The Compassionate Friends
Brisbane Newsletter
June / July 2007
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The
Compassionate Friends
Brisbane Newsletter
June / July 2007
This July Web Page is Dedicated to
the beautiful memory
of my precious daughter Kelly Maree Pollitt.
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Faith
By Kathie Winkler,
Middleburg Heights, Ohio
Bereavement Magazine Holiday Issue 2005,
BereavementResources.com
It’s
funny how the smallest things
Keep you near me.
I’ll hear a song or smell a scent
And feel you instantly.
When you first left, these smallest things
Were painful to endure.
But now I find, they bring me peace
And gently reassure.
Although I know you’ve gone ahead
Into the great unknown.
I feel your presence by my side
As I cross each stepping stone.
And faith that you are with me
Guides my footsteps through the dark.
It lets me know you lead my way,
With your own spiritual spark.
My faith is strong and hope is great,
That we will meet again.
For now, I’ll simply carry on,
Always missing you—till then.
Grieving Couples
Extract from a pamphlet produced by the National Office of TCF UK
Reprinted from TCF Qld April/May 2001 Newsletter
In any relationship, we care for and support each other, but when
a child dies the grief is so overwhelming that fathers and
mothers are often unable to help each other. Though both parents
are bereaved, they may express their grief so differently that
many couples fear that their relationship is falling apart. Many
women cry frequently and are able to talk openly about their
pain, whereas most men have absorbed the message, from family or
society, that ‘big boys don’t cry’; tears in
public are only permissible for a short time after the death.
While some fathers do cry with other people, quite a number cry
in private; consequently their tears are not known, and the myth
that men don’t cry is perpetuated.
Most men find it difficult to talk about their pain, and this
suppression of grief can cause a man to appear cold, irritable,
angry or depressed. Some men avoid going home after work because
going home to the mother—who usually wants to talk about her
or their grief, or that of the surviving child—is just too
much to bear. This attitude can make many wives and mothers feel
that the husband ‘does not care’, ‘did not love
the child as much’, etc. Guilt and anger are experienced
over some or all of these things, and the anger can often be
directed at each other as the most convenient targets. Because
all the feelings are so intense, and because the couple naturally
are unable to step back and see what is happening, marriages and
other relationships can flounder and break up, leaving both
partners with yet another loss to bear.
Grieving is an individual process and your partner may not be
able to give you all the help you need. This can increase your
sorrow and misery, and may turn to anger and bitterness. If,
prior to the child’s death, there were problems in the
marriage, this tragedy can cause them to recur.
Sexual intercourse may become an area of contention. For many men
the sexual act satisfies the feeling of being needed, gives
comfort and releases tension, as well as being an expression of
love. For mothers, the pleasure of the act and the association of
love-making with child-bearing can cause feelings of guilt after
the death of their child. A woman usually needs to feel relaxed
to participate in the sexual act, but this is difficult to
achieve because of the stress and tension in grief. Even in
relationships that were ‘problem-free’ before the child
died, sexual relationships can take a very long time to resume.
We should not expect too much of each other. Surviving brothers
and sisters may be difficult or unmanageable because of their
grief and the struggle to find their place in the re-structured
family. This could be a source of strain for the parents; each
may think differently about the way the behaviour should be
handled, and this can cause friction. Alternatively they may feel
so overwhelmed by the whole situation that they are unable to
cope with all the difficulties.
An understanding of the situation is the first step towards
saving and strengthening a relationship or marriage. Some of the
following suggestions may be helpful.
Talk to each other, although this can be difficult at first, it
gets easier and is very rewarding ultimately. Be patient with
yourself and with each other. Recognise that it is normal and
natural to grieve in different ways and at different paces. Be
aware of each other’s mood swings; they may not coincide. Be
understanding of each other’s needs for time and privacy to
grieve individually, and also for time together without the other
children. Share household chores and support each other through
bad patches and ‘blue days’.
Try to understand and discuss how to handle the surviving
children’s grief. Talk together, and with them, about how
they are coping, discussing what you will do with the dead
child’s clothes, books, sports equipment, bedroom, etc. Seek
help from others as and when necessary. The Compassionate Friends
library has books which may be helpful in this situation.
Try to be affectionate with each other, to stay in touch
physically; hugging and touching are important. Help each other
towards enjoying life again, try to laugh together as well as
cry. Look for outings, hobbies, activities to do together and as
a family.
The need to recall and reminisce from time to time about the
child who has died always remains, and the person with whom this
can be most fully shared is the other parent. Even so, there is a
need to realize that life does exist beyond the death of the
beloved child. As important as this daughter or son is, and as
much as you feel the agony of her or his death, your relationship
involves more than this child.
Your husband, wife or partner need not be the only source of
healing. Contact with other bereaved parents through The
Compassionate Friends can be very supportive; it helps a lot to
realize that other couples are going through very similar
experiences. New and lasting friendships are made because of
shared grief. This is an unexpected aspect of The Compassionate
Friends, which has spread all over the world.
Grandmother,
Nettie, to an Angel
Conor Jeremy McAuliffe 3/5/2003-22/7/2006
I submitted the poem “A Grandparents Lament” to you
after a friend had emailed me saying, “Don’t you think
you should have got used to living without your little grandson
by now? You have five others.”
It is ONLY nine months since he went to Heaven, although
sometimes it feels like a lifetime but all the memories we have
of his three short years are still so vivid. I know I will NEVER
get used to not having him in our life. This was only one
insensitive comment. I have heard them all. Of course, I forgive
my friends because fortunately they have not experienced this
grief, the loss of a grandchild, and I hope they never
understand.
When the unthinkable happens and you lose a grandchild you
quickly find it difficult to find people who really understand.
In NO way can I relate my pain to that of a parent who has lost a
child and I know that they must find this almost too much to
bear. My daughter and son-in-law are two of the most amazing,
caring and courageous people I know and I know there are many
more out there who somehow continue to live and care for their
children while their grief must be absolutely crippling in every
sense.
I can only speak as a Grandmother and one who is only nine months
down the grief journey but I know in the first few weeks I felt I
had lost everything. I had lost a grandchild, and until you have
had one of those you cannot comprehend the love you feel for
them. Although you have not given birth to them they are of your
flesh and blood and steal your heart. When my little man died I
felt as if a piece of my heart had broken off and will not be
re-attached until we meet again.
I also mourn for my daughter, who is not the child I knew before
she lost her child. When you bring a child into this world your
aim is to nurture and protect them and make sure they grow into
adults. When they don’t and they suffer the immeasurable
pain of losing their child you feel, as a parent, that you too
let your child down and you cannot fix it but that is what you
strive to do. Once a Mother, always a Mother. In hindsight I
realize this drive to help your child probably only adds to your
child’s grief, I think that to survive grief you need to be
selfish and in a way I think the grieving parents feel as if they
may be expected to help the grieving grandparent. Of course, the
grandparent does not want to be helped by them; they just want to
ease their pain.
As I struggled with this I forgot myself. I subscribed to The
Compassionate Friends but live too far away to attend meetings. I
knew if I phoned it was at a desperate moment and all I would do
was cry. I wanted to be hugged. I tried counseling with some
success but once again an eight hour round trip to get there and
afterwards I was exhausted. I read books on helping others in
their grief, some helped but I felt a failure because I was not
close enough to help my child with every day chores, as is
suggested in nearly every book. I could not just call in and let
her sleep in her exhaustion while I took the other children. All
the books say DON’T ASK WHAT THEY WANT, THEY DON’T
KNOW. But I could not risk driving four hours to find I was not
needed and in fact I may have been in the way, an extra body in
their house. It was so hard; I felt useless, exhausted myself and
could not seem to find a good place to be with my grieving child.
I was falling into a deep dark cavern where I wanted to hide away
with my own sadness, some days just go to sleep and stay asleep.
I am in a good marriage but my husband did not understand my
grief nor feel that sadness himself. Our relationship suffered as
I withdrew, as he just expected me to be the normal, happy wife I
was before. He could not understand why I could not find the
enthusiasm for things I once loved. I felt like a shell.
After searching and searching finally I was directed in the right
direction and I found a website called www.agast.org/ and went to
forums and registered. It is for grandparents only. As I read the
posts in the beginning all I could do was cry for all the other
grandparents but finally I plucked up the courage and posted my
story. I could have written the words they wrote in their
answers. THEY UNDERSTOOD. I was not crazy!! The sadness I felt
for my grandchild, for my daughter, for the other children, for
not being able to find a way to help, for the friends I have
lost...they ALL understood. These grandparents are now my BEST
friends despite the fact most of them live in the States. I have
found others who have faced the death of toddlers, some also to
cancer, who understand my personal grief and we help each other.
However, NO matter how your angel died you are still a grieving
grandparent with slight variations. Some of us have 100s of
photos, others none, others a few. Some got to “know”
their babies, others never held them but we are all in the same
place, where no one wants to be.
My own friends do not understand when I answer the phone and
still cry...so they have stopped phoning. I cannot party as I
used to so the invitations are not so forthcoming. I do not have
the energy to organize to visit people so they don’t visit
me.
The BEST piece of advice given to me on the agast forum was ...as
in an aircraft the hostess says.. “Put your own oxygen mask
on first then you can help others”. I took this on board and
faced my own grief for the first time and in the beginning I
crashed. I felt my own pain for the first time in months. I was
grieving for my grandson, for my child and her husband and their
children, I was hurting, I was suffering some post traumatic
stress and I was just not functioning. Gradually I read and
posted on the forum and found ever so gradually that some days
got better. I now know I am normal, I am a long way from being
whole again. Maybe I never will be. I exist...I think about my
grandson and his family EVERY mini second of EVERY day and I cry
every day. Some days I sob all day but I can normalize that now.
I do have ok days too.
I again have hope that one day I will learn to live again and
feel happy. I will never forget my precious grandson, I will love
him forever. I value the lessons he taught me, I try to do
something in his honour daily and I value every day I am here. I
am lucky. My relationship with my daughter is healing...I know it
was a normal hiccough and no matter what, our love and respect
for each other will survive. We will always have a link missing
in our family chain but we will learn to gently negotiate that
pain.
Now I am not sure WHY I wrote this essay...maybe part of the
healing process I need and I did wonder if you are able to
publish the Agast website in your newsletter. Just as parents
whose children have gone to heaven need a safe place to talk to
other parents who have experienced the loss of a child, so do us
grandparents. Some people say grandparents are forgotten in
grief, some say we cry twice. I cannot answer that because
fortunately I never lost a child but I can say it is a
complicated and difficult journey. Thank you for listening and
for the work you do.
Lovingly written & submitted by Lyn Atkinson, TCF Qld
Printed with permission
Back to Index
YOU
MUST GET OVER IT !!!
By Penny
Blaze
“Thanatos”, Autumn 1991
Reprinted TCF Qld April/May Newsletter, 1995
The other day a friend of mine and I were having a conversation
about how angry he felt when someone said to him “You must
get over it and move on with your life.” He lost his son to
suicide just a few months ago. Dick said he would love to get
over “it” but how and what was “it”?
Thinking back over my early stages of grief, I remembered feeling
the same way as Dick. I was confused at what “it” was
and how to overcome “it”. Was “it” our child?
Was “it” the death? Was “it” our pain? Were
they saying that I was not dealing with my grief properly? I was
trying so hard to get over “it” but how does one stop
the overwhelming pain? I wanted to scream and ask what the
formula was that would rid me of such intense emotions.
As I walked my individual journey of grief, I learned how to deal
with people telling me such things. These are some of the ways I
found for coping.
Most people mean well when they say these things. They just do
not want you to hurt anymore and try to “push” you
forward. They do not understand the hurt and confusion they cause
by such statements.
Most people do not understand the process of grieving and we need
to gently educate them. They have no idea, unless they have had a
similar loss, of the time and energy it takes to walk through
grief.
Whenever you hear words like “should” or
“must” from people giving you advice, beware of their
words. They are usually reciting old “scripts” that may
not apply to you.
Some people cannot handle the death of your child and want you to
get over “it” so they do not have to deal with the
issues your loss brings up for them. It is best to limit the time
you spend with this type of person especially in your early
stages of grief.
You never get over “it” because that would mean you
would have to stop loving that person or remembering your life
together. The pain we feel is just a reminder that we loved so
very deeply. Many times I will tell people just that!
It takes time, commitment and courage to incorporate such a deep
pain into ourselves. We have to address the pain directly, feel
it’s power, understand it and finally befriend it before we
can rebuild our lives.
I believe this process is one of the most difficult challenges of
being human. We need loving and caring people to support us
through this difficult time. Many times you can find such people
in your church, family, support groups, therapists and friends.
Build yourself a support system that will aid you through your
journey. Limit your interaction with people you do not find
supportive. Remember, this is one of the most challenging times
of your life and you will need a strong support system.
There is no set limit to your individual grief journey. The key
is to keep moving forward along the path and not become stuck
along the way. The time it takes is of little importance. From
time to time, you may even feel you are slipping backwards and
that is perfectly normal. It may be necessary to revisit an event
or set of feelings in order to take the next important step
forward.
I can tell you that it does get better. It takes courage to face
each emotion and keep moving along that road. I have faith that
each one of you has that courage.
Matt, I just knew it was you
By Ruby
Hansen, Coralville, Iowa
Bereavement Magazine January/February 1997
When I’m down, I hear you say, “Mom, I’m right
here.”
When I saw that young man at Hyvee, I saw you. It was not only in
the way he walked, but how he carried himself so proudly.
So often I have seen you in visions, Matt. You no longer need
your glasses and the shell fragments that claimed your life are
no longer even visible.
Last Saturday, I sent a balloon into the heavens, it just hung in
mid-air, debating whether to go. I just knew it was you. I cried
today, when visiting the cemetery. As the tears rolled down my
cheeks, a light breeze on a quiet day, dried them. Of course, I
just knew it was you.
Matt, you’re always sending me signs. Yesterday a friend
came over with a bouquet of flowers. She said you told her to. I
don’t doubt her in the least.
My spiritual ears and eyes are opened. I see visions and dreams,
and I see you. I hear your voice, I feel your presence, and I am
never alone. More and more, I feel your touch, your presence in
the lives and hearts of caring people. I know you give me
strength and encouragement, for I need to believe and trust in my
experiences. As you have reminded me, reality is in the eyes of
the beholder.
I believe you can find me anywhere, anytime and momentarily. I
believe as I open my mind and heart to explore and grow, I will
find you also. At times, I know you come in disguise. But a
mother knows her child; I just knew it was you.
Back to Index
Angels in Heaven
By Higher Faith
It happened so fast everything was a blur
And everyone came by and said how sorry they were
I knew that they meant well, so I tried to force a smile
And they said I should be thankful that I had him for a while
But now all my friends and my family have gone home
I am just left here sitting with my memories all alone
I’ve always heard that God does everything right
I just wish My Angels weren’t in Heaven tonight
I know there are some things beyond our control
And some things only God can decide
That won’t stop this hurting that I feel in my soul
I just wish My Angels weren’t in Heaven tonight
Oh I know there are some things beyond our control
Some things only God can decide
Oh but that won’t stop this hurting that I feel in my soul
I just wish My Angels weren’t in Heaven tonight
God won’t you please Kiss My Angel Good Night
Good Night
Written in loving memory of
Christopher Ronald Faller,
7/5/90—24/3/98
Lifted from TCF Atlanta Online, May 2004
Back to Index
My
Brief Rainbow
By Peggy
Kociscin, Albuquerque, New Mexico
Bereavement Magazine, May 1993
Rainbows appear only on dreary, rainy days.
They beautify the world for a few brief moments.
These moments, however, can be spectacular.
YOU were my brief rainbow.
You entered my life and stayed for but a short while.
Nonetheless, the memories of those moments
When you blessed us with laughter and delight,
Joy and smiles, charm and beauty, gaiety and happiness,
Mischief and silliness, sunlight and moonbeams,
Giggles and love (ad infinitum) …
Made the deluge,
The tears of pain and anger,
Helplessness and fear, insanity and agony,
Sadness and heartbreak,
Emptiness and loneliness
Bearable.
Rainbows, however brief,
Make the world a brighter, lovelier place.
How grateful I am that I had you,
My brief rainbow.
AM I
CRAZY?
By Illeana Martin, www.heartsonastring.com/memorials,. Lifted
from TCF Atlanta Online, April 2006
Do you ever wonder if you will go crazy? Since my son died I have
felt that I teetered on the edge of an abyss. One wrong turn, one
misstep and I’ll fall, and never come back out. Maybe it
isn’t insanity, maybe it is depression. Maybe it is Terror.
Maybe my energy is diminishing fighting against this idea every
day.
When I was a teen my Mom mentioned on occasions that she thought
I might be crazy. I knew I wasn’t, I didn’t have the
right symptoms. But I have always felt a little off-balance. Like
I was being stalked by something, waiting for me to make the
wrong decision. I always felt insecure of myself and not very
smart.
The best I can describe my life after my son died is like this.
There is a layer of me that is functional, normal if you will. I
can make it through a day like every other person. But if I look
too deep inside there is a big gaping black hole. Eating me from
the inside. I think I make myself so busy to keep from falling
in. If I run it won’t be able to keep up. Nothing I have
ever been able to do after my son died has made it go away. Its
there waiting for me to stop fighting, to go on living.
Some days I get up, and it is close to taking over. I can’t
function. It has outrun me. I sit in the dark and watch TV all
day, swallowed by the desolation. Crying until I get so tired I
fall asleep,.
The next day I wake up fine, it is far away and no threat to me
or my life. So I start running again. I hate going to sleep. I
never know which day I will wake up to inside the “black
hole”. I feel like having to live my life on-guard because I
have no idea when this “black cloud”, will cover me
again.
From
“Healing After Loss”
By Martha Whitmore Hickman, Lifted from TCF Atlanta Online, April
2006
Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow, too?
Can I see another’s grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
William Blake
One of the things grief does for us is to sensitize us to the
grief of others. At first this is no particular gift; we are too
aware of our own sadness to think about the sorrows of others.
But sooner than we think, we will learn of people with grief like
ours, and will reach out to them.
Maybe they will be people we already know. Maybe they will be
strangers. But if circumstances throw us together and we have a
chance to talk, we will be strangers no more. We will know
immediately the suffering each other is going through and we will
be mutually strengthened and uplifted in the new relationship.
This story continues. As others who know our story experience
their own tragedies, they will turn to us for help, and our
empathy will give them comfort and hope. We will also be reminded
of how far we have come and of the commonality of the human story
that enables us to love and support each other.
I am a member of the human family and all in need are my brothers
and sisters.
Back to Index
XAVIER LUKE EDEN PITOT
1990-2005
Aged: 15 years 18 days
Black hair, green eyes and olive skin,
A deep strong voice and a cheeky grin.
Tall and strong, you caught the eye,
But something more is the reason why…
It’s your gift to others while you were here,
Never compromising, Just giving your all with no sear.
You celebrated life the way it’s meant,
Every day for you was a special event.
Loved beyond measure, you already know,
Thanking God for you Xavie,
Mum and your Dad (Old Man Snow)!!
Love you Son.
Love you Bro,
Matthew, Giselle, Eve, Raphael, Isabelle, Gabrielle & Dominic
Loving submitted by his parents, Alison & Marcel, TCF Qld
There Has To Be A Song
By Robert Benson
TCFatlanta.org/SoundsofChristmas2002
There has to be a song…..
There are too many dark nights,
Too many troublesome days,
Too many wearisome miles
There has to be a song…..
To make our burdens bearable,
To make our hopes believable,
To transform our successes into praise,
To release the chains of past defeats,
Somewhere—down deep in a forgotten corner
Of each man’s heart -
There has to be a song…..
Like a cool, clear drink of water,
Like the gentle warmth of sunshine,
Like the tender love of a child.
There has to be a song.
Back to Index
Easel Smears: A Sisters Definition
of Suicide.
By
Charlotte Crumley, Moscow, Idaho
Bereavement Magazine July/August, 1997
Suicide is the gray-bland drone of the coroner’s voice
as he describes my brother’s body. “The pinkish cast to
the skin … a sign of carbon monoxide. He left a note that
explained …” and, “Cause of death is
suicide.” Then, the coroner’s push to wrap up his paper
work, “We’ll need more information. Can you get his
social security number? Was your brother married?”
Suicide is the drained-white colour in my mother’s lips as
she listens to words that, once uttered, will forever change her
life. It’s black vinyl chairs and bright gold curtains
swimming in tears of sorrow. It’s a brown leather book and
my father’s faith, in a desperate search for an answer.
It’s a yellow ribbon of hope threaded through the day, a
wish from the world of “can’t-be” as I wait by the
window for my brother’s truck, his bounce up the stairs, his
bound through the door, and his smile that says, “I fooled
you.”
Suicide is my brother’s gray Dodge still locked in his
garage, still out of gas. It’s his favourite brown pipe,
perched on the dash, and the too-sweet stench of upholstery
splashed with perfume, someone’s half-hearted effort to hide
the smell of death.
Suicide is black remorse in waves of guilt as the questions tide
over and over. “Why didn’t I see? Was it something I
said” Why couldn’t I say, I love you?” burning red
embers of anger and pain flare and subside again.
Suicide is burgundy drapes and a pale blue box and flowers and
preachers and prayer. It’s the white light of promise in a
song about Canaan, a land where the soul never dies. It’s
the widow in black, like a devil’s young bride, along with
neighbours and family and friends.
Suicide is a gray granite stone on cut, green grass—a
fresh-turned-soil frame on eternity. It’s bright blue skies
and the last good-byes and a fear of the forever after. And, in
the end, suicide is ice-clear emptiness as two parents walk away
and leave the son they love buried beneath the ground.
It has been seven years since my brother died, but the memory is
as young as yesterday. The pain is less, the anger is gone, and I
have learned that life is for the living. But no matter how long
or how distant grows the past, each sunset, every
rainbow—all life’s goodness and mercy—will remain
forever tainted, forever faded by all the shades of suicide.
Back to Index
PERMISSION TO SMILE
Your first joy after your child’s death
Does not mock or make light
Of your deep sorrow.
Instead, it soothes your sombre mood
And allows a glimpse of life
Through your black grief.
The message reads: Smiling Allowed.
“Midnight’s Dawn, Poems of Tears & Love”, Eva
Jager
Back to Index
The Compassionate Friends supports and cares for thousands of
people worldwide each year following the death of a child.
Ultimately we wish we could prevent death from occurring... then
we would still have our beloved children with us, but sadly we
can't. Please help to support our organisation so we may continue
to care and support the many families who face the most
devastating loss of all...... the loss of a child.
Thank
you very much for all donations made to TCF.
They are very greatly appreciated!!!
Donations of $2 and over are tax deductible.
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