Saturday's Sayings - A Grief Shared - Phase II ~by Lynda Boucugnani-Whitehead

Saturday's Sayings

A Grief Shared - Phase II

~by Lynda Boucugnani-Whitehead

I found a follow-up to Lynda Boucugnani-Whitehead's "A Grief Shared" in the TCF, Atlanta newsletter, so I thought I'd share it with you all. Her original writing was a very popular one before with you, my blog readers, so I hope you enjoy her follow up that she says comes 15 years later! Enjoy!

A Grief Shared – Phase II

By Lynda Boucugnani-Whitehead

TCF Atlanta, Georgia, September 2011

Written on the 15th anniversary of her daughter Maria- Victoria Boucugnani’s angel date – September 13, 2011.

Smile, though your heart is aching...

It has been 15 years. No – it is not possible – it couldn‟t be – it was yesterday or at the most a couple of years ago.

A few years after my daughter, Maria-Victoria died, I wrote an article entitled “A Grief Shared” in which I was trying to let professionals and others know what is helpful and what is not for those of us who have lost a child. Now at 15 years, I thought it might be time to revisit “A Grief Shared” from the perspective of someone further down the path.

It is harder to write this than the first one. I don't know why, other than perhaps the accumulation of years of grief and “missingness” have eroded my stamina.

But I still want to write it. Remember, it is just one person‟s perspective; maybe some things will resonate with others, maybe not.

Time – time goes by so quickly.

Everything is in terms of before and after.

The before is the refuge where smiles can come from. Those treasured little glimpses of the way we were. When I feel them, I am truly happy.

But most of life is lived in the after.

Smile, even though it’s breaking...

The first few years in the after were survival boot camp. You don't really know if you can survive – you can't imagine it – you're not sure you want to. You make your decision – you plow through the after. It's not dark – but it's very cloudy – a thick fog – obscuring the future you don't want to see anyway. If you are lucky enough to have friends and support, you are able to travel a little steadier. In the early months of the after, you cannot imagine ever laughing again. You will find that after you are able to do so, you have reached a very important milepost.

When there are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by...

“You‟ll get by” is a good phrase for those of us who have experienced this loss. For a long time that is about all you are hoping to do–“get by.”

I had–and still have–an overwhelming fear of literally being suffocated by my own grief and sad-shock; that it will utterly take everything out of me and leave me with nothingness.

Sad – shock is the combination of the realization that this has really happened, followed by the overwhelming sadness that accompanies that realization.

You learn these little tricks to keep this monster at bay. I will allow myself to sink into the abyss for only a very short period of time and then rapidly climb out – or I take a detour – consciously – if I‟m getting too close to the edge.

What has helped me the most – and is a very personal thing that I seldom share with others – is the way I keep my daughter present with me every day

(although I know she probably has better, more important things to do).

Maria- Victoria's presence permeates my home. There are pictures everywhere.

I can talk to her, tell her I love her and have framed notes from her telling me she loves me too.

We refer to the guest bedroom in our house as Maria-Victoria's room, since when we moved about a year after the accident, we decorated it the way she had wanted in our old home. With every trip we take we are accompanied by Patrick, her stuffed dog, so that she always sees the sights with us. I wear an angel pin every day whenever I leave the house so she is with me. I have done this for 15 years.

Over the years I've had awesome, incredible spiritual experiences that have assured me and my soul that my daughter is still my daughter, that her spirit, her consciousness survives.

It is so hard to try to explain this to people. It is incredibly important to me – such a part of who I am, that I can't bear to listen to the naysayers or, worse, those who outright chastise me for believing in such things as a scientist.

Yes, I am a scientist and I have devoted a lot of time and research to the scientific study of survival of consciousness. Not to mention that I've experienced wondrous things. We who have reluctantly joined the group of bereaved parents, Compassionate Friends, probably know more about this than anyone on the planet.

If you smile through your fear and sorrow...

You do learn to laugh and smile again.

You are a changed person – after all, you live in the after.

With all this elapsed time, how do I describe what it feels like? The one thing that stands out the most is that I have no fear of death. This has continued from the earlier – after years. I‟m not in a hurry – I still want to enjoy life, try to have fun, do meaningful work, make a difference and treasure my family – but I‟m not afraid to die. This is very freeing and has allowed me to chart my own path. As I said in my earlier article, death is the door to where my daughter is. I view it as a great adventure with the ultimate joy of reuniting with Maria- Victoria.

I am a more “take it or leave it” kind of person now.

I guess those of us who have traveled this journey have a clearer vision of what's important and what is not.

I don‟t need to convince anybody of anything. I've become more tolerant and less tolerant. More tolerant of different points of view but less tolerant of narrow-mindedness, silliness or arrogance.

Smile and maybe tomorrow...

I do fall into the chasm of “what might have been.” Usually it's when I'm feeling sorry for myself and missing the love my daughter could be physically giving me at this time and the additional grandchildren who would be a part of my life. I miss the best friend I know she would have been. That hurts – so I don‟t stay there that long.

I miss most her adorable face, her big eyes looking straight into mine, the feel of her skin on my hands, her tenderness, our bond. Thinking of her and visualizing her – that helps.

If I was asked,

“What do you think is the biggest misconception of people who do not live in the "after" have about those who do?”

I would say this,

“They cannot understand how we live with this so present in our lives every day even after 15 years.”

As I said before, 15 years is impossible.

You live every day with both the joy of having had your child with you for a time and the grief of not having your child.

I truly believe that most people think we have “moved on” or something like that. Nope – that doesn't happen.

Every day in the after we feel for our child.

Fifteen years is 5,475 days. I can't put into words what 5,475 days has done to my body and mind. It has definitely caused erosion, a deep canyon.

My soul, however, is enhanced, open and full.

You‟ll find that life is still worthwhile, if you just smile.

Our continuing journey is to make life worthwhile, without the physical presence of our child. Defining “worthwhile‟ is up to the individual person.

I feel that if you have something to believe in, if hope is a big part of your life, if you are able to honor your child and find meaning in your contribution to this Earth, you have a worthwhile life.

So smile through your tears and sorrow, dare to laugh, dare to dream, and let your child’s love embrace you.

(Highlights, mine)

Lynda's daughter, Maria- Victoria Boucugnani

Lynda's story, lovingly "lifted" from TCF, Atlanta newsletter

Saturday's Sayings - Over Time... ~Our Heart's Still in Shattered Pieces

Saturday's Sayings

Over Time... ~Our Heart's Still in Shattered Pieces

(N)one of us "choose" to remain in grief. It is not a choice. It might be nice if we could just turn it on and off at a whim but it doesn't work like that. Grief becomes a part of the fiber of our being. We don't want it to be. We hate feeling like we do. It just is and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, we can do to change it.

~Linda Verity Dubous

*****

I don't know where else to post this....when does my heart stop feeling like shattered glass? When am I able to look at the future in more than terms of tomorrow without worry, fear or guilt? When does this hole in my heart stop feeling like it is going to swallow me whole? My Zach has been gone for almost 10 months and I feel weaker now, more scared to think about a future and more tearful (if that's even possible) than I did when he died. Everyone keeps saying we get "stronger" as time passes and what scares me is that I actually feel weaker and more unsure than I ever have in my entire life.

~Grieving Mother, Meliassa Pieper,

TCF, USA

*****

• "We all miss our children.....no matter how long or how little they have been gone. We will always miss and remember them. They are a part of us. Love endures.....think how much love they left behind."
• 
  
• ~Jane Reiss
• 
  
• Yes! Just think how much love they left behind ~ is it any wonder Scripture says,
• "Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away."
• 
  
• ~Song of Solomon 8:7a
• 
  
• And William Penn says it so well,
• "In the end, love is stronger than death.
• They that love beyond the world
• cannot be separated by it.
• Death cannot kill what never dies.

~Angie

*****

• 
  A Mother's Grief
  
  You ask me how I'm feeling,
  but do you really want to know?
  The moment I try telling you,
  You say you have to go.
  
  How can I tell you,
  what it's been like for me?
  I am haunted, I am broken
  By things that you don't see
  
  You ask me how I'm holding up,
  but do you really care?
  The moment I start to speak my heart,
  You start squirming in your chair.
  
  But because I am so lonely,
  you see, friends no longer come around,
  I will take the words I want to say
  And quietly choke them down.
  
  Everyone avoids me now,
  I guess they don't know what to say,
  They told me "I'll be there for you,"
  but then turned and walked away.
  
  Call me if you need me,
  (that's what everybody said),
  But how can I call you and scream
  into the phone,
  My God, my child is dead?
  
  No one will let me
  say the words I need to say-
  Why does a mothers grief
  scare everyone away?
  
  I am tired of pretending,
  my heart hammers in my chest,
  I say things to make you comfortable,
  but my soul finds no rest.
  
  How can I tell you things
  that are too sad to be told,
  of the helplessness of holding a child
  who in your arms grows cold?
  
  Maybe you can tell me,
  How should one behave,
  who's had to follow their childs casket-
  watched it perched above a grave?
  
  You cannot imagine
  what it was like for me that day-
  to place a final kiss upon that box,
  and have to turn and walk away.
  
  If you really love me,
  and I believe you do,
  if you really want to help me,
  here is what I need from you.
  
  Sit down beside me,
  reach out and take my hand,
  Say "My friend, I've come to listen,
  I want to understand."
  
  Just hold my hand and listen
  that's all you need to do,
  And if by chance I shed a tear,
  it's alright if you do to.
  
  I swear that I'll remember
  till the day I'm very old,
  the friend who sat and held my hand
  and let me bare my soul.
• ~A Poem by Kelly Cummings

  
  

*****

There are days when troubles fall all around.

When dark clouds bring hope crashing to the ground.

The road once easy turns rugged and steep.

Weary, bruised and broken you can only weep.

But during these storms that life will send,

God is with you to the very end.

~Jimmy McClendon

*****

He heals the broken hearted and bandages their wounds. Psalm 147: 3 Lord, I claim this promise for all those with broken pieces and pain right now. Bandage those wounds that can only be healed by the touch of your hand. Amen.

~Leslie Nelson Martin

Girl at Heaven's Steps Picture, contributed by Angela Nesbitt-Kennett

Dark Clouds Picture, contributed by Debra Tuohy

Poem, thanks to Joanne Bailey Tinkham's contribution - also found at https://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=158904482758 (Thank you to my blog commenter Dawn Wilson for this correction!)

Wednesday's Woe - Cumulative Effect of Child-Loss Grief

Wednesday's Woe

Cumulative Effect of Child-Loss Grief

Cumulative effect of our grief

Adds to the loss, our trauma.

Year upon year of no relief,

Layers of pain, makes me "Trauma Mama."

Another birthday without her,

Hole in the Holiday with one gone,

Our family forever altered

When one's away and can't come home.

The room, however filled,

Is still missing that one ~

No matter the news that thrills,

Our little one is gone.

Optical illusions ~ some see the whole;

Mommy and Daddy feel . . . the hole,

Our family forever altered,

One unique voice, one unique laugh has faltered.

Cumulative effect of our grief

Adds to the loss, our trauma.

They, still feel the love, we, the thief . . .

That stole one, changing Mommy into "Trauma Mama."

How can there be merry-makings

When our Merry has been taken?

Picture thanks to FotoSearch

Poem - Cumulative Effect of Child-Loss Grief - Angie Bennett Prince - 7/19/2011

Thursday's Therapy Writing About Grief? Closure, Schmozure!

Thursday's Therapy

Writing About Grief? Closure, Schmozure!

~Tommy and Angie Prince

Many therapists today often have it wrong about this notion of "saying 'Goodbye'" to a loved one, portraying that such an exercise could be helpful in that it would bring "closure" to the bereaved. Closure can't be packaged and wrapped up for the bereaved! Closure is something you do to a closet door (or to a therapist's mouth)! It is not something that can be attained, grabbed, or fulfilled by a bereaved parent! How can you wrap up the tiniest of memories that pop up in one's head at any given time of the day, the week, the month, or the year?

Some therapists would even argue that continuing to struggle with grief is because the griever hasn't adequately "said 'Goodbye'" to their loved one. Some suggest writing a letter to one's bereaved as a therapeutic intervention to provide such "closure."

But current research does not back up such a theory...

"Research so far has shown little evidence that written disclosure facilitates recovery from bereavement."

~(2009) Researchers* (highlights mine)

So, why is there even so much concern for "resolving" one's grief over a loved one?

Why is there so much concern that we "recover" from bereavement anyway?

In medicine, the dictionary says "resolve" means "to cause a symptom to disperse, subside, or heal."

Why does a therapist want to "resolve" someone's grief...like grief is a toxic symptom whose extinction would result in a "healthy" person?

I probably made that mistake (in my pre-Child-Loss days) when clients talked about their loved ones years after their loss and teared up while talking about them. I think I concluded,

"Oh, they didn't effectively grieve this years ago, so perhaps I can help them to get this grief out."

For me today, now that I am a grieving mother, I see that someone who might try to "bring closure" to my grief over my baby, essentially trying to "stop" my grief, is cruel!

Expecting "closure" for my grief would definitely be doing more harm than good to my aching soul. I do not think my grief will ever completely resolve this side of heaven; there will always be a longing for my baby until I see her again, until I can once again hold her in my arms.

All my intentions as a therapist (pre-Child-loss) for helping clients to "get their grief out" were not bad. I do think getting the grief out, meaning to get their grief expressed, was very good for them. But thankfully, I did not push the expectations on them that NOW, this grief should be done, over, caput.

However I probably did naively think that now they would be "much further along in their grief process." Maybe. Maybe not. But the expressing of the grief was still good. And I am so very glad that I did not push for a "successful conclusion" to the grief.

Though writing will not bring "closure" to our life-time grief process, I do think writing can be a comfort for us grievers. Our job as grievers is unfortunately that we must learn to "accept the unacceptable," or as Dr. Therese Rando, grief expert, says,

"We must continually bump up against the reality of their absence to begin to learn that they are not coming back."

We are put in the awful position of having to adapt to a harsh reality. But instead of "recovering" from grief, we are continually in a process of "integrating that harsh reality" into the fiber of our life today or else we couldn't cope with day-to-day life at all. The big key is we are having to "adapt" - we are NOT forcing ourselves to "recover" by "expecting our grief 'symptoms' to disperse, subside, or heal." So if our writing about our grief is helping us to express our grief, get in touch with our grief, and adapt our "new normal" lives to our unwanted loss, then the writing can be helpful. However, if we are seeking "closure" to our child-loss grief through writing, it's not going to happen.

The researchers' results did show some positive results to grievers writing out their grief as the results "showed that writing decreased feelings of emotional loneliness and increased positive mood, in part through its effect on rumination."

But in analyzing the results of their research, the researchers also readily concluded that regarding "written disclosure" of one's grief, such "writing DID NOT affect grief or depressive symptoms."

Longing for our child will continue, and that is normal. Don't let a therapist tell you that such grief or longing is unhealthy! Grief over our precious child will continue at varying levels for the rest of our lives.

Writing about our grief? Yes.

Expecting "closure"? No.

Picture thanks to photobucket.com

Current Research (2009) in Grief Therapy: http://bit.ly/bKTuHt ~

The efficacy of a brief internet-based self-help intervention for the bereaved,

* 2009 Researchers: Karolijne van der Houwen, Henk Schut, Jan van den Bout, Margaret Stroebe and Wolfgang Stroebe