Getting through the "Happy" Holidays

       With the arrival of the holiday season, many bereaved parents approach the upcoming days of "good cheer" with trepidation. How will we get through it? How can anyone expect it to be the same for us?
        After each December begins, I note the current deaths of children with a stabbing sorrow. Yet, I am relieved because our bereavement did not include our child's death during the holidays. I would be interested to know what coping skills helped those other parents on holiday observations subsequent to their child's death.
        We were intensely anxious about the first holiday season after our son died. My brother announced that we would have Christmas Eve at our house, not theirs, and that we would face the family gathering head on. I thought he must be either crazy or insensitive, but agreed because I didn't have the energy to argue. They told me that I could fix the main dish, and that they would bring everything else to our house.
         Although I've seldom given my "little" brother credit for being right, he was. It was something to get through, and the sooner we did, the better. My sister-in-law mentioned our son often in her comments such as "he wouldn't eat green beans," or "remember when he held a bow on his head and said he was gifted? It was such a relief to continue to make our son part of the tradition, and the memories were a comfort. The second year was not much better than the first, but we had a tradition started which was that of remembering our son on holidays past. It actually took seven years before we noticed that the pain was not renewed during the holidays.
        The secret of the holidays, although it is not a cure from grief, has been to remember and talk about our son during every celebration. It seems trite to say Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, but happiness and merriment are relative. Bereaved parents can do their best and remember their child's special gift of his or her life in their families.

The Wait

This was posted on FB yesterday on the anniversary of her teen son's death. These are lovely words.

"When your child is born, you have dreams for him. A life filled 
with happiness, few struggles, friends, laughter, adventures, graduating from high school, college, falling in love and starting a family of his own. But our dreams are not always God's plans. I cry often about the things I missed about watching you grow up and I smile when I realize the many gifts you gave before you were taken away. Ultimately I sigh and nod because I know one dream came true --- you are happy and at peace. I love and miss you and I will wait patiently until I see your smile and we will hug and hold hands once again."

Up There (at the Cemetery) Again????

     When visiting a cemetery, it isn't difficult to find the grave sites of children. They are among those with flowers, balloons, lights, seasonal decorations and even toys surrounding the stones. All of the sites pictured here have been in place for at least a couple of years, yet they are still visited regularly. It begs the question of "How can these families keep grieving so deeply?"
          The answer, however, is not rooted only in grief, but also by identity. Parents and grandparents do not stop being "mom or dad" or "grandma or grandpa" when a child is no longer living. They continue in those roles for years, probably until they themselves die.
           I once read a story about a young man who visited his mother's grave from time to time. Each time, a nearby grave was brightly decorated with flowers and balloons. It was the grave of a child. As time went by, he found himself at the cemetery once or twice a year, because members of his family had grown old and passed on. Always, the little stone was freshly decorated. Finally, when he himself was an old man, he found that the little stone at the cemetery was not decorated. Curious, he walked over the the plot and saw that the child's mother had died at the age of 97. It was obviously she who had tended to her child for all those years.
Decorating at the cemetery is not the only way we continue to be the child's family, however. I had an uncle who died around the age of forty. My father kept many pictures of his brother, and of him and his brother together. My aunts talked of him, and my grandmother, particularly, told of how he entertained children by giving them "horsie" rides, reciting rhymes, and singing songs. My memories of him were very clear. Only recently did I discover that he had died before I was two years old! There was no way I actually remembered him in as many settings as I believed, and yet I have a clear picture of who he was and the things he did within the family.
          When a child dies, parents do not stop being the child's parents, and grandparents do not stop being the child's grandparents. For most of us, we continue to be caregivers, not of the child, but of all that keeps the memories of the child going on. That child will live in memory as long as the last person who knew him or her lives. So, continuing the memory whenever appropriate means that, at least in spirit, the child lives on. We are being responsible parents.

What Is the Worst?

       I went to my first grief support meeting believing that I had suffered the worst tragedy one could face. I expected support, because I knew all of the people there had experienced the death of their child, and I was offered deep understanding as well as support.

       As I listened to each person tell his or her story, I started comparing the sadness in regard to how each loss had occurred. Accident, suicide, murder, infant death, illness – I hadn’t thought about the range of tragedies. It occurred to me that perhaps some experiences were more tragic than others.

       One person told about watching her own child ride his tricycle into the front of a moving car. She kept saying she should have kept a better eye on him.

        A man told about going up into the attic of his home several months after his son died and finding the bullet the teen had sent through his own head. It seemed like such a terrible ramification!

       A woman described how hard it was for her because her infant died before there was any interaction between she and her baby. She envied the rest of us because she had no wonderful memories to relive.

       My husband and I shared that one morning our son said “Bye!” and we never saw him again.

       Then came the clincher: The leader told about her baby that died of Sudden Death Syndrome, and then she described how her teenaged daughter had died in a car accident. That was worse than losing one child: She had lost two children!

       Several years ago, some friends of ours lost their child to brain cancer. After the funeral I said to the mother, "I can't imagine how hard it must be to know your child is dying." She looked at me and said, "Oh, but I got to say goodbye, and you didn't." I wasn't convinced, but I admired her grace.
       My cousin's daughter and baby granddaughter died in a freak drowning. I was speechless and not just a little angry that a simple sign might have prevented the accident. But when I got to the funeral, he took me to view the casket and said, "Isn't that just the saddest sight you've ever seen?" It was, for him and for me.

       The truth is, each situation is, at least to the parent, the worst. There is no comparison. The loss is so profound it cannot be measured in anyway. And yet, if we look hard enough, we can find some little sliver of relief.

       Now as I look back at the more than 20 years since our son’s death, I realize that not only is each situation of child loss unique and profound, so is every other grief experience. My mother died when I was 21 years old and that was devastating for me. My best friend died when we were in our 30’s, and that was such a lonely grief. My parents-in-law died, and I was very sad, as I was just when my father died. Each grief carried a different response, but they were all full of sadness.

        Grief can extend to other losses besides death: There is the loss of a relationship, a job, a beloved pet, or even certain activities.
       As I write this, I don't want to diminish the nightmare that is the death of a child. It leaves a scar for the remainder of a parent's life, and it calls upon all of the resources a person can find to just cope with what is left of life. The death of a child takes its toll for years (someone told me it takes seven years for the deep pain to subside, and I found that to be true for us). But as we cope during that long period, we need to understand the grief of others as well.

       We cannot compare grief. We might compare shock, loneliness, confusion, anger, but grief manifests itself as the worst thing to happen at a given time to one specific person. We must understand that expressing sympathy is a very personal way of comforting a relative, friend or acquaintance, and to express that sympathy without comparisons includes understanding that person is feeling that they are in the very deepest of sorrows.

Another Anniversary

        October 27 was the anniversary of our son’s death. Many of the words people said to me right after he died foreshadowed things I’ve learned in the 22 years that have passed.

       “You’ll see him again.” I’m quite sure most people were talking about my own death and some kind of glorious reunion in Heaven, but I have seen him again many times, in my thoughts, my dreams and my memories. I can see his face, at any age, with its expression of interest and curiosity. I have heard his voice, once in a while singing in his deep bass voice one the one or two occasions when he wanted me to play the piano while he sang through something.

         Often it was his calling my name. Many times I would be napping, only to hear him say loudly, “MOM!!!” Every time I would wake up startled. This happened both before and after he died.

        I also hear his voice when I think about how he would react to something, or a typical comment he might make. The first time this happened was at his funeral. The church balcony was filled to almost overflowing with his friends. After his best friend presented a eulogy, the entire balcony sniffed in unison, followed by 50 noses blowing into tissues. I heard our son’s voice and saw a frown on his face. “How disgusting!” I imagined him saying with humor.

          Most of the time I would “see him again” as he played or sat alone in his room, outside, or in some unidentified setting.

         “Life Goes On.” That phrase always made me feel a little angry. While it is true, I don’t know that people fully understood how complicated “life going on” would be. Yes, life did go on, but with an entirely different context. It is really no different than how life changes within a family after the birth of a child.

         Sometimes the phrase “life goes on” generates considerations about proving it untrue. There are parents who contemplate suicide after the death of a child. Usually and fortunately, the parent knows that the rest of the family would suffer greatly with another family death.

         “He’s in a Better Place.” I found that phrase hard to accept at first because, I suppose, I hadn’t yet accepted the reality and complexity of his death. It was a vague statement that seemed like empty words. I would think “He didn’t think anything was wrong with THIS place,” or more often I would consider the physical reality of the cemetery. It snowed the day after he was buried, and I was forced to understand that he really wasn’t there, that he was somewhere else, supposedly in that “better place.”  

        I’ve learned that the things people said were meant to be comforting. No one was intentionally hurtful. People do not like to see pain, so they try to offer comfort, and our friends and relatives really wanted to help.

        I’ve learned that a child’s death is something a parent doesn’t “get over,” that there is, thankfully, no closure. The death of one's child stops hurting after a few years, and the pain of grief is replaced by lovely memories and only slight regret that the child did not get to enjoy the benefits of adulthood.

       I have also learned that the death of a child may, or may not, affect a parent’s faith. There are parents who find a deeper faith because of their loss. There are also parents who lose their faith because they feel abandoned by God. There are parents who were atheists but become  religious because of the promises of eternity, and there are parents who are atheists who must find ways outside of religion to deal with their grief.

Time Means Nothing, Everything

       A few days from today will be the anniversary of our son's death. He had such a short life, just seventeen and a half years, but it was full of friends, experiences, and love. We shall always be grateful for him because he was truly a gift.
       The anniversary will be 22 years. For many people whose children have died more recently, it may seem impossible to carry grief for such a long time. It doesn't seem very long at all, but I'm not so sure that the term "grief" fits.
       We clearly remember the pain and misery of those first few years (notice I did not say "days") after his death. We remember it vividly, but we no longer feel the excruciating pain. Some people have compared it to the loss of a limb: we remember the pain and the absence, but we have learned to adapt and go on with our lives in a productive way. We are not totally healed, we are no longer whole, but we do not have pain or intense sadness. We are bereft parents, but not actually grieving parents.
       We regret the short life our son had. It doesn't seem fair to him or to us. He has now been gone for a longer length of time than he lived. For those of us who believe in Eternity, we have to admit that in the vast, infinite space of eternal time, even 100 years is a short time. Compare it to the time it takes to blink our eyes. Within the expanse of daily time that our eyes are open, a blink, whether it's protective, leisurely, or reflexive, is still a short time. Our son's life was like the blink of an eternal eye, but my life is also a blink of eternal time, as is anyone's life who lived 100 years or more.
        Our son's life continues to have meaning as long as anyone who knew him lives and remembers. He will, at least in a mystical way, go on. Knowing that, we also know that in our own consciousness, he will outlive us.

The Picnic On the Gravesite

        I took a drive up to the cemetery today, primarily to see the beautiful fall foliage on some of the trees. It reminded me of our choosing a gravesite and later a stone for our son. At the funeral home, we were presented with a number of options. We chose a traditional funeral and a casket. I have to admit that I have no idea what we chose for the casket, and I don’t think anyone else remembers, either. I know that we did not choose anything very expensive, because the funeral director advised against our making a sentimental decision as loving parents might do.

       After making those arrangements, we then met a member of the cemetery board at our cemetery. We chose a location toward the back of the cemetery that was a circular section. Other sections around it were already established, but this particular section had been recently cleared of very old and very large walnut trees.

            Choosing the monument took place after the funeral, and provided us the time to select what we thought would be appropriate. We chose a black stone in the shape of a square sitting on one of its corners because that's what we think JD would have liked. It was a traditional shape presented in a unique way, and it was solemn and a little quirky, similar to how our son seemed to like to present himself to others.

            A few weeks after the funeral, my Dad told me a story of a startling coincidence. He said that, when he was in high school, more than 60 years earlier, he had a date with a girl to go for a day’s car ride. At that time, the town we live in was about two hours away from my father’s hometown, so coming to this particular town on a car ride was a coincidence in itself. I don’t know why they chose to come here, because he had no relatives and probably no friends that lived here. It would not have been to look at the college, because he already had a full scholarship to the state’s large university.

          “We left early in the morning,” he said, “and had a picnic lunch in the wooded area at the back of the cemetery. I think that we spread our picnic cloth exactly on the spot where JD is buried.”

          I probably would have felt a chill over such an astounding coincidence (not to mention taking a date to the cemetery), but the fact that he had been on a date with someone unknown to me (at least I think I never met her) was a conflict I have never wanted to consider for too long. If my father were still alive today, I might want to ask him more about it, but it is one of those things for which I need have only a brief knowledge.

The Song Is the Same

Different are the circumstances of our child’s death, Different are their names, Different was their life and the length of it, But their song was the same.
They lived for one brief moment in history, Much too soon they were gone, They left us here, parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters,
To remember the gift of their life and somehow go on.
Whatever the time that has passed for us, whatever the pain and grief that we claim, We are all here together to remember our kids,
So your song becomes my song and our song is the same.
 
Barb Seth TCF, Madison, WI 
From the Compassionate Friends Newsletter
Wyo-Braska Chapter, October 2014, 

Volume VIII Issue X

Siblings

        We love our children and protect them, but we can be naive when it comes to assessing their vulnerability. Children get the flu and usually get over it very rapidly; some children have surgery, and recover so quickly that most adults can't believe it; we see them cry because of hurt feelings and watch ten minutes later as they seem to forgive and forget. We expect our children to recover more quickly than adults because they are children. That is what is usually true except when they experience the death of a sibling – or even a cousin or close friend. A teenager is especially vulnerable.

        The death of a teenager represents a loss to many young friends when children are adolescents. Teenagers develop reciprocal relationships among their friends that are often distinct from the relationships with family. When one of their friends dies, these children perceive a loss within the unit of those relationships, and the extent of the loss is frequently not fully comprehended by adults. The friends often have not only lost a member of their group, but they perceive that they have lost a part of their future - the teen who died may well have been a part of their perceived future. They must suddenly face their own mortalities - and in recent generations this awareness does not present itself so frequently it did in the past. Finally, they begin to perceive the unfairness of death, and in becoming concerned with death rather than life; they begin to have an attitude of "what's the use of conforming to the rules of life."

        A normal fear of adults and children alike is this: Because an individual has died, he may recede from memory as well as from reality. Adults need to reflect on their own losses of friends, and try to understand the depth of the relationship the deceased teenager had with friends. Friends of teens need to be assured that a kind of relationship will continue as a part of the memory. A statement by an adult such as "My best friend died when I was younger - I still think of that friend nearly every day” is comforting and usually true!

        The death of a sibling is less understood in our current culture than any other relationship death. When the living sibling is a teenager, support is nearly totally lacking, and the loss is more profound if the two siblings were close in age. As an adolescent begins to develop independence from his family, the relationship with siblings is the last separation to be made. The relationship between siblings may become stronger as the independence from parents grows. In addition, the fragile independence of an adolescent may be replaced with a need to protect the parents, and so the child is not likely to be willing to express his own grieving and thoughts to his already bereaved parents.

         Many adolescents view the loss of their siblings as loss of part of themselves. They are therefore not only grieving for their lost brothers or sisters; they are also grieving for the part of the self that is gone. Adolescent siblings who are very close have few memories that are entirely their own - most memories involve the other sibling. Nighttime dreams must surely include the other sibling, and waking from such a dream might cause confusion, anger at reality and then renewed grief. The siblings may have been very dependent on one another, and the sudden need to make decisions without the benefit of the other's opinion, whether agreeable or not, is overwhelming. Again the anger of grief is intensified in adolescents. They may feel punished by the death, and lash out at the population in general with vandalism or stealing.

        Children and teenagers are egocentric, believing that all things revolve around them. They may believe that they have done something wrong and, in order to punish themselves, begin to demonstrate self-destructive behavior that may at one time been unacceptable to them. This includes addictions, suicidal thoughts, reckless driving, etc. Such behaviors must be stopped because the end result is extremely dangerous and could lead to another death.

        Teenagers may have exaggerated feelings of guilt. They may have guilt because they resent the deceased sibling's leaving them, or they may feel guilty for sibling rivalry and bickering. Some may feel guilty because they always wanted a room of their own, and now, with their brother or sister gone, they have just what they thought they wanted! It is natural for children to wonder if they are loved less by parents than brothers and sisters. After a death, with all the attention given to the child who died, they may think they see confirmation of greater love for the sibling, and that leads to guilt as well.

        Children may resent their parents' making an attempt to return to their work lives and direct their anger toward one or both parents. Then, the child may feel guilty about how he has treated the already-wounded parent. Society is not aware of the difficulties of sibling loss. Many children do not even try to comprehend their parents' grief because they believe it to be more intense than their own. To them, parents are still heroic, and these children perceive parental grief to be beyond the realm of their own hurt. The possibility that life may include even more intense grief than they now feel is frightening and depressing to them.

As a bereaved parent who will never forget the life and the loss of our son, I have nevertheless come to the conclusion the death of a child may be harder for some siblings to bear than it is for some parents. After all, parents have strong support almost immediately. Other bereaved parents write to them or visit with them, aunts and uncles of the deceased child continue to make supportive contact, and grandparents show intense concern about the welfare of their own children. The sibling, however, might believe that grandparents as well as parents are more grieved than he or she is. The only other human being that can say "I know how you feel" is another bereaved sibling, and because he or she has shared a too-similar situation, many are still unable to speak of their own loss. If they are siblings who are over 25 years of age, they find it difficult to relate to younger grieved siblings.

        This problem did not present itself so frequently years ago, when childhood death was more common and families were larger. Then there were several bereaved siblings within either the family unit or the extended family that could help the newly bereaved sibling deal with the grief. Parents know that children can die; children don't comprehend that until it happens. Parents have lost someone very important, but it was someone that was added to their lives; siblings who were close in age have lost someone that was always there. Many parents have a mature awareness of their faith; siblings are only beginning to question faith - leading sometimes to more guilt.

        Parents are so overwhelmed by their own grief that they have difficulty comprehending the grief of any one of their children, and most children are unable to explain their feelings about grief to anyone except a parent. Several weeks or even months may pass before the reality of the death begins to effect a change in the adolescent. First, children are great imitators, and when the loss has been someone very close to them, they look to others around them to emulate when their grief is too painful and numbing to allow the child to act on his own. Second, the loss often does not present itself as real for several weeks or months; the child may subconsciously consider the absence to be temporary -as though the brother or sister is on a vacation, camp or at a friend's home. Adults and even adolescent friends may interpret the bereaved sibling to be doing "quite well" within a short time after the loss. It may be much later, as the adolescent begins to accept the fact that a sibling has died and will not return, when new behaviors may begin.

         The solution to the lack of support for sibling bereavement is one of general social education. Currently, society does not understand the intensity of some grief, but some individuals are at least willing to listen to adults. We must begin to listen to the children. We must stop assessing a child's recovery from grief as though it were a childhood illness, or the death of a mere acquaintance. In today's world, adults may make comments to a bereaved sibling that include, "Your parents are getting over this, why can't you?" or "Your parents have lost a child. They must be grieving more than you and they aren't misbehaving." The statement that one might "never get over the loss of a child" is common knowledge among bereaved parents and some siblings. However, the reality of that statement might be considered to be dramatic by most adolescents. Family members, churches, schools, the law, and other facets of society need to be aware of bereaved siblings' needs, and must begin to address them as real and intense.

         While parents need an enormous amount of support in the death of a child, siblings must have as much support or more. At the very least, we must help these siblings face their grief to the extent that they will some day be able to provide real help to other grieving siblings. Once the general population begins to be aware of the significance of a sibling's loss, then there will be individuals in the extended family, the churches, the schools and elsewhere who will be more determined to fill at least some of those needs.

         What can parents do? Talk about the child that died, and be sure to have a balance between the good and bad behaviors. At Christmas time, include a remembrance of the child. Consider that “shrine” in the corner of the living room. Might it be a little “too much?” Do you have pictures of your other children in the living room as well? Are you attending your living child’s high school events? (Of course it is painful, but those feelings subside when you understand the appreciation of your living child). Ask the grieving sibling to help plan birthday and death day anniversaries. One of our children was furious because we didn’t celebrate our son’s birthday six months after he died. I still puzzle over that – I suppose the word “celebrate” has always been in the way, but I don’t know what was expected. Hopefully, other parents can figure it out!

         An immediate solution for bereaved families is to make a deliberate effort to provide outside help. Ask a person who lost a brother or sister if they would talk to your child, especially if that child is a teenager. 
         Seek help from a counselor, although you should be aware that most psychologists are as uninformed as the rest of society in understanding the grief of a sibling. Ask questions that will help you decide whether the counselor will understand. Best of all, ask the counselor if he or she has personally experienced the death of a child or sibling. Adolescents and the parents alike must comprehend that the expression of grief in a healthy way is acceptable for a long period of time, but misbehavior is not an acceptable way to deal with loss - it cannot be excused. Misbehavior in adolescents often mushrooms - growing into dangerous and life-threatening situations.

         This discussion is not a scientific statement; it has no footnotes because no references were researched. I believe it is fairly close to accurate, but it is nevertheless my opinion. In talking to other bereaved parents, I have found that teenage siblings generally exhibited similar behavior patterns. The grief of a child for a sibling is not trivial - it is perhaps one of the most profound and most socially misunderstood experiences that a human can have.