You Can't Rush Your Healing (Trevor Hall) / Akaal (Ajeet Kaur, featuring Trevor Hall)

We drove through the night Tuesday to arrive Wednesday morning... napped a few hours... then put on our aprons to kick *ss in the kitchen, preparing carmelized Carnival squash, creamed onions, Stuffin' Muffins (mini-ones this year, which will be a new tradition), Thai chili sauce/pistachio Brussels sprouts, etc. etc. etc.

Bedtime, then up again for Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, at which point Colin came downstairs, threw his arms in the air, and exclaimed:  "Today's the Day!", which became our holiday weekend mantra... 🎉

A multi-generational revolving door of Venn-diagrammed families (24 total!) enjoyed appetizers and beverages until our 3 p.m. dinnertime, followed by massive amounts of dessert, and they all drifted out again.  We belatedly remembered to re-enact a MossFam tradition... 😛

Friday brings leftovers for breakfast, CodeNames, a park/playground visit, and home movies (which are laughter- as well as tear-inducing).  A leisurely departure Saturday morning, back in Pembroke Pines by midnight-ish.

And some of us tested positive for COVID.  Ugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My belated e-mail this morning:

Gratitude Abounds! (Re: Thanksgiving EXTRAVANGA - Over the River and Through the Woods to the Carroll House!

Dear All:  

My short-and-sweet blessing/toast:  "Thank you for this food, and this day, thank you for friends who are family, and family who are friends, and the love we share."

Well, if that doesn't just sum it up perfectly in twenty-five-words-or-less, not my modus operandi at all (ha!).

First of all, boundless thanks to Mari and John for agreeing to *host* the Thanksgiving Extravaganza for multiple branches of the Driskell/Carroll/Hilton/Moss/Vo Families.  The house was beautiful and organized and welcoming... 💗

We are grateful to everyone for coming and contributing and conversing and convivializing (I thought I made up that word, but it actually exists!

Thursday was lovely on so many levels... from MVP Rob (and his Kinky Boots apron) for gently but firmly assigning kitchen duties... to Julia's mimosa stations... to Duyen joining us again... to Lee-Lee's dinner rolls (which didn't get burned!)... to Dot!... to the marriage of napkin rings... to darling Stella... to Joy's Piecaken... to Chico's turkey carving... to inspiring and thoughtful conversations... to Brad's orchids... to Debbie's chocoholic eclair dessert... to Colin's blessing (and I know I've left out many other delights, so please feel free to add them... 🤗

Each deliciosity, joke, endearment was greater than the one previous... and, although my cheekbones (and sciatic nerves - it's a long drive!) still ache, my heart is full.  We made it through the first First (to Eric!).  Thanks and love to all, always... 💖

Sue

I am grateful to my sister Mari for providing this most perfect image.  We are indeed a family of Scrabble players but, regrettably, we never did manage to make time to play!

Happy post-Thanksgiving, sweet peas.  DEAR SUGAR, The Rumpus Advice Column #90: Ninety-Four Ways of Saying Thank You, November 24, 2011

SONG:  You Can't Rush Your Healing by Trevor Hall (thanks to Sarah for sharing this song with me a few months ago... 💖) / Akaal by Ajeet Kaur (featuring Trevor Hall)

BOOK:  Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road by Neil Peart

POEM:  Forgotten Gravy by Donna Ashworth

I love imperfect, mismatched rooms, homemade decorations,

and trinkets,

that tell stories of the past.

I treasure impromptu gatherings with food rustled up from nowhere – it’s always just enough.

I see the beauty in gifts handed over

with words of oh it’s nothing;

for that simply means the giver

cannot begin to convey

how they really feel about you.

I value both the quiet moments when the lights twinkle privately, and the raucous occasions when laughter fills the room.

And I can’t get enough of burnt carrots,

forgotten gravy,

and failed attempts at dessert.

Because that’s where the love lives

— in the imperfect,

in the messy,

in the real.

Love lives in the forgotten gravy.  Look for it.

Fifteen Bean Soup by Barbara Crooker

I want to thank this pot for its art

of containment, the stove for its gentle

heat.  Thank you to the beans, all fifteen

of you, for your transformation from stony

pebbles into nuggets of deliciousness, regaining

your original forms:  large & small limas, lentils,

navy beans, pintos, yellow-eyed beans, red & white

kidneys, black beans, garbanzos, cranberry beans,

small white & pink beans, green & yellow split peas.

And thank you to the onions, for your bite and snap;

tomatoes, chili powder, garlic, lemon juice—what

you add is undetectable, but if you’re omitted,

all is lost.  A word of applause, gnarly ham hocks,

for coming apart in the bubble and boil,

for lending your parts for the good of the whole.

And thank you, thank you, stoneware bowls—

without your help, this dinner wouldn’t be possible.

Have I forgotten anyone?  The farmer who sowed

the crops, the rancher who raised the pigs, the grocery

store that carried their wares.  Finally—and yes, I hear

the orchestra music, know my time is coming to a close—

let me thank the housewife, lost in history, who figured

out this recipe, the proportions, who added in the harmony,

the way the notes combined, the blend, the music, the mastery.

QUOTE:  "It was November - the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.” ~ L. M. Montgomery

Be Here Now (Willy Porter) / Be Here Now (by Ray LaMontagne)

I don't know anything anymore, which seems to be a very liberating experience.  I mean, I've always been more heart-based than brain-centric, and feelings are front-and-center these days.  I'm just trying to pay attention and follow my intuition.  

However, sometimes there are blips.  I got home from the Miami Book Fair the other night, and Chico said:  "your son called, and wants you to call him back" and, swear to god, my first instinct was to ask:  "which one?"... 🤷

We are leaving in an hour or so for the Atlanta area, to spend Thanksgiving with my sister.  It sounded like a great idea at the time, and I have no doubt it will be an amazing weekend... but part of me really wants to just stay home, in my nightgown, and eat cereal.  Sadness permeates... 😭

Mari, don't freak out.  We're coming.  I love you... and am beyond grateful for the wagon-circling... 💗

P.S.  I won't be blogging Friday, as we'll still be away... but look for something this Sunday after we return.  Happy Thanksgiving to all... 💟

SONG(S):  Be Here Now (Willy Porter) / Be Here Now (by Ray LaMontagne)

BOOK:  The Book of Ichigo Ichie: The Art of Making the Most of Every Moment, the Japanese Way by Héctor García, Francesc Miralles (thanks to FranD for the heads-up to this delightful concept!)

POEM(S):  Holding the Light by Stuart Kestenbaum

for Kait Rhoads

Gather up whatever is

glittering in the gutter,

whatever has tumbled

in the waves or fallen

in flames out of the sky,

for it’s not only our

hearts that are broken,

but the heart

of the world as well.

Stitch it back together.

Make a place where

the day speaks to the night

and the earth speaks to the sky.

Whether we created God

or God created us

it all comes down to this:

In our imperfect world

we are meant to repair

and stitch together

what beauty there is, stitch it

with compassion and wire.

See how everything

we have made gathers

the light inside itself

and overflows? A blessing.

Right Here by Dane Anthony

Stop moving. Stand in

one place – this place.

Breathe slowly; in, then out. Repeat.

Repeat again. Let your

shoulders sink and relax. Unclench

your jaw; slowly close your eyes.

Listen for your heartbeat; really

listen. Feel it pulse in

your fingertips.

Lessen expectations. Under-do all your

efforts. Requisition the time

for your soul

to catch up. Lean

into the wind; feel it

like a tree and test the ground.

Learn to trust the resilience.

It would be treason to move

quickly ~ left or right ~

from this place. It is alright to be exactly

what you are, who you are, where you are.

Right here, right now. 

QUOTE(S):  "Our true home is in the present moment.  To live in the present moment is a miracle.  The miracle is not to walk on water.  The miracle is to walk on the green Earth in the present moment." ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

“The present moment is the intersection of eternity with time.” ~ Beatrice Bruteau

Wonder of Birds (The Innocence Mission)

Whew, what a week (in a good way), busy but rewarding!  

I wrote on Tuesday about attending our second bereavement support group; I am keeping them (mostly widows) in my heart, especially with the holidays right around the corner, a definite trigger. 

I had high hopes for my first therapy appointment, and she met all my expectations, and beyond.  I wept through most of the session, as I was able to speak so freely about Eric... the details of his passing, a multitude of memories, and what coping mechanisms (so many coping mechanisms!) I'm using to move forward.  We have set up an every-other-week schedule, with the next one being Monday November 27 (after we return from our trip to the Atlanta area for Thanksgiving).  I realize it's Pandora's Box, unleashing all the pain and suffering in the (my) world, but I have to believe that, like the myth, Hope remains an achievable possibility... 💖

Sarah and I did indeed follow through on our scheduled psychic reading; I've had so many visitations (stronger at first, less so now), so the timing felt right.  All I told Celeste (our reader) in advance is that I lost a loved one, and asked if we should bring something of theirs; she replied no, that she didn't like to know anything beforehand.  The session resonated on so many levels; I wish I'd recorded it but Sarah and I went back to her house for lunch afterward, and I took notes from what was fresh in our collective minds.  

Celeste used the Light Seer's Tarot deck, and I've been able to do some research since then.  I was pretty much a puddle from the beginning, but Sarah kept her wits about her to ask intuitive questions; The Queen of Swords was what came up when Sarah asked if E had a message for me (notice the bird, one of many in our session; also, many of the cards showcased a grouping of three).  Goosebump-inducing.  So much more, but I'm holding it close for now.  Maybe at some point I will share on Facebook the "map" of our read and ask for opinions/thoughts from those who have tarot backgrounds... 🤷

Lastly, I went over to Sarah's last night so we could watch Funny Girl together (she'd never seen it!); we had previously entertained the thought of attending the touring production, currently at our local Broward Center for the Performing Arts, but the timing didn't work out.  I picked up dinner from our fave sushi place, and warned her that I knew all the words to every song, but would try not to sing along, saving that for Thanksgiving clean-up with my sister Mari (I will share that story next week).  "I got 36 expressions, sweet as pie and tough as leathah" - ha!).

Dinner tonight with friends Buck and Kathy, and tomorrow will find me at the Miami Book Fair (zippity!).  Although grief is always in evidence (as it should be), Life feels calmer, more peaceful, manageable.  E assured us:  "I am standing right next to you".  I feel him... 💗

SONG:  Wonder of Birds by The Innocence Mission

BOOK:  And Still the Bird Sings: A Memoir of Finding Light After Loss by Linda Broder

POEM(S):  One Boy by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Today the heart is full of ghosts—

one doing backflips and one

eating ice cream and one throwing

rocks in the river. One drops

a camera into a lily pond while trying

to take a picture. One peels apples

and one rides on my hip and one

sings country songs. One lights a candle

and one blows it out and one spends hours

arguing about which of the ghosts is most right.

And one is never satisfied. And one

has a thousand dull gray eyes. And one,

one whispers, I’ve got this, Mom.

And I turn to them all, one at a time,

and say welcome, you’re all welcome here.

Even the ghost who slams the door.

Even the ghost who bristles, who swears.

Ghost playing drums. Ghost aiming

nerf guns. Ghost wearing button down shirts.

Ghost with a brain made for zeros and ones.

Ghost with hands in the dirt.

And the heart expands to hold them all—

or were its corridors already stretched?

Straight A ghost. Red canoe ghost. Ghost

of the man I’ll never know. Ghost

who sits beside me at the table,

who says nothing, sipping sweet tea.

Ghost who tucks me into bed, then

slips into my dreams.

While in the Middle of Many Errands by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

At the edge of the Big Five parking lot,

in a tree still fully leafed out in November,

there must have been hundreds of invisible birds

all singing as if singing is what a day is for,

and the riotous song traveled

over the vast black asphalt sea

crossing all the organizing straight white lines—

so much song for such a small tree—

and stunned, my daughter and I stood and listened,

our rush stopped by the glorious commotion,

as if awe is what a day is for,

as if we exist to be stretched ever wider by disbelief,

as if we are here to know ourselves

as part of something greater,

the world calling us again and again

deeper into the mystery.

QUOTE:  "It is the paradoxical nature of grief to lead us to love. There is a seed planted in loss, an evolution made in breaking, a genius found in separation that is rarely apparent in the heart of crisis. But often what looks like deviation is really proliferation, like satellite initiatives born from a group’s dissolution. Intimacy is forged in the hearts of those who know exclusion. To them is given the gift of tenderness which can mentor another through their own isolation." ―Dreamwork with Toko-pa

“Our work is to show we have been breathed upon—to show it, give it out, sing it out, to live it out in the topside world what we have received through our sudden knowledge, from body, from dreams, and journeys of all sorts.” ~ Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper (Blue Öyster Cult)

Seven weeks today since Eric's death.

Yesterday was our second week attending the bereavement group; Sarah went to a yoga class instead (she's been very dedicated!), and Chico actually came with me again.  The overarching sentiment seems to be that after the meeting I feel drained, but mostly relaxed and peaceful.  My melancholy emanated from the fact that they (mostly widows, with a few widowers) have lost their life partners, and I almost felt guilty my husband is not only still alive, but supportive.  I don't take that for granted, even with the forever-absence of my child.  

Great news!  I actually heard back from the therapist I reached out to last Friday; her husband (who does her scheduling) called me yesterday, we had a very long conversation, and he said that, although she currently had no availability, he would do what he could to get me in.  I informed him that I had the power of the purple candles on my side, and darned if I didn't hear from him *this* morning, confirming a 3 p.m. appointment tomorrow (I then spent time filling out the paperwork).  She sounds amazing, and I am counting my blessings... ॐ

Chico and I watched two more home movies Sunday afternoon; two impressions:  they're like Robert Altman's films, in which everyone is talking over everyone... and the recurring theme, since they mostly are of Christmases together, is "save the bows!".  Ha... 🤣

Boundless thanks to Michele for sending me this article (through the actual mail!) a few weeks ago:  We Don't Recover from Grief, and that's Okay by Eleanor Haley  Found out that it had since morphed into a book, which I ordered for myself and, discovering how wonderful it is, sending copies to Sarah, Rob, and Duyen.  I am using it like a workbook, marking it up with notes, highlighted passages, and Arlo Guthrie's proverbial "circles and arrows".  And, as The Band sings:  "Take what you need and leave the rest".  What a great resource... 💖

My binge-watch continues (two episodes a night); a bit of googling revealed this most perfect "review":  "Its sadness isn't the reason why I'll never get over it though, but rather its raw depiction of grief.  Six Feet Under isn't so much a show about death as it's a show about coping with death... Death may be inevitable, but it doesn't take away the pain it brings."

SONG:  (Don’t Fear) The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult

BOOK:  What's Your Grief?: Lists to Help You Through Any Loss by Eleanor Haley MS, Litsa Williams MA LCSW-C

POEM:  Me First by Billy Collins

We often fly in the sky together,

and we’re always okay—there’s our luggage now

waiting for us on the carousel.

And we drive lots of places

in all manner of hectic traffic,

yet here we are pulling in the driveway again.

So many opportunities to die together,

but no meteor has hit our house,

no tornado has lifted us into its funnel.

The odds say then that one of us will go

before the other, like heading off

into a heavy snow storm, leaving

the other one behind to stand in the kitchen

or lie on the bed under the fan.

So why not let me, the older one, go first?

I don’t want to see you everywhere

as I wait for the snow to stop,

before setting out with a crooked stick, calling your name.

QUOTE(S), both from Six Feet Under:  "You think it's a day like any other, but what you don't realize is that anything can happen, and then it does.  It happens."

"Why do people have to die?"

"To make life important.  None of us know how long we've got.  Which is why we have to make each day matter."

And So It Goes (Billy Joel)

Top pic is Eric's Instagram tagline, and below that a sticker I bought and installed on the rear windshield of my car, *inspired by* E's Instagram tagline.  Bought one for Chico, Sarah, and Duyen as well... 💗

Just when it feels as if Life is settling down, we had an appointment with Bank of America to attempt to get the details of E's secondary checking account (where he was saving up for Duyen's ring).  Even though we presented them with his death certificate, we still had to fill out forms which then have to go through their Estate Department (at first I thought she said *State* Department, and wondered why the government had to get involved - ha!).  So many flaming hoops.  Ugh... 🔥

Today we spread Eric's ashes at the park in our old neighborhood, where we lived from 1992-2018.  More on that Tuesday.  Not sure if it's peace or panic, but I'm feeling quiet tonight.

SONG:  And So It Goes by Billy Joel

BOOK:  Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

POEM(S):  In Blackwater Woods by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies

into pillars

of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

of the ponds,

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

nameless now.

Every year

everything

I have ever learned

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side 

is salvation,

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.

On Safety by Nadine Pinede

When the storms of life

come bearing down

threatening to

lash you senseless,

seek shelter.

Find the warm

blanket you caress

like the felted fur

of your cat

curled before

a glowing hearth,

of breath that fills

both heart and earth.

Breathe.

There’s always time

to curse the darkness.

After the tears,

light a honeycomb candle

and heal your own sun.

The bridge

from sorrow to joy

may seem to vanish

in the flood,

but who says you

can’t join those

who cross over,

with a single

braided rope

of gratitude.

QUOTE:  “Misery won't touch you gentle. It always leaves its thumbprints on you; sometimes it leaves them for others to see, sometimes for nobody but you to know of.” ~ Edwidge Danticat

Between Here and Gone (Mary Chapin Carpenter)

Seems crazy it's been a week since I blogged.  Daily might have been overwhelming, but weekly feels like too much time in-between.  I might have to find a Happy Medium (maybe a Tuesday *and* Friday routine?).  Speaking of mediums, Sarah and I are looking into psychic readings.  To be continued...

My Sunday was fairly quiet (deliberately so), and then Nancy, Dave, Chico, and I went to see Jennings & Keller in concert; they tour out west from May to October, so they've only been back in town a few weeks.  Great show, in that Laurie debuted a few new songs (one inspired by an essay in Small Victories, an Anne Lamott book I gave her years ago) as well as covered *two* Joni songs (For Free and Woodstock) in honor of Joni's 80th birthday (today, actually!).  Dana played the guitar, dobro, and pedal steel (a master of all three) and their harmonies were on point; I did cry a few times, but I am so glad I went.

You may recall that I've been very insistent on attending an in-person bereavement support group, at least for the first few months, and I did find a few gatherings in the area that qualified.  Chico, Sarah, and I attended one yesterday, fairly close by (every Monday 12:30-2:30).  It was very warm and welcoming, composed mostly of women who had lost their husbands, but still resonated with us (grief is grief, right?).  On one hand, it was difficult to process so much pain from others but, on the other, they are so loving and supportive of each other, a true Village.  Many approached us afterward with hugs and kind words.  I also plan on attending a different group (every 2nd and 4th Wednesday, 5:30-6:30), also pretty close to us.  If I like them both, I'll attend both.  No one says I have to choose.  It feels like forward motion, although even lateral is intentional movement.

I spent a good bit of today on the phone with UnitedHealthcare, in search of therapists in my network; I also asked for the following filters:  close to home, female, in-person, grief... which narrowed the field down to 8 (and then 6, because two of them had *horrible* reviews).  I called one already, but haven't heard back yet.  Thinking positive... 🌞

I did begin re-watching (although it's been decades - 2001- since my first go-around) Six Feet Under, which is now available on Netflix.  I almost shut it down completely in that the first death, a bus/car accident, happened in the first 8 minutes, but I kept going, and continue to be reminded of its brilliance and resonance with my current mindset.  There are 5 seasons, and I'm going slowly, so this could take me into the New Year.

Thanksgiving.  Right now, anything is better than here, where my heart just could not handle sitting around a familiar table with my youngest in absentia.  My sister Mari has thrown herself into this wholeheartedly, for which I am extremely grateful, conjuring the joyful chaos I have cultivated over the years.  We will help, it will all be great, there will be a gap and a hole and a metaphorical empty chair, but there will also be the love of family weaving its way throughout the day... and then we can stamp paid to the first First, with more to follow for the next 11 months, and maybe it will get just a bit easier with each one, or maybe it will feel like The Worst Groundhog Day Ever, in which we rip off the band-aid for Christmas and New Year's Eve and New Year's Day and Valentine's Day and Easter and Mother's Day and Father's Day and E's birthday ad infinitum until it eventually becomes The New Normal (which sounds equally horrifying).  Who knows, right?  In the immortal words of Ani DiFranco:  "it's my first time for this kind of thing".  No Superhero complex here... 🤷

SONG:  Between Here and Gone by Mary Chapin Carpenter

BOOK:  Writing as a Way of Healing: How Telling Our Stories Transforms Our Lives by Louise DeSalvo

POEM(S):  Think in poems. Breathe in. 

Sing your grief. Breathe out.

Write your inner ocean in waves of words. Express your fire in exclamations on a page.  

Howl the words. Chirp them. 

Caw them across the sky.

Splash them. Sparkle them. 

Crack them open. Compost them. 

Plant them. 

Writing out the words

Rights what’s inside

And is a magical rite of inner alchemy.

Words are mighty powerful inside and out.

Express them in scribbles

Or sketches.

Express them in circles or spirals.

Keep writing till your hand hurts if you have to.

Till you are empty. Till you are shining. Till your face begins to rain. Till your heart and body and breath returns to center. 

Till you are again renewed.

~ The Wild Matryoshka

How We Are Carried by Sierra DeMulder

Did you know

fetal cells stay

in the carrier's body

after the baby 

is born?

Even if they

are not born alive

but birthed

quiet and indigo

as dusk.

For decades,

their DNA can be

found in the blood

and tissue of the one

who fashioned them.

Stuccoed to pancreas,

bone marrow,

heart, of course - 

that basin of folklore,

that antiquary of longing.

See how we were

designed to not let go?

How we are built

to carry love

long after it has

grown up 

and gone?

QUOTE(S):  “Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.” ~ Graham Greene 

"Write hard and clear about what hurts." ~ Ernest Hemingway

"The goal of the writer is to take what’s inside their heart and make it plain on the page." ~ Ada Limon (current Poet Laureate of the United States)

You'll Never Walk Alone (from the 1945 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Carousel; covered by Marcus Mumford)

You'll Never Walk Alone (from the 1945 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Carousel; covered by Marcus Mumford)

Since these are not my words, this doesn't really count as a blog post (next one is scheduled for Tuesday, 11/7); however, I am finally at the stage of searching for bereavement/grief support groups, and The Compassionate Friends is the foremost organization for parents who have lost a child.  I am disappointed they don't have an in-person group close by to attend (only virtual), but their resources are excellent!

P.S.  I did find a few groups in the area that *are* in-person, so we'll be exploring those this coming week... 💖🤞

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

When your child has died, suddenly it seems like all meaning has been drained from your life. When you wake in the morning, it’s difficult to get out of bed, much less live a “normal” life. All that was right with the world now seems wrong and you’re wondering when, or if, you’ll ever feel better.

We’ve been there ourselves and understand some of the pain you are feeling right now. We are truly glad that you have found us but profoundly saddened by the reason. We know that you are trying to find your way in a bewildering experience for which no one can truly be prepared.

When you’re newly bereaved, suddenly you find yourself on an emotional roller-coaster where you have no idea what to expect next. Here are thoughts on some of what you may be experiencing or feeling (many of these will apply to bereaved siblings and grandparents):

Psychological

Your memory has suddenly become clouded. You’re shrouded in forgetfulness. You’ll be driving down the road and not know where you are or remember where you’re going. As you walk, you may find yourself involved in “little accidents” because you’re in a haze.

You fear that you are going crazy.

You find there’s a videotape that constantly plays in an endless loop in your mind, running through what happened.

You find your belief system is shaken and you try to sort out what this means to your faith.

Placing impossible deadlines on yourself, you go back to work, but find that your mind wanders and it’s difficult to function efficiently or, some days, at all. Others wonder when you’ll be over “it,” not understanding that you’ll never be the same person you were before your child died—and the passage of time will not make you so.

You find yourself reading the same paragraph over and over again trying to understand what someone else has written.

Emotional

You rail against the injustice of not being allowed the choice to die instead of your child.

You find yourself filled with anger, whether it be at your partner, a person you believe is responsible for your child’s death, God, yourself, and even your child for dying.

You yearn to have five minutes, an hour, a day back with your child so you can tell your child of your love or thoughts left unsaid.

Guilt becomes a powerful companion as you blame yourself for the death of your child. Rationally you know that you were not to blame—you most certainly would have saved your child if you’d been given the chance.

You feel great sadness and depression as you wrestle with the idea that everything important to you has been taken from you. Your future has been ruined and nothing can ever make it right.

Physical

Either you can’t sleep at all or you sleep all the time. You feel physical exhaustion even when you have slept.

You no longer care about your health and taking care of yourself—it just doesn’t seem that important anymore.

You’re feeling anxiety and great discomfort—you’re told they’re panic attacks.

The tears come when you least expect them.

Your appetite is either gone or you find yourself overeating.

Family & Social

If you have surviving children, you find yourself suddenly overprotective, not wanting to allow them out of your sight. Yet you feel like a bad parent because it’s so difficult to focus on their needs when you’re hurting so bad yourself.

You find that your remaining family at home grieves the loss differently and you search for a common ground which seems difficult to find.

You’ve been told by well-meaning people, even professionals, that 70-80-90 percent of all couples divorce after their child dies. You are relieved to find that new studies show a much lower divorce rate, from 12-16%, believed to be caused by the “shared experience” aspect of the situation.

Old friends seem to fade away as you learn they cannot comprehend the extent or length of your grief.

Things you liked to do which seemed so important before now seem meaningless.

Others say you’ll someday find “closure,” not understanding that closure never applies when it is the death of your child.

Fleeting thoughts of pleasurable activities bring about feelings of guilt. If you child can’t have fun, how can you do anything that brings you enjoyment?

New friends come into your life who understand some of your grief because they’ve been there themselves.

Finding the "New Me"

When you’re newly bereaved, you don’t see how you can put one foot in front of the other, much less survive this loss. You’ll never “recover” from your loss nor will you ever find that elusive “closure” they talk of on TV—but eventually you will find the “new me.” You will never be the same person you were before your child died. It may be hard to believe now, but in time and with the hard work of grieving (and there’s no way around it), you will one day think about the good memories of when your child lived rather than the bad memories of how your child died. You will even smile and, yes, laugh again someday—as hard to believe as that may seem.

When the newly bereaved come to a meeting of The Compassionate Friends, you will be able to listen and learn from others who are further down the grief road than you. They will have made it through that first birthday, first death anniversary, first holiday, and so many other firsts that you have not yet reached. You will learn coping skills from other bereaved parents who, like you, never thought they’d survive. There are no strangers at TCF meetings—only friends you have not yet met.

More than 18,000 people a month find the support they are seeking through meetings of The Compassionate Friends. Please check our Chapter Locator on our national website for the nearest TCF chapter. Or call the National Office at 877-969-0010 and we’ll be happy to give you a referral to the closest chapter and send you a customized bereavement packet at no charge. We have many other ways of providing support including: our national website and Online Support Community; We Need Not Walk Alone, our national magazine available by free online subscription; our monthly online e-newsletter which talks about the organization and its events; our Facebook Page with over 50,000 members; our Worldwide Candle Lighting each December; our national conference; and our Walk to Remember. We will be here as long as you need us. Even though you are newly bereaved and the road is long, we invite you to walk with us for as long as the journey takes.