Grief

Understanding the Grief Process

The Club

Dear Survivor: A Letter to You

Bereavement Guidelines for the Loss of a Child

The Mourner's Bill of Rights

Please See Me Through My Tears

A Bereaved Parent's Wish List

Finding Answers to Sticky Questions

Grief: The Price We Pay For Love

Time: How Long Will It Take?

Grief

We all experience many losses in life.

The losses are associated with

Relationships,

Jobs and Careers,

Health,

Moving,

Possessions,

Natural disasters,

Violence and Crime,

Death.

Every Grief is Unique

because we are Unique,

Our Relationship was Unique,

Our Loss experience was Unique.

It seems that the only way to move beyond Grief

is to go through it,

not trying to go around it,

nor deny it, nor defer it.

In addition,

it seems that we cannot get through Grief alone;

We need help from friends and family.

And sometimes we need help from a Counselor.

Author Unknown

Understanding the Grief Process

Grief is a normal yet highly personal response to loss. Neither an illness nor a pathological condition, it is a natural process that, depending on how it is managed and understood, can lead to healing and personal growth.

Grief is extremely powerful. It can catch you totally unprepared, knock you off balance and shake you to the core. It can be painful beyond words — physically, emotionally, socially and spiritually — and it can change your life completely. Grief serves to remind you how fragile life is and how vulnerable you are to loss. It can make your present life seem meaningless, and take away your hope for the future.

Understanding the process and knowing what to expect can help you cope. Your pattern of progressing through your grief will be uneven, unpredictable and unique, with no specific time frame. But the more you learn about grief, the better you can cope with it. In the beginning it will seem as if your grief is running you, but in the end, you can learn to run your grief. When you understand what is happening to you and have some idea of what to expect, you will feel more in control of your grief and will be in a better position to take care of yourself, to find your own way through this loss and to begin rebuilding your life.

The worst kind of grief is the grief you’re experiencing now. Don’t compare your grief with anyone else’s, and know that, at this moment, your loss is the worst thing that could happen to anyone. Acknowledge that your loss is worthy of grief, and accept that you must endure the very real feelings of sorrow.

Grief work is very hard and takes enormous energy. Much as you may want to do so, there is no way to avoid this grief of yours. You cannot wait it out; you won’t get over it quickly, and nobody can do it for you. It’s called grief work because finding your way through grief is hard work, and if you put it off, like a messy chore it will sit there waiting to be done. And the longer it waits, the harder it becomes.

Effective mourning is not done alone. Unfortunately, friends and family members may be finished with your grief long before you are finished with your need to talk about it, and unexpressed feelings can become distorted. It is important that you find an understanding, nonjudgmental listener with whom you can openly acknowledge your feelings and experiences, express and work through your pain, and come to terms with your loss. If friends and family aren’t as available as you need them to be, or if your need exceeds their capacity to help, consider attending a support group or seeking help from a bereavement counselor.

How grief is expressed varies among individuals. Everyone grieves differently, according to their age, gender, personality, culture, value system, past experience with loss, and available support. Grieving differs among members of the same family, as each person’s relationship with and attachment to the deceased family member varies. How you will react to this death depends on how you’ve responded to other crises in your life; on what was lost when this death happened (not only the life of the person who died, but certain aspects of your own life as well: your way of life; who you were in your relationship with that person and who you planned to be; your hopes and dreams for the future); on who died (spouse, parent, child, sibling, grandparent, relative, friend or other; how you lived together and what that person meant to you); on the person’s role in your family; on when the death occurred (at what point in the life cycle: yours as well as that of the person who died); and on how (the circumstances surrounding the death, and how the death occurred).

Certain manifestations of grief are typical, common and normal. Although grief is as individual as you are, some feelings and reactions are universal. Their intensity will vary, and they’ll happen in no particular order. You may experience all, some or none of them; they may happen only once or many times, sometimes several years after your loved one’s death. Respect your own feelings and reactions. Take time to look, listen, experience and understand them. They are nature’s way of getting your attention.

Grief is a lifelong process. While the agonizing pain of loss diminishes in intensity over time, it’s never gone completely. It is absolutely normal to feel the aftershock of loss for the rest of your life. Grieving is not a reaction to a single event, like an illness that can be cured and from which you will recover. It’s more like a deep wound that eventually heals and closes, but whose terrible scar remains and still can hurt at times.

Death may have ended your loved one’s life, but it did not end your relationship. The bond you have will continue and endure throughout your lifetime, depending on how you take your memories and your past with you into the future. Many grievers report maintaining an active connection with their deceased loved ones by talking to them, dreaming about them, sensing their presence or feeling watched over and protected by them. It is normal and healthy to foster these continuing bonds, as you decide how your loved one will be remembered, memorialized and included in your family and community life.

Time does not heal grief. Time is neutral. It is not the passage of time alone that heals. It is what you do with time that matters. Now that this death has happened to you, you must decide what you can do with your grief. Grieving is an active process, not a passive one, and recovery is a choice. Coping with grief involves many courses of action, and as you find your way through this first year of grief, you will learn how to use this grieving time to help you heal yourself.

There is no right or wrong way to do the work of grieving. There is only your way, and you must discover it for yourself. There is no magic formula, no short cut, and no easy way out. Grief is like a long, winding tunnel whose entrance is closed behind you, and the only way out is through.

© 2005 by Marty Tousley, APRN, BC, CT
Reprinted with permission of the author
tousleym@aol.com
www.griefhealing.com

The Club
by Karen Grover
Feb 1989

In January, 1987, my husband and I became members of a very exclusive club. We had been only vaguely aware of its existence, and we thought that surely a chapter in a city the size of ours wouldn't have many members.

We had seen a few people who belonged to the club, but we didn't seem to have anything in common with them, so we didn't really get to know them. Occasionally, we read stories in the newspaper about new members being initiated into the club, but it didn't seem likely that we would ever be eligible to join, so we paid no attention.

The price of membership is so dear that we couldn't imagine being a part of the club. We must have realized in the backs of our minds that people didn't choose to join and pay the dues--it was done for them somehow. In fact, no one really has any idea of how members are selected. There are a lot of theories; but much of the time, the theories come from non-members who don't understand much about the situation.

The "club" we are now in (although it is not an organized group), is known as "bereaved parents." The cost of our membership was the life of our son; and we, like all other members, have no idea why we were selected for membership.

No one wants to be in this club. Even now, months afterward, inside our hearts and minds we continue to fight membership, but there is no resigning from it. It is an automatic lifetime membership. There was no way to avoid it--we did the best we could to keep our son safe. For fourteen years, we guided him through dangers, only to have him die in a seemingly minor auto accident. Though we lay awake night after night, and think of it day after day, there is no answer as to why we have been thrust into this select group. We hate it and we cry out in protest, but there is no way to change it.

We have learned a lot since our membership began. We now understand much about the other members. In fact, we seek to be with them, to have regular get-togethers, to discuss our membership, and try to understand its value.

Sometimes, those outside the club are afraid of us, fearing that if they come near us or talk with us, they will be selected to become members too! Acquaintances often try to ignore the membership, pretending that it doesn't exist. They seem to think that will make things easier, and then the members won't feel "different," but it really only makes things much worse.

So many times, I have wanted someone to say hello or to tell me she has been thinking of me or to mention something about the absent child who still lives inside me and overshadows all my thoughts. I have heard people say, "I don't want to upset her, or remind her of her son, or say something that will make her cry."

I want to tell them: "The only way you can make me feel worse than I already do is to pretend that it doesn't exist or that it isn't as deep and painful as you surely know it is.

Have you ever experienced the feeling of having one terrible incident go through your mind, day after day, week after week, month after month, wondering why it happened and how you could have prevented it? Well, don't worry about reminding me of my son. I am thinking about him nearly twenty-four hours a day.

"Sure, sometimes my mind is temporarily distracted--it would have to be to function at all. But if you think there is even one day that goes by without my child's death tearing up my heart, then you have no idea what this club is all about.

"I appreciate your talking about my child, or at least letting me talk about him. He was a very large part of my life, and ignoring him now will really hurt me. It makes me think that you feel he's no longer important because he's gone. It hurts to think that people don't want to think about him or remember good things about him, just because he has died.

"I understand that you don't want to say anything that will make me cry. That sounds kind, and I used to feel that way too, but now I know better. I'd rather the tears didn't come when you talk to me because I know they may scare you away, or at least make you very uncomfortable. But I've learned how useful and necessary they are. If I go too long without tears, my body builds up a terrible pressure from the pain of the grief. If you will allow me to cry in your presence, perhaps I won't have to cry alone, wondering if anyone else remembers, or even cares, about my loss.

"You can't know what will make me cry--sometimes I don't know, myself. Some days I stay dry-eyed through nearly everything. Other days, the slightest thing will start the tears--things you could not possibly imagine or anticipate. Not all the tears are tears of sorrow. Even in the midst of my anguish, I sometimes cry tears of joy and relief because you have reached out; because you have confirmed that my son was special; perhaps because you have shared with me some precious memory about him which I had not known before.

"Please don't run away from me. Don't pretend his death never occurred, or even worse, that he never lived! I still love him, think of him, need to remember. Please share with me and we will both feel better.

"I am learning that God is not punishing me. He did not cause the death of my son. But, He can help me to grow through this experience--to become stronger and wiser and more caring, if I have some help. Initially, when I was told by a church member that I would change and grow stronger through this experience, I wanted to scream that if it meant giving up my son, I didn't want to change or get stronger. But I know I have no choice about that now--he is gone. Now my choices are to either let God, and friends, help me to become better; or I can choose to allow this grief to destroy me."

I have to experience the grief. I can't pretend it doesn't hurt, or hurry it along. That's what membership in this club is teaching me. I am choosing to allow God to take an unspeakable experience and use it to start life again...in a new and better way.

Reprinted with permission of Bereavement Publishing, Inc. 888-604-4673 (HOPE)

DEAR SURVIVOR: A LETTER TO YOU

It is said that death is part of life; that it is the other side of birth. I believe that death can also give meaning to life, a meaning that may escape you now while your grief is fresh and raw, but which may someday bring a special quality of peace to your spirit.

As terrible as your loss seems now, you will survive it, even though that may seem unbelievable right now. Once that happens, you will have touched upon a new and incredible inner strength.

But for now, you may be a mixture of thoughts and feelings. Despair, longing, anger, guilt, frustration, questions and even understanding, tumble over each other, striving for but not quite reaching comprehensible sense and shape. You seek relief, you need to heal. It is a journey, and you must work on it.
And so, cry.

The pain is real, but the tears are healing. Often we must struggle through an emotion to find the relief beyond.
And so, talk.

Talk to each other about your loss and pain. Don’t hide or deny real feelings. Tell others that you need them. The more you deny something or address it in silence, the more it can claim destructive power over you.
And so, search.

Over and over, you will ask “Why.” It is a question you must ask. Though you may never find an answer, realize that it is still important to wrestle with the “why” question for a time. Eventually, you will be content to give up the search. When you can willingly let go of the need to question “why,” it will lose its hold over you, but it will take time.
And so, speak.

Speak as often and freely of your loved one as you need to. He or she will always be a part of you. Not to speak of the deceased denies his or her existence. To speak of the deceased affirms his or her life. Believe that in time, the pain of loss fades and is replaced by precious memories to be shared.
And so, grieve.

This time of sorrow can be used to draw a family together or pull it apart. You may be one who needs to feel and express guilt so that eventually you will gain a more balanced view of your actual responsibility. You may need to give yourself permission to feel and express anger even though you think it’s inappropriate.
And so, grow.

We know that we cannot control all that happens to us, but we can control how we choose to respond. We can choose to overcome and survive it. When we choose to grieve constructively and creatively, we come to value life with a new awareness.
And so, become.

Become the most you can become. Enter into a new dimension of self-identity and self-dependence as you come to love others more fully and unconditionally. In letting go of love, we give it freedom to return to us. Become all that your loved one’s death has freed you to become.
And so, accept.

Accept that in some strange way, his or her death may enable you to reach out with a new understanding, offering a new dimension of love to others.

I believe in a loving God Who is with us, offering strength, guidance and solace as we struggle with our anguish. I believe as we regain balance and meaning in our shattered lives, we can come to see that death can indeed bring a new meaning to life. This is my prayer for all of us.

By Eleanora Ross

Reprinted with permission from Bereavement Publishing, Inc. (888-604-4673)

Bereavement Guidelines for Loss of a Child

If you think you are going insane, THAT'S NORMAL

If all you can do is cry, THAT'S NORMAL

If you have trouble with the most minor decisions, THAT'S NORMAL

If you can't taste your food or have any semblance of an appetite, THAT'S NORMAL

If you have feelings of rage, denial and depression, THAT'S NORMAL

If you find yourself enjoying a funny moment and immediately feeling guilty, THAT'S NORMAL

If your friends dwindle away and you feel like you have the plague, THAT'S NORMAL

If your blood boils and the hair in your nose curls when someone tells you "It was God's will, THAT'S NORMAL

If you can't talk about it, but can smash dishes, shred old phone books or kick the garbage can (preferably empty) down the lane, THAT'S NORMAL

If you can share your story, your feelings with an understanding listener???.. another bereaved parent, THAT'S A BEGINNING

If you can get a glimmer of your childs life rather than his/her death, THAT'S WONDERFUL

If you can remember your child with a smile, THAT'S HEALING

If you find your mirrors have become windows and you are able to reach out to other bereaved parents, THAT'S GROWING

from CRUISE - bereavement Counselors in the UK

THE MOURNER'S BILL OF RIGHTS
by Alan Wolfelt, PH.D

You have the right to experience your own unique grief. No one else will grieve in exactly the same way you do. So, when you turn to others for help, don't allow them to tell you what you should or should not be feeling.

You have the right to talk about your grief. Talking about your grief will help you heal. Seek out others who will allow you to talk as much as you want, as often as you want, about your grief. If at times you don't feel like talking, you also have the right to be silent.

You have the right to feel a multitude of emotion. Confusion, disorientation, fear, guilt and relief are just a few of the emotions you might feel as part of your grief journey. Others may try to tell you that feeling angry, for example, is wrong. Don't take these judgmental responses to heart. Instead, find listeners who will accept your feelings without condition.

You have the right to be tolerant of your physical and emotional limits. Your feelings of loss and sadness will probably leave you feeling fatigued. Respect what your body and mind are telling you. Get daily rest. Eat balanced meals. And don't allow others to push you into doing things you don't feel ready to do.

You have the right to experience "grief bursts." Sometimes,out of nowhere, a powerful surge of grief may overcome you. This can be frightening, but is normal and natural. Find someone who understands and will let you talk it out.

You have the right to make use of ritual. The funeral ritual does more than acknowledge the death of someone loved. It helps provide you with the support of caring people. More importantly, the funeral is a way for you to mourn. If others tell you the funeral or other healing rituals such as these are silly or unnecessary, don't listen.

You have the right to embrace your spirituality. If faith is a part of your life, experess it in ways that seem appropriate to you. Allow yourself to be around people who understand and support your religious beliefs. If you feel angry at God, find someone to talk with who won't be critical of your feelings of hurt and abandonment.

You have the right to search for meaning. You may find yourself asking, "Why did he or she die? Why this way? Why now? Some of your questions may have answers but some may not. And watch out for the cliched responses some people may give you. Comments like, "It was God's will" or "Think of what you have to be thankful for" are not helpful and you do not have to accept them.

You have the right to treasure your memories. Memories are one of the best legacies that exist about the death of someone loved. You will always remember. Instead of ignoring your memories, find others with whom you can share them.

You have the right to move toward your grief and heal. Re conciling your grief will not happen quickly. Remember, grief is a process, not an event. Be patient and tolerant with yourself and avoid people who are impatient and intolerable with you. Neither you nor those around you must forget that the death of someone loved changes your life forever.

Please See Me Through My Tears
by Kelly Osmont

You asked, "How am I doing?"
As I told you, tears came to my eyes...
And you looked away and quickly began to talk again.
All the attention you had given me drained away.

"How am I doing?"...I do better when people listen,
Though I may shed a tear or two.
This pain is indescribable.
If you've never known it you cannot fully understand.

Yet I need you.
When you look away, when I'm ignored,
I am again alone with it.
Your attention means more than you can ever know.

Really, tears are not a bad sign, you know!
They're nature's way of helping me to heal...
They relieve some of the stress of sadness.

I know you fear that asking how I'm doing brings me sadness...
But you're wrong.
The memory of my loved one's death will always be with me,
Only a thought away.
My tears make my pain more visible to you,
But you did not give me the pain...it was already there.

When I cry, could it be that you feel helpless, not knowing what to do?
You are not helpless,
And you don't need to do a thing but be there.
When I feel your permission to allow my tears to flow,
You've helped me

You need not speak. Your silence as I cry is all I need.
Be patient...do not fear.
Listening with your heart to "how I am doing" relieves the pain,
For when the tears can freely come and go, I feel lighter.

Talking to you releases what I've been wanting to say aloud,
Clearing space for a touch of joy in my life.

I'll cry for a minute or two...
And then I'll wipe my eyes,
And sometimes you'll even find I'm laughing later.

When I hold back the tears, my throat grows tight,
My chest aches, my stomach knots...
Because I'm trying to protect you from my tears.
Then we both hurt...me, because my pain is held inside,
A shield against our closeness...and you,
Because suddenly we're distant.

So please, take my hand and see me through my tears...
Then we can be close again.

A Bereaved Parent's Wish List

I wish my child hadn't died.

I wish I had him back.

If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my child, I wish you would know it isn't because you have hurt me. My child's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my child and you have allowed me to share my grief.

I wish you wouldn't "kill" my child again by removing his pictures, artwork or other rememberences from your home.

Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn't shy away from me. I need you now more then ever.

I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you, but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my child, my favorite topic of the day.

I know that you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my child's death pains you too. I wish you would let me know those things through a phone call, a card, a note or a real big hug.

I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for me, but I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the death of my child untill the day I die.

I am working very hard on my recovery but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss my child, and I will always grieve that he is dead.

I wish you wouldn't expect me "not to think about it" or to "be happy" Neither will happen for a very long time.

I don't want to have a "pity party" but I do wish you would let me grieve. I must hurt before I heal.

I wish you understood how my life has been shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I'm feeling miserable. Please be patient with me as I am with you.

When I say,"I am doing okay" I wish you could understand that I don't "feel" okay and that I struggle daily.

I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions that I'm having are normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness, and overwhelming saddness are all to be expected. So please excuse me when I'm quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.

Your advice to "take one day at a time" is excellent advice. However, a day is to much and fast for me right now. I wish you could understand that I am doing good to handle one hour at a time.

Please excuse me if I seem rude, that's certainly not my intent. Sometimes the world around me goes too fast and I need to get off. When I walk away I wish you would let me find a quiet place to be alone.

I wish you understood that grief changes people. When my child died, a big part of me died with him. I am not the same person I was before my child died, and I will never be that person again.

I wish very much that you could understand my loss and grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. BUT, I pray daily that you will never understand!

© 1998 Kathy Freeman

Finding Answers to Sticky Questions
by Nita Aasen St. Peter, Minnesota

One of the sticky questions many bereaved parents dread encountering following the death of their child is the common, "How many children do you have?"

As a newly bereaved parent, I wondered how I would respond. Would I say three sons and hope they didn't ask for any more information? Or would I say that two of my three sons had been killed in a car accident and show little restraint in telling the story? Another option would be to say I had one adult child and let it go at that. Or did the answer depend on the situation? Would there be times when divulging that information wouldn't be appropriate?

Yet I have been surprised at how infrequently I have been asked that question, probably less than ten times, in the nine years since the accident. How much does age make a difference in being asked the question? Looking back in time it seemed that I was asked that question quite regularly as a young parent. Or, have privacy laws and other social factors resulted in questions of a personal nature being asked much less frequently than they once were? I'm not sure.

Quite early on, however, I decided that, when asked the question, I would say I had three children and then just see where the conversation went. Again I was surprised that it usually stopped right there without any further questions about their age, where they were and what were they doing with their lives?

After about seven years, I finally came up with an answer to the question that felt comfortable. While that may seem like a long time, I have come to the conclusion that it is not unusual if bereaved parents digest a question in their mind for an extended period before coming up with an answer to a sticky question that fits for them.

My "coming out" situation, so to speak, came up at a work-related meeting. The group was meeting for the first time and in the "getting to know you" phase, we were asked to share our work-life-job and something about our personal life. I was almost the last one to share so I had some time to think - What am I going to say and how am I going to say it?

As the others began sharing, they all, without exception, talked about how many children they had and about some of their comings and goings. I felt this huge gap between their lives as they were describing it and my life as I was experiencing it. Knowing about half the group, I also was aware that there was another bereaved parent in the group. She chose not to mention her daughter who had died about a year later than my sons. By this time it was my turn. I took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

I began by introducing myself and what I did in my work life. Then I shifted gears and said, "I have three children, three sons, but I'm also a bereaved parent." I then went on to briefly share the circumstances surrounding their deaths. I concluded by saying how nothing could have changed me more. Then I talked about my surviving son and his family. The sharing time went on to the last person without any further comment.

Following the meeting, the other bereaved parent immediately came up to me and said, "You handled that so well!! You couldn't have done that any better. I've never known how to answer that question since my daughter's death. I've been looking for some way to do it and the way you did it was just so natural. You gave me an option that will work for me. Thank you." And we went on to have a wonderful, comforting conversation about our children who had died too soon and how meaningful it was to talk about them by name at any time and place.

I was totally amazed. In taking the risk, I unknowingly gave another bereaved parent a way to handle "the question." And, by giving a voice to the question I received another answer. I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that being up front about being a bereaved parent had, for me, been the right thing to do.

Another situation introduced me to another misconception many others may have experienced relating to the death of a child or the death of anyone for that matter. I was talking about my sons and was asked, "What were their names?" Immediately, the hairs rose on my neck as I responded by saying, "Their names are Erik and David." While I decided this was not the time for a lecture, I was not going to let it pass that death does not take away their names or the name of any child who had died.

Thankfully, their names live on and confirm an identity that was given to them before or at the time of their births and lives on after their deaths. Their names confirm that they once occupied a special place in this world and symbolize their unique personhood. Furthermore their names give us a way to talk about them; to remember them. Their names give us permission to use our voices to proclaim loud and clear that, while our relationship with our deceased children has changed as a result of their death, they continue to be our sons and daughters. My sons' names are still Erik and David just as your child or anyone who has died still has his or her name linking them with your family and this world.

Grief: The Price We Pay For Love

Grief is a NATURAL and NORMAL reaction to loss . . . loss of any kind. It is a physical, emotional, spiritual and psychological response. The death of a loved one is perhaps the most devastating loss one may experience. Yet, grief occurs following ANY change in our lives. Even positive changes can bring a momentary grief response.

Grief is a complex process, guided by our past experiences, our religious beliefs, our socio economic situation, our physical health and the cause of the loss. LOVE, ANGER, FEAR, FRUSTRATION, LONELINESS and GUILT are all part of grief. It is important to understand that grief is NOT a sign of weakness nor a lack of faith. GRIEF IS THE PRICE WE PAY FOR LOVE!

Grieving may cause physical and behavioural changes such as: sleep irregularities, changes in appetite, gastro intestinal disturbances, "heart ache", restlessness, spontaneous crying, irritability, sighing or muscle tension.

Anger and guilt are common emotions. You may feel angry with God, your spouse, your children or with others, either involved or totally separate from the death. You may be angry with yourself. Guilt feelings often accompany or follow anger. You may want to withdraw and be left alone.

Depression, feelings of emptiness or hollowness may temporarily overcome you. You may experience headaches, tightness in the throat or chest, muscle aches, or burning sensation in your stomach. GRIEF HURTS! You may, for a while, become preoccupied with images of your loved one. You may "see" or sense your loved one's presence. You may begin to wonder if you are going crazy.

You can help yourself through grief.

• Acknowledge the loss.

• Accept the pain of grief. Try to live THROUGH it, not avoid it.

• Share your thoughts and feelings. Find enough compassionate listeners. You can talk more than one person can listen!

• Understand that each person has an individual timetable for grief. Each person grieves separately and differently. We move through grief at our own pace.

• Find your sense of humour. Try to hang on to it!

• Get some physical exercise. If nothing else, jog your memory.

• Learn to hug again.

• Accept yourself. Understand you are someone new. Acknowledge that change.

• Begin to become the person you already are...

• Remember, though death comes, LOVE NEVER GOES AWAY!!!

  © Darcie D. Sims
  Grief Inc.
  
  

  
  

  
  

  Time: How Long Will It Take?

  Waiting? OK. But will a lightness of heart ever come? Does time really heal all wounds? Mothers who have experienced child death assure us that "it will get better." Friends and loved ones may tell us that "it is time to get over it and get on with life." We hear about closure, but researchers say that a mother never ceases mourning the death of her child. The truth is that there is no set chronology for mourning mothers.

  In mythology, Father Time is sometimes depicted as helping Truth out of a cave, symbolizing that in time all things come to light. We cannot hurry Truth along. Like the ancient alchemists, we must wait for kairos, the astrologically correct time, or God's time, for allowing things to turn out right. Our questions about how long it will take to heal may long remain unanswered.

  Changes in One's Sense of Time

  The grieving process alters our personal sense of time in several ways. During the traumatic hours after the death, everything in our other life comes to a halt, and our time stops. It takes a number of days before we realize that, although our world has changed forever, the rest of the world continues its usual operations.

  At my daughter's funeral, I was amazed when a friend told me he had to get back to his office. It dawned on me that people were going about their business. The world went on, though my world had ended. --Emily

  After the service I stood at the grave site, holding a rose from the casket. Time had stopped. My sister came up and said I had to leave because other people wanted to go home. --Annie

  For the rest of our life, however, the moment of our child's death continues frozen in time. We remember every detail of the event as if it were yesterday, and we continue to mark the chronology of our experiences with that dreadful date. Paul Newman, whose son died of a drug overdose said that everything in his life was divided into two periods, time before his son died and afterward.

  As we continue to mourn, our normal sense of time alters in another way: we mark time carefully. We count the number of months we have lived without joy, since the light of our life has been extinguished.

  Dear Andrew, It's been nine months. It took me nine months to bring you into the world and now you have been away from this world for nine months. Today the grief washes over me and I hear myself crying 'Mama.' I am a child myself, and I long for comfort. I don't know if comfort exists when you are gone. --Kate

  Part of our altered sense of time arises from knowing that the death of our child also means the death of part of our future. Holidays and family traditions will never be the same. Now we will always remember the birthday of the one who is gone, and the anniversary of her death is forever branded in our heart, marking our time. We mourn not only losses in our own future but the unlived future of our child. When we attend a graduation or a wedding, we ache for our child who was deprived of these rites of passage. How can we attend these ceremonies without feeling victimized? The way out of victimization I know is this: we must eventually come to see our own mourning process as a personal rite of passage. We are being initiated into a different life with new perspectives.

  Excerpted from And a Sword Shall Pierce Your Heart: Moving from Despair to Meaning After the Death of a Child by Charlotte M. Mathes, LCSW, Ph.D. Copyright © 2006 Charlotte Mathes. Published by Chiron Publications; September 2005;$19.95US/$23.50CAN; 978-1888602340.

  Author Charlotte M. Mathes, LCSW, Ph.D., is a certified Jungian analyst, a graduate of the C.G. Jung Institute in Zurich, Switzerland. She received her doctoral degree in psychoanalysis from the Union Graduate School in Cincinnati and is a clinical member of the American Association of Marriage and Family Counselors as well as a board certified supervisor for clinical social workers. Dr. Mathes has been in private practice in New Orleans for twenty years. She lectures and leads seminars in Jungian psychology, family therapy, and bereavement.

  For more information, please visit www.charlottemathes.com.