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April Newsletter
Chapter
Leader Notes
From
Jenny & Rick
I do not believe that I will ever forget the night that Jenny
and I received that phone call—the one that is every parent’s
nightmare, but that I never dreamed would really happen. I won’t
forget the look on her face, the terror in her voice, and hearing
the shocking words that Lila and Danny had died. I began to shake;
not just tremble, but to actually feel like I was being jolted
with a high voltage.
My first thought (and believe me, it was not a good option) was
to get a good big stiff drink of something as close to 100 proof
as possible. Instead, I cried out for help. I pleaded with God
to help me face this tragedy with a sober mind. It worked, and
I was able to begin my grief journey feeling every lousy, rotten,
painful moment without the use of mind-altering, mood-changing
substances. I stayed in reality throughout the death a child and
the aftermath, and did my best to be there for those who relied
on me.
The reason I’m writing this has to do with an article in the
last newsletter entitled “Steps through Grief.” The author
described how she used wine to “take the edge off” her
pain, and to blur her feelings and thoughts so that she could look
at photographs and police reports. She says she now “has control” of
her alcohol intake, but that it “took a long time.” She
feels that (abusing) alcohol and drugs should be seen as a short
term aid, not a way of life.
Personal experience tells me that this is not healthy information!
As a matter of fact, it is downright dangerous, and possibly
lethal. Some people cannot practice her coping strategy safely.
At best, it probably prolongs the grieving process and causes
distress to our remaining loved ones. At worst, it could lead
to a long and painful full blown addiction.
I’m not writing this as a rebuttal or meaning to attack another
individual’s views. I do know that probably more than a few
bereaved parents take this path. Does it help us? Does it help
others? Does it honor our children? We each have to ask ourselves
these questions.
As painful as my grief journey has been through these years, I’m
extremely grateful for being able to walk the path, so far, at
least, without any unhealthy stimulants or sedatives. I have found
other ways of coping. The love of all those who have helped me
has been more than sufficient to carry me through.
Awkward Silence
a poem by Richard Dew, M.D.,
TCF, Knoxville, TN
I wish that someone would say his name.
I know my feelings they're trying to spare,
And so we go through the charade, the game,
Of dancing around the ghost that is there,
Trying to avoid evoking a tear,
Or stirring emotions too painful to bear.
That he be forgotten is what I fear,
That no one will even his presence miss,
As if there were no trace that he was here.
Be referring to him, my purpose is
Not to stir pity or keep things the same,
But my heart will simply break if his
Memory will die like a flickering flame.
I just wish someone would say his name Lovingly
lifted from the March 2008 TCF Arlington,
DC, Leesburg, Prince William, and Burke-Springfield-Fairfax
Virginia Chapters Newsletter
A BEREAVED PARENT’S SPRING
By Terre Belt, BP/USA
Anne Arundel County Chapter
Regardless of the calendar or the meteorologists, April marks the beginning
of spring for many of us. The world outside begins to awaken from its
winter slumber and the sights and sounds and smells of spring abound,
from the flowers peeking out of the ground to the birds chirping merrily
outside our windows to the smell of the blooming trees as we venture
out for our first walk of the season.
This is what spring is all about unless, of course, you are a “newly”
bereaved parent and then you might just be oblivious to it all. In fact,
you may even resent the reappearance of spring and its symbolic rebirth.
The message to you from an “old timer” on this grief journey
is to be easy on yourself...it won’t always be this hard and just
feel whatever you feel. Don’t let anyone tell you how you “should”
feel this spring (or next).
Like all seasons, spring will have its share of emotional triggers for
the newly bereaved—graduations, Mother’s Day, planning for
summer vacations, favorite flowers and just waking up. But just as April
showers bring Mayflowers...the tears of grief will ultimately sow the
seeds of hope and someday you too will see the beauty of spring again.
For those of us who have been on our grief journey for a while, not only
do we recognize (and welcome) the beauty of spring again, but we also
see our children in everything that is beautiful in spring. It is our
way of carrying them with us through spring and through all of the seasons.
So, as spring unfolds, here’s wishing each of you peace and whatever
joy you are able to find.
Infant Loss
Patricia Karg, Conyers, GA
I would like to talk with you about infant loss in memory of my daughter,
Mary Elizabeth Karg. Mary was born on Sept. 3, 1998 and lived for 36
hours. While still in the womb, she was diagnosed with a fatal birth
defect, called anencephaly. Anencephaly is a condition in which the
brain does not form completely. For those of us who have lost an infant,
we are left to wonder what might have been. We are reminded that we
will never see that first tooth, see that first step, hear our baby's
first word or see our child attend kindergarten for the first time.
I find comfort in writing letters to Mary Elizabeth. As I write, the
tears always come and they are somehow healing to my heart. In the
letters, I share with her the hopes and dreams that never had the chance
to come true.
I started going to a parent grief support group in Conyers even before
Mary Elizabeth was born. Knowing that my baby would die, I needed a
group of people who would somehow understand how I felt and I found
what I needed there. I am very thankful for the friends that I have
there who understand better than anyone else. Thank you for letting
me share my daughter with you, and may all of our children's lights
shine forever.
WHEN YOU LOSE AN ONLY CHILD
The loss of an only child is neither greater nor less than the
loss of one of many children. How ever, the loss of an only child
is experienced differently. It is different because you lose
your parenthood, which is such a large part of the life of any
parent.
1. With the death of an only child, you lose the one person who
could use all of the love you had to give every hour of every day.
a. One of the secrets of parenthood is that from birth, children
teach us that we have a greater capacity for unselfish love than
we thought possible.
b. When your only child dies, you may feel that you are drowning
in the parental love your heart continues to generate for the child
you have lost.
2. With the death of an only child, you lose so much of your own
future that was tied to your child's future.
a. The first day of school
b. Sports
c. Learning to drive
d. A first crush, a first date, a first heartbreak
e. High school
f. College
g. Career
h. Marriage
j. Children, grandchildren, great grandchildren
Your only child lost all of this from his or her future. And so
did you.
3. With the death of an only child, you suffer many tiny losses
that cause pain only another grieving parent can comprehend.
a. You have lost the joy of checking the cereal aisle to see if
Cocoa Puffs are on sale.
b. You have lost the reason to keep up with the top ten hits on
the pop music charts.
c. You have lost the joy of caring what prize is in a box of Cracker
Jack.
d. You have lost the joy of getting up early on a Saturday morning
for kids soccer, basketball, or bowling.
e. You have lost the reason to hope for a December snow.
f. You have lost the person who thought you made the best cocoa
on a cool December evening.
g. For me, I lost a gentle, kind, generous child who loved, watched
for, and shared beautiful sunsets.
The loss of an only child is a devastating loss. Your child has
lost his or her life. And you have lost an important piece of
your own life, your parenthood. The Compassionate Friends chapter
near you is there to help you acknowledge and grieve these losses
by sharing your pain with others who have known their own pain.
by Bill Snapp, Atlanta (Tucker) TCF
In Memory of his son Billy Snapp 6/23/81 - 2/25/96
Lovingly lifted from Atlanta, Ga TCF newsletter
Jan/Feb, 2003
Greater Kankakee IL Area TCF
WHAT TO DO, WHAT TO DO?
Rabbi Earl A. Grollman said, “Time may heal. It may help to dull
your pain. But the medicine of time, taken by itself, is not sure. Time
is neutral. What helps is what you do with time.”
In the early days after the death of a child you may be so numb that
it is all you can do to get out of bed in the morning. You toss and
turn unable to sleep or you sleep for hours or days.
You can stumble through your days unaware what is happening
around you. Eating is not something you can or want to do.
If you have other children it will effect how you function or not, depending
on their ages.
Eventually you will begin to want to join the world but may have a hard
time in certain situations and you may have to retreat back to the safety
of your “cocoon”.
Be kind to yourself. Don’t let others tell you ”isn’t
it time you got over “it” and moved on with life?” You
have to take all the time to grieve and begin to heal that is necessary.
Each person is different, even spouses grieve differently.
When you begin to get comfortable in your world, your changed world,
you can begin to think of how you want people to remember your child.
This may be a time for you to join a support group. Compassionate Friends
is where you can talk about your child. You can celebrate their birthday.
You can show pictures of your child. It is a place where no one has
the answers but they are willing to share what has worked for them
and what hasn’t. It is a place where we do not judge or tell you
that you are wrong in what you are doing. We are there to hold your
hand, to offer love and support, to listen to your story. Someone said
you have to tell your story at least 100 times. Your family and friends
may not be able to listen 100 times but your Compassionate Friends
will. Why?
Because we have been there and someone listened to us so it is our turn
to give back what has been given to us. This is what we do. This is
what we do with time.
Our children, grandchildren and siblings will never be forgotten as long
as we share them with others. We can set up scholarships, plant memorial
gardens, purchase benches engraved with their names, start a foundation
to support a cause or disease connected with their death, volunteer
our time with a charity, help other children with one on one mentoring
and many more ways.
As we travel this painful road we can reach out to other bereaved people
with love and hope that is what to do.
HUGS, Betty Farrel, Sarah Louise’s Nana
bcfnana@aol.com Arlington, VA Chapter TCF
Permission to reprint in TCF Newsletters as long as proper credit
is given and printed in it’s entirely.
~reprinted from Arlington, DC, Leesburg, Prince William, and Burke-Springfield-Fairfax
Virginia Chapters April 2008
About Feeling Guilty
Do you blame yourself?
Are you strangled by the burden
of things you did not do and things you should have done,
as if these were the things that killed him.
What can you do
with this relentless torment?
Dear Griever,
Take time to remember
that grief makes all of us look for escape routes
where there may be no escape.
Death is not in your hands.
Grief makes you look for reasons,
where often there are no reasons.
Blame is not the answer.
Hold to your heart now
with the tenderness
your love deserves.
~by Sascha from Winters
My Photo Album
By Jeanne Losey
Shelbyville, Indiana
Lovingly Lifted from the
Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania
Chapter of The Compassionate Friends
The photo album of my mind
Holds treasured thoughts of you,
And I can almost see again
The things we used to do.
I hear your voice; I see your smile;
I feel you close to me.
The photo album of my mind
Shows how we used to be.
Time may have changed us through the years
But I will always find
You‚re just as I remember in
The album in my mind.
And, as I turn page after page,
Such precious scenes I see.
The photo album of my mind
Is very dear to me.
It holds the pictures of our past
Like reels of film unwind.
I cherish all those photo in
The album of my mind.
In the Springtime of Your Grief
by Judi Fischer
Cleveland, Ohio
Spring has fragile beginnings; a tiny shoot of green that emerges from
the cold earth, a hint of pastel against the brownish grass, a bud
that awakens with the morning sun. Sometimes spring comes so quietly
we almost miss it, but once it begins, it is impossible to ignore
the daily growth and change. The morning sun brings sounds that were
not there before. The breeze carries warmth that invites us to venture
outside of ourselves. A promise in released with the budding and
blossoming surrounding us. Hope emerges for the beginning of a new
season; change is in the air.
What we experience in the springtime of the year is what we can experience
in the springtime of our grief. There begins to be a growing radiance.
The radiance is not just around us, it is within us. A gradual warming
of the heart silences the chill of intense pain. The natural unfolding
of the grief process moves gently to remind us that we will survive.
Life is changing, and growth emerges through the changes. The song
of our hearts that seemed off key, begins to experience a harmonious
blend of the past and the present. The songs of the birds invite
us to join them in a celebration of new life. In the springtime of
our grief, there can be a new song for us to sing. It will be a song
we composed through the heartache of loss.
Optimism for a better day may awaken us one morning. Hearing laughter
and discovering it is coming from within ourselves gives us promise
for today. Dreams and hopes for a better tomorrow shine brightly
with the morning sun.
Surviving the winter of our grief with the openness to embrace change
is a decision to embrace loss and integrate its impact into the fabric
of our lives. It can be a willingness to explore new possibilities
that create a different landscape to behold. We can make a decision
that we will begin to appreciate what we still have, not just focus
on what is missing.
We will know when we have made that decision. Something buds; something
opens. The harshness of winter is softened with new life and new growth.
It is not something we can force; it is something that unfolds when
the time is right. The springtime of grief arrives with no dramatic
entrance, no flashing lights. The stillness of the beauty unfolds and
captures our attention. It is happening around us, but it is also happening
in us.
If spring has already crossed the path of your personal journey of
grief, rejoice! But if the chill of winter remains in your heart,
be encouraged; spring is on its way. Look for it, expect it, and
it will be yours to experience around you and in you!
Borrowed with love from Bereavement Magazine November/December
2001 Bereavement Publishing, Inc. 5125 North Union BLVD., Suite
#4 Colorado Springs, CO 80918-2056 (719)266-0006 www.bereavementmag.com
Spring’s
Promise
It looks like Winter is finally over. Most of the world is looking
forward to the early signs of spring. But this is not always true
for the bereaved parent.
The warmth of the sun brings forth new and brightly colored blooms
of bulbs that
seem to appear through the thawing ground almost overnight.
We may feel excitement for a moment, but then the pain sets in. A lost.
hopeless feeling seems to overwhelm us. Our child is not here to
see the beauty of this season.
Many springs have passed since the death of my daughter, Jennifer.
It has taken years to put this season of new life into perspective.
Our children were much like the new life of springtime.
When they died and we could see them no more, our fear was great that
they were gone forever. Then we awake one morning to see the flowers
that were buried deep beneath the ground, burst with life to create
a new beginning. And so it is with our children.
Although they are gone from our sight, their spirits remain with us.
The seeds that were sown during your child’s life, that were
planted in everyone who knew them, will continue to grow and flourish
throughout eternity.
Take a moment right now to think of the impact your child’s life
has had on their family, their friends, and even strangers who never
knew them.
This world is a better place because they lived, no matter how short
their stay.
Smile when you see the bouquets of springtime flowers.
They are reminders from God that assure us that our children
In
are in His safe keeping, and will be with us forever.
In memory of Jennifer Wildman, 4-23-70 - 11-12-89
Written in love by Linda Wildman, TCF Bloomington, IN
CHOICES
The issue, finally distilled to its essence,
is revealed as not so much who you were
as who your example inspired us to be.
Because we walked beside you in life,
we grew strong enough to handle grief,
determined enough to endure emptiness,
wise enough to cry when hurting,
brave enough to start over every day.
We are different people from the ones
who accompanied you on your journey
We don’t think the same or look the same
and we certainly don’t feel the same.
Every event plowed and furrowed our souls,
shaping us into fields of unconditional love
capable of bearing an inexhaustible harvest
that will always and forever exceed our need.
Our choices in the new world thrust upon us
are whether we shall limit our experience
to daily memories of grief, pain and sorrow,
or opt for deliberate expansion of heart and mind.
Whether we shall define your passing as the ending
of all we cherished and sought and dreamed,
or lean into the loss to reveal an opening
we never thought possible or let ourselves see.
An opening that beckons and promises
a transcending, a separation from the grief
everywhere-present like the fine dust of an explosion.
A hidden place where tears give way to freedom,
hearts recover and songs begin to play again.
A shelter where your legacy of victory heals,
revealing the power of seeking joy in sorrow
and the bliss of finding peace in what is.
Copyright © Harold G. Hopkins, May 2001. Lawrenceville,
GA TCF
In loving memory of Lance Porter Hopkins, July 1975 to November
1999
~reprinted from TCF Atlanta March/April 2002 Newsletter
http://www.tcfatlanta.org/MarApr2002.html
The Butterfly
You flit about without a care
Searching for food on morning’s air.
Pure icon for a soul set free
Of life, of love and liberty.
Your wings abound with colours true
Of orange, brown, red, green and blue.
Like noble’s shields in days gone past,
Displayed the patterns that were cast
In perpetuity to see;
Now all the world doth envy thee!
Yes, seasons come and seasons go
But I remain, and even though
My child has left this life of pain
To be reborn on high again,
Your life is short lived too, it seems
Like visions of a shattered dream.
So Papillon, can you not see
Why you’re so special now to me?
Of all God’s creatures great and small,
You are, no doubt, the best of all.
My garden is your second home
Free spirit fly, where I may roam
To watch your path on silken wings;
My thoughts then turn to other things.
And so with coloured form and grace
The pride of Lepidoptera’s race,
Is thus now set to symbolize
The changed form up above the skies.
Now I must wait and watch for thee
And long for some serenity.
John Bartlett TCF Queensland. Australia
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Northern Lake County Illinois Chapter
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