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The Compassionate Friends
Brisbane Newsletter
February - March 2008

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Loss
By Beth Lorber, Gassville, Arkansas Bereavement Mag Jan/Feb 1995

I am here among friends, smiling at their humour
And making plans for tomorrow.
But there is another person, lying curled in the corner,
Crying out in unbelievable pain.
That, too, is me.

I am doing my household chores,
And the routine is familiar and satisfying,
A gesture toward a need for living.
But there is another person, lying in bed,
Willing her mind a blank, not wanting to think or be …
That, too, is me.

I look at a lovely spring day,
A view of a world of growth and change,
A world only God could make.
But that other person stares through tears
With unseeing eyes, knowing there is no God.
That, too, is me.

I am surrounded by my family.
A gathering of love and joy and tenderness,
Of cherished moments and warm hugs.
But another person is there, whose arms and heart Ache
for one she can never hold and comfort.
That, too, is me.

Very slowly, I am learning there is room
For joy and fun and cherished moments with friends.
In this hurry-up world, with no space or patience
For grieving, there may always be two of me,
And I’m doing the best I can for both.
That, too, is me.

(Beth and her husband, Rob, are grieving the death of their son,
“J.W.” Lorber, who completed suicide at age forty-four years.)

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Volunteers

Where would TCF be without all of it’s wonderful volunteers, we perish the thought. A band of volunteers giving of their time in so many different ways to ensure that other bereaved parents have caring, compassion, understanding and support when their child dies.

To all our telephone listeners a big thank you, to our facilitators of regular support meetings, Nikki & Ruth in Townsville, Ann & Kerry in Mackay, Bob in Redcliffe, Jan & Joan in Ipswich and many others our sincere thanks for being there when bereaved families reach out.

To Jan who manages and funds our Website at her own cost, spending many, many hours of her own time ensuring it is kept up to date — "Thank You"

Our wonderful newsletter editor Cheryl who also spends many, many hours at home preparing the newsletter deserves our deep gratitude for always publishing such a wonderful lifeline to our members especially the remote and rural members who do not have easy access to the Drop-In-Centre.

All the volunteers who come in regularly to do newsletter folding, Gillian, Cheryl R (thanks also for the comfort food), Joan G, and others we thank you for your contribution.

To the ladies who send our anniversary cards to our members Lorraine P, Trish, Olwen, Ruth, Lyn, Cathy, Lorraine E many thanks as we know how much remembering a child on their anniversary means to all of us.

To the TCF committee Lorraine, Vera, Lyn, Debbie, Helen, John, Graham and Bill, TCF would not continue to run as smoothly without your dedication.

Thank you also to Marie-Claire, Cathy and Jacqueline who have recently started proof reading the newsletter to lighten the load in the office.

Many of the volunteers who have been mentioned also round up family and friends when the need arises and these people also deserve a pat on the back because even though they have not lost a child they are there for their family, friends and TCF.

As well as our work in the office Linda and myself also contribute many hours of volunteer time outside the office. As you can see the list of volunteers is extensive and each and every one of them have a very important role in the running of TCF, and in having said this it is usually the same volunteers that come forward. These volunteers can and do get very tired and drained at times and we would love to have some new people come forward and put their name down as being available to call when the need arises.

If I have not mentioned someone or something please forgive me and remember that your help is always appreciated no matter how big or how small, we THANK YOU. As I mentioned earlier we need more names on our list to call for help when the need arises, so please give the Drop-In-Centre a call.

Caring thoughts Joy– TCF Co-ordinator


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GROWING AROUND GRIEF
Another way of looking at grief and recovery . . .
Lois Tonkin, Grief Counsellor, Wellington, New Zealand, TCF VIC Newsletter Aug/Sept 2006

Whether we realise it or not, we live in a world of models. Not models whose time is spent strutting the catwalk, but those that exist within our minds, and by which we frame the way we see our lives and work. Our models of the world are created by what we are taught, and by our experience of life.

As a novice grief counselor some years ago, the model of grief within which I saw my first clients (poor things) was largely a theoretical one. Generalising wildly, one can say that most theories of grief postulate a series of stages, culminating in resolution. It was against this framework that I placed my clients’ stories. What concerned me was the people I talked to who told me that their grief certainly did not end in the way I thought it should. Most of the clients fitted the model well, but there was a sizeable minority whose ‘resolution stage’ did not match up. I was perplexed in grief group discussions when I would hear these people, whose lives were obviously going on and growing, quietly say that their pain was sometimes just as bad as ever, and had never really gone away.

Then, in an Elisabeth Kubler-Ross workshop some years ago, an unknown woman described a model of grief which fitted her experience. I am indebted to this woman because her model made sense of grief for me in a way that others had not, and has comforted many clients to whom I have shown it since. Colleagues have also found it useful so, with thanks to a woman I do not know, I pass it on .

The woman’s child had died some years before. At this time, she said, grief consumed her totally, filling every part of her life, awake and asleep. She drew a picture (Figure 1) with a circle to represent her life and shading to represent her grief. She had imagined that as time went by the grief would shrink and become neatly encapsulated in her life, in a small and manageable way; she was realistic enough to assume that it would not go away entirely. (Figure 2)
But what happened was different. The grief stayed just as big, but her life grew around it (Figure 3). There were times, anniversaries or moments which reminded her of her child, when she operated entirely from out of the shaded circle in her life and her grief felt just as intense as it ever had been. But, increasingly, she was able to experience life in the larger circle.

What helps some clients about this model (and it does not fit everyone) is that it relieves them of the expectation that their grief would largely go away. It explains the dark days, and also describes the richness and depth the grief has given to their lives. As grief counselors we can encourage them, as time goes by, in tentative attempts to ‘grow a new life’. My clients have felt comforted using this model, that they can do so without the sense of disloyalty to the deceased that so often holds back bereaved people. In this way they continue the process of integrating the loss within their lives, and moving forwards …



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Time will ease the hurt
by Bruce B Wilmer, TCF Mag, Vic, Aust, No 171, Jun-Jul 2007

The sadness of the present days, is locked and set in time,
and meaning to the future is a slow and painful climb.
But all the feelings that are now so vivid and so real
can't hold their fresh intensity as time begins to heal.

No wound so deep will ever go entirely away;
yet every hurt becomes a little less from day to day.
Nothing can erase the painful imprints on your mind;
but there are softer memories that time will let you find.
Though your heart won’t let the sadness simply slide away,
the echoes will diminish even though the memories stay.


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GOOD-BYE
By Jan-Marie Gillis, TCF, Qld, © copyright protected 29 September 2007.

I’m very sorry I left without saying, “Good-bye”,
I didn’t have a choice. I’m very sorry I left so suddenly but my name was called by His Heavenly voice.
Death may steal our Loved one without a chance to say good-bye
If we parted in argument or upset then we will always question why
Why we weren’t given a second chance?
We seek answers and forgiveness but can’t see solutions and our mind is out of balance.

Sleepless nights, and tears cascade down my face.
I want to escape the human race I lay there not wanting to rise
Then Mother Nature greets me with a beautiful surprise
On the window sill she sat, the most colourful and exquisite butterfly
She breathed the fragrance of the pretty flowers I’d bought for you and left without a good-bye
Slowly my mind tuned into the many times of happiness we shared together
Our laughter during our pillow fight and stuck on your cute nose was the bright, yellow feather
I realised that there had been a battle going on between my conscience and my heart
I had been condemning my own existence and I’d placed all guilt and blame on my part.
Now I realised that I had a right to heal
Now I realised that I had a right to feel
Now and again I would feel insecure
Slowly I realised I had a new Inner-strength which would help me endure.

It’s Not the unspoken “good-bye” that is responsible for our pain and loss
It’s the unspoken “I love you or I care for you” that causes us to turn and toss
Put depression, hopelessness and worry to rest, for the Angels guide the way for those who leave this earth
Life is unpredictable and full of mystery from the moment of birth.

The colourful, exquisite butterfly returned and I
Thanked her for her silent message which came from Heaven above.
Courage, patience and time helps us to cope with losing someone we love
And without a good-bye she flew away and I sat for a while.
Tiny buds of faith and hope were growing in my heart and upon my face blossomed a bright, happy smile.


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Lighting A Candle for Rebecca

Rebecca, today I will light a candle for you
To shatter all the darkness and bless the times we knew.
Like a beacon in the night
The flame will burn bright and guide us on our way.
Oh, today, my darling daughter, I light a candle for you.

The seasons come and go, and I’m weary from the change.
I keep on moving on, you know it’s not the same.
And when I’m walking all alone
Do you hear me call your name?
Do you hear me sing the songs we used to sing?

You filled my life with wonder, touched me with surprise.
Always saw that something special deep within your eyes.
And through the good times and the bad,
We carried on with pride. I hold onto the love and life we knew.

The roses in your garden bloom large,
And varied in hue from crimson deep, to barely pink,
I cup the velvet bud, its fragrances soothes a troubled mind,
This must be you, my darling girl. Are you there?

Rebecca, today I will light a candle for you.
To shatter all the darkness and bless the times we knew.
Like a beacon in the night
The flame will burn bright and guide us on our way.
Oh, today, my darling daughter, I light a candle for you.

Submitted by Patricia Cotterill, TCF Qld In loving memory of her daughter, Rebecca, aged 25 years, Whose birthday is on Valentine’s Day 14/2/77 and Who passed away on Christmas Day 2002 in Amsterdam.



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Doing well with our grief

We are doing well with our grief when we are grieving.
Somehow we have it backwards.
We think people are doing well when they aren’t crying.
Grief is a process of walking through some painful periods toward learning to cope again.
We do not walk this path without pain and tears,
When we are in the most pain, we are making the most progress.
When the pain is less, we are coasting and resting up for the next steps.
People need to grieve.
Grief is not an enemy to be avoided; it is a healing path to be walked.

From HOPE Line Newsletter, August 2002
Submitted by Lyn Atkinson, TCF Qld

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HOMICIDE: A Prolonged Suffering
By Becky A. Miller, Glendale, Arizona
Bereavement Mag, Jan/Feb 1995

My son, Brian, was robbed and murdered almost three years ago, just two weeks after his eighteenth birthday. They say on a scale of one to ten, losing a child is a ten, but I believe that losing a child to murder is an eleven. There is nothing worse. There is nothing as shattering and devastating … nothing else has turned my entire world, my entire being, so completely (and even sometimes irreversibly) upside down.

As a mother, all I knew those first few weeks was intense pain and a conviction that my son had been taken away from me. But I decided they were not going to take ME away from me, unless I let them. The three young, gang members who took my son from me had taken enough! I could not afford to lose anymore, yet I had no idea how to remain strong enough so that my family could also remain strong. Little did I ever imagine just what an undertaking that would be as we suffered the next years of injustice, pain and anger in the reality of what life should never be.

Suddenly, we were thrust into the strange world of a judicial system that we had known nothing about before this happened (except from our television world of make believe).
We thought we were lucky that the three people involved with our son’s death had been caught and jailed by the fifth day of the murder, but that was where our “luck” ended. Mistakes made by both the detectives and the prosecutor eventually ended with the eighteen-year-old man who actually shot our son serving only seven years because of a plea bargain.

The authorities thought that one of the three, a seventeen-year-old, had shot Brian, and they wanted the other two to testify to that fact to ensure his conviction. However, halfway through the trial, we learned that he was not the one who killed our son. The prosecutor tried to make amends through legal channels, but it was not to be.

Curiously, the seventeen-year-old is serving twenty years for his part in the robbery. The judicial system in this country is in desperate need of major change before it can ever be called a “justice” system.

Because I wanted to give meaning to my son’s life and death, I was motivated to get involved with helping to change some of the things that I believe need to be changed, such as the juvenile gun ordinance in our city.

I also joined a support group called Parents of Murdered Children. At first, I was appalled that an organisation by that name even existed, but that was before I fully realised that I was the parent of a murdered child! First, I took help from this wonderful support group of people who have suffered life’s worst and yet try to go on and still see the good in life. Now, I am giving back to this organisation by serving as it’s Phoenix Chapter President and writing its monthly newsletter.

I would like to say that it has all been easy, but that would be a lie. Some have been amazed at the strength they perceive in me through all of this, but no one is really that strong. My motivation has been for my son’s memory, for Christie, my remaining daughter, and my husband, Don, and for other family members and friends who are suffering from the horror of losing someone close to them because of a cold, cruel murderer. Even after three years, the effects are ravaging my son’s friends and our family. The pain is never-ending, so I simply try to give meaning to the pain.

We have struggled to remain close and stay whole, and we have survived. We have lost some friends who could not handle the reality of what we have had to live with, but we have also gained many friends. Though we have seen the absolute worst life can be, we are lucky enough to have seen the best, too, through the love and compassion of many.

Although, my belief system is stronger now than ever, it has changed also. I do not, as some others do, believe God had my son murdered as part of His plan. My God is all-loving and could not be so cruel to me. I do believe He knew it would happen, and I believe what my pastor said at our son’s funeral, “God was the first to cry when Brian was killed.”

Man killed my son … Man, with his free will to choose the right or the wrong path. At times, I have actually felt sorry for my son’s killers, because I know if they had been raised with the same love, compassion and teaching as my son had, they could never have killed. I have been angrier at their parents and the society that failed them.

Now, when we have to face a parole hearing for the release of the one who actually killed our child in cold blood, I hope we will be able to face it with the same strength and conviction we have maintained since Brian’s death. It will not be easy, but I believe it will be possible.

Grief is like a roller coaster ride of ups and downs, and our ride through the judicial system has seemed endless with twists and turns. But Brian’s memory will see us through, and the love we shared will be stronger than what we have lost.

We are like a jigsaw puzzle with the missing piece. We have put together the puzzle, and though it is incomplete, it is still a picture. We are missing one of those pieces, but we are still a family. We will always feel the pain of its loss, but we will be a family regardless. We owe it to ourselves to be the best we can despite our loss, of an arm or leg … it is gone and we have no choice … but we still miss that part.

Forever, I will miss my son and feel the pain of his death, but as time goes on, I tuck away a little more of that pain deep inside. In the first few months and years, it was so horrible that I found myself wishing for a magic pill to ease the pain by erasing my memory for just a little while. There are no magic pills, of course, but with time, the pain did become easier to handle.

After Brian was killed, I had to learn to follow some advice I had given him a couple of years earlier. For many years, he had suffered from fear attacks about dying. While he was in the throes of those horrid attacks, he would scream out at night, and I would run in and comfort him. While his heart raced in his chest, I would search my soul for an answer to his fears. I told him that everyone would die sometime, and though we never know when, we could not live our lives with the fear of dying. To do so, would not be living.

To live my life now, afraid to venture out into the same world that killed my son, would not be living either. At times, the fear and pain make it difficult, but I do it for my son … in his memory. It is the final gift of a mother to her child who is no longer here. It is a fitting tribute to that deep bond that began the moment I knew I was pregnant, and it will continue until the end of time itself.
I love you, Brian.


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MISSING GRADUATE



Parents’ happy faces all around me,
With a glow from within,
Pomp and Circumstance is playing,
Now the programme will begin.

The graduates are lined up,
They are coming down the aisle,
Some have serious faces, yet
Some have a little smile.

I look down the aisle,
Hoping for your face to come into sight,
This is your class,
It was to be your graduation night.

All the graduates pass by,
But none of them are you.
A tug at my heart tells me,
You are not here, your death is true.

God called you home …
I wanted you here in such a bad way.
Looking into your classmates’ faces,
Do they recall you, missing this day?

Memories, sweet memories,
Now fill my mind and heart.
There will be no golden tassle
This day for my Sweetheart.

The class is oh! So happy,
This isn’t the time to be blue,
Now I must go shake a hand,
And get a hug or two.

Emma Valenteen, TCF, USA

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TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF
Origin unknown
Lifted from “Reflections”, TCF WA, Dec 00 & TCF Qld Dec02/Jan03

Give yourself permission, time and space to grieve.

Don’t pretend death doesn’t hurt.

Don’t judge your level of grief and healing by how others are grieving and healing.

Understand and accept your limitations.

Respect your partner’s timetable and method of grieving.

Don’t escape into loneliness.

Get rid of imagined guilt and “If only’s’.

Laughter does not mean you are being disrespectful to your loved one’s memory.

Confront the fears of your death and the death of other loved ones.

Cry.

Honestly express your feelings about this death to people who will understand and not be judgmental, and who will not be hurt by your honest expression of feelings.

Recognise that seeking professional counseling does not mean you are weak, inadequate or crazy.

Use religion, philosophy, poetry, music, art, gardening, tennis, walks at nature centres, reading, volunteer work to gain relief and understanding.

Talk about your experience to friends who were involved and to friends who were not involved with the death.

Accept your friends with all their imperfections and occasional bad advice, you too have your moments of imperfection.

Tell others what you want from them, help, emotional support, time sharing.

Continue to participate in activities that are fun for you and with people who are special to you, don’t underestimate the effects of small pleasures.


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I AM THE NEW YEAR

I am the New Year.
I am unused, unspotted, without blemish. I stretch before you three hundred and sixty-five days long. I will present each day in its turn, a new leaf in the Book of Life, for you to place upon it your imprint.

It remains for you to make of me what you will; if you write with firm steady strokes, my pages will be a joy to look upon when the next New Year comes. If the pen falters, if uncertainty or doubt should mar the page, it will become a day to remember with pain.

I am the New Year. Each hour of the three hundred and sixty-five days, I will give you sixty minutes that have never known the use of man. White and pure, I present them; it remains for you to fill each with sixty jeweled seconds of love, hope, endeavour, patience and trust in God.

I am the New Year. I am here—but once past, I can never be recalled. Make me your best.

Author Unknown TCF Qld, Dec/Jan 02/03


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A New School Year Begins. . .

A new school year is beginning, the time by which we need to have new school clothes and supplies. The time to be meeting new teachers and new friends.

The time to . . . What? Watch with tear-filled eyes as the bus picks up other children for school, but no longer stops by our house. To see other parents standing with their eager little ones, waiting for that first school bus ride to the ‘big’ school. To see tears of joy in the eyes of other parents through the tears of pain in our own.

Watch with anxious anticipation as the kids begin middle school. New experiences, new expectations, new fears. Time to wonder if we told them enough to keep them safe from peer pressure. Time to wonder if we are giving them too much freedom or not enough. Time to learn that saying “I love you” must be done in private. Time to realise that, with us, “I love you” will always be said in silence.

Time to watch our teenagers experience high school and its freedoms and decisions. Time to hand over the sports coaching to someone we don’t know. Time to wonder if our child is taking too many academic hours (or too much sport!). Time to wonder what temptations await our children. Time to wonder about that car they bought. Time to realise all these things are happening to some other parent.

Time to buy single bed linen for the college dorm. Time to buy a new computer to take to school and keep the old one for us. Time to get an extra credit card for the student “just in case”. Time to give last minute instructions about calling home every Sunday night. Time to listen to other parents talk about these experiences.

No, for us, the beginning of a new school year brings more sadness for what ‘should have been’ and for what we and our children are now missing out on.

An adaptation of an article written by Sondra Wright, TCF Atlanta Lifted from TCF Qld Feb/Mar 2003.

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NOSTALGIA

by Barb Williams, TCF, Fort Wayne, USA

The school bells ring, young voices sing,
And small ones shout with glee.
The autumn air beckons school to start,
and left alone is me.

What makes me feel so down and blue,
And boggled down with thoughts of you?
I see the school bus passing by
And find myself with a tear in my eye.

Is it the clothes that we can’t buy
While others grab the jeans to try,
Or is it autumn in the air
That pulls at heartstrings—already bare?

Maybe it’s falling leaves and dying grass,
Bringing reflections like a looking-glass,
Whatever the reason that stirs my heart,
Every year when school must start
Reminds me how much I miss you

TCF Qld, Dec/Jan, 1992-1993

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SCHOOL —without my child

It is now seventeen years since our youngest son didn’t return to school, - it seems he is stuck for eternity as a nine and a half year old in year 4 at school. He should have started year 5 in 1992 at a boys’ college where his 2 older brothers were already in years 9 and 10. I feel we have left our youngest behind in the past, but I don’t want him there, I want him here in the present!! It would have been great to see him going off to the boys’ college and then on to University or TAFE. What would he have been doing now? I will never know. He was and always will be to me, the most cheeky, affectionate and loving little boy.

Unfortunately, we don’t see any of his school friends now. I wonder what they are doing? Even if I did see his friends it might be too painful, as it would be a constant reminder of what I don’t have, namely my youngest son and of what he didn’t have the opportunity to achieve.

It’s very disturbing going into shops just after Christmas (about the worst time of the year for me) and seeing all the school paraphernalia for sale. I try not to look at it and let my feelings flow in and then out, whereas in the past I would have avoided going to the shops at all.

A year after my son died, I started working at a new school in my area. This was quite difficult, but looking back, in the end it helped me adjust. I was the one going off to school each new school year, not my son. By confronting, head-on, the issue of my son not returning to school, I was able to divert the lonely, empty feelings associated with the commencement of each new school year—probably being so busy also distracted me and helped me through those gut-wrenching feelings of loss and abandonment.

Cheryl, TCF Qld Editor
(Do any of our members want to share their feelings about the new school year beginning without their child being there?)

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It’s Okay
Patricia Lufty Nevitt, TCF, Austin, TX TCF Qld, Dec/Jan, 1996/97

It’s Okay to Grieve: The death of a child is a reluctant and drastic amputation, without anesthesia. The pain cannot be described and no scale can measure the loss. We despise the truth that the death cannot be reversed and, somehow, our dear one returned. Such hurt! It’s okay to grieve.

It’s Okay to Cry: Tears release the flood of sorrow, of missing and of love. Tears relieve the brute force of hurting, enabling us to ‘level off’ and continue our cruise along the stream of life. It’s okay to cry.

It’s Okay to Heal: We do not need to ‘prove’ we love our child. As the months pass, we are slowly able to move around with less outward grieving each day. We need not feel ‘guilty’, for this is not an indication that we love less. It does mean that, although we don’t like it, we are learning to accept death. It’s a healthy sign of healing. It’s okay to heal.

It’s Okay to Laugh: Laughter is not a sign of ‘less’ grief. Laughter is not a sign of ‘less’ love. It’s a sign that many of our thoughts and memories are happy ones. It’s a sign that we know our dear one would have us laugh. It’s okay to laugh.


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BE PATIENT
by Susan Taylor, TCF/Winnipeg, Canada

Be patient.
My child has died.
A light in my life has been snuffed out!
A piece of me is gone forever!
It is said that the depth of love signifies the depth of grief.
This must be true for my love is deeper than I can say.
My grief is so intense that sometimes moment to moment is unbearable.

Be patient.
Today I may smile and laugh;
But tomorrow I may be cranky.
I am hurting and I am confused.
Sometimes I am angry that I am in this nightmare.
Other times I feel totally and completely at peace
Because I sense my child is free and no longer suffers.

Be patient.
I know I must move on with my life.
I must because others need me and I need them.
The road to recovery is difficult because it has peaks and valleys.
I know my child would want me to move on as well.
I am afraid. Will I forget my child’s gentle voice?
Will I forget that tender touch?
No! I will take all the beautiful memories for I was blessed to have this child.

Be patient.
I am told and read that grieving parents learn from their child’s death and teach others.
What am I to learn?
Who am I to teach?
If I am to teach it should be positive.
Whatever can I learn and teach from this journey that is positive?
With your compassion and support I can make it.
Along the way I will try very hard to learn the positive messages to teach others.
More than anything I want my child, my family and friends to be proud of me.

Be patient.
I may cry;
I may laugh;
I may be angry;
I may be at peace
At any given time today and today’s tomorrow
But tomorrow’s tomorrows will bring happiness.
I am trying to seek happiness now but I am tired and fragile.
I see other bereaved parents who have gone before me.
They have made it down this long hard road.
I will as well.
Be patient.

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