won’t ever be able to regain our composure. As a child you may have been taught that crying is a sign of weakness, and strong people (especially men) don’t cry. If that’s the way you were brought up, if it is the style of some in your family to be strong and silent in front of others, there is nothing inherently wrong with that, and you may have to accept it and allow for it – as you did in honoring your brother’s wishes. Nevertheless, my concern is the effect that all this “holding in” may be having on you. You have a choice here. You don’t have to maintain a brave exterior all the time. You have the choice of letting the tears come, welcoming them as a natural and helpful form of release. When you permit yourself to “let go” for a time and release what you feel, you’ll be better able to function afterward. It’s a simple fact that holding onto your emotions takes a lot more energy than releasing them. You might try setting aside a certain “crying time” each day, when you can deliberately immerse yourself in grief. Pick a completely private time and place. Take the phone off the hook. Use triggers and props to help bring on your tears, such as music, photographs, writings or sad movies. And do not worry about crying so much that you won’t be able to stop. Think about it: It is physically impossible to cry 24 hours a day! And it’s okay to let others (especially children) see you cry. It shows them that you care deeply about the person who died, and reassures them that it’s all right to express sad feelings in front of others. There is a wonderful passage in Lynn Caine’s book, Being a Widow, in which she describes her husband’s and her own reluctance to be honest with their children about the fact that their father was dying: We not only balked at telling the children the facts, we failed to tell them the emotions. They had to learn that one can be bitter, one can rage and yet one cannot stand up against death. It conquers. But it need not conquer the living if they understand. If they know how to look down that gun barrel. We didn’t know that, so how could we tell the children. If I had been able to burst into wild tears when Martin told them, it would have done us all a world of good. They probably would have cried, too, and we would all have been sobbing away. Martin and I would have been able to cry and to say, “We hate it a lot. It’s a bum rap.” But all my energies, then and later, were exerted in holding myself together. I always had this Humpty Dumpty fantasy that if I were ever to allow myself to crack, no one, not “all the King’s men” could ever put me back together again. I’m beginning to learn how wrong I was. Emotions can strengthen you, not splinter you. To express emotions is healthier than to repress them. So if I were given a chance to tell the children again, I would have encouraged them to cry. I would have worked hard to get them to ask questions, to talk about Daddy’s illness. I would have tried to help them understand the truth. You say you need to know what to do to be better able to cope, Lynn, and I strongly encourage you to do some reading about loss and grief. As I say repeatedly in these forums, the more you learn about grief, the better you can cope with it. Pay a long visit to my Grief Healing Web site and read some of the articles you’ll find there. See especially the Articles and Books page, the Links page and the Comfort for Grieving Hearts page. See also the online email course I wrote, The First Year of Grief: Help for the Journey. The help you seek is all around you, Lynn. I hope you will take it advantage of it, and think of it as a gift you can give yourself. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Grace, I am struck by your insightful comments and I thank you for sharing them. Just this morning I came across a cardboard coaster that I had picked up in a restaurant several months ago and had stuck in a side pocket of my daytimer. I saved it because I was so taken with its message: Always remember you're unique, just like everyone else. As you so accurately observe, Everyone's loss is somehow different but the same. As alike as we all are in our humanness, we each grieve differently, according to our age, gender, personality, culture, value system, past experience with loss, and available support. Grieving differs among members of the same family, as each person's relationship with and attachment to the deceased family member varies. How we react to any death depends on how we've responded to other crises in our lives; on what was lost when this death happened (not only the life of the person who died, but certain aspects of our own life as well: our way of life; who we were in our relationship with that person and who we planned to be; our hopes and dreams for the future); on who died (spouse, parent, child, sibling, grandparent, relative, friend or other; how we lived together and what that person meant to us); on the person's role in our family; on when the death occurred (at what point in the life cycle: ours as well as that of the person who died); and on how (the circumstances surrounding the death, and how the death occurred). Everyone's loss is somehow different but the same. Even though our losses are as different and as individual as we are, certain feelings and reactions are universal, normal and predictable, and it is helpful to know what they are so we can better understand them, know what to expect and be better prepared to manage them. By giving words to our grief and sharing our stories of loss in forums such as this one, we discover that we are not alone. We meet others here with feelings and reactions similar to our own, and realize that we are not crazy or abnormal or weak. We learn that others have walked this path before us, some are farther along than we are, some are coming up behind us and others are walking right along beside us. We find that we have much to learn from one another, and we give each other hope that together we will find our way. Everyone's loss is somehow different but the same. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear friend, I am deeply sorry for your loss. As I read your story, I am reminded of a powerful passage I found some time ago and placed on the Comfort for Grieving Hearts page of my Grief Healing Web site: When love ends, be it the first mad romance of adolescence, the love that will not sustain a marriage, or the love of a failed friendship, it is the same. A death. Likewise in the event of a miscarriage or an abortion: a possibility is dead. And there is no public or even private funeral. Sometimes only regret and nostalgia mark the passage. And the last rites are held in the solitude of one’s most secret self — a service of mourning in the tabernacle of the soul. — Robert Fulghum, in From Beginning to End What you are mourning, my friend, is not only the death of your dad, but also the death of a possibility, the death of a dream. You are experiencing the death of the relationship you never had with your dad in the past, and now can never hope to have in the future, either. That is a significant loss, and it is certainly worthy of your grief, regardless of how long ago this death happened. There is no time frame for grief, and your feelings are valid and real no matter how long you’ve felt this way. Grief doesn’t “go” anywhere, after all. It just lies there, waiting for us to take care of it, and sometimes it can lie there for years if we do not address it and work through it. If after three years your feelings are still raw and demanding your attention, you are wise to take a closer look at them. It is never too late to do the work of grief. While I can certainly understand your need to know whatever it is your dad had wanted to tell you when he saw you, the sad fact is that you will never know for sure, and eventually you must come to terms with that. But given where you were with your dad at that point, having just re-established contact with him and knowing he was so glad to hear from you, it seems reasonable to assume that it was something positive and good, and my prayer for you is that one day you will find some comfort in that assumption, hold onto it and let it be enough. You might even try writing yourself a letter from your dad. Try writing as if the writer was your dad, and see what words come through to you. This can be a very powerful exercise. I can also understand your feeling heartbroken that “I was just about to have a normal relationship for the first time in my life and it was all taken away again.” But since your dad suffered from a serious mental illness, had a long history of alcohol abuse and barely one month later was drinking heavily enough to sustain a fall that later proved to be fatal, it does not seem to me that he was capable of developing and maintaining a “normal relationship” with you or anyone else. You say that you have forgiven your father for what he did to you and your mother in the past, because you knew he was sick and could not control his actions or his words, and I want to commend you for that – but what about what your dad did to you in the more recent past? Perhaps there is more there that needs to be forgiven. Remember too that forgiveness is not a single act; it is a process that takes place over time. I’ve posted in another forum some insightful words of Kay Talbot, psychotherapist and bereaved parent, writing about forgiveness, and I’d like to share her comments with you now: Today, in my work with grieving people. I often find that forgiveness is misunderstood. What does forgiveness mean? Let's look first at what it doesn't mean. Forgiveness does not mean condoning or pardoning insensitive or abusive behavior or acting like everything is okay when we feel it isn't. It does not mean forgetting what has happened or naively trusting others who have shown themselves to be untrustworthy. [In Forgiveness: A Bold Choice for a Peaceful Heart] Robin Casarjian helps to clarify this: "What we are forgiving is not the act, not the abuse or the insensitivity. What we are forgiving is the people, the people who could not manage to honor and cherish themselves, us, their families, their spouses, their children or others. What we are forgiving is their confusion and ignorance and desperation and whatever it happens to be. It's not about what you do. It's about how you perceive the person and the situation. So you can forgive somebody and set boundaries and still take action. You can forgive somebody and litigate against them." Forgiveness is a conscious decision to stop hating both ourselves and others. It is an act of self-interest - something we do for ourselves to find greater freedom and peace. Even when we have suffered outrageous trauma, we can work through our appropriate anger and choose forgiveness as a powerful way to cast off the role of victim . . . When we choose forgiveness, we consciously recognize that we cannot change others, but we can change ourselves - gradually, over time, and with much difficult, emotional work . . . Forgiving becomes a process we embrace over and over. Memorials and rituals are tools we use to continue the process. Forgiveness is not a one-time event that absolves us of all future feelings of anger or guilt. Actually, guilt, like anger, can be a useful emotion. Appropriate guilt stirs up our consciences and makes us realize we need to ask for forgiveness. But inappropriate guilt keeps us from feeling forgiven and from creating a healthy future. In my evolving grief process, I have learned to identify, express and release anger and inappropriate guilt, to forgive, to seek and receive forgiveness. The person I am becoming in this process is a gift from my daughter. Not one I would have chosen, but one I choose to cherish nevertheless. My hope is that all who grieve will find such gifts within the legacy of their own lives. – Kay Talbot, "The Gift of Forgiveness," Bereavement Magazine, March / April 1999 You say you're not getting much support or understanding from others, who don't seem to appreciate how cheated you feel at never having experienced a special relationship with your dad, or how difficult it must be for you now to cope with the realization that you will never have it in the future. Unfortunately, that is not uncommon. Those who have not experienced a similar loss can be terribly insensitive in what they say to us, even when they don’t intend to be. (See, for example, the posting in our Loss of a Sibling forum entitled What I Hated Most.) It is also true that people tend to be finished with our grief a lot sooner than we are done with our own need to talk about it. But there are many sources of help for grieving people out there – you just need to take the time to find them. You might begin by reading a little about what normal grief looks like, so you'll have a better understanding of what you're going through and what you have in common with others – it also may reassure you that what you're experiencing is quite normal under the circumstances. My own Grief Healing Web site contains a number of articles I've written on various aspects of grief (see my Articles and Books page), beautiful pieces written by others (see Comfort for Grieving Hearts well as links to other sources of information on the Links page. Participating in an on-line discussion group such as this one is another positive step, because it enables you to give your grief a voice. Here you can share your story of loss and find emotional support and even inspiration from others whose experiences may be similar to your own. And it's available to you at no cost, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Grief is very hard work, but you don’t have to do it all alone. It is my hope that here you’ll find some of the comfort and support you need and deserve, and I hope too you will hear from others who also may be mourning the loss of a relationship that will never be. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Dear Ones, I’m so terribly sorry to learn of the circumstances that brought each one of you to this forum; as a bereaved child myself, I have twice walked the path that you are walking now, and I know how difficult and painful it can be. Please accept my deepest sympathy and know that I am thinking of you all. Since two of you (who've posted under the topic, "I Lost My Dad on Nov 12/04") have lost your parents to suicide and you both have young children in your families, I thought it important that I share some useful information about that subject with you (and with any of our other members and visitors who may be reading this). As you already know, suicide is one of the most difficult kinds of death, and its impact on the family left behind is enormous. Along with the social stigma attached to it, in the wake of a suicide attempt or an actual suicide by a family member, most families struggle with unimaginable feelings of recrimination, confusion, self-doubt, guilt, betrayal and anger. In an effort to protect their children from it, some families go to great lengths to avoid the reality of suicide, thus refusing to talk about it with the children or even to admit that it happened. Yet children are experts at reading their parents’ moods (body language, facial expressions, tone of voice). They know intuitively when something is wrong, even if they’re not sure what it is. They also pick up which subjects are “taboo” in a family (when parents act uncomfortable or reluctant to discuss a topic, or when they evade or change a subject, for example). It’s important for parents to be aware of the serious risks of withholding the truth, acting evasive, offering unrealistic explanations or lying to children about a suicide in the family. Children may overhear conversations between adults or other children, both within and outside their own home. They may observe their own parents’ behavior and reactions, get a sense that they’re not being told the whole story, then draw their own conclusions about what happened, even if those conclusions are wrong. Even years later, children who discover that they’ve been lied to are left with a powerful conclusion: “If my parents lied to me about a matter of this importance, what else have they lied to me about?” Far better that children be told the truth, simply and honestly by someone who loves them, rather than letting them hear about a suicide outside their home. Being honest with children teaches them to trust, and most especially to trust their parents. When explaining suicide to children, here is what one expert* recommends: •If the suicide was intentional (there is no doubt that the person planned to succeed), you might say, “Sometimes a person’s body gets sick and doesn’t work right. Sometimes a person’s mind doesn’t work right. He can’t see things clearly and he feels the only way to solve this problem is by ending his life. That’s what happened here . . .” •If the suicide was accidental (e.g., due to a drug or alcohol overdose), you might say, “Sometimes people take pills to relax, or to get to sleep, or to try to block out their problems. These pills make a person’s body slow down, but too many make the body stop working. We don’t know that he wanted to die, but that’s what happened.” •If you’re talking to an older child, you might offer more information: “He had a very serious problem and he went through a period of weakness. If he had given himself time, he wouldn’t have found it necessary to kill himself. This was the worst solution he could have chosen. But we have to try to understand him; he wasn’t thinking clearly when he did it. You might be feeling angry with him – that it’s unfair to you for him to have chosen this solution. That’s okay; it’s human to feel angry at a time like this.” •One of the feelings the child may be suffering from after a suicide is guilt. It’s extremely important to let the child know that if a person really wanted to kill himself, there’s nothing anyone could have done to stop him; somehow he would have found a way . . . much of the time, those closest to a suicide are the most surprised. So often we hear, “She was the last person in the world I would have expected to do that.” •Anger is an emotion that’s naturally associated with death . . . With suicide the anger is sometimes tougher to direct; it tends to bounce all over, at the dead person’s friends, at the other members of the family, at the psychiatrist. Let the child vent that anger, but make sure it’s aimed in the right direction – at the person who killed himself. It is natural and healthy to feel angry at being abandoned by a loved one who has committed suicide . . . “Look, you have a right to . . . be angry. Being angry at someone you love doesn’t mean that you don’t love them.” Reassure the child that you will not abandon him in this way: “Don’t worry; I would never do that to you. I would never kill myself. I’m really angry at him [too] because he dumped on us. He was a desperate man, he couldn’t see any other way out.” •[it is important to emphasize] that the person who committed suicide chose the wrong way to solve his problems. Other people have problems and they don’t kill themselves. Don’t glorify the dead person – make a therapeutic split between him and the survivors. “It takes more courage to live. That he opted for a different way is his problem.” •Besides guilt and anger, children will also probably have to cope with the stigma associated with suicide. Many of us have been told since childhood that people who commit suicide go to hell. Others figure the person was crazy and that the rest of the family must be too. The family members who are left are traumatized, their stability shaken. [As one boy observed after returning to school following his mother’s suicide,] “I was no longer a normal kid . . . It’s like you’re a bit of a freak because of what’s happened in your family.” •A child gets several different messages [concerning] his or her own worth. “I am not loveable enough for him to have hung around for.” A second perceived message may be that he or she is a loser . . . “The child may feel he is being told, ‘Look, kid, I couldn’t make it and neither can you.’” . . . When you break the news to a child that a person has committed suicide, you have to change these perceived messages around so that the child can regain his own sense of self-worth. •Openness in talking about suicide removes some of the magic and mystery that teenagers find so appealing; it also helps break the impulse to “follow the leader.” •Try to handle suicide as conventionally as possible, mourning it as you would any other death, with a funeral and open grieving for the dead person. This will take some of the horror and stigma away. If you allow a child to go to the funeral home, to talk about the dead person, and look at him and touch him if he wants to, he’ll be better able to confront the death and start to grieve. •Trying to pretend that the person never existed, or that the harm done to the family is so devastating that the person should never be talked about again, will only hurt the survivors more, especially the children. They need to know that trust exists in the family, no matter what trauma they’ve been through; as always, talking about the problem and the feelings everyone is experiencing will help them to better cope with the crisis. *Source: How Do We Tell the Children? A Step-by-Step Guide, by Dan Schaefer & Christine Lyons For further information on this important subject, please go to the Links page of my Grief Healing Web site, click on the category entitled Suicide Loss, and follow some of the links listed there. See also the category labeled Child, Adolescent Grief. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear friend, Since your beloved mother’s birthday is coming up so soon, I don’t want to wait too long to offer some thoughts that I hope will be helpful to you. First, I think the worst thing you can do is to wait until the morning of the 13th to decide what to do with your mother’s birthday. Now is the time to decide and to plan how you will spend that day – just don’t let it sneak up on you. Even if you deliberately decide not to do anything out of the ordinary on that day, that’s okay, too – as long as you think about it and intentionally plan for it ahead of time. That’s what will give you a feeling of some control, a sense that you are managing your grief to some extent, rather than letting your grief manage you. Keep in mind too that, in one sense, January 13 is simply another day on the calendar, and you will be missing your mom just as much on that day as you have missed her today or as you will miss her on January 14. Days on the calendar are only as important or as significant as we choose to make them. That said, I for one want to encourage you to go right ahead and commemorate your mom on her special day, in any way you see fit, including singing “Happy Birthday” to her right out loud! Read, for example, what this mother has to say about talking to her daughter who has died: . . . You can have these one-sided conversations while you’re alone, or even just in your mind, without speaking aloud at all . . . Shortly after her death, I told [my daughter] that I didn’t want to live in a world without her. Yet from deep inside myself I had to admit that I did not live in a world without her - I simply could no longer see her. Certainly love remained. Love never ends. Nor had our relationship ended. She will forever be a part of me, and I of her. Sometime later I again told her that I didn’t want to live because living without her was the hardest thing I’d ever had to face. But again, from deep inside me, I had to admit that I was not living without her. She smiles at me from photographs, my heart sings when I relive snippets of private conversations with her or remember shared laughter and shopping expeditions and vacations, or recall joyous family gatherings in which she always played such a vital part. Additionally, several of her friends have become my friends, and so I have come to know them as she knew them, and they give back a small part of her as well as a part of themselves. I ‘ve embraced some of her intersts and find myself, in a very real and deep sense, sharing myself with her in those endeavors. So my life continues in spite of myself. Recently I told her I’m still not crazy about living in this world, which remains as different from my world of six years ago as noon from midnight. But I also tell her that I’m learning to find my way, learning to appreciate each new day for the opportunities it brings, learning to refoice in all the new discoveries I made about the endurance and depth of unconditional love. My progress has been snailishly slow but steady. I tell her often that I love her, too. I doubt that I shall ever give up these one-sided conversations. They allow me to involve my daughter in this new world of mine. What’s more, I don’t feel the least apologetic about it. This practice has been one of several techniques that have helped me to keep my sanity and to re-enter the world with some enthusiasm . . . – From “When Grief is New” by Shirley Ottman, HOPE Line Newsletter, August 2002, Hope for Bereaved I hope that in addition to my response, you will hear from several of our other members and visitors, because there are as many ways to acknowledge and to celebrate a deceased loved one’s birthday as there are daughters who are mourning the loss of their mothers and wanting to commemorate them, and you are limited only by your own imagination. I also hope that you will come back after the 13th and let us know what you decided to do with this particular day. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Oh my dear Pam, I am so very, very sorry to learn that you've been hit with not one but two significant losses, and both of them at such a difficult time of year. You have my deepest sympathy. How I wish I could take that pain away from you, but sadly I cannot. This is your pain, your grief, your journey, and you must find your own way. All I can do – all any of us can do – is offer to walk beside you so that you do not walk alone. You ask how you get through this, and trite as it sounds, you do it one day at a time, and if that is too difficult, you do it one hour, even one moment at a time and be grateful and proud that you've made it that far. You also get through it by mobilizing and utilizing all the resources you can find – and if you don’t have the energy to do that, you ask a friend or relative (or one of those people at the funeral who told you, “If there is anything I can do . . .”) to do it for you. I see in your member profile that a hospice was involved in the care of one or both of your family members, so that would be a very good place to start. Call your hospice, ask to speak with the Bereavement Coordinator or Social Worker, and find out what bereavement services are available. Most hospices provide individual and family grief support for up to one year following a death of a family member who was on their service, and they offer bereavement support groups as well. (For others reading this, please know that the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization maintains a database of hospices for each state in the United States. To search for a hospice in your own community, click on Find a Hospice Program. If you are mourning the death of a child, check the national office of The Compassionate Friends to see if there is a support group near you.) When you feel able to sit and to concentrate long enough to do so, I hope you'll pay a long visit to my Grief Healing Web site. Spend some time on each of the pages there, especially the Articles and Books page, the Comfort for Grieving Hearts page and the Links: Bereavement and Loss Sites. I encourage you to do some reading about normal grief, so you'll know better what to expect and what you can do to manage your own reactions as you face the weeks and months ahead. At the very least, please know that we are thinking of you. Wishing you peace and healing. Marty T

My dear friend, I want to thank you for having the courage to share your thoughts about what you hated most during the funeral and in the days following the death of your beloved brother. I also want to assure you that your reaction is not “selfish” at all. Your reaction is normal. When we are reeling from the loss of a loved one, we are especially raw and vulnerable to the comments of others. Dealing with the insensitivity of others can be one of the most difficult aspects of grief, and I suspect that nearly everyone here can recall an incident when one of us felt just as discounted and disenfranchised as you must have felt when these comments hit your ears. Had I been in your shoes, I would have wanted to scream, “What about me? What about my grief? How can I take care of my parents when right now I can’t even take care of myself? And if I couldn’t save my own brother from death, how could I possibly save my parents? For that matter, how can I save myself from dying too soon?” While some folks really are thoughtless and don’t think before they speak, it is also true that many well-meaning individuals have yet to experience a significant loss, so they really don’t know what grief feels like, or how to respond, or what to say. They aren’t deliberately trying to hurt us. When we encounter such people in the future, we can choose to bear with them, we can enlighten them about what we know of grief, or we can look to others who are more understanding (such as the people we will find here) to find the support we need. I truly believe that forums such as these offer each of us a rich opportunity to share and to learn from one another what really helps and what hurts, so that through our own grief we can educate others who have yet to walk on this path – and in the process, we can grow more compassionate toward one another. After all, sooner or later we're all going to find ourselves on this difficult journey called grief, whether we want to be here or not. As Deirdre Felton has said, “Sorrow is a matter of taking turns. This year it’s yours. Next year it may be you setting the table for someone else who feels they cannot cope.” Elisabeth Kubler-Ross said it this way: “If you truly want to grow as a person and learn, you should realize that the universe has enrolled you in the graduate program of life, called loss.” If loss is the graduate program of life and we are all enrolled, may we share with one another what we have learned along the way, and be as much teachers as we are students. Finally, I want to acknowledge your observation that sibling loss differs in some important ways from other kinds of loss. As we’ve said in the introduction to this forum, special issues arise when our brother or sister dies, no matter how old we are at the time. We may feel as if part of our own identity is lost. Whatever part our sibling would have played in our future is lost as well, casting a bittersweet shadow over everything that happens to us regardless of how wonderful it may be. Because our sibling is our peer, we’re suddenly acutely aware of our own mortality, and we may be wondering how many years of living we have left. We may blame ourselves for our sibling’s death, or even feel guilty for being the surviving child. We may suddenly feel totally alone in our responsibilities toward our parents as they grow older – or feel somehow obligated to set aside our own grief for our parents’ sake, as well as for the other family members our sibling has left behind. Please know that there are many wonderful, caring resources on the Internet aimed specifically at those whose siblings have died. See the sites listed on the DEATH OF A SIBLING / TWIN page of my Grief Healing Web site. Know also that we are sending you our deepest sympathy and holding you in our collective heart. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

In solidarity with the people of South East Asia, who have been hit with incomprehensible devastation and horror and are in desperate need of whatever help we can offer, you are invited to visit one or more of the following sites: USA Freedom Corps United with South East Asia Click Here for Tips on Tsunami Relief Appeals InterAction's Guide to Appropriate Giving

My dear Toni, The magnitude of your loss is terrifying, beyond anyone's ability to understand or comprehend, much less comment upon . . . We are all so very, very sorry . . . Please know that you are among friends, that we are here for you, and that you are not alone . . . This touching poem was sent to me just yesterday. I share it with everyone now, but most especially with you, Toni, in hopes that it will bring you some small measure of comfort: Fingerprints Your fingerprints are on my heart. Fingerprints that teach me about caring. Fingerprints that teach me about love. Fingerprints that teach me about courage. Fingerprints that teach me about hope. Fingerprints that bring me closer to my loved ones. Fingerprints that bring me closer to myself. In the time I cared for you my whole life changed -- never to be the same again All this from tiny fingerprints that touch my heart. You will live in my heart forever - never to be forgotten. I will always love you. You are my child. -- Copyright © 2001 by Tom Krause www.coachkrause.com Used with permission of the author Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

To all our members and visitors ~ We know of the pain that comes during the holiday season for those who are grieving. As we move together through these sad and difficult days, may the love that lives on, even after death, bring us comfort, may we find strength in our common bond of loss, and may we continue to offer to one another the priceless gifts of compassion, understanding and hope. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

The following is a gift from Harold Ivan Smith, noted writer, teacher, storyteller and grief expert. It is reprinted here with his permission. Especially over the holidays, you may wish to print it, fill it in and share it with anyone who needs help in understanding and accepting where you are at this point in your grief journey. Permission to Mourn The holder of this certificate, ________________________________________, is hereby entitled to publicly acknowledge his or her loss, mourn openly, to share narratives of the loss, and to recruit social support in his or her own way and time, without apology or embarrassment during this holiday season. Tears, memories, silence, uncertainty, and strong emotions are hereby enfranchised. Please treat this griever with kindness, compassion, and love. Signed this _____ day of __________, in the year _____. This certification has no expiration date. © 2004 by Harold Ivan Smith, and reprinted with his permission. Mail to: friendgrief@mindspring.com.

My dear Vicki, The pain you describe is palpable, and I’m so very sorry for your loss. You ask whether it is normal to daydream constantly about your love, while at the same time you acknowledge that “sometimes it’s the only peace I have.” It seems to me that you know instinctively that remembering your beloved is the only way you have now of making sense of and finding meaning in the very brief time the two of you had together. Unfortunately we live in a “get over it” and “move on with life” culture that leaves us thinking that in order to accept the reality of death, we have to stop loving the person who has died. And yet we never stop loving, thinking about, and remembering those whom we’ve loved and lost. Death ends a life, but it does not end our relationship with the person who has died. It changes it, it makes it different, it requires that over time we learn a new way of loving – in absence rather than in presence – but death does not erase or cancel a relationship. I think you daydream about your love because on some level you know you don’t want to forget him, and you have every right to remember him. In the words of Thomas Attig, “Consciously remembering those who have died is the key that opens our hearts, that allows us to love them in new ways.” Difficulty concentrating at work is typical and normal at this point in your grief journey. You might try picking a certain time at the end of your day, in the privacy of your own home, where it is safe and appropriate to “give in” to your grief. Think about and construct some sort of commemorative ritual, which can be as simple as writing in a journal, lighting a candle, listening to music or filling a vase with flowers, and use that time for deliberately thinking about and remembering your beloved. Pick a time with a set beginning and an ending, with no outside interruptions, which will give you some sense of control over the “when, where and how” of expressing your feelings. Another way to get in touch with your feelings is to visit the Comfort for Grieving Hearts page of my Grief Healing Web site and read some of the touching and beautiful words that are posted there. Here is but one example, which comes to mind because it expresses so beautifully what I am hoping for you now: . . . 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 Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Dear Ones, Both your postings remind me of the lovely words of Robert Fulghum, who wrote in his wonderful book, From Beginning to End: The Rituals of Our Lives, that “photographs are precious memories . . . the visual evidence of place and time and relationships . . . ritual talismans for the treasure chest of the heart.” And there are the words of photographer Libby Friedman: Realizing the mortality of the moment, I became a photographer as a way to fight Death and preserve those things that inevitably become lost as time goes on. Friends change, lovers leave, one moves on. A photograph is forever. And perhaps you'll remember this, from songwriter and singer Paul Simon: Time it was ~ And what a time it was! A time of innocence A time of confidences Long ago, it must be ~ I have a photograph Preserve your memories They’re all that’s left you. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

This beautiful poem was written by Sandy Goodman, and is taken from the Winter 2004 issue of her e-newsletter: Now there is something about standing alone in the dark when the first snow falls that brings me to you and what you are. the cold disappears, swallowed by the warmth of your presence and i wonder how i lived without the magic of these moments before you showed me that now is all we have. the now of wood smoke and cinnamon and evergreen, the now of christmas carols, a crackling fire, the flicker of candles casting shadows on a picture. the now of a grandchild's smile, a grandpa's quickly hidden tears, and the soft nuzzle of a christmas puppy. there is something about standing alone in the dark when the first snow falls that makes me remember that now is all we have . . . and that now . . . felt with the heart . . . is beautiful. © 2004 by Sandy Goodman, author of Love Never Dies: A Mother's Journey from Loss to Love and reprinted with her permission. Contact Sandy at sandy@loveneverdies.net; visit her Web site at Love Never Dies. To subscribe to Sandy's e-newsletter, click on Love Never Dies Newsletter and follow the instructions there.

Dear Ones, The following is a precious gift I've just received via e-mail from Sandy Goodman, who is a dear friend, a gifted writer, and a bereaved mother. I am passing it on to you here, with Sandy's permission: A Starting Point, by Sandy Goodman Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. A day for family, a day for gratitude. A starting point for the upcoming Christmas holiday. Stores will begin opening at sunrise, Santa clones will appear in toy departments across the country, and shoppers will hum along with the piped in chimes of Mannheim Steamroller. Kids will get too tired and too hot, parents will hurry to get the best deals, and sales clerks will wish them a loud Merry Christmas, as they compete with the "blue light special" announcement. Families everywhere will have a tree to cut, purchase, or drag out of the basement. They will have lights to untangle, gifts to wrap, and cards to address. They will attend parties, bake cookies, make candy, and lose their "to do" list at least once every day. They will be busy, preparing and planning, from the time they eat their Thanksgiving dessert to the time they put away their Christmas decorations. 'Tis the season . . . Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. A day for family, a day for gratitude. A starting point for the upcoming Christmas holiday. Like most of you, I will spend Friday morning making my "to do" list. When I have that done, I will find a quiet store, away from the crowds, and begin my search for the candles we will light for Jason. I will need one for our home, a long burning one which I can light whenever I need to for the next month. I will need one for Jason's Park, and one to sit by his rock at the cemetery. They will need to be wind and snow proof, and guaranteed to burn from Christmas Eve until Christmas morning. I will need three more to light at 7pm on December 12th, the Worldwide Candlelighting and National Children's Memorial Day. One will need to be tall enough to sit in my window and be seen from the street. I want to share this celebration with the world. And finally, I will need to buy a candle for our family as a whole, a candle of resilience and immortality, a candle for my mom, my dad, and my brother, Gary. Though no longer physically with us, their presence is strong and evident. Once my candles are purchased, I will need to find Christmas cards that speak of love and peace, of memories, of beauty. Humorous or same-o, same-o cards no longer serve my needs. I will need to make small reminders to insert in the cards that invite our friends and family to light a candle for Jason and for their own loved ones who have died. I will sign each card with our standard "Dave, Sandy, and the Boys" because leaving Jason out of our annual greeting just isn't acceptable. I will type and print the holiday issue of our Compassionate Friends newsletter, putting our traditional poem on the front, the one that has never yet failed to make me cry. I will shop for angels and butterflies for my Compassionate Friends, my shelter in the storm, my light in the darkness. I will prepare something delicious for our carry-in dinner and will take along pictures and mementos of Jason to share with those who understand far more than they ever wanted to before. At our regular December meeting, I will remember that there are those very new to this thing called grief, and I will meet their eyes and not look away when they share that which they cannot hold in any longer. On December 12th, at about 6:30pm, I will bundle up and take my candles to the truck. I will sit our special candle in the window, and ask Dave to light it at 7pm. I will stop at Jason's Park first, placing one of the candles on the memorial wall beside my son's name. There will be other candles there also, burning brightly for the lives they represent. I will pause for just a moment to make sure the light will stay, before leaving for the cemetery and Jason's Rock. I will turn into the drive, go through the gates, and silence the radio. I will talk to Jason, tell him I love him, and assure him that I know he is in our living room as much or more than he is in this graveyard. I will smile when I "imagine" him saying "Why would I want to hang out in a graveyard, Mom?" I will go around the curve and slowly make my way to the pine tree that sits close by Jason's Rock. I will take my candle, check my watch, and go to stand by my son's grave. I will brush the snow from the base of the stone, and place his candle so that it is out of the wind. As the seconds tick down, I will light the candle with reverence, knowing that Jason's dad is lighting one at home, at the exact same time. I will remember that thousands of parents are lighting a candle for their child, at the exact same time. I will realize that at this exact moment, the energy of love being sent to children on the other side must be incredible. After blowing a few bubbles, I will take a deep breath, wipe the tears from my eyes, and sing Silent Night to my son. I will know he hears me. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. A day for family, a day for gratitude. A starting point for the upcoming Christmas holiday. A starting point for remembering, for being grateful, for showing compassion. A time of year which used to have little meaning beyond the gifts I would give and little feeling beyond "too hot" and "too tired", has somehow turned into something much bigger. I can see the wonder in the little boy's eyes when he crawls up on Santa's lap. I can hear the reverence in the voices of the carolers as they sing Oh Holy Night. I can share in my friend's excitement because her daughter is coming home, and I can feel the magic of making snow angels at midnight on Christmas Eve. I can change my feelings of missing Jason, to feelings of loving Jason. I cannot miss what is not gone. Yes, somehow, this time of year has turned into something much bigger. Somehow, something has changed. Somehow, love has taken precedence. Somehow, fear has disappeared. Somehow, a miracle has occurred. And somehow, somewhere between then and now, I expected it. Merry Christmas to all of you. Expect Miracles . . . Reprinted with permission of the author, Sandy Goodman. Sandy is the author of Love Never Dies: A Mother's Journey from Loss to Love, (Jodere, 2002). You can learn more about Sandy, her journey, and her book by visiting her website at Love Never Dies Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear friend, I’m so very sorry for your loss, and for all the pain you’ve endured for such a very long time. Your poignant message brings to mind the stunning phrase Nancy Reagan used to describe what it is to care for a loved one who is afflicted with this terrible, debilitating, progressive disease: it is indeed “a long good-bye.” I don’t know what you’ve learned or read about Alzheimer’s – given what you’ve experienced these many years, I’m sure you could write a book of your own on the subject. But I want to let our readers know about the vast array of resources that are “out there” and readily available. Here are links to just a few of them: Alzheimer's Association Alzheimer's: Grief Misunderstood (Article by Marianne Dickerman Caldwell) Caregiver Community Caregiving.com: Helping You Help Aging Relatives Coping with Caregiving: Radio Program Empowering Caregivers - Choices, Healing, Love Elder Care Online Elder Care: Alzheimer's, Dementia Elder Rage, or Take My Father . . . Please!: How to Survive Caring for Aging Parents (Book) Family Caregiver Alliance: National Center on Caregiving The Forgetting: A Portrait of Alzheimer's Forgiveness in Grief and Bereavement (Articles) Handbook for Mortals: Guidance for People Facing Serious Illness (Book by J. Lynn) Healing Well: Guide to Chronic Illness It's Not Too Late! An Interactive Guide for Exploring and Expressing Love As Life Nears An End (Book by L. Pendleton and F. Bader) Last Chapters: Stories about Living with Dying National Family Caregiver Support Program National Family Caregivers Association I also want to suggest a book you might find helpful entitled Liberating Losses: When Death Brings Relief, by J. Elison & C. McGonigle You have been through so much these last two years, and my prayer for you is that you will give yourself the gift of healing by finding a bereavement support group in your community. You are worth it, my friend, and you certainly do deserve it. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Dear Shan, I’m so sorry for your loss, and sorry too that you’ve having such a difficult time obtaining some level of understanding from your husband. Unfortunately when we are grieving, we are especially raw and vulnerable, and the insensitivity of those around us can add to the unbearable pain and isolation we may be feeling already. I want to offer you a tool that you and others who are reading this may find helpful. What follows is a simple letter that you can copy and give to your husband – and to anyone else you think may need to read it. It’s a simple but effective way to convey to others what you may be feeling at this sad and difficult time. My dear family and friends, I have experienced a loss that is devastating to me. It will take time, perhaps years, for me to work through the grief I am having because of this loss. I will cry more than usual for some time. My tears are not a sign of weakness or a lack of hope or faith. They are the symbols of the depth of my loss and the sign that I am recovering. I may become angry without there seeming to be a reason for it. My emotions are all heightened by the stress of grief. Please be forgiving if I seem irrational at times. I need your understanding and your presence more than anything else. If you don’t know what to say, just touch me or give me a hug to let me know you care. Please don’t wait for me to call you. I am often too tired to even think of reaching out for the help I need. Don’t allow me to withdraw from you. I need you more than ever during the next year. Pray for me only if your prayer is not an order for me to make you feel better. My faith is not an excuse from the process of grief. If you, by chance, have had an experience of loss that seems anything like mine, please share it with me. You will not make me feel worse. This loss is the worst thing that could happen to me. But, I will get through it and I will live again. I will not always feel as I do now. I will laugh again. Thank you for caring about me. Your concern is a gift I will always treasure. Sincerely, I also want to share with you a wonderful piece by Terry Kettering that originally appeared in Bereavement Magazine, and that I later found reprinted in Ann Landers’ Column (Arizona Republic, February 12, 2000) The Elephant in the Room There’s an elephant in the room. It is large and squatting, so it is hard to get around it. Yet, we squeeze by with, “How are you?” and “I’m fine”. . . And a thousand other forms of trivial chatter. We talk about the weather. We talk about work. We talk about everything else — except the elephant in the room. We all know it is there. We are thinking about the elephant as we talk. It is constantly on our minds, For you see, it is a very big elephant. But we do not talk about the elephant in the room. Oh, please, say her name. Oh, please, say ‘Barbara’ again. Oh, please, let’s talk about the elephant in the room. For if we talk about her death, Perhaps we can talk about her life. Can I say ‘Barbara’ and not have you look away? For if I cannot, then you are leaving me Alone . . . in a room . . . With an elephant. Finally, I am attaching an insightful article by Bob Baugher entitled I Don’t Care How Long It’s Been – Can We Talk about My Loved One? Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T IDontCareHowLongItsBeenCanWeTalkAboutMyLovedOne.doc

My dear friend, I’m sure that everyone here joins me in expressing our deepest sympathy to you for the loss of your dear mother, and I’m equally sure that none of us can imagine the level of pain you are enduring, as you struggle to cope with your myriad medical problems in the aftermath of her death. Please know that you are always welcome here, and I hope you will return as often as you need to, even if it is simply to “vent your frustrations.” We are here for you, and you are in our thoughts and prayers. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Lynn, Please know how terribly sorry I am to learn of the tragic death of your husband four weeks ago. I can only imagine how horrible this must be for you, and even though there is nothing I can do to take away your pain, I hope that I can offer you some useful information. Suicide is one of the most difficult and painful ways to lose someone you love, because you are left with so many unanswerable questions and so many mixed feelings: How could your loved one do such a horrible thing to you? Where do you put all the anger, guilt and frustration that you feel? What more could you have done to help? How can you ever get past the shame and embarrassment you feel when others find out what happened, and seem all too quick to judge you for not foreseeing this and for not doing enough to prevent it? It may help for you to know that anger and guilt are the two most common reactions in grief, and most especially so when the death is by suicide. Anger at God is very normal too. If you are like most suicide survivors, you may be wondering whether your husband is united with God or forever alienated from Him. I am neither a cleric nor a spiritual advisor, so I wouldn't presume to tell you what to believe in this regard – but as a bereavement counselor I can assure you that, when we lose someone we love, it is perfectly normal for us to question all the spiritual beliefs we may have held since childhood. Death forces us to puzzle over the biggest questions in life: Why are we here? Is this all there is? Where do we go when we die? What does all of this mean? I encourage you to ponder these important questions -- and know that finding your own personal meaning in this loss is one of the most important tasks that lie ahead of you, as you come to terms with your husband's suicide. For whatever reason, your husband obviously believed that life in this world was just too much for him, and at the moment he took his own life, he saw suicide as his only option, as the only way to end the emotional pain he felt. If as mere human beings, you and I can see the tragedy in that and forgive your husband for being human and at his weakest, it just seems to me that God can do so, too. I can't tell you what to believe, but I'd like to think that, since God's heart and mind are a lot bigger than ours, He must be at least as capable as we are of giving your husband the sort of understanding and forgiveness he needs. I also hope you realize that when someone is determined to commit this act, there is very little if anything someone else can do to prevent it. We simply do not have any control over the choices and actions of another human being, no matter how much we may wish it to be otherwise. For reasons known only to him, your husband acted on an impulse and, as someone once said, his suicide became for him a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Unfortunately, you are the one who is left behind to deal with the pain and hurt and guilt that have resulted from his action. You ask, "How do I go on?" and the answer to that question lies within you. There is no right or wrong way to do the work of grieving, and each of us must find our own way – but I believe very strongly that the first step in coping with grief is to educate yourself about it, so you know what to expect and what tools are available to help you manage it. It is especially important that as a survivor of suicide, you learn all you can about this subject. Read what others have written about it (see, for example, No Time to Say Goodbye: Surviving the Death of a Loved One by Carla Fine, ISBN 0385485514; you can go to Amazon.com to order it or ask for it at your local library). I hope that you will continue to use the Internet as one way of obtaining the information, comfort and support you need and deserve as you continue on your own grief journey. See, for example, an on-line e-mail course on grief that I wrote, The First Year of Grief: Help for the Journey. Take the time to explore some of the links I've posted under the SUICIDE LOSS category on the Links: Bereavement and Loss Sites page on my Grief Healing Web site. See some of the articles and books I've written and others I've listed on my Articles and Books page. There is an abundance of help out there just waiting for you to find it – and if you haven't yet obtained all the help you need, keep on looking! You might ask your primary care physician for a referral to someone who specializes in grief therapy or bereavement counseling – or try calling your local hospice or funeral home and asking for a referral. (The National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization maintains a database of hospices for each state in the United States. To search for a hospice in your own community, click on Find a Hospice Program.) Grief is something that we get through and learn to live with, my friend, not something we ever get over. As anyone walking this path will tell you, the way you come to peace about all of this is one day at a time, and if that's too much, you work at it one hour or even one minute at a time. I hope this information proves helpful to you, Lynn, and when you're ready to do so, I hope you'll let us know how you're doing. Meanwhile, please know that you are in our thoughts and prayers. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

My dear Rachael, Yours is such a sad story, for so many reasons, and I appreciate your sharing it here so that you and others who may read this might gain something positive from your experience. It’s unfortunate that you and your husband weren’t better prepared for the realities of bringing a young pup into your lives before you actually brought Lucy home – but certainly you are not the first couple to have made that mistake. I am not here to pass judgment on what you did or failed to do in this situation. I am here to offer information, comfort and support, and that is the spirit in which I am writing this response. Since you’ve already relinquished your pup, some of what I’m about to say may come too late for you, but I’m offering it in hopes that it will help you identify and sort through what happened here, discover what you might have done differently, and better understand why you’re feeling so upset about it now. What you may not know is that nowadays there are dozens of magazine articles, books and Web sites about selecting and training the “right” puppy for you (see, for example, "Are You Pet Ready?" in Marty Becker's wonderful book, The Healing Power of Pets, 2002, ISBN# 0786868082), as well as helpful hints on how to set up your home for a pet that is not yet house- and obedience-trained. (I’ve had pets all my life, but before we got our current dog, my husband and I attended a Puppy Preparation class at a local veterinary clinic, and I learned some fantastic helpful hints that I had never known about before, and never would have discovered on my own. For us, it turned getting and training an adorable eight-week-old puppy into the joyful experience it ought to be.) It’s also important to know that today there are specialists in animal behavior and/or obedience training, who can offer you some alternatives in dealing with any dog's troublesome behavior. You and your husband know better than I how attached you became to Lucy, what resources you have and how much time you were willing and able to invest in seeking alternative solutions, and only you and your husband are in a position to decide these matters. I just want to be sure you are aware that you do, in fact, have some alternatives. Relinquishment is always a choice a pet owner can make, once you have tried other measures first. I am not an expert in animal behavior, and I don't know how attached you were to Lucy, but if this were my pup I would want an outside, professional and objective opinion before I'd resort to giving up my dog permanently because of a behavior problem. I will share with you that, after ten years without a dog, my husband and I had completely forgotten how much work a puppy can be, what with housebreaking, all that energetic puppy-behavior, and the constant chewing until those scissor-sharp baby teeth are lost and the permanent ones come in. Like you, we'd finally moved into a lovely home and had it decorated and furnished the way I'd always dreamed it would be, and I wanted it to stay that way. Until our now beloved Beringer got through the first two years of his rambunctious early life, I wasn't sure we would make it, either -- all during that doggy adolescent period he was like a whirling dirvish and a mischievous little thief, stealing everything he could find: underwear or newspapers, shoes, kitchen towels, even my eyeglasses -- and running out the doggy door with them for a game of chase. In Puppy Class we learned the benefits of placing his dog-crate up against a doggy door that led to an outdoor fenced-in protective area with access to fresh water, so when we were away during the day or when we went to bed, we could leave him alone in air-conditioned comfort, but without access to the rest of the house, and yet he could go outside whenever he needed to. We took him to puppy obedience training, which helped a lot -- and we had him neutered, too, which also settled him down considerably. Today he is the good and loyal companion I'd always hoped he would be, and I cannot imagine our lives without him. I don't know whether you'd be willing to try any or all of these things, but I'm just offering them as intermediate steps you might have considered. Dogs are like children -- they do outgrow their childhood and adolescence eventually -- and what's really great is that it all happens within a couple of years! The point is that today we know a lot more about what we can do to make certain that the pup or puppy we've selected will grow into a loving, well adjusted companion. Nowadays there are many modern, humane training methods to address almost any problem behavior found in dogs. You might visit one of these Web sites for further information: ABS Directory of Certified Applied Animal Behaviorists Animal Behavior Network Karen Pryor Clicker Training Pet Behavior Problems Pet Behavior Solutions Canine Angels Pet Behavior Modification I realize that you and your husband already went ahead and relinquished Lucy, and only the two of you can decide if you want to stick with that decision. At the very least, I hope you will discuss this thoroughly with each other, so you’re absolutely sure you’re in agreement and comfortable with whatever you’ve decided to do. I can also tell you that the impact this is having on you now depends on how attached you are to Lucy and on how effectively you identify and work through what you are experiencing, including whatever guilt you may be feeling about all of this. When we are closely bonded with an animal, losing it through relinquishment doesn't feel much different from losing it through death, so I think you will find the articles on the Articles and Books page of my Grief Healing Web site helpful. I think you'll be especially interested in Am I Crazy to Feel So Sad about This? Animal Loss: Myths and Realities Understanding Different Grief Patterns Loss and the Burden of Guilt I hope this information proves useful to you, Rachael. I know it must have been hard for you to reach out to us for help, and regardless of whatever you decide to do, I wish you all the best. Most sincerely, Marty T

My dear Carol. I know from your earlier posts that September 26 was the one-year anniversary of Street’s death, that you lost your beloved Sunshine nine months ago, and that your father is in the final stages of Alzheimer’s. It must seem to you as if loss is all around you, and I can only imagine how heavy all of this must feel to you. Obviously your kitties played a very important role in your life, Carol, and as you struggle to get through each new day without their physical presence in it, you become ever more painfully aware of their absence. You say you can’t stop thinking about the last moments with each of your kitties and you’re preoccupied with “if only’s.” You’ve told us that Street died at the fairly young age of five, and that Sunshine was almost 19 when you had to make the agonizing decision to have her euthanized. I hope you know that guilt is one of the most common reactions in pet loss, especially when an animal dies suddenly and unexpectedly or when euthanasia in involved. (See, for example, my article Loss and the Burden of Guilt.) The fact that such “if only” thoughts are still troubling you suggests to me that there may be some unfinished business surrounding the circumstances of one or both of your kitties’ deaths, and I think you would be wise to pay it the attention it deserves. In order for you to resolve these losses, this unfinished business needs to be acknowledged, expressed, sorted out and worked through. That can be done by talking with a trusted friend, neighbor or relative who understands and respects the relationship you had with these animals, by writing in a journal, by attending a pet loss support group, by continuing to participate in this online pet loss forum – whatever way you choose is up to you. The important thing is to get at what you are thinking and feeling about all of this and expose it to the light of day. Feelings that are stuffed, buried and ignored don’t really go anywhere, rarely get resolved, and over time can become quite distorted. You might begin simply by sharing with us (if you’re willing) some of the “if only’s” that are going through your mind, so you can get some objective feedback from others. It’s only natural to go back over how our pets died and obsess over what we could have, should have, might have done differently “if only” we had known then what we know now. But chances are that you did the best you could with what you knew at the time, Carol, and the hard truth is that, no matter how much you may want to go back in time to re-write the ending of these stories, there is nothing you can do now to change what happened then. It’s also important to keep in mind that just because a person feels guilty, it does not necessarily follow that that person is, in fact, “guilty as charged.” Feelings aren’t always right, accurate and rational, you know. Until you’ve examined and fully worked through all your thoughts and feelings about this, Carol, you won’t feel free to open your heart to another kitty, and that is such a shame. I don’t mean to suggest that any other kitty can ever replace the ones you’ve lost, and I certainly don’t want to rush you into something for which you are not ready. It’s just that you already know the affection and the joy that comes from loving these precious creatures, and it hurts my heart to think that you’re not ready and able to give that to yourself once again. I’m reminded of a lovely quotation that appears on the Comfort for Grieving Animal Lovers page of my Grief Healing Web site: Not only is there always another good animal in need of a good home, but we must remember to be thankful for the time and love our animals give us while they are here. Take time to enjoy them and learn from them. As painful as it is to lose them, they teach us to love unselfishly, they teach us to live each day to the fullest, they teach us to grow old gracefully, and they teach us to die with dignity. We do them disrespect to focus only on the sorrow of their death when they have given us so much joy through their life. If we wish to honor them, take what they have given us, all that love, and give it back to another animal in need of help. -- Kent C. Greenough I also want to tell you that I’ve noticed how, in the midst of all your pain, you’ve managed to reach out to offer your support and caring to so many other animal lovers through your postings in this forum, and I want to honor you and to thank you for that. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T

Join with The Compassionate Friends (TCF) as we honor the memories of our children. The Compassionate Friends Worldwide Candle Lighting® is held every year on the second Sunday in December at 7:00 p.m. for one hour local time around the globe -- a 24-hour wave of light in memory of all children who have died. On Sunday, December 12, 2004 hundreds of community candle lighting ceremonies will be held in parks, churches and other public places by TCF chapters and other groups. Thousands more will be held informally at home. It takes only you and one candle to join hearts with the world ". . . that their light may always shine." Find a Worldwide Candle Lighting Event in Your Area Light A Candle Online: A Guided, Interactive Ritual

My dear Dorothy, I'm so very sorry that this came so much sooner than you expected . . . please know that we are thinking of you and holding you in our hearts at this sad and difficult time. May the day come soon that when you think of your precious Aunt Ida, it is love that you'll remember most. As long as there is a place in your heart that is the shape of your beloved Aunt Ida, she will be with you. Wishing you peace and healing, Marty T