Grief Intelligence: A Primer


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For the past 25 years, I have worked with thousands of grievers. I have sat with widows and widowers, the young and the old. I have offered tissues to bereaved parents in their inconsolable grief. I have normalized, educated, listened to and championed those grievers who, through tremendous pain, still engaged with life.

In the decades since my book Transcending Loss was published, the grieving process has not changed. As I interact with grievers from around the world, I am reminded of the universality of grief. And though each person has their own journey, still they share many common experiences.

Yet, still, I see and hear so much misinformation and confusion around grief. Principally, this comes from the widely-held myths that grief should be easy, that grief should be short, that grief has closure, that people should get on with their lives unchanged and that ongoing connection with the deceased is somehow pathological.

So, in trying to set the record straight, I’m offering seven principles in this primer on grief intelligence.

Most people don’t learn these lessons until life thrusts them onto the roller coaster of major loss. However, if we can get the word out, then perhaps a new generation of individuals will feel more supported and understood when it is their time to grieve.

1. Grief is a normal reaction — Grief is the natural emotional and physical response to the death of a loved one. Although our society desperately wants to avoid the messiness of deep sorrow, there is no way out except through the pain. Typical numbing techniques such as medications, alcohol and food are only temporary distractions to dull the pain.

Letting oneself grieve by going directly into the pain — in manageable doses over a long period of time — is healing. Avoiding the pain simply forces it to go deep into the heart where it subtly affects emotional and physical health.

2. Grief is hard work — Grief isn’t easy and it isn’t pretty. It involves tears, sleepless nights, pain, sorrow and a heartache that knocks you to your knees. It can be hard to concentrate, hard to think clearly, hard to read and easy to forget all the details of life that everyone else seems to remember. Grievers frequently feel that they’re going crazy and they sometimes wish to die. This doesn’t mean that they’re actively suicidal, it just means that they’re grieving.

3. Grief doesn’t offer closure — Closure is an idea that we like because we want to tie up our emotional messes with a bow and put them in the back of a closet. But grief refuses to play this game. Grief tends towards healing not closure. The funeral can be healing, visiting a gravesite can be healing, performing rituals, writing in journals and making pilgrimages can be personally meaningful and healing. But they will not bring closure. Closure is relevant to business deals but not to the human heart.

4. Grief is lifelong — Although we all want quick fixes and short-term solutions, grief won’t accommodate us. Many people want grief to be over in a few weeks or a few months and certainly within a year. And yet, many grievers know that the second year is actually harder than the first. Why Because the shock has worn off and the reality of the pain has truly sunk in.

I let grievers know that the impact of grief is lifelong just as the influence of love is also lifelong. No matter how many years go by, there will be occasional days when grief bursts through with a certain rawness. There will be days, even decades later, when sadness crosses over like a storm cloud. And likely, every day going forward will involve some memory, some connection to missing the beloved.

5. Grievers need to stay connected to the deceased — While some might find it odd or uncomfortable to keep talking about a loved one after they have passed, or find it disconcerting to see photographs of those who have died, it is healthy to keep the connection alive. My heart goes out to a generation or more of grievers who were told to cut their ties to their deceased loved ones, to move on, almost as if they had never existed. Such unwitting cruelty! It is important to honor the birthdays and departure days of deceased loved ones. Their physical presence may be gone, but they remain in relationship to the griever in a new way beyond form, a way based in spirit and love.

6. Grievers are changed forever — Those who expect grievers to eventually get back to their old selves, will be quite disappointed. Grief, like all major life experiences, changes a person irrevocably. People don’t remain unchanged after getting an education, getting married, having a baby, getting divorced or changing careers. Grief, too, adds to the compost mixture of life, creating rich and fertile soil. It teaches about living and dying, about pain and love and about impermanence. While some people are changed by grief in a way that makes them bitter and shut down, it is also possible to use grief as a springboard for compassion, wisdom, and open-heartedness.

7. Grievers can choose transcendence — Transcendence has to do with gaining perspective, seeing in a new way and holding pain in a larger context. Seeing one’s grief from a larger perspective allows it to be bearable and gives it meaning. For one, transcendence might mean reaching out to those who suffer. For another, it might mean giving to a cause that will benefit others. Grievers who choose transcendence recognize that they are not alone, that they share a common human condition, and that they are amongst so many who have experienced love and loss. They use their pain in a way that touches others. The pain is still there, of course, but it is transformed.

So I invite you to reflect on these grief principles, how they might be true for you and how they might be true for someone you know and love. Share and share again so that we might spread grief intelligence far and wide. Perhaps we can effect a change so widespread that grievers will know what to expect. Hopefully, we all can be comforted, in small ways, by that knowledge

Reblogged from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ashley-davis-bush/dealing-with-grief_b_3716013.html

 

What am I doing?


This is one of the most heart wrenching posts I have read in a long time.  I read a lot of blogs written by grieving mothers.  Why did this post affect me to this extent?   I don’t know.  Maybe because this mother’s grief feels as real as my own grief.  Maybe it is because I am doing the same.  Writing and desperately trying to keep my Vic alive…hugs and tears Gatito.

gatito2's avatarMy Bright Shining Star

What am I doing Kaitlyn? What am I trying to do by my endless blogs about you, the photo albums, the posts on Facebook, the printed out version of my blog, the printed out comments by your friends after you died on your Facebook, in my private messages and by email, the posts I made on Student Doctor Network warning them of what could so easily happen if they don’t heed the warning within them of depression, for posting about you In the off topic sections of forums I belong to that are about motorcycles, RVing, and cats. Posting on suicide survivor forums. Posting every video and song that remotely has to do with what you were and I am going through. Making DVD slides of you. Going through all you music CDs, going through all your recent things, old things, things I put up long ago, things that are…

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When a child dies…


“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for which has been your delight”. ~ Kahlil Gibran.

At times the pain and feelings of desolate loss is overwhelming.  I know it is because I loved Vic so much.  I am grieving because I miss my child, the mother of my grandchildren, my friend.  I miss drinking endless cups of tea…. sometimes laughing and sometimes weeping.

I have grown used to not constantly checking my text messages when I sit in meetings.  I have actually forgotten my phone at home on two occasions.  I miss the countless phonecalls, finding little notes everywhere…. a soft kiss on the forehead.

When a parent dies, you lose your past; when a child dies, you lose your future. – Anonymous

 

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I am Vic’s mother!


Child-loss is a black hole of grief and sorrow in which every emotion is compressed and compounded.   It is an inescapable vortex.  

Vic was the centre of my emotional cosmos. My world revolved around my precious child. Vic was my past, my present and my future. When she died it felt as if my life ended.


For the first time in 38 years I cried. I truly cried and called to the heavens. It was as if 38 years of pent up fear, anguish and stress was released. I screamed, I sobbed, I wept… Did you know that there is a difference between weeping and sobbing? I clung to my child. I stroked her hair. I washed her little body and dressed her in her favourite pyjamas. I sprayed her favourite perfume on her.

Grief is a strange journey.

When I embarked on the Journey of Mourning it was a strange road. I had lost people I love dearly before. My mom, my dad, BFF’s, colleagues and family had died. Of course grandparents too… But I had never lost a child. This is a road I had never travelled before. I did not only lose my precious child but I also lost the person I was.

Within a millisecond I ceased to be a mother. Wait – I became a “bereaved mother.” The hope I had clung to for 36.5 years was lost! The fight in me was gone.

The second my child’s soul left her body my heart shattered into a million pieces.

The hardest thing I had to do in my life was say goodbye to my child; listening to her breathing getting weaker and weaker…. knowing that her last breath was so close.


Then I thought nothing would match my pain watching my precious baby leave our home for the last time in a plastic sheet on a gurney until I had to stand and watch the hearse drive away with my precious, precious child lying in a cold hard coffin – her destination a crematorium!

No matter how prepared I thought I was for Vic’s death – I wasn’t! People seem to think I should be grateful Vic is dead. Just as people did not want to listen to me talking about Vic’s terrible suffering they now don’t want me to talk about Vic after she died. They ask you how you are doing hoping you won’t be honest and answer…

It is almost surreal to see that the world has carried on with its business; that the heavens are unchanged; that life has continued. I look at myself and I think that people that don’t know me would never guess that my life ended 6 months ago… People pat me on the back and say “You are so strong…”

We are nearing Vic’s 6 month anniversary and I have learnt to breathe again. I have learnt to stay strong for the boys. My life will and must mirror Vic’s strength and courage. Her dream of a Hospice will continue to live on in me…Her goodness will continue to spread to the community and the world!

I raised Vic to be strong, courageous, and brave. Vic taught her sons that she is their mother not their excuse…


I am Vic’s mother – she is my reason; not my excuse!


I wish you peace…


Peace is not the absence of trouble; it is the presence of God



You are strong… when you take your grief and teach it to smile.






You are brave… when you overcome your fear and help others to do the same.






You are happy… when you see a flower and are thankful for the blessing.





You love… when your own pain does not blind you to the pain of others.






You are wise… when you know the limits of your wisdom.






You are true… when you admit there are times you fool yourself.





You are alive… when tomorrows hope means more to you than yesterday’s mistake.






You are growing… when you know that you are but not what you are becoming.






You are free… when you are in control of yourself but do not wish to control others.







You are honourable… when you find your honour is to honour others.





You are generous… when you can give as sweetly as you take.






You are humble… when you do not know how humble you are.






You are beautiful… when you don’t need a mirror to tell you.






You are rich… when you never need more than you have.







You are you… when you are at peace with who you are not.





I wish you peace, today, tomorrow and forever


Never Alone


This was my song for Vic.  I played it for her all the time.  We spoke about the words and the meaning of the words.

Today it is 21 weeks since I have been able to touch my child, hold her, brush her hair.  I know that she is around me, but I feel so alone without her.  Vic was my dearest friend, my companion, my daughter, my soul mate.

Yes, Vic is in my heart.  Not a minute goes by that I don’t think of her, miss her…. But I really want her to be with me.  When will this pain end?  When will I come to terms with the fact that I am alone now.

Yes, I know I am surrounded by people who love me…I know they are worried about me… But nobody can fill the void that Vic’s death has left.

I feel alone even when I am surrounded by lots of people, family….

Nothing in the world could have prepared me for this thing called “grief”.  This devastating sorrow.

This weekend I will work in the garden and start preparing Vic’s Angel Garden.  I don’t want my child in a friggin garden – I want her in my home.  I want her sneaking up behind me and kissing me on the cheek.  I want to hear her voice saying “I love you Mommy”.  I want to tell her how much I love her.

I want to hear her talking to her boys.  Telling them she loves them the “mostest in the world”; reminding them to brush their teeth

I don’t want to feel this sorrow and pain.  I want to be happy again.

Bittersweet


100_9077I often wondered exactly what went through Vic’s mind in the final months of her life when she felt death sneaking up on her.  I know she was scared and lonely; she was heartbroken knowing that her boys would grow up without her….I am not stupid.  I know that Vic did not share all her fears and thoughts with me.  She was trying to protect me.

Today I read a bittersweet post.  I wept when I read the words.  It was as if I heard Vic’s voice…felt her fear…

Bittersweet
June 4, 2013 by sugarmagzz        | 6 Comments
 
It happens from time to time, I get a glimpse of my “old” life and for a fleeting second forget that I am dying of cancer. These moments are simultaneously wonderful and devastating. I might be out with a friend for lunch, pumping gas into my car, shopping for Owen, or doing dishes at my kitchen sink. It’s always random and for that brief moment I feel free, as though I’m flying and nothing is tethering me down. I feel like I did before, able to live my life without a shadow cast overhead. It doesn’t last very long because reality always comes crashing down, dragging me with it in its vice-like grip. In this moment of clarity — when it all comes rushing back to me — I can’t breathe. I’m ten again and I’ve fallen flat on my back off the trampoline — immobile, breathless, terrified.  This time there is no ground to break my fall, and so I’m left to kick and scream in mid-air with no one to hear me, no one to catch me. Alone and falling, falling so fast — past the memories that were supposed to one day be mine. I reach out to touch them and slide my fingers over their sparkling surface…
 
The look on Owen’s face when he sees Disney World for the first time.
 
The birth of our second child, to see again Andrew’s incredible capacity for the patience and self-sacrifice of fatherhood.
 
Owen’s high school and college graduation ceremonies, his wedding.
Ashlei’s wedding, the birth of her children, becoming an Aunt.
 
Retirement — relaxing on the dock looking out over the lake with him, my partner in life…reminiscing about the early days and arguing over chores, still.
 
Grandchildren.
I will not see these momentous occasions, they will occur without my physical presence.
 
I hope that there is more to this life, and that I can be there in some way, spirit or otherwise. I hope that my loved ones will always feel me near as they celebrate those unforgettable moments that life has to offer, but my sorrow at missing out on them is endless. I am so very grateful for the incredible moments I have been blessed to experience and I will hold them close until the end. When my time comes, I will take my last breath knowing that my time here was extraordinary, that during my brief existence I lived and loved as greatly as I could. I know there will be more wonderful memories to make before this happens, but everything for me is tinged with darkness — all of the good moments are bittersweet. Still I fight for them, even though they are broken and imperfect. They may not be the memories I thought they would be, but they will still be special.

Tonight I am doubting myself again.  I wonder – did I comfort my child enough?  Why was this precious child of mine condemned to a life of horrible pain and suffering?  She never truly lived!  Why did she die and bad people continue to live and prosper?  Why was she deprived of a future???  She was such a good person!!!!!

I want to hold her and protect her.  I want to tell her how much I love her.  That she is the best thing that ever happened to me.  That my life is empty without her.  That I understood her fears.  

I WANT MY CHILD BACK!!!

 

Compassionate friends say…


Sixteen years ago today, my beloved mother lost her battle against the septicaemia ravaging her tiny little body.  I woke up this morning thinking “well at least this year Mom has Dad and Vic with her…”

Christmas many years ago...
Christmas many years ago…
Vic and her Gramps and Moekie
Vic and her Gramps and Moekie

It was very hard for me to come to terms with my Mom’s death.  I spoke to her every day of my life regardless of where I was in the world.  I was a real “Mommy’s Girl”.  Mom adored Vic.  They were so close.

I was cruising (I know “surfing” is the correct terminology) the web looking at bereavement sites when I saw that on the 9th of December 2012  it was  Compassionate Friends 16th Worldwide Candle Lighting.  The 9th of December is my birthday.  It was a special birthday – my last with my precious child.  Worldwide bereaved parents were lighting candles for their dead children…This year I shall join them in sorrow – lighting up the world.…

I found a section “To the Newly Bereaved”.  It is now 4 months and seventeen days or 137 days since Vic died.  Am I still a newly bereaved parent or am I becoming a seasoned bereaved parent?

When your child has died, suddenly it seems like all meaning has been drained from your life. When you wake in the morning, it’s difficult to get out of bed, much less live a “normal” life. All that was right with the world now seems wrong and you’re wondering when, or if, you’ll ever feel better.

We’ve been there ourselves and understand some of the pain you are feeling right now. We are truly glad that you have found us but profoundly saddened by the reason. We know that you are trying to find your way in a bewildering experience for which no one can truly be prepared.

When you’re newly bereaved, suddenly you find yourself on an emotional roller-coaster where you have no idea what to expect next. Here are thoughts on some of what you may be experiencing or feeling (many of these will apply to bereaved siblings and grandparents):

Psychological

  • You’re in shock from what has happened and a numbness surrounds you to help shield you from the pain.   I thought I was going to lose my mind when Vic died.  The pain was unbearable.  Now numbness has settled in.  It is a survival mechanism.
  • You find yourself in denial. Your child cannot be dead. You expect to see your child walk through the door any moment.  No – I have passed this stage.  Vic is dead.  She will never shuffle down the passage again.
  • You see your child in the faces of others walking down the street.  No – Vic was uniquely beautiful.  I wish I could see her face on a walking body because that may erase some horrible memories from my mind.
  • You wonder how someone can feel this much pain and survive.  Absolutely!
  • Thoughts of suicide briefly enter your mind. You tell yourself you want to die—and yet you want to live to take care of your family and honor your child’s memory.  Absolutely!
  • You want to know how the people around you can go about their day as if nothing has happened—don’t they understand that your life—everything that meant anything to you—has just ended? Your purpose in life is gone.  Absolutely
  • You are no longer afraid of death as each day that passes puts you one day closer to being with your child.  Absolutely yes!!!!
  • Thoughts of “what ifs” enter your mind as you play out scenarios that you believe would have saved your child.  Yes
  • Your memory has suddenly become clouded. You’re shrouded in forgetfulness. You’ll be driving down the road and not know where you are or remember where you’re going. As you walk, you may find yourself involved in “little accidents” because you’re in a haze.  Absolutely
  • You fear that you are going crazy.  I fear I am…
  • You find there’s a videotape that constantly plays in an endless loop in your mind, running through what happened.  I try very hard not to think about it
  • You find your belief system is shaken and you try to sort out what this means to your faith.  Yes
  • Placing impossible deadlines on yourself, you go back to work, but find that your mind wanders and it’s difficult to function efficiently or, some days, at all. Others wonder when you’ll be over “it,” not understanding that you’ll never be the same person you were before your child died—and the passage of time will not make you so.  Absolutely correct!
  • You find yourself reading the same paragraph over and over again trying to understand what someone else has written.  Yes – it is scary.  I watch TV programs and cannot remember the show afterwards.

Emotional

  • You rail against the injustice of not being allowed the choice to die instead of your child.  ABSOLUTELY CORRECT!!!!
  • You find yourself filled with anger, whether it be at your partner, a person you believe is responsible for your child’s death, God, yourself, and even your child for dying.   ABSOLUTELY CORRECT!!!!
  • You yearn to have five minutes, an hour, a day back with your child so you can tell your child of your love or thoughts left unsaid.  No, I have no unspoken words or emotions.  I just want her back with me!
  • Guilt becomes a powerful companion as you blame yourself for the death of your child. Rationally you know that you were not to blame—you most certainly would have saved your child if you’d been given the chance.  Thank God this phase has passed.
  • You feel great sadness and depression as you wrestle with the idea that everything important to you has been taken from you. Your future has been ruined and nothing can ever make it right.  My life will never be the same again.  I wonder whether I will ever experience true happiness again.

Physical

  • Either you can’t sleep at all or you sleep all the time. You feel physical exhaustion even when you have slept.  Have these people moved into my home?  This is absolutely true.
  • You no longer care about your health and taking care of yourself—it just doesn’t seem that important anymore.  Maybe….
  • You’re feeling anxiety and great discomfort—you’re told they’re panic attacks.  No
  • The tears come when you least expect them.  Absolutely
  • Your appetite is either gone or you find yourself overeating.  Oh yes! 

Family & Social

  • If you have surviving children, you find yourself suddenly overprotective, not wanting to allow them out of your sight. Yet you feel like a bad parent because it’s so difficult to focus on their needs when you’re hurting so bad yourself.  I am petrified of not being with the boys all the time.  I hate not being with them!  I am stressed when they are with their father or friends.  I am terrified of leaving them to go overseas…
  • You find that your remaining family at home grieves the loss differently and you search for a common ground which seems difficult to find.  Yes
  • You’ve been told by well-meaning people, even professionals, that 70-80-90 percent of all couples divorce after their child dies. You are relieved to find that new studies show a much lower divorce rate, from 12-16%, believed to be caused by the “shared experience” aspect of the situation.  We have gone through a very rough time in our marriage.  We have worked through it.  But I can see that it is a distinct possibility in a newly bereaved situation.
  • Old friends seem to fade away as you learn they cannot comprehend the extent or length of your grief. No…they faded away when Vic was ill and she did not die soon enough
  • Things you liked to do which seemed so important before now seem meaningless.  Absolutely correct
  • Others say you’ll someday find “closure,” not understanding that closure never applies when it is the death of your child.  Darn right! 
  • Fleeting thoughts of pleasurable activities bring about feelings of guilt. If you child can’t have fun, how can you do anything that brings you enjoyment?  Maybe
  • New friends come into your life who understand some of your grief because they’ve been there themselves.  Absolutely!  I have also opened up and made myself “accessible”.  Before, Vic consumed my life.   http://www.compassionatefriends.org/Find_Support/Personal-Note/To_the_Newly_Bereaved.aspx

Tomorrow I will share  “Finding the ‘new me’…”

https://tersiaburger.com/2012/12/10/another-birthday/

http://www.compassionatefriends.org

When the soul leaves the body


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auoJV4re3nU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auoJV4re3nU

When a child is born we laugh, cry with joy and celebrate; when a loved one dies we cry with heartbreak and mourn.  We spend a lifetime celebrating life.  Grief too deserves time, attention, honour and embracing.

Grief is painful, yet it gives us a glimpse of Heaven – afterlife… Life after death…

I have seen a quite a few people die.  Mostly very close family… my mom, my mother-in-law, my dad and my precious child.  I have seen strangers die – patients in TB hospitals, AIDS patients in hospital; a young man burning to death after a car accident…

My Mom died when she developed septicaemia from surgery.  She was confused from the raging fever and the infection ravaging her little body.  Mom knew that it would be her last surgery.  She said that she would not survive the operation and was prepared for death.  Mom died with my dad and us kids standing around her bed – taking turns to pray for her.  Like Vic she fought for life until death won the battle.

The day my mom-in-law died I sat next to her bed.  It was just the two of us.  I asked her whether she was scared.  She smiled and shook her head.  I know that she looked forward to death…to the afterlife.  Hours later when this gracious lady just stopped breathing her children and I were standing around her bed.  We were singing her favourite hymn.  Her death was gentle and dignified.

My Dad was not aware of the fact that he was dying… He developed Alzheimer’s pneumonia and gently lapsed into a coma.  My dad just forgot how to breathe.  If he was aware of the fact that he was dying I think he would have been surprised.  He did not “know” he was dying.  I know he would have been grateful that he had been spared that final indignity of Alzheimer’s.  He died the way he lived – with dignity and gentleness…

My precious child died fighting.  She had so much left to do.  She had children to raise.  Vic, like my mom, did not know how to not fight to live another day…

I suppose we all have pre-conceived ideas of how people should handle death emotionally and spiritually.  For years I would ask Vic whether she had asked God for forgiveness and mercy before she went into theatre for more surgery…Later in life I thought how stupid of me.  Vic lived a life, obedient to the greatest commandment – To love God with mind, body and soul….and her neighbour… I knew that Vic had made peace with God.  In death Vic requested Last Communion…  Her spiritual rituals were taken care off.

Vic said her goodbyes.  It was heart-breaking for everyone who loved her.  She needed to hear that we would honour her memory, not forget what she represented in life.  She needed to hear that her sons would remember her as their Mother and not use her as an excuse.  She thanked people over and over for their friendship and love; their caring and loyalty…

Nothing was left unsaid.    I read somewhere “something said or not said, something you wish you had done differently, can stick inside you like a splinter.”

The scenes of death that I have witnessed and lived through were sacred.  I saw souls depart from the bodies of my loved ones… I saw that there is more than life-sustaining organs to a body.  There is a soul…There is no comparison to the appearance of the body after the soul has left the body.

I saw Vic’s father’s soul leave his body five days before he was declared brain-dead.  I was standing next to his hospital bed asking him for forgiveness.  I realised standing there that I was not the only one who suffered from our divorce.  I realised that I too had caused him pain.  I spoke to him about God and Heaven – I prayed for him.  One bloody tear ran down his check.  He continued to breathe on the ventilator, but I felt his soul leave his body.

The willingness to sit at death’s bedside – to embrace the loss experiences in our lives – opens a window into Heaven.  I do not fear death.  I know when my time comes I will embrace death knowing that I will be reunited with my child, my parents, loved ones, friends…the ones I leave behind will eventually follow and join us.   When something leaves it goes somewhere.  It is a displacement of energy.

Now I am between birth and death.  Heaven awaits.

Some of my related posts and other great reads:

https://tersiaburger.com/2012/10/29/one-bloody-tear/
https://tersiaburger.com/2012/08/03/happy-birthday-mommy-3-8-2012/
https://tersiaburger.com/2012/07/18/487/
http://humansarefree.com/2011/03/russian-scientist-consciousness.html
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auoJV4re3nU
http://jimmyakin.com/when-the-soul-leaves-the-body
http://www.arachimusa.org/Index.asp?ArticleID=61&CategoryID=359&Page=1

 

I WANT MY CHILD BACK!!!


Yesterday morning I teared up – again.  Danie asked “And now?  What’s wrong?”

“Just missing Vic” I said

“Shame” he said with sadness in his voice.  “I miss her too”

We spoke about how my grief had changed over the past four months.  Today it is exactly four months since my precious child died.  I keep using the words “death and died” and not the gentler “passed”…  I do that because death is harsh.  My child DIED, she is DEAD.  My pain is as real as it was 4 months ago.  My grief is however no longer as transparent as it was to the world.

Four months ago when Vic died my body physically hurt.  My heart was physically aching.  The pain was new.  Now my grief is in me, part of me as if it is a limb or organ…  My grief is hidden from the world. If I did not tell you, you would never know.

To the world – I seem to have adjusted to the loss of my child.  I am “functioning, smiling, carrying on with life”… People are so relieved that they no longer have to cope with my raw grief…

Earlier tonight I read this on Facebook –https://www.facebook.com/TheGrievingParent

“I never knew my mind could be dominated by a single thought every day for years and still not get in the way of the progress of my life. The hands on the clock continue to turn, and the sun rises every morning. 

Even though the grief is not on the surface, the missing is as strong as it ever was. We can’t explain it, but we want to share it. We might not break down, but the strength of the grief never fades.”

We just keep on living with it and do the best we are able to do.”

I miss Vic more today than I did four months ago.  I keep looking at photographs of the past couple of years so I can REMEMBER her suffering; I re-read my blog to REMEMBER her suffering; I keep trying to find solace in the fact that she is pain-free.  It is becoming more difficult to see the positive side of Vic’s death.   My mind is blocking out the horror of her suffering!  I am remembering the good times only.

I hear you say “It is good”  No, It is not good!  If I forget her suffering I will never accept the “need for her to die” element of Vic’s death.

The night that haunts my sister
The night that haunts my sister

My sister shared her heartbreak with me…She said that one night when she slept with Vic she woke up to hear Vic talking to me.  She said Vic was crying and saying “Mommy I am so sore.  I can’t do this anymore”  Lorraine said she kept her eyes shut and pretended to sleep because she could not deal with the moment… Why am I forgetting??????  On the 13th of November I posted “Will my poor baby’s hell ever end?  If there is a lesson to be learnt PLEASE God show me what it is so I can learn it!!  This has come to an end!” https://tersiaburger.com/2012/11/13/signposts-for-dying/

I want my child back with me. I want to hold her, tell her I love her.  I want to hear her footsteps in the passage; I want to hear her voice…

I WANT MY CHILD BACK!

I feel death coming closer…


Photo Credit to:  thegardeningblog.co.za
Photo Credit to: thegardeningblog.co.za

Today I read the post of a very dear blogger friend.  She is an unbelievably strong and resilient woman who is dying from congenital heart failure.  She is a medical professional who served her country bravely.  Sandra is married to an amazing man, and she loves his children dearly.  They are a great source of joy to her.

I have just re-read most of Sandra’s old posts.  It filled me with sadness reading her brave posts, an almost intellectual outlook on death… My friend is not a stranger to death.  As a medical professional she encountered death often.  Death in every form, indiscriminate of age, colour or creed.

Sandra posted : how to die? I have watched many die over the years and the range is as you would imagine. there were those that just could not let go and suffered every indignity to their body and soul. of course others went quietly with love around them. I have not decided if I want to be alone or with loved ones by my side. is there a way to make it easier for them? would they rather receive a phone call with the news or be at bedside? either way it will hurt them, not me of course as I am the one leaving. I would be lying if I said I don’t think of how I will miss so much. the thing is I have had so much, so much more than others and it seems selfish to complain. what they will go through is tremendous compared to what I will go through. I will sleep eternally and they will live. the best I can hope for them is peace of mind and future happiness. I want them to think of me and smile as I do now thinking of them.   http://thedrsays.org/2011/03/25/

When I read this post I recognised the same almost detached approach to death that Vic had…As emotionally intelligent people Vic and Sandra look at death and know that their loved ones are the ones who will suffer the loss.  Vic so often expressed her concern for her loved ones who would be left behind.  My friend does the same in her posts…

Sandra wrote:

I believe and hope that I will die with dignity,

we are not born with fear and so we can die without fear. I think a lot of us are not so much afraid of dying as we are of not being remembered. it is only human to hope that our kids will have some fond memory, our grandkids, friends and maybe even some people who just passed through on the way to somewhere else. I would like to think there will be some fond memories of me. Chris is going to have a memorial at our home (I think) for me. I have asked for a celebration of my life. remember me as I am a real person with some good some bad and some … that should maybe stay in the vault:)

http://thedrsays.org/2011/04/

Today she posted: “for tonight i am not going to lie to you. i feel death coming closer, i hear the bear growl.  at times i think i may see her but then she moves a little and we continue down this path.  the toxins are working their way through my body to the skin where they are sores that itch and bleed.  i have these toxins because my liver and kidneys are not working the way they should.  my liver is enlarged and causes great pain. it is like having the worst charlie horse you have ever experienced just under your ribcage on the right side of your body. of course the spleen takes up its chorus on the left side and the kidneys can be felt in more places than you think and may be different in different people.  i am so weak at times that just standing takes a monumental effort.  my arms and legs can turn to shaking jello.  sometimes my eyes won’t focus and my mind is hard to clear.  forget about reading or even looking at the temp control on the wall.”  http://thedrsays.org/2013/04/29/sex-lies-and-videotapes/

I am re-living Vic’s final journey with this precious, brave woman.

The purpose of my post is to thank Sandra for her friendship, support, guidance, compassion and advice over the past year.  Often when I vented about Vic being stubborn or ill Sandra would gently advise me from a terminally ill person’s point of view.  She opened my eyes to so much of my child’s emotions and personal struggle…  She knows because it is her journey too.

My friend is a medical professional and KNOWS what is happening in her body.  Vic knew too…

In November 2012 Vic started saying that death was close…she would not bounce back this time…and now my friend says “I feel death coming closer…”

Oh my friend what can I say?  I know the emotional agony that Vic went through when she was where you are now.  I wish I could give you some of my health.  I wish I could wave a magic wand, and you would have more time.  We both know I cannot do any of this.

Please know I hold you in my heart.  I am sad that your journey is almost over.  I am so sad for the dreadful pain you are in.  I hope you are having pro-active symptom control.

I want to thank you today whilst you are strong enough to hear my words. Thank you for your friendship, compassion and support over the past couple of months.

I think you are incredibly brave, and you remind me of Vic…Stubborn, compassionate, intelligent…amazing!  I hope that you will meet her when it is your time to cross over.  Please know that I treasure you as a dear friend.

I pray for a miracle, that you will have lots of time, pain-free days.  Know that you are loved and admired.  I wish we had met.

I am not saying goodbye – just thank you for being a wonderful friend

To all my blogger friends out there – please pray for Sandra and Chris….

STRUCK


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I found this wonderfully talented poet blog when I was reading some Freshly Pressed blogs.  This woman is a member of the “My Child is Dead” club too.  When I read these words they echoed through my soul.  I am hoping that I will feel whole again…I don’t yet.  
 
I miss my child!!!!!
 

Most of the time I feel you are here with me

Most of the time I feel whole again

But comes a day like today

When I feel your loss

More sharply than before

It makes my heart hurt

And my feelings sink

I feel as if I am rooted to the earth

And cannot move

 

I tell myself that I just need some time

I will recover

And go on

And move more freely

 

I will wait until your memories stop by again

And have them restore me to whole

Yet again.

100 days of searing pain….


Does time really heal all wounds? Mothers who have lost  a child to death assure us that “it will get better.” Friends and loved ones have started telling me that “it is time to get over it and get on with life.”

Researchers say that a mother never ceases mourning the death of her child. I believe this finding.

In those immediate hours, after my precious child’s death, time stopped.  My life ground to a halt.

At Vic’s Memorial Service I was amazed that people rushed off after the service and tea to meetings, to pick up children from school…I remember thinking that everyone had already moved on…

I stood next to the hearse not wanting it to leave.  I rested my hand on the wood of the casket…I wanted to pull my child out of that darn coffin and wrap her in my arms.  I was not ready to say goodbye.

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Today it is 100 days filled with searing pain and longing since Vic left home for the last time.

I have begun to mark time differently.  I count the number of days, weeks and months that I have mourned and missed my child. 

I know that every day that passes is one day closer to me being with my beloved child again.  I know that Vic’s suffering is over; I know that it is for the best that Vic’s dreadful pain filled life is over…. It does not make my mourning less.

So today I am burning candles for my child.  I am praying that my child is at peace.  I am praying for grace to endure this longing.  I pray that I will have the strength to continue honouring Vic’s memory….

I pray that I will be worthy of the trust she put in me to look after her precious boys.

On the surface it appears as if the boys are coping well.  I heard a comment from a teacher this week saying that, despite the trauma they went through with Vic’s death this year, they are actually doing better than last year.

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It was so difficult watching her suffering!

So today, once again, I say “Rest in Peace my beautiful Angel Child”

 

Grief attack


Jared and his Mommy - 10 days before she died
Jared and his Mommy – 10 days before she died
I have sunk to a new low this weekend.  I had every intention to attend church this morning.  I woke up with tears streaming down my cheeks.  I must have had dreamt of Vic.  I knew that I could not handle the gentle arms and words of sympathy at church.
Maybe next weekend…
I would like to share this wonderful writing from a Facebook site – The Grieving Parent.  It articulates my feeling beautifully.
I had a grief attack yesterday and again this morning….

2 hours ago ·

  • After my daughter’s death, I learned that the first year’s grief doesn’t flow neatly from one stage to the next; it has multiple patterns, fluctuating cycles, lots of ups and downs. First-year grief will surprise you in many ways, but here are a few things you can expect.Expect sudden “grief attacks.”
     
    Practical matters demand attention in early grief when we are the most confused and least interested in things we used to care about. We must decide how to get through each new day. Some days, getting out of bed may take all the energy we have. Trips to everyday places like the grocery store feel so different. In my case, simple things like seeing my daughter’s favorite cereal on the store shelf brought immediate, excruciating pain.
    I call these unexpected reactions “grief attacks.” And unlike the response we would get if we had a heart attack while shopping, those around us don’t know what to do. We get good at hiding our pain, at postponing grieving for a more appropriate place, a better time.
     
    Expect exhaustion and disruption. Early grieving is perhaps the hardest work you will ever do. It is common to have difficulty sleeping, changes in appetite and blood pressure, tense muscles that are susceptible to strains, a weakened immune system.Many bereaved parents return to work, school, or other activities feeling vulnerable, less confident about their capabilities, less able to concentrate, distracted by memories, and flooded with emotions that disrupt thinking. For others, work is the only place they are able to concentrate- focusing on tasks helps take their mind off their loss for awhile.
     
    Those around us may have unrealistic expectations as we return to work or school. When one mother whose only child had died returned to work, her supervisor greeted her by saying: “I’m sorry about your loss but I want to talk to you about improving your work performance.” Expect to be stunned by the ineptness, thoughtlessness, and discomfort of some people, and to be thrilled and deeply touched by the kindness and sensitivity of others. Sometimes those you expect to support you the most can’t or won’t meet your needs, while others you weren’t that close to before reach out unexpectedly.
     
    Expect ongoing “echoes.” We experience so many emotions after our child dies. We may feel relief that our child is no longer suffering, then feel guilty about being relieved. For a time we may be unable to feel much at all. While learning to live with the hole in our heart and fatigue in our body, other responsibilities beckon. We must file insurance claims, pay bills, write thank-you notes, decide what we want to do with our child’s possessions, and on and on.Just when we think everyone surely has heard of our loss by now, the reality of our child’s death echoes back to us. A call comes from the dentist’s office about scheduling her a checkup, or we run into our child’s old friend who just moved back to town. Once again we must tell our story, respond to someone else’s pain, experience fresh waves of grief. Knowing certain events are coming, such as seeing the grave marker or reading the death certificate or autopsy report, does not prevent us from hurting. These are tangible reminders of the reality of death, while part of us still hopes it’s all been just a bad dream.
     
    Our child’s death causes us to re-examine our beliefs about the Universe, God, and how the world works. Your faith and belief system may comfort and sustain you during the first year or you may feel angry and disconnected from it. Remember that it is okay to question. 
     
    You may be drawn to people who have experienced a loss like yours and can understand some of your feelings and questions. This is one reason many people in early grief find comfort in bereavement support groups. But remember that no one can ever totally understand your grief, your questions, and what your child means to you. Like all relationships, each person’s grief is unique and complex.During early grief, you may want to stay busy all the time, avoiding painful emotions and the exhausting work of grief, hoping time will heal you. There’s no set schedule and no recovery period for grief. But time alone does not heal- it’s what we do with the time that counts. Take the time you need to do your grief work. But also take time away from grieving to do things you enjoy, to rest and replenish yourself.
     
    When our child dies, our hoped-for future dies, too.
     
    Beginning in this first year, and continuing on from there, living with your loss means taking on new roles, new relationships, a new future- without forgetting your past. Sometimes, life takes surprising turns. 
     
    Before my daughter’s death, I never would have imagined I would become so involved in grief support. It wasn’t part of my “plan.” Confronted with loss, we can weave the strands of our past into a new, meaningful future we never would have planned to live. Doing so is a conscious choice.
     
    Getting through the first year of your grief is like winding a ball of string. You start with an end and wind and wind. Then the ball slips through your fingers and rolls across the floor. Some of the work is undone, but not all. You pick it up and start over again, but never do you have to begin at the end of the string. The ball never completely unwinds; you’ve made some progress.
     
    My daughter’s spirit and our continuing bond of love gives me strength each day. May your child be there to help you during this painful first year, and in all the years to come.
    Jon-Daniel and his brave Mommy - January 2013
    Jon-Daniel and his brave Mommy – January 2013

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT


This amazing hopeful post was written by Missmorgansmom…A grieving Mother who lost her daughter 5 days shy of 17 months ago to a drunken driver… When I first read her blog my heart stopped for a couple of seconds.  I knew that the grief that she was living would be mine soon.  
 
I recall thinking that it would be somewhat easier when Vic dies.  Missmorgansmom’s lost her precious daughter not through debilitating illness but through a drunken driver.  I knew that she had so much reason to bitter.  Her child’s life had not even started and I was praying for my child’s suffering to end…
 
When the raw despair and grief overwhelmed me after Vic’s death I thought “My grief and anger is as intense as Missmorgansmom’s… When the tears overwhelmed me I remembered this cyberfriend of mine…  It scared me that she remained in this cocoon of grief.  I recognize the journey of grief as I am embarking on it…I read it before…
 
Today was my first session with the psychiatrist at Hospice… I came out of it a wreck.  I cried and teared up the whole day filled with despair that I would never heal.
 
Then I received my email notification of Missmorgansmom’s “Perfectly Imperfect” post.  The title intrigued me because of the “IMPERFECT” part of it.  
 
The reference to finding “a place where I belong” hit home.  My blog is where I feel safe and understood.  I am not judged nor am I told to move on…I am encouraged, understood, loved here…
 
I belong to a horrible club of Bereaved Parents.
 
This post filled me with hope.  If Missmorgansmom can laugh more and cry a little less than I know one day I will too…
 
Thank you dear cyberfriend for giving me hope.

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT

IMG_0697Grief is instrumental to the  metamorphous of person, as a whole. So many things change in your life when you lose some one you love. Although  no loss is an easy one, as personally I have lost my father, stepmother and grandparents.  Sadly as heart wrenching as their deaths were there is no comparison to how my life has changed with the loss of Morgan. There is no possible way to describe what this life altering event does to you, or prepare you for the process it takes to find a new normal, especially when the process is as individual as the experience it self. This is why i continue to share this undertaking, for understanding on every level. For myself to reflect on, for those who are in a similar predicament, as well as people who simply wish to understand more.

In my journey over the last 17 months or 5 days shy of 17 months I have found that the one place i feel somewhat normal is when i am with others like me. This could be in a virtual support group, or a friendship, or honestly a stranger with a similar story. It is so hard to feel like an oddity or only feel “Normal” whatever that is, when you are among other s that belong to this club which no body wants to be a member of. You only feel a like you are not abnormal because others for similar reasons now live with broken hope of what their dreams once were, because their world was as well obliterated. I suppose to feel  comfort and normalcy when you are with those who are just as fragmented is conventional in many facets. Its just so hypocritical, you do not wish anyone else to ever live in the hell you are in, you do not want anyone to have felt this pain,but yet you gravitate to those that do because they get it.

I can say that I am learning to process the fact that nothing will every be the same, it will always hurt, it will never  completely heal. I am finding that i have been able to laugh a little more than months ago, I cry a little less and slowly am learning to move back into trying to be functionally productive. This is not saying I am any better than I was during the early months, it is just saying that I am adjusting  to function with the pain. I still feel like I am in quick sand and still seems like a lot of the time the fight to get out is not worth the emotional and physical exhaustion. On those days, I generally drop back five and punt, maybe  just try to stay under the covers until i feel strong enough to fight a bit more, whatever it takes.

I do grasp a lot more now, the proverbial light bulb has gone off, i am always going to be broken! I will never be whole, kind of  like a puzzle missing a piece or I suppose like a tea cup that the handle breaks off and is glued back together, its weaker and never the same, but can function. So at this point in this wicked game this is where i am and quite honestly it is what it is! I have learned that at any given day in the process of grief, the battles you fight change from moment to moment. In the beginning i guess you are going through the traditional stages if you will. As time goes on and you graduate into new challenges, you find that the things that hurt now are things you could not have fathomed when it first happened. When you bury your child the pain and shock are so intense that no one could have possibly prepare you for! So as  time goes you learn to progress through those stages, and you may find that in some ways you come to terms with the fact that your baby is gone and not coming back. Than you at some point you start to climb out of the rabbit hole to see that the world and life as you knew it, now has a completely contrasting view with  incompatible meaning. You now identify with different goals, hopes and dreams, because the ones you had before  are now a mirage. The depth of these goals , hopes, and dreams, may be  as little as getting out of bed and making your bed one day or as extreme  changing a career.  The metamorphous of grief  reprograms you to keep the focus of the obtainable idea that you are only in need do the best that you can at a single moment, nothing more nothing less as well as embrace the idea of your new normal to be as being perfectly imperfect!