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The Compassionate Friends
Brisbane Newsletter
October November 2008

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You Were Loved
Submitted by Lorraine Edgley, TCF QLD
In loving memory of her son, Mark,
in honour of his Birthday on 30th November

You lived your life and now it’s done
No more moonlight, no more sun.

We didn’t always share our feelings or our thoughts.
We sometimes laughed together and sometimes fought.

Each life has a beginning and an end.
We never know what’s coming up around the bend.

You look down upon me from up above.
You know in this life, you were loved.

I miss your voice, your laugh, your smile.
How you made me feel special with your own unique style.

Your absence is felt each and every day.
Your name is always mentioned when I pray.

As you fly among the peaceful doves,
Always know that you were loved.

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For You My Darling Son
By Vera Caltabiano TCF QLD In loving memory of her precious son, Andrew Caltabiano

The morning of the 28th May 2002 will be forever etched in my memory. It was about 8.10am and I was walking out the door on my way to work. My husband, Joe and I were quickly discussing what we were going to have for tea that night when the phone rang. I was in two minds as to whether I would answer it, as I was already running late. I reluctantly picked up the receiver and my world, as I knew it changed forever.

It was my daughter-in-law Georgina and she could hardly speak, she was sobbing so much. “What’s the matter?” I screamed “What happened to Paul (Paul is her husband and my son).”
“It’s not Paul,” she sobbed “it’s Andrew, he’s had an accident on his motorbike.” I could tell by the tone of her voice that it must be bad, “The ambulance has taken him to the Mater Hospital.”

I remember screaming, sinking to the floor and dropping the phone. I don’t remember much, but I think Joe talked to Georgina briefly.

Our daughter Nancy flew out of bed wondering what had happened and Joe briefly told her what had happened as we made our way to the car to rush up to the hospital.
Have you ever bargained with God? I bargained with God as we sped to the hospital. “Please let him be alright, I promise he will never ride that motorbike again, please don’t let anything happen to him. Please take everything I own, but please Dear Lord spare him, please.”

At the hospital Joe had to help me through the door as I could not walk properly I was shaking so much. The hospital checked their records and no he was not there he was taken to the Princess Alexander Hospital.

In the car once more we were heading for the PA Hospital. I remember gripping the dashboard and the seat so as I would be able to control myself and not scream. We were shown into a waiting room and told to wait. No news. I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t walk, I was consumed with uncertainty. ”Please God this is a nightmare isn’t it? Let me wake up from it.” I cried.

All of our family and Andrew’s girlfriend Steph arrived. The waiting room was full of people, but still no news. Finally Joe, Steph and I were allowed to see Andrew. I couldn’t walk and I can’t remember much. I remember kneeling down and begging them to save my baby and I am pretty sure that one of the nurses was crying but Andrew was unconscious.

He was taken to intensive care as he had severe head injuries and severe burns to his legs. Our nightmare became reality. We were not given any guarantee as to whether he would survive or not. I really think they knew but could not bring themselves to tell us.

Because of his burns he was transferred to the Royal Brisbane Hospital the following day. It took them all day to get him ready for the journey, his condition was so dangerous. We nearly lost him on the Thursday night but somehow they managed to pull him through. They were concerned about the swelling of his brain. I was living in a haze and could not even think properly.

On Friday afternoon the swelling of his brain could not be controlled and despite their valiant efforts my beautiful son was pronounced brain dead. His life support had to be turned off. Only parents who have been there and watched their children die will understand the enormity of what we went through.

The funeral was a haze, something no parent should have to go through. I know I was on autopilot. Your body can take so much grief before it shuts off, I know that now.

How can I describe the inconsolable grief, forlornness and desolation that followed? Only a parent who has lost a child can understand what it’s like. I prayed to Andrew to give me the strength to cope with the pain, I wanted so much to join him. I was of no use to anyone here on Earth. How could I live the rest of my life without him? If he wasn’t here I shouldn’t be too. I didn’t realize, until my son John asked me not to do it, but I sat for hours rocking back and forth racked with pain and grief. My pain was so intense that I had to try and find something to ease it. I tried counselling, faith healing, meditation and anti depressants. I started a journal, writing to my son about my feelings but nothing helped. My niece Marilyn searched the internet and found ‘The Compassionate Friends’ website and phoned them. She gave them all the details and they sent me out a package. I read every leaflet from start to finish. No, I wasn’t going mad what I was experiencing was normal for a bereaved parent. I made contact with ‘The Compassionate Friends’ drop in centre at New Farm and spoke to Lorraine. She related her experience as a bereaved parent.

She had lost her only child. In the course of conversation she laughed and I can remember thinking, “How can she or anyone laugh when they have lost a child?” I was so sure I would never be able to laugh or find any joy in life again. I soon realized that you cannot go up, over or around grief, you have to work your way through it. You have to actually experience that incredible pain, that overwhelming heartache to get to the other side of the tunnel. I have cried a river of tears and still have had my “bad days” but I try and move forward for my son’s sake. I now belong to The Compassionate Friends and am slowly trying to help other bereaved parents cope and understand their pain.

“I wrote the following article for The Compassionate Friends Newsletter on the fourth anniversary of losing Andrew. It’s four years since we have lost our precious son Andrew as a result of a motorbike accident and I can truly say it has been a nightmare from which I would like to awaken, but unfortunately cannot. How do you prepare for such devastation to your life? How do you cope with such a life altering experience? In the beginning the pain was so intense that I prayed to the Dear Lord to let me join my precious son, I was of no use to anyone in this world.

With the help of my dear family, especially my sister and my very close friends I tried to pull myself together, even if it was for their sake. I found solace in The Compassionate Friends, I looked at these lovely people who were more down the track than myself and marvelled at their courage. Would I ever be able to smile again someday? I made myself do things. It was so hard, it would have been much easier to curl up into a ball and die. I thought if they can do it so can I. They all offered such encouragement. I learnt that it was alright to cry, there are no hard and fast rules with grief as we are all different so grieve differently. They understand that you do not “get over” losing a child but learn to cope as best as you can. They understand that you have bad days and need someone to talk to and they are always there.

I feel that my wound is slowly healing, but I know that the scar will always be there. When you lose a child whether young or old you lose part of you that will never return. So if you are in early grief be patient with yourself, it takes a great deal of time to learn to live with your loss. Remember the greater the love, the greater the pain.”

It’s over six years since we lost our Andrew and still there are a lot of things I cannot do. I cannot go to parties, I would only spoil it for other people, I cannot smile with my heart, only my lips.

In June this year we did a tour of Canada and Alaska, I believed that after six years it was time to return to some normality. We also visited my cousins in Buffalo, America. I could not talk to anyone on tour about my loss and if anyone commented about the lovely locket I wear around my neck I would quickly change the subject. I have Andrew’s photo in my locket and try to wear it at all times. My cousins knew about my loss but it was still hard to talk to them about it, but they understood.

The death of a child has a devastating effect on family relationships and it is another thing a grieving parent has to deal with. I now also understand that men and women grieve differently and can understand why my husband Joe could not comfort me in my time of need. He was trying to cope with his own grief. I know that the ‘old me’ can never be and I believe that I am now more compassionate and understanding. I now also know who my real friends are and they are very precious to me. We still go to the cemetery every Sunday and spend time there, not to do this would be incomprehensible to us. I am not afraid of dying and look forward to the glorious day when I will be reunited with by beloved son. Till we meet my love, you are always in my heart.


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Should!

By Jean Corley Lacy, TCF Lindsey, OK From ‘We Need Not Walk Alone’
(Extract from TCF Newsletter Oct/Nov 03)

I will not SHOULD on myself today!
I won’t let others SHOULD on me today either!
Immediately after my daughter, Julie, died, I was bombarded with lots of SHOULDS:

You SHOULD keep a stiff upper lip;
be strong for the rest of the family.

You SHOULD not dwell on it.
You SHOULD accept it as God’s will. he knows best.
You SHOULD not cry about it.

Julie left a 22 month old daughter.
You SHOULD live for Autumn.

You have three other children.
You SHOULD live for them.

You SHOULD not keep her paintings and photographs out in plain sight
as a constant reminder. Above all, you SHOULD keep busy.
If you kept busy as I do, you wouldn’t have time to think about it.

You SHOULD work in the yard,
work in the house, but keep busy.

You SHOULD go back to work.
You SHOULD keep so busy you won’t have time to think about it.

It was fate. It was supposed to happen.
You SHOULD think about all the people killed in wars,
earthquakes, tornadoes, floods, airplane crashes, and all kinds of disasters.

You SHOULD think about Rose Kennedy,
who has lost three sons, and Anne Lindberg whose baby son
was kidnapped and murdered. They have survived.

You SHOULD not say such things,
you SHOULD not even think them.

One of my best friends now is a ‘new’ friend. She came by the office one day and invited me to go for a cup of coffee. Immediately after being seated she said, “Jean, I don’t know what you are going through. I haven’t experienced it. If you’d like to tell me how you feel or talk about Julie, please do.” I can tell her anything. She is never shocked. She never says SHOULD to me. I value her friendship.

I feel many people have awarded themselves Doctorates of SHOULD. One woman is particularly full of SHOULD. If I ever catch her mouth shut long enough, I’d really like to apply a generous amount of a good brand of super glue. This Doctor of SHOULD knows exactly how I SHOULD feel and exactly what I SHOULD do to get better. But this same Doctor of SHOULD, upon hearing one of her children or grandchildren has or is planning some triviality she doesn’t agree with, is so upset she’s flat on her back in bed (and on occasion has had to be hospitalized over it).

Of course, I’d like to do something about this sort of person, but it’s probably illegal, or at least unseemly. However, it SHOULD be perfectly permissible to put a bug down her blouse or a mouse up her pant leg.

I’m sure you’ve all had this problem. You’ve heard the same or similar SHOULDS. Most of my experience has been with ‘her’, but I’m sure bereaved fathers have had a lot of SHOULD from ‘him’, too. Have you noticed that all this SHOULD comes from people whose children are living?

Just for today, don’t let anybody SHOULD on you!



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My Grandchild Died

Many months ago now my grandchild died, some days it feels as if it were yesterday, other days it seems a life time ago. I am told by my friends and some of my family that it is time I “moved on”. They tell me that I must put “it” behind me!

It is not easy to smile back. It is not easy to tell them why I will never “get over it”. How can you explain the grief? One cannot do so and I hope they never learn from personal experience what it is like for a grandmother to lose a grandchild.

I used to think my heart had broken but I now know that is not true. If my heart had broken I would not be here. My “being” broke, I feel as if I am a 3D jigsaw puzzle that broke into thousands of pieces the day my grandchild died. Slowly, through self help I have put that puzzle together. It is not perfect and regularly a piece, or sometimes a few pieces, slip out and remain out for some time. They can be put back in and need to be for me to live my life, but I find I have two pieces that will not fit back into that puzzle, no matter how I try. Some days one piece almost fits; this is the grief for my grandchild. It will always be a new piece in my being. That grief will remain until the day I die. It is a piece of puzzle uniquely shaped from happy and sad memories, from an undying love, from so many emotions. I touch this piece of puzzle often, sometimes the grief it brings is so intense it is almost unbearable, other days it does not seem so bad. Some days touching it makes me smile. It is always in my thoughts and I feel it constantly, however I can place it in my pocket and know that it rests safely there. It is at peace so I have learnt not to struggle to try to make it fit.

The other piece is more difficult. It belongs to my child, the daughter I gave birth to, fed and nurtured, loved and cuddled. The daughter I watched grow from baby to adulthood. The daughter I helped shape into a wonderful human being. She too was part of my “being”, I understood her and we shared a history. We were mother and daughter. Now that piece has changed shape forever and does not even look like fitting in. Can I mould the shape to fit, no not yet. Will it ever fit back in? I do not know. I understand that she has changed forever and I love her unconditionally but I wonder if I will ever get to know this new daughter. Is it possible to find that comfortable place I once shared with her? Can that natural mother daughter relationship be learnt again now we are not child and adult? She has had to change to cope, she has been dealt the most terrible of tragedies, and her life has changed forever. She lost a child. She has needed to find strength from her deepest self. She is grown up now, she no longer needs me to nurture her as a mother but I still need her as a daughter. I long for the day when I can feel her arms around me again and hear her say I, love you Mum from her heart. Maybe then that piece of puzzle will have days when it fits into my pocket comfortably too.

It will always be a piece of my puzzle whose shape has changed but hopefully one which also becomes comfortable to hold.

Is this why they say a grandparent suffers a double grief when their grandchild dies? Maybe.
Author wishes to remain Anonymous


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In loving memory of Daniel Warwick Good
9.10.69 to 10.12.96
Submitted by Bev Bosma, TCF QLD


On the 9th of October 1969
Oh joy a baby boy
In those days we didn’t know if it was a boy or girl
So the excitement was part of the joy in giving birth.
You already had two sisters and a brother waiting to welcome you into our family.
For me our family was complete—two girls and two boys.

You were always inquisitive and very busy as a little boy
And of my four children always a favourite of all who knew you.
You had a humor that made people laugh and feel happy.
As the family grew and you became an uncle your nieces and nephews
loved to play with you and you in turn enjoyed making them laugh.

I will never know how much the “Mask” was hiding.
Sadness? Anger? Unexpressed hurt? Loneliness? and it goes on.

I have your picture on the wall and it faces the sea; a peaceful picture
I know you would like it.

I’ll be in Australia for your birthday so I will buy your balloons and set them free.

Having you for 27 years, 2 months and one day was not long enough
but keeping you in my heart forever will be.

Happy Birthday Dan.
All my love Mum

Love you Dan XXXX
Always loved and remembered by Nico and Bryn


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Death Is Nothing at all?
Author Unknown
(Compassion, The Quarterly Journal of The Compassionate Friends, Spring Edition 2004)

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name,
speak to me in the easy way that you always used.
Put no difference in your tone,
wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was,
let it be spoken without effect,
without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was;
there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well.


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Peter Glindemann
Written by Pam Smith - Year 11 Co-ordinator

Peter Glindemann was a student in Year 11 at Ingham High School until a traffic accident tragically took his life on 14th November 1995.

Everybody in the Senior School knew Peter, as did most of the younger students. He had lots of mates and he loved being around his friends, laughing and joking.

Peter was always on the move, doing everything at twice the usual pace. He loved playing sport. He wasn’t a big person physically, but size didn’t count with Peter when it was heart and courage that was needed.
He had plenty of that. Sometimes he was impetuous. His mates say he had no fear.

Peter always had something to say in every situation. Now and again this got him into trouble, but that was Peter’s way. We will remember him for his mischievous smile that would light up his face when something had pleased him. We will keep Peter in our hearts and talk about him often to keep alive the memories of the friend we lost.
We share our sorrow with Peter’s family, especially his sisters, Angelique in Year 9 and Marcia, a past student of this school.

In Memory Of Peter
Submitted by Lesley & Russell Glindemann
In loving memory of their beloved son,
Peter Anthony Glindemann 16.8.79—14.11.95


To say good-bye forever,
Is a near impossible task.
To never see the friend you loved,
Seems too much to ask.

So when the Lord took Peter,
No one could soothe the ache,
Of losing such a damn good friend,
That caused our hearts to break.

‘Fearless’, ‘Smiling’, ‘Funny Guy’,
Were words that his friends shared,
When sharing thoughts of Peter,
A friend no longer there.

Trouble used to follow him,
Wherever he would go.
If asked if he had done it,
He’d always answer “No!”

Always up to something,
Taking what he gave,
Laughing, entertaining,
But his young life wasn’t saved.

“Why is this?” we’re asking,
But no one’s really sure.
Why all we have are memories,
While his friends are left to mourn.

But together we will continue,
Time passes and we age.
But memories held of Peter,
Will never never fade.


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Katie Roebuck 12.6.71—6.10.96
In loving memory of her beloved daughter.
Submitted by Elaine Roebuck, TCF QLD

Forever Kind of Angel
(Author Unknown)

When I look to the Heavens above,
somehow I feel you near.
I think of how much I love you,
and to me still so dear.

You were an angel sent to earth
to fill our hearts with love.
A forever kind of angel
sent from Heaven above.

We didn’t know you’d leave so soon,
that God for you would send.
An Angel would hold you in his arms,
and Heaven with you ascend.

I’m thankful for the time we had,
for the time we’ll have again.
Together we will be once more,
but only God knows when.

Until I see you once again,
I’ll hold you in my heart.
The sweet memories of my angel,
From me will never part.

I’m still biding time Katie….love you always, Mum xxx

My Angel in Heaven
(adapted from a poem written for us after Katie’s death)

An angel came and took my Mum
far away from me.
But I know she’s now in Heaven,
Watching over me.

(from Katie’s son James)

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Grief: Our Act of Love
By Elaine Grier, Philip’s Mum,
TCF Atlanta, USA From TCF ST Louis Newsletter, May/June 91
(Taken from TCF, NSW Newsletter April/May/June 03)

I had a child who died.” How simple these words are, yet how painful they are to say. The death of a child is the harshest blow life has to offer, it destroys our trust in the world at the most basic level. Grief is our total response to the death of a child; our body, mind, emotions and spirit all react to the loss. While many of us wish to stop the intense grief work we are doing, we find it impossible for many reasons.

First, grief is an act of love, not a lack of strength or faith. The more we loved our child, the greater will be our grief. The more integrated our lives were with the life of our child, the more we will miss his or her very presence. The intensity of our grief is often representative of the intensity of our love.

Second, grief is a necessary process that we must go through in order to maintain our wholeness and sanity. If we do not grieve, we will not heal. One of the earliest and hardest lessons we bereaved parents learn is that men and women grieve differently—women, in general grieve more openly than do men, and women, on the whole, are more comfortable verbally expressing their feelings of loss. While segments of our culture dictate that it is more ‘manly’ not to cry, we know this is not true. In fact, it has recently been found that tears of sadness contain an enzyme which inhibits the concentration of gastric acids, therefore, crying during times of stress will actually decrease the incident of gastric ulcers many of us develop as a result of our loss.

Grief work also helps us to complete unfinished business with our child and close the past relationship that we had. We will never ‘get over’ the loss of our child, nor would we ever really want to. We are who we are partly because of our relationship to that child. Our lives will always be influenced by our son or daughter, but most of us will eventually learn to live a meaningful life, despite our tragedy. Our child will always be with us in spirit and in love and we often feel a need to hold on to tangible items, such as toys or clothes, to maintain that feeling of closeness. But, intense grief work allows us to let go of the relationship with our child. Our remembrances, love and feelings of oneness with our child can never be destroyed. I cannot see or touch my Philip, but I vividly remember him. I have completed his earthly mothering, but I still have an intense mother-child relationship with my son.

Grief over the death of a child is the hardest work that most of us will ever do. While we all wish for the pain to stop, we need to remember that we grieve intensely because we loved intensely. It is unrealistic to expect the grief to ever totally go away. Our grief is an act of love and is nothing for which we should be ashamed.


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We Compassionate Friends are:
By Sharon K. Robertson, Mt Vernon, OHIO (TCF, VIC Newsletter 1988

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Grieving a Suicide
(Extract from Internet; Coping with Grief and Loss: Guide to Grieving and Bereavement, www.helpguide.org/mental/grief_loss.htm)

The suicide of a loved one raises painful questions, doubts and fears. Some cultures see it as shameful or an affront to God. Survivors ask themselves: Why wasn’t my love enough to save this person? What could I have done? How did I fail? What will people think? Feelings of failure, shame and blame exacerbate the sorrow of loss.

It’s important that, in addition to the healing strategies described above, you do the following if you lose someone you love to suicide:

If you have religious concerns, try to find a gentle, non- judgmental member of your faith, and be open when talking with that person about what happened, and about your feelings.

Rather than being concerned about the stigma surrounding suicide, concentrate on your own healing and survival.

Confront the word suicide, difficult as it may be. If you keep the cause of death a secret, you won’t be able to speak freely about the person you lost, and you’ll block a pathway to recovery.

Talk openly with your family and friends so that everyone’s grief can be expressed.

Do something that will benefit others in your loved one’s name.





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