The Compassionate Friends
Brisbane Newsletter
June / July 2008
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The
Compassionate Friends
Brisbane Newsletter
June / July 2008
This July Web Page is Dedicated to
the beautiful memory
of my precious daughter Kelly Maree Pollitt.
Please browse amongst our pages or use the links below to select various articles just in case your in a hurry or want to read a specific item.
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With Our Deepest Sympathies…….
TCF, Qld extends its deepest sympathies to those families who
have lost loved ones in the cyclones of Burma and the earthquakes of China.
Of the tens of thousands killed by these powerful acts of nature, thousands
are estimated to be children. The death of a child causes much heartache and
pain, but these families have not only lost a child/ren but some have lost their
whole family, as well as their livelihoods & homes. The Compassionate Friends
worldwide is here for these families wherever they live.
Ignorance In Grief
© 2003 Loralee Sessanna, Hamburg, NY
“Living With Loss” Magazine, Spring 2008
I lost my child to cancer
It has almost been one year
I learned a lesson from this death
A lesson I would like to share.
I know what people are thinking
“Thank God it wasn’t me”
They offer numerous and trite clichés
And then finish with “I’m sorry”.
And after they repeat Death’s script
Those rehearsed verses people say
They turn and leave and don’t look back
And go on with their busy day.
There is no time for Death, you see
For it causes undue stress
It is much easier to avoid someone’s pain
Than to help them through Death’s mess.
The hardest part of Death for me
Is society’s ignorance and selfishness
The excuses, the silence, the lack of warmth
All so empty and compassionless.
Don’t talk about Death or how you feel
For the subject is painfully taboo.
To publicly mourn or show your pain
Is not what we should do.
I never thought it possible
For ignorance in Death to appear
But in my pain I asked for help
And no one had time to care.
Please understand that when you say
“There is nothing that I can do”
Could not be further from the truth
These cold words benefit you.
Next time Death causes someone’s grief
Don’t offer clichés and leave
For words without action are meaningless
They do not help those bereaved.
What helps, is to unselfishly offer yourself
Your time, your heart, your care
Your loving presence in time of grief
Is the best gift that you can share.
© 2003 Loralee Sessanna, Hamburg, NY “Living With Loss” Magazine, Spring 2008
TAKE
CHARGE OF YOUR GRIEF?
By Robert Thompson, MD, Zumbrota, MN
“Living With Loss - Healing the BODY, MIND & SPIRIT”,
Spring 2008 Www.livingwithloss.com
There seems to be a trend in our
society to “take charge” of things - our finances, our bodies, any diseases
we have, our attitude, and indeed, our lives. Ads and articles exhort us to
“control” everything that affects our family or us. “Be in charge” of your destiny
and “manage” your life they seem to say in this age of “me-ism” and emphasis
on autonomy of self.
I fully expect to see an article in any one of a number of popular magazines
called, “Managing Your Grief”. “We can’t control our loss but we can control
our feelings and what they do to us,” the subtitle will proclaim. No doubt,
this thinking is an outgrowth of modern behavioural thinking that we are in
charge of our lives. For the most part that may be true. Yet certain events
and things that happen to us seem beyond our control and have to run their course.
As a physician, I can think of many diseases that have to run their course and
will do so regardless of any input from us.
In my book, Remembering: The Death of a Child, written after the death of our
son, Paul, I wrote the following words: And so we made it through those first
days. And days turned into weeks and weeks into months, and months turned into
a year. We talked to our kids and to Grandma and Grandpa frequently as others
stopped talking about it (Paul’s death). But mostly we got up in the morning
often after a restless and dream filled sleep, and put one foot ahead of the
other and got through each day doing our duties. We didn’t get much stronger
but we didn’t lose ground either. Sometimes while sitting at night in front
of the fireplace one of us would have a vivid recollection of Paul’s face, or
of him coming down the steps, or ways he had of speaking, that we would share,
sometimes in sadness, but often, thankful for these visitations of memory that
ever so briefly brought him back to us. There are many euphemisms for this behaviour
after the death of a child. Some call it “coping”. Still others say, “handling
it” or “getting through it”. “Dealing with it” or “managing it” are others.
I don’t find any of these descriptions very accurate or comforting. We do what
we have to do, depending on who we are while “it” handles us. The death of a
child takes you on a journey like a hawk carried a rabbit through the sky. It
eventually drops you either dead or wounded. What you see and do on the journey
is up to you. The journey itself is not.”
Does this sound sad or fatalistic to you? If so then you have probably had a
child die and are engaged in the continued struggle to make sense of his or
her death. At the same time, you try to live your own life a day at a time while
you are awash in emotions of fear, anger, guilt and sadness. Is there no hope?
Yes, there is hope, and it comes with time. As you integrate
your child’s life and death into your own life, you will gain perspective -
perspective on both living and dying. Your child will become a part of you and
you of him or her, and that will transcend life and death. Note that this is
different from “acceptance”. You do not have to “accept” your child’s death
but you do have to “assimilate” the reality of it into your life. How much time
does this take? You probably do not have much control over that either. I have
heard counsellors talk about doing “grief work” but I still think of assimilation
of a death as a largely passive rather than an active process. There is no timeline
that will fit everyone. You must also know there is no “closure” on your child’s
death. Nor do you want any “closure”, for that implies “forgetting” and that
is the last thing you want to do. “Remembering” is what accomplishes assimilation
and keeps your child within your heart until you meet again. (Isn’t that a happy
thought?)
So, here is the truth of it. Get through each day as best you can. Get your
rest. Eat sensibly. Exercise if it is your inclination - it helps lift the feeling
of sadness. Do not “self medicate” with alcohol or drugs. Take antidepressants
only if you must and only carefully supervised for a defined period. Again,
if it suits you, go to meetings for support. If you are not a talker, just listen
to others. If you are a talker, talk to anyone who will listen about your child
and what his or her loss means to you. This does not necessarily have to be
a professional person but it can be, a friend, neighbour, colleague, relative,
other child or spouse will also work. However, a word of caution: do not make
your sadness their sadness. Unless they have also experienced the loss of a
child they cannot completely understand your intense grief and may tire of hearing
you talk about it. It makes them feel helpless and sad and so unless they are
very strong they will move away from you and you will become frustrated and
angry with them.
Rather than trying to “manage” or control your grief let it wash over you and
meet it head on. Grief is a world-class speedster. If you try to run from it,
it will overtake you and follow you wherever you try to hide or in whatever
activities you try to hide. Grief does hate laughter however. It may take a
while but you can laugh again. Your child like mine did and said funny things,
which you will always remember. Share those things with others and when you
laugh, grief will cower in the corner and know that it cannot win the day.
Back to Index
“Getting On With
Life”
What Does It Mean?
By Alice J Wisler
Of all the statements and spiritual platitudes quoted at me since my son Daniel’s,
death, the phrase that I hear most frequently makes me squirm the most. “You
have to get on with your life.” Recently, I quit squirming long enough to ponder
the meaning behind this phrase that is usually said to the bereaved in the form
of a command. Exactly what does this phrase mean? What are people implying when
they say it?
I was pregnant when Daniel died and three months later, I gave birth to a baby
girl. Wasn’t that getting on with life? I nurtured my three children, took them
to school, the park and birthday parties. Now wasn’t that going on with life?
I even cooked dinner at least four times a week!
At first after Daniel’s death, I would have liked to have had my life literally
stopped and been buried next to my son, but I kept existing. Like the plastic
bag tossed about by the wind, I was fluttering, being carried by the events
of life. Seasons came and went. In the spring, I planted marigolds and tomato
vines. In the autumn I jumped in fallen leaves with my children. I continued;
I still am continuing to live.
Now, I may be bereaved but I am by no means a fool. As I ponder the meaning
behind “getting on with life”, I am capable of knowing exactly what those who
say this have in mind. “Forget your dead child. Quit grieving. You make me uncomfortable!”
Getting on with life means don’t acknowledge August 25th, Daniel’s birthday,
anymore. Forget how he slid down the snowy bank in the recycle bin, sand in
the van and ate Gummy Bears. Forget he had cancer, suffered and died at only
age four. Don’t see the empty chair at the dinner table, don’t cry just live!
Some who are more “religious” would like to believe that a bereaved parent can
claim, “My child is safe and happy in Heaven. Therefore, why should I yearn
for him?” Perhaps, I pose a threat to certain types because I have let it be
known I question God. I weep. I have been angry. I miss my Daniel. Maybe old
friends feel if they hang around me too long I might convince them that a few
of their illusions about life are just that, only illusions. As my cries of
anguish are heard, there are those who can only think how to make me be quiet.
To stop my heartfelt yearnings they say quite sternly, “You must get on with
your life.”
I am living. I do move on with life with Daniel in my mind and in my heart.
Although he is not physically here, as I continue to live, I continue to love.
To sever his memory totally from my life would be creating destruction and damage
that would ruin me. To push Daniel out of my life and not be able to freely
mention his name or write and speak about who he was on earth would bring only
more pain to my life. I’d shrivel up. Comfort for me comes in remembering with
smiles how he drew with a blue marker on his sister’s wall, ran outside naked
and picked green tomatoes. For the reality is, getting on with life means continuing
to cherish Daniel.
Bereavement Mag Sept/Oct 2000, www.bereavementmag.com
My Mum She Tells
A Lot of Lies
My Mum She Tells A Lot of Lies
She never did before. From now until the day she dies,
She’ll tell a whole lot more.
She used to tell the truth, but now it doesn’t matter.
I died and went to Heaven;
her life is all a-shatter.
Ask my Mum how is she. She’ll say, “Yes, I’m fine!”
She wants to beg “Please help me.
I can’t find that child of mine!”
Ask my Mum, how is she, she’ll say, “I’m alright.”
If that’s the truth then tell me,
why does she cry each night?
Ask my Mum, how is she, she seems to cope so well.
She didn’t have a choice, you see,
nor the strength to yell.
You think you know the feeling, but this cannot be.
For even though you loved me,
you didn’t love as much as she.
She will smile and tell you, “It’s o.k. God has a plan,”
But she will turn away and cry
‘cause she just can’t understand.
Tell a joke and she will laugh, but she is not o.k.
She wants to share the joke with me,
but it will not be today.
I watch from here, in Heaven. Her distress disturbs my peace.
Will someone please take care of her,
and thus take care of me?
“Some day you will feel better.” “Yes I will.” she lies.
She knows this will not happen,
until the day she dies.
“I was so lucky! I had her all those years!”
(They passed in a minute, I shed so many tears.)
Ask my Mum how is she, she’ll say, “Thank you. Good.”
She cannot tell you how she feels.
Oh, how I wish she could.
Ask my Mum how is she, “I’m fine, I’m well, I’m coping.”
For God’s sake, Mum, just tell the truth.
Just say your heart is broken.
Ask my Mum how is she, “I’m well, I’m good. And you?”
I’ll shake my head in Heaven.
It simply isn’t true.
She’ll love me all her life. I loved her all of mine.
But if you ask how she is,
“She’ll lie and say she’s fine.
Her carnival is over. She’s stepped off the carousel.
But, to save you feeling badly,
she’ll say, “Thanks, all is well.”
My Mum, she’s not gone mad, yet. But, oh so very nearly.
Don’t ask my Mum how is she;
Ask how is she, really.
I am here in Heaven. I cannot hug from here.
If she lies to you, don’t listen.
Hug her, hold her near.
On the day we meet again, we’ll smile and I’ll be bold.
I’ll say, “you’re lucky to get in here, Mum,
with all the lies you’ve told.”
Submitted by Julie & Roy McGregor
In loving memory of their son, Joel McGregor 10 October 1988 to 19 August 2007
Back to Index
When a Grandchild
Dies
By Carol A Loebr, Westlake, Ohio
The grand-parent relationship is a very special one. When a grandchild dies,
grandparents grieve too. They grieve not only for their grandchild, but also
share in the grief of the bereaved parents. For some grandparents, the hardest
part is a sense of helplessness they feel for the pain that the child’s parents
suffer. But their own grief may also be very intense. When a child dies both
the parents and grandparents lose part of their future.
As with parents, a bereaved grandmother often grieves differently than does
the grandfather and this difference may create a strain between them. This does
not mean that one is right and the other is wrong. There is not one right way
to grieve. Knowing what usually happens in grief may help bereaved grandparents
as they grieve, as they try to understand their child’s grief, and as healing
slowly occurs for all.
Grief is said to have several stages. However, most bereaved grandparents do
not grieve step by step, for grief is disorderly and irrational. At the time
of the death of a loved one, there is a protective numbness. Even though they
know that the loved one has died, their minds want to deny it.
They may find themselves talking to and of the grandchild as if the child were
still alive. They may see the dead child, only to realise that it is another
child. But they now know, all too well, that death does not only visit someone
else; it is now with them, for they too, are vulnerable! The ache in the chest
can become their nearly constant companion.
As denial lessens, grandparents feel much hurt and frustration. This could lead
to anger directed towards others and inward. It may be focused on the spouse
and even the dead child. Their own grief-stricken children, whose pain they
share, may become the object of their anger. They may be very angry at God;
they are often angry with themselves!
Guilt, real or imagined, is always there, with their recurring “What if ....”
“Why didn’t I...” As they try to resolve their guilt feelings, anger often returns
to full force.
Grandparents may experience all of this twice, once for the grandchild who died
and then for the parents who have their own guilt, anger and pain, and who appear
inconsolable. Because grandparents love their children, they often are torn
between the love and the fear of loving too much, lest they then lose another
grandchild or child.
Grief of a previous death may return. Often, as in the multiple losses they
may occur from an accident, the grandparents are grieving not only the loss
of a grandchild but also the death of a child in the same tragedy. Guilt may
occur because they live on, while the young ones died.
Back to Index
Mike’s Poem WHY?
Written by Roxanne Beetham
for her son, Michael James Charles Beetham, 18 years 26/04/1989 - 02/02/2008
Why did you go so suddenly?
So shockingly?
Why didn’t we KNOW?
Couldn’t you tell us?
Why did you go with that person?
Why did you get in the car?
Why didn’t you make him slow down?
Why couldn’t you see the danger?
Why didn’t you see the rain?
Why did the Police have to knock on our door?
Why you my darling son?
Why not me your old mum?
Why do we have to feel this pain?
Why couldn’t our LOVE help heal your pain?
Why did they not let me touch you, when I needed to so much?
Why can’t I have just one last special hug?
Why has the world turned upside down?
Why was my boy taken?
Why, Oh Why, Oh Why?
DEFINITION
By Eva Lager “Midnight’s Dawn”
For a long time I thought I was weak when I could not suppress my tears.
Reminders were everywhere: a smell, a melody, a colour, a gesture.
Now I know that grief has made me fragile, not weak.
I shall never be as I was, but if I can’t have my child back, I do not want
to be as if nothing happened.
Inserted with love for Donald James Richardson 4 April 75 to 9 August 01 Son
of Janice Rae, TCF Qld.
Anger
Written by Ann Mander, TCF, WA
(In loving memory of her daughter, Alison who died on 14/9/93, aged 7 years)
Lovingly lifted from TCF Victoria, No 175, Feb/Mar 2008
Since my daughter Alison died almost three years ago, aged seven, I have felt
many emotions, but one is almost always with me - anger. Sometimes the rage
is so strong I just don’t know what to do with it. Other times it just simmers,
surfacing when someone says something stupid or thoughtless.
Alison died of myocarditis, so essentially there is no-one to blame. So of course
my first target was the medical team at the hospital’s emergency room - how
dare they call themselves competent professionals when they let her die! An
autopsy was performed - my second target was the pathologist, who treated her
body with such disrespect.
From there my anger grew, taking in God, parents who did it wrong, people whose
comments were thoughtless or inappropriate, almost anyone - up to and including
the makers of TV ads! Finally after two incidents where I screamed at total
strangers in public over minor incidents, I sought help. By this stage I thought
I was going crazy.
The therapist I saw was helpful. I realised that my anger was normal, that I
was angry with everyone because I didn’t have a specific target, and she got
me to write (but not to send) hate letters to the pathologist for example. I
went to a grief recovery course. I read everything I could find out about death,
grief, mourning, loss etc. My boiling anger reduced to a slow simmer.
I don’t think I’ll ever rid myself of this anger entirely. It only takes one
little thing and it bubbles up again. Someone makes the trite comment “They
grow up so quickly don’t they?” and I feel like snapping “No, not all of them”,
but instead I put on a smile, remember that I’m dealing with a thoughtless idiot,
and let it pass. When a neighbour said, shortly after Alison’s death “never
mind dear, you’re young enough to have another”, I didn’t punch her in the mouth
or scream “How dare you talk about my daughter as if she were a bald tyre to
be replaced: but I felt like it.
I think it is normal to be angry when you’ve been robbed. Bob and I have been
robbed of the daughter we thought was ours to love and guide through the years.
Peter has been robbed of his sister. But most of all Alison has been robbed
of all the years she should have lived, all the experiences life has to offer.
All gone because of a stupid virus.
The little everyday things are the most painful for me now. Going shopping and
seeing something she would have liked, and not being able to buy it for her.
Seeing her friends going to gym, or netball or swimming and knowing that she
never will, hearing people complain that their kids fight all the time and thinking
I’d give anything for her to be here fighting with Peter. Hundreds of little
incidents make me think of her, and along with pain and loss and sadness, there
is anger.
The Compassionate Friends has been a huge help. To be able to discuss subjects
my family and friends just don’t want to hear in a supportive, non-judgemental
group has been an enormous relief. I (like everyone else) didn’t know what to
expect at the first meeting. I didn’t want to be part of a group of bereaved
parents (who in the world does?) and some things were a shock to me. For example,
some people could actually laugh together. What kind of sickos were these people
- their child was dead and they were laughing? And they could about unrelated
subjects, how did they manage it? I felt like I had no skin I was so raw and
wounded. It was a slow process to realise that grief has many faces and normal
is only one of them.
So that is why I wanted to write this for the newsletter. I hope it will help
those whose grief is newer than mine to feel normal when their anger overwhelms
them. This is healthy, not a sign of “lost marbles”. And for women in particular
it is difficult to deal with - rage is so unladylike! I’m so glad that Compassionate
Friends was there when I needed it, I’m grateful to all the wonderful people
I’ve met. I just wish I’d met them for a different reason.
Back to Index
A Space for Love
We don’t realize it is happening. We can’t pinpoint the exact
moment it began. But, somehow, love quietly creeps into our hearts and gently
nestles comfortably in our soul.
Like a bird, love builds a nest, selecting the perfect strand for each corner
of its home … some strands for strength, some for beauty, some for comfort.
Intricately woven, it is inextricably entwined within the fabric of our heart.
When the bird leaves, the seemingly empty nest remains.
But, upon closer examination, we find the nest still filled with strands of
love, each a unique memory of the one who is gone … a playful laugh, a tender
hug, a welcoming smile, a mischievous wink behind sparkling eyes. The essence
of the builder remains in that home-within-our-heart. Far from being empty,
that space is now brimming with memories and the eternal legacy of love that
it holds.
By Paula Staisiunas Schultz, Chicago, Illinois Bereavement Mag , Spring 2006,
wwwbereavementresources.com
Understanding
Keith’s Death
By Carol A Loebr, Westlake, Ohio
Bereavement Mag, Sept/Oct 2000
Our son, Keith, has died. I am unprepared. A part of me has died, too. Why would
a young man who had “everything going for him” take his life by suicide? I can’t
understand it. Why, as his mother, didn’t I know his pain? Why didn’t anyone
see the signs that he was depressed? What is this silent killer, called suicide?
The pain of Keith’s sudden death has led me on a journey of trying to understand
suicide. If your loved one has died by suicide, I want you to be surrounded
by the knowledge I have gathered. I want you to have the information needed
to help you de-stigmatise the word suicide. I want you to have all the knowledge
I have found and then be able to understand that your loved one died of a terminal
illness.
Keith was twenty-nine years old when he died on March 29, 1999. He was an associate,
in New Product Planning, at a medical products company. He had held this position
for seven months after graduating from a prestigious graduate school.
Keith never showed any outward signs of depression, but after his death we understood
the tremendous pressure he was under at work. He had friends everywhere; he
was always the one you could turn to in time of need. Keith never lost a friend,
they just multiplied. He loved nature and loved to be out-doors running, skiing,
hiking, hunting, and his greatest love was fly-fishing. Our family stayed close
even though we lived far apart. Keith had two sisters whom he adored. Yes, when
you think of a gift, you think of Keith. So what happened to this young man
who had so much to live for? What went wrong?
Most of the time people who kill themselves suffer from depression or other
types of depressive illnesses. When I speak of depression I am not saying they
are feeling a little down or a little blue. This type of depression is an illness.
When you are healthy you do not kill yourself! People suffering from depression
don’t ask for it, just like people don’t ask to get cancer or diabetes.
The person who is suffering from clinical depression is under severe pain. Often
we do not understand the intensity of that psychological pain. Many times, the
suicidal person finds he is left to deal with his pain all alone. He doesn’t
want to die, but it’s the only way he feels his pain will end. Suicidal acts
are impulsive. A suicidal person may be unable to resist the strong impulse
to end the pain because of the depletion of the chemical called serotonin. Serotonin
is a chemical within the brain that helps restrain impulsive behaviour.
The main reason people don’t talk about depression is because of the stigma.
People who suffer from depression are afraid others will think they are crazy.
Our society has not yet accepted depressive illness as we have accepted other
diseases. Most people do not understand that depression is an illness caused
by a chemical imbalance, and that a suicidal person is not in control of his
or her behaviour. Instead, they attribute the act of suicide to a weakness of
character.
Once, when I overheard a survivor of suicide say, “I wish my son had died in
a different way, not by suicide,” I felt a sadness overwhelm me. My son Keith
is dead, how he died is not important! Could his suicide have been prevented
if his depression had been treated? Would he have sought treatment if the stigma
didn’t exist surrounding mental illness, depression and suicidal thoughts?
I am Keith’s mother. I am a survivor of suicide. I need to grieve for my son
without the conflict of myths about suicide that are not true. These myths keep
survivors of suicide from being able to heal from their loss. If everyone could
be educated about depression and suicide, many lives could be saved—and those
who have died by suicide could rest in peace with God.
Back to Index
The
Waves of Grief
By Brenda Sydnor, Louisville, KY, 2006
Grief is like the ocean tides
With their constant ebb and flow.
Sometimes the tides are quiet
Sometimes the strong wind blows.
The pain is like the ocean waves
That roll way out in the sea.
Sometimes the motion is gentle
And lulls me into a sense of complacency.
But then from out of nowhere
Treacherous storm clouds fill the air.
The sharp, white foam waves lash over me
And overwhelmed me with despair.
Just as vicious storm waves battering the rock
Will eventually etch their mark,
So too, the ravishment of pain and grief,
Have taken a toll on my heart.
“Living With Loss”, Summer 2007, www.livingwithloss.com
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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