Accidental Insight 

My dad is 85 years old and sharp as a ginzu.  He and my mom are living a healthy life in South Florida and do a number of exciting thing.  They often go to Costco and zoom in on the free samples being given out by people making minimum wage.  Mom and Dad tell them stories which I’m sure these people find riveting.  On the way back to their adorable condo overlooking the water they often stop at Wendy’s for an order of French fries to share and a frosty that they freeze for later.  They wash down a Lipitor to make it all a healthy option.  I once said to dad, “You know that is not how Lipitor was meant to be used.”  He replied, “I’m 85, what can you tell me that I don’t already know?  Besides, I’m healthy and I’m still good looking.”   True.  He has a point.  As he always does.  My mom, who has always been gorgeous retains her beauty and humor.  Dad still has a full head of hair.  They read the paper every day and are up on politics and current events.  Who am I to question anything?

Dad is a computer whiz and spends time “surfing.”  Which is good because if he wasn’t busy with the internet, he’d have more time to drive my mother crazy.  He sends me e mails and I enjoy his views on a variety of subjects.   I like it most when he tells me stories about his life.   Today, he sent one that was filled with interesting tib-bits about his choices in high school.  Academia was not as interesting as other things like girls or other hobbies he had. Then, in the midst of his musings about paths he chose in his own life, he wrote: “Would love to know how Mike would have turned out.”

My brothers death at his tender age of 16 changed our family life in profound and irrevocable ways.  It  will never be fully sorted out or understood due to its myriad of subtleties and complexities.

My father’s off handed afterthought in an e mail reminded me of a few things I’ve learned about grief.

1)      You never get over it.  There are well meaning people in our lives that said things like, “Mike wouldn’t want to see you so upset.” Or “You need to be brave for your parents.”  I’m sure they told my parents to “Be brave for your other children.”  One that confused my ten year old Catholic mind was  God wanted/needed him more than you do.  Really? Is that how God works? When I heard someone tell my mom, “Mike is a better place.”  Which always got me to wondering where that place was.  The last place I saw him was in a box going into the ground.  All of these well meaning discussions were meant to help us get over it or get through it or make others more comfortable.  I realize as I have gotten older that the very best friend I can be when someone is facing loss is to just be there.  Just show up.  Without my own agenda, willing to deal with my own discomfort as my own.  When people cry, let them.  Hold them and now shush them.  There is no time frame.  There is no agenda.  Let them know, “You are not alone. I’m here now and will be whenever you need me.”  That is what my ten year old self needed and what my 55 year old self is willing to give.   I image my parents could have benefitted from that too.  Children and adults that are grieving don’t ever get over it.  But we can get through it and together is better.

2)      The loss of what might have been is never answered or satisfied.  Every holiday, birthday, graduation and special event leaves me to wonder, “What if Mike were here?” When my daughter was born I wondered what kind of an uncle he would have been.  Would he have been the guy that plays with the baby on the floor?  The kind of uncle that brought noisy toys just to annoy me?  Would he have been a more distant uncle that sent the occasional card?  Would he have had his own brood of kids? We will never know.  That loss of a future was difficult for me but it must have been especially brutal for my parents.  We raise our children to prepare them for their future. What a cruel torture to stop that powerful train in motion of what will never be.  Parents are left to wonder about a future that was never realized. 

I don’t know how much my parents think about that.  It is mentioned when we all get together.  For my mom’s recent 85^th birthday, we were all gathered.  My sister and brother were there as were the 4 grandkids.  At some point we mentioned that Mike was there in spirit.  And I believe he was.  It gave the grandkids a moment of pause.  They never met their uncle but his ubiquitous memory is alive in ways they have told and stories they have heard, pictures they have seen.   His ghost like memory has been a part of their childhoods because Mike was our childhood.  When the time is right, I will ask them what it was like for them to have grown up with parents who lost a sibling.  Did that grief affect their lives?  Another thing I’ve learned about grief is that the discussion of grief is not ever as painful as the deafening silence that sometimes afflicts those suffering.

I love getting my dad’s e mails are filled with interesting minutia.  Today his words brought about some accidental insights for me.   Thanks Dad!

I have to tell you that to have parents that are 85 and in robust enough health to drive the people at Costco crazy and mentally sharp enough to share memories, information and conversation is a blessing beyond words. 

Thank you God. Thank you God. Thank you God.

When I look at the picture, I want to see Mike. When I was young I wanted to be SURE by seeing some kind of poltergeist figure. Now I realize he is there. He is alive in all of us and will be with us forever. Till we see him again......

Bereaved Parents USA Annual Gathering August 2015

Sometimes life exceeds my expectations.   I recently attended the annual gathering of Bereaved Parents USA in Hartford.  I have not lost a child.  The very thought of that throws me into a state of panic and I end up praying hard to never be part of that club.  I was invited to give a workshop about sibling grief.  That is something that I have experienced and feel compelled to help in any way that I am able.

The gathering started at breakfast and ended after a candle light ceremony at night.  I thought I was “prepped for the day.”   As I stood in line for cold pancakes and runny eggs (gourmet food was not our goal) I was immediately aware of the incredible love and comradery in the room.  This is a group of people who KNOW. They don’t know each other.  They came from all over the country and yet they KNEW each other in a way that none of us who have not experienced the loss of a child can know anything. 

I was alone and didn’t know anyone.  Choosing a place to sit brought back that high school feeling.  If I asked to sit at this table, would I be turned away?  My fears were unfounded.  As they so often are.  I chose a table with two really gorgeous women and two teenage girls.  At the table was a man that seems quiet in a way that indicated I thought he might get up and leave any minute.  His name tag said “Dave.”

I didn’t really memorize the other names because when I sat down I started to cry.  Why?  I’m not sure. I was having trouble holding my overwhelmed self together.  I occurred to me that I have never done this before.  I have never been to a group where I was allowed to speak of my loss so openly.  I thought I needed to be very careful though, as this was for PARENTS, not siblings.  Turns out everyone welcomes everyone who is dealing with grief.  Old grief, new grief, big grief, debilitating grief, simmering grief, denied grief.  There was a decided lack of judgement in the room.  Which may have added to my weepiness.  If I have to deal with judgement, I can put on my ever present shield and never have to be vulnerable.  Never feeling vulnerable has been a goal of mine for some time. 

All this was too deep to think about and I focused on what an awful breakfast it was and was wondering if lunch would be equally as terrible.  God forbid my glycemic index be in the normal range for a day.  I may waste away.

We introduced ourselves.  My name tag had my brothers’ name and identified that it was a sibling loss. 

Everyone, and I mean everyone at this gathering had a BIG picture on a pin or a necklace of their child.  It was a tribute they wore to acknowledge and honor the deceased.  I felt kind of bad that I didn’t have a picture of Mike.  I had given a picture for the slide show to take place at the evening ceremony and thought I had done enough.  I made an internal apology to Mike for dropping the sibling ball.  If he could talk back to me he’d say, “You’re a jerk.”  So true.

I ended up just drinking cranberry juice and a hundred small glasses of water for breakfast.  I began to listen to the stories being told at the table.  Across from me were the teenage girls. was at a loss for words.  An intuitive beyond her years and friendly without being phony young lady took mercy on me and introduced everyone at the table.  Her name is Julia.  She told me about the death of her sister.  One of the gorgeous ladies at the table was her mom and she was there with her cousin and aunt.  Dave was just “there.”  Being quiet. 

As breakfast was being cleared, Julia told me the story of her sister in a way that was mind blowing.  Her ability to articulate her own pain and her insight into the family dynamics was something I have not accomplished in 55 years.  She is 17.  And I’m going to give a workshop this afternoon about sibling grief?  Now I’m nervous as well as overwhelmed. 

Julia began to tell me about her resistance to go to a grief weekend called “Comfort Zone Camp.”  Julia as 12 when her sister died suddenly.  Her grandmother died three days later.  THIS is the kind of story that you hear in these rooms all the time.  And it was filled with folks trying to make sense of it, trying to heal from it or just trying to survive it…moment by moment.  She went on to explain that her mom forced (as moms sometimes do) her and her brother to attend the camp right after their sister’s death.  They both complained bitterly and wanted NO part of this “lame stupid thing.”  They went anyway.  With enthusiasm and a big smile, Julia told me that it was absolutely life changing for her and her brother.  They both came away from that weekend of sharing grief with other children who were similarly affected, “transformed.”  She said, “Truly, nothing has been more impactful in my life.  I will volunteer for this for the rest of MY life.” 

When I was ten and my brother died, I had no place to go.  No one to talk to.  I could not acknowledge, understand, discuss or mourn.  I was alone.  I have the BEST family and the most amazing parents.  My siblings were and are fantastic.  But I was alone.  We didn’t know any better.  We did not know what to do.  It was 1971.   Kids just survived.  And I did survive.

This is now an opportunity, at my age, to give back.  To give to myself.  I have to accept healing in my own life first.  Then, I may be of service to other children. 

I was so happy to have met Jenny.  Her willingness to share so openly with me was a gift I can keep forever.  And this was just the beginning of the day.  I told you, sometimes life exceeds my expectations, by a long shot.

After “breakfast” there was a few opening remarks welcoming everyone.  Then, the first speaker was introduced.  His name is “Dave.”  From my table Dave.  As Dave Roberts walked to the podium, I was wondering how this very quiet little man was going to speak for an hour.  He seemed too shy to open his mouth.  First impressions are often incorrect.  He was exceptional.  Dave told the story of his daughter’s death.  He talked about his journey with authenticity that was raw and emotions that were as real as it gets.  He talked about what he has learned without teaching or preaching.  The ultimate in sharing in public speaking is when you can engage, encourage and enlighten without trying to persuade or convince.  He was perfect.  Quiet little Dave.  Who knew?

The next thing on the agenda was workshops.  There were a variety to choose from.  Everything sounded good but the one about how to get in touch with grief with body mind and spirit, taught by a doctor and a therapist caught my eye.  With 180 people in attendance and 8 workshops happening at one time, you can be sure that the groups are small and that adds to their power. 

The next workshop was identified as a “sibling,” just as mine would be in the afternoon.  This one featured a writer; Susan Strecker.  Her brother was a NASCAR driver.  She wrote an incredible work of fiction and while it was not specifically about her brother’s death, it is a theme of death and redemption, healing and hope.   The book is titled “Night Blindness.”  I just ordered the book and can’t wait to read it.   Susan was fascinating.  She had kind of a Carrie Fisher acerbic wit and her casual approach put everyone at ease.  She read part of her book and as I listened I fantasized that I could quit my job and just WRITE until I fell asleep at my desk.  She is living my dream.  I wanted to tell her that but I just listened like a mute and admired.  I enjoyed her workshop so much that I got nervous again.  I didn’t write a book (yet).  I am not fascinating to listen to.  I was beginning to wonder how long it would take for the organizers of this event to realize that they should not have invited me to do this.

After lunch we had another guest speaker before afternoon workshops.  Good LORD who is cooking this awful food?  The guest speaker was Kelly Buckley.  Her talk was about Finding Gratitude in Grief.  Which, when you think about it, is a miracle.  Her 23 year old son died in a swimming accident on July 4^th 2009.  There was no sugar coating.  Just like Dave, she spoke from the heart and her words resonated with every person in the room.  She has a Facebook (Just One Little Thing) page and website about the awesome power of gratitude.  Do you want healing?  Find something to be grateful for every day.  Even when, especially when, it’s hard.  This was not a typical conference where there is text messaging or whispering or even going for more coffee.  Everyone sat in complete silence and listened with an open and loving heart.   Kelly is a gifted speaker and I was mesmerized by her talk.  Again, I didn’t say hello or introduce myself afterwards because I was a mess of emotions.

It was time for my workshop.  Hope, Help and Wishes was the name of my workshop and it was an appropriate name. I was hoping someone would show up to help me and I wish I had more material.  The attendees were siblings and some parents who wanted to know how to help and assist their other children through the death of the brother or sister.  That touched me the most that parents were, despite their enormous pain, able to see beyond their own grief.   I brought crayons, colored pencils and some bird cards to color.   Coloring really takes adults to a space where they can get in touch with the child within and allows people to get to know each other at a table because they have to share crayons.  It’s a nice ice breaker.  I told the story about Mike’s death, really for the first time, to a group of people that were completely receptive.  Often, when you tell a story about a tragedy, whoever you are telling wants to fix or help you.  Outside the safety of a group that is receptive, folks don’t want to dive too deeply in your pain, lest it bring up theirs.    We have no idea what we will bump up against in another when we bring up a subject. 

The workshop, which was intended to help others, taught me so much. I got much more out of it than anyone.  Jenny was there and her story, along with the information about the camp was very helpful to everyone who attended.  We all wrote our “wishes” for other children who are facing the death of a loved one.  Those wishes will be incorporated into The Healing Chickadee stories and activities, e mail messages to parents and posts.  Continuing to learn is the cornerstone of healing.  The generosity of spirit has the power of Niagara Falls.

The last workshop of the day, (boy was I happy mine was over and I could breathe deeply again) was a writer who taught us “Expressing Grief Through Writings and Publications.”  It was great but not what I thought it would be.  He was very keen on helping us get published.  It thought we were just learning to write about the grief.  He was way ahead of me!

After the last workshop and before dinner, I noticed some folks walking around with wine.  Where did they get THAT?   Is there a bar here?  I had been too busy to notice.  Every hotel, unless you are in Salt Lake City, has a bar.  By this time, Charlie arrived.  He was there to join me for dinner and the closing ceremony.  He said, “You look like you might want a glass of wine.”  I love when a recovering alcoholic offers me a drink.   We sat near the atrium and talked about the day.  God bless that man with his little glass of seltzer with a twist of lime.  That’s as exotic as he gets.  A twist of lime.   He asked what was next.   I explained that “Its’ a candle light ceremony where they read the names of our deceased loved ones and flash their pictures on the big screen.   It seemed silly to me.

I told Charlie about my friend whose mom died years ago.  That year she invited her circle of friends to the Relay for Life.  At the relay, the names of the loved ones were flashed on an outside screen for just a moment.  It was raining that night and her family and friends stood with her waiting for her mom’s name to come up.  At the time, I thought, “If this was my mom, would this be this important to me?”   My wonderful 85 year old mom will live forever so I never even have to think about this.  (Hear that mom?)  But if it was me, I imagine my mother would say, “Get in out of the damn rain, you don’t need to see my name that bad.”  But that’s my mom.   I didn’t understand my friend and her need to see this.  When her mom’s name showed up, she began to cry very hard and we all loved and supported her.  I was moved but still didn’t really “get it.”  Charlie listened.  He didn’t get it either.  We are emotional retards sometimes.

The dinner, yeah, you guessed.  Awful.  Maybe I’m too picky?  Maybe not enough comfort food?  I don’t know. Maybe, when I’m in emotional pain, it’s easier to complain about stuff.  I don’t know.   But I had a glass of wine on board so I was ok.

There was music and some interpretive dance and then we had a group reading about how much we honor our loved one.  We read about our fellowship of healing.   Then, in alphabetical order, the pictures of our loved ones were on the screen, one after the other.  The announcer read the names as the pictures were scrolled.  When they got to “Michael Clarke” I got it.  I completely got it.  I cried because I cried.  I went back to age ten and I was present at age 55.  Mike was here.  He lived.  His life mattered.  He was a son and a brother.  He never got to be a father or an uncle.  He didn’t live to old age.  His life was brief but meaningful.   His life mattered.  It mattered to ME.   It is never too late to feel. It is never too late to feel.

All the feelings and fears I’ve had for so long have been brought to the surface.  It’s time I made friends with them.  I’ve avoided it for too long. 

The Bereaved Parents USA is a wonderful organization that allowed a sibling in to witness a miracle. 

It exceeded my expectations by miles.

This makes my heart sing! The Healing Chickadee flies in to Gabriel's life!

Dianna Vagianos has written a BEAUTIFUL blog where she shares from her heart and soul.  Her authenticity has helped me in my journey of grief.

In her blog today, she mentions The Healing Chickadee.  Please take a look!

http://www.diannavagianos.com/blog/?p=166

Thank you Dianna!  Big hugs to you and Gabriel

Dr. John Woodall's Endorsement. Thank you John!

I had the privilege of meeting Dr. Woodall and his wife, Margo, at an event last year.  I was immediately impressed and frankly, enamored, by both of them.  Their work on behalf of global peace and healing is impressive. 

Their accomplishments are extensive. Their humble nature and accessible manner,combined with their humor make them two of my favorite folks on the planet.  Lucky me!

John and Margo reviewed all the materials for The Healing Chickadee.  The follwing is what John wrote about our unique effort to help grieving children. 

What a comforting gift we have for our children in the amazing work Terry Murphy has given us in "the Healing Chickadee!"  Wise and kind, uplifting and comforting, the care she has taken to give grieving children the tools to grow from the pain of loss is nothing short of a precious gift.  Thank you, Terry!

Thank you Dr. Woodall!  Thank you Margo for the AMAZING work you do in our community. 

Below is just a small portion of Dr. Woodall's resume:

Community Resilience:

·         Founder and Director:

-    The Healing Arts Project:  Partnership between the Unity Project, the Boston

      Institute for Arts Therapy and the Department of Youth and Community

      Development of the City of New York to develop resilient ethical skills through

      the arts to build competent global citizens through DYCD’s extensive network

      of after-school programs throughout New York City.  January 2003 –present.

-     Launched at Gracie Mansion, May, 2003.

·         Newtown, CT:  Developed and launched a series of resilience-building programs for the community after the tragic shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School.

-          One of 3 advisors to the Newtown First Selectman on the strategy for the town for the first anniversary of tragedy and subsequent long range plans.

-          Devised idea of a “Year of Service” for the town and wrote the piece for the town newspaper, the Newtown Bee, announcing this plan to the town.

-          21^st Century Conversation resilience-building workshops for parents and adults. Designed and facilitated the workshops creating a network of townspeople with expertise in developing resilience in the community. Dec. 2012 to present.

-          The Newtown High School Unity Project: Advised school principal on resilience building theory and methods from the time of the tragic shooting until the present.  Created and facilitated student run Unity Council to develop student body resilience. Dec. 2012 to present.

-          PeaceBuilders for 11-14 year olds created and facilitated programming to create inter-ethnic and inter-religious understanding through community service and an adapted version of the Unity Project Transformation Process. Dec. 2012 to present.

-          Working with the Newtown interfaith community to coordinate a wide variety of resilience building efforts town-wide.  Dec. 2012 to present.

-          Providing consulting services to a number of local not-for-profit agencies on strategies to develop a resilient response to the tragedy of 12-14-12.

-          Numerous articles in the local newspaper on critical issues facing families and the community in the aftermath of the tragedy. Dec. 2012 to present.

-          A video series on building resilience produced in collaboration with the Sandy Hook Promise.  April, 2013.

-          Public talk on Building Resilience offered to the community in partnership with the Sandy Hook Promise.  April 2013.

-          Advised and consulted to Newtown Youth Academy on ways to create a town-wide resilience building program for youth using sports.  January 2013 to present.

-          One of 3 members of the Distribution Committee for the Newtown-Sandy Hook Community Foundation Fund disbursing $7.7 million in charitable contributions to the 40 families most directly affected by the tragic shooting in Sandy Hook.  April 2013 to December 2013.

-          Creating a “Global Mental Health and Resilience Center” at Danbury Hospital through the University of Vermont School of Medicine.  April, 2013 to present.

-          Joined the Board of Ben’s Lighthouse, a not for profit dedicated to community service in honor of Ben Wheeler, one of the children killed in the Sandy Hook tragedy.

-          A variety of media interviews on resilience and strategies to build community resilience.  BBC, NPR, New York Times, CNN, etc.

Time for a bath

One of the great things about getting older, and there are not a lot of great things, is slowing down just enough. I’m not old enough to be S L O W but just enough to notice things I might have been too busy to see when I was younger.

There is a portion of my driveway that “sank.” I don’t know how or why. It’s a spot that dropped and has created a mini swale that collects water. It’s like tiny pond near the end of the otherwise perfect driveway. . I do know that it annoys me to no end. It is expensive to fix and I just have to live with it and be annoyed by it.

I looked out front yesterday afternoon and saw three birds taking a VIGOROUS bath in the thing that “shouldn’t” be there. I stood, watching them, until they were done. It was a good 4 minutes of pure delight as I saw these birds, in particular a sweet swallow, that was having a BLAST in the warm water. The cloudless warm sunshine had set up the perfect temperature for the water.

There is a spot on our lawn that needed grass seed. We’ve provided top soil to the spot, carefully placed the seed, placed hay on top to keep it still until it takes root. Charlie waters it religiously. The grass refuses to take. The reason the driveway pond had water at all was Charlie’s early morning effort to “fix” that part of the yard. As I watched the birds splash in the water (is it possible for birds to smile? If so, I think I saw it.) I saw their next stop was to make lunch of the grass seed. 

I stood there for a long time just watching. It was like taking a xanax, such was the relaxation power of the birds. When Charlie came in from the back yard, I said, “I know why the grass won’t grow in that spot.” He asked, “Why?”

I told him that God has blessed us with birds who have a whole different agenda than we do.

I’m headed out this morning to put some water in the mistake in our driveway. It will warm up nicely in the sun. Maybe they will come back. I think I have some sunflower seeds. I’ll put those out near the mailbox.

Look up, find a bird. Immerse yourself in it's life. Be amazed. Have a blessed day!

I am SO blessed!!  I am, as most folks know, passionate about my bird projects.  The Healing Chickadee is personal and powerful   Helping children in a way that I did not have is a strong motivator and a healing experience.  Some months ago, I was introduced to a man named Phil Prentice at a party.  Poor Phil got an EARFUL about the chickadee project.

Phil is a talented and gifted artist and his specialty is nature!  Just yesterday, he presented me with this GORGEOUS painting!  Phil did an amazing job capturing the spirit of the bird.  I am honored and blessed to have met this man and be the recipient of such a lovely gift.
I'm feeling very grateful today.

The ten WORST things to say to a person who is grieving

1)  At least she/he lived a long life, many people die young.
2)  He is in a better place.
3)  She brought this on herself.
4)  There is a reason for everything.
5)  Aren't you over him yet, he has been dead for quite some time now.
6)  You can still have another child.
7)  She was such a good person, God wanted her to be with Him.
8)  I know how you feel.
9)  She did what she came here to do and it was her time to go.
10) Be strong.

And when I was a child the WORST thing that people said to me often was:
DON'T CRY.   Seriously, that was the most common thing said to me when my 16 year old
brother died.  I was ten and I was careful not to upset anyone with my tears.

The ten BEST things to say to a person who is grieving!

1)  I am so sorry for your loss
2)  I wish I had the right words, just know that I care.
3)  I don't know how you feel, but I am here to help in anyway I can.
4) You and your loved one will be in my thoughts and prayers.
5) My favorite memory of your loved one is...
6) I am always just a phone call away.
7) Give a hug instead of saying anything.
8) We all need help at times like this.  I am here for you.
9) I am usually up early or late, if you need anything.
10) Saying nothing, just BE with the person

Valentines SHMALINTINES!

It’s another Valentines Day without flowers. There is no little jewelry box that will be left as a surprise in some funny location. One of my friends found a heart shaped necklace waiting in the refrigerator next to the orange juice. That will never happen in this house. Husbands and boyfriends everywhere are thinking of fantastic, expensive and creative ways of saying “I love you very much.” 

Several days ago, my husband asked me, “Do you want me to get you a card or something?” One year he asked, “You don’t want flowers, do you?” My favorite was the year we stopped for gas on Valentines Day and he came back to the car with a scratch off lottery ticket. He handed me a quarter and said, “Happy Valentines Day. Scratch this.” It was not a winner. Nor was the lottery ticket.

Chocolate covered strawberries? Champagne chilling next to the bed, candles and rose pedals all over the room? Charlie Murphy will never ever be that guy. And yet, he is the MOST ROMANTIC man in the world. It is, however, necessary to redefine the word romantic. We know how I love to define words!

Charlie is perpetually kind to me. He is loving and respectful to my parents and siblings. He treats my friends like the precious gems they are. He shows up for our three girls in significant and meaningful ways with love, humor and generosity of spirit. He wishes the best for everyone he meets. He sits with me while I talk about my obsession with birds and will wait in line at the post office to mail a box of stuffed birds to kids he’s never met. Not because we make money (we don’t) but because it’s important to me. 

My husband ROCKS every day. He is the best person I know and I’m the luckiest woman to have him in my life. From the outside he looks like the least romantic man ever. From my vantage point, he makes every day valentines day.
He’s at the store now. He is picking up some items for a project I have volunteered myself for. There is never a nuts project that he doesn’t make himself 100% available to help me. He sees my dreams. He understands my weirdness and anxieties. He smiles a lot. How did I get such a great guy? 

Whoops…gotta go. He just got back. I bet he got me a lottery ticket. It’s a winner for sure. Just like him!

Happy Valentines Day to everyone who reads this! I wish you as much love and pure romance as I have every day.

National Grief Awareness Day!

Sunday, August 30, 2015
National Grief Awareness Day!

There is only one rule in grieving.
1)  There are no rules in grieving.

Angie Cartwright said that!

Thank you Angie for creating a literacy around the subject of grieving.

I was a lazy and spoiled 10 year old. I could do things for myself but I would wait until my mom did them for me. Sometimes I had to whine. Sometimes I had to look forlorn and put upon and sometimes she just did them without my machinations.

I woke up unusually early on that morning in January 1971. It was a Sunday so the cartoon selection, especially at that time in the morning wasn’t spectacular. Three channels and PBS was my world and the tv needed a person to change the channels. A remote hadn’t even been heard of at that time.

It was odd that my dad wasn’t awake. He was usually up before anyone. I would wait until my mom got up so she could make me some chocolate milk and get my cereal. See spoiled and lazy reference above.

The house was eerily quiet on this morning. My sister Deb was away for her freshman year of college and my brother Tom was asleep at the other end of the house. My other brother, Mike was in the hospital for some kind of leg thing that got painful on Christmas day. He’d been there already a few weeks. I thought he was lucky that he didn’t have to go to school even though I knew he’d have a lot of work to make up.

It was just beginning to seem odd to me that neither of my parents was awake yet, when the front door opened. They weren't even home! I found out later they had been quickly called to the hospital a few hours before.

My mom walked in and sat down close to me on the couch. The speed and intensity of her arrival, despite my sleepiness, made me sit up and pay close attention. I saw my father walk quickly past me and down the long hallway to my brother’s wing of the house. Dad didn’t speak or look at me. His speed and the look on his face really got my attention.

My mom said, “Mike is gone. Your brother died.” With those words she hugged me hard. She was crying, which was a most unusual thing for my mother to do. Stoic was her middle name. Until this morning. She was holding me tight and even though I was only ten, it seemed to me she was holding on for dear life. This was a woman who was not just holding, but clinging to a life she created because of the created life she just lost. I didn’t cry. I was too stunned. I was confused. Those adjectives would continue to define me for a long time.

My apparent lack of any emotion caused my mother to say, “You can cry.” It was the only time she would ever say that to me. I didn’t cry. I wasn’t sure what I was to cry about. I didn’t understand what happened. I could not comprehend.
My dad and brother came from the back of the house. Tom was crying. Dad was crying. Mom was crying. I don’t remember what happened. But seared into my brain is the look on my brother Tom’s face. His brother, his friend, his arch nemesis, his cohort in evil deeds, his competition, his plumb line was dead. His face was the beginning of my ability to understand what just happened.

How much time passed? What happened next? What I remember is that it was a Sunday morning and we go to church every Sunday morning. Always. Each Sunday, my dad would sit in the car, getting mad about possibly being late (we never were) while we straggled out to the car, me, with my doily on my head, and my sister looking perfect and my mom looking proud that we were a family that went to church. The boys always appeared resigned.

So, on this Sunday morning, it didn’t seem odd when Dad said, “Lets go to mass.” It seemed like a good idea. That’s what we always did, so that’s what we will do. In casual conversations with therapists I’ve known over the years, some paid, some just friends weighing in, I’ve heard the going to mass moment as “Insane” while another one declared it “Completely understandable.” Looking back, it was a family whose world was suddenly ripped apart and we were grasping for any life raft in the sea of grief we were thrown into the center of.

I got in the car. No doily. I had changed out of my pajamas and put on pants and a t shirt. That was enough on this chilly morning. Florida doesn’t get cold in a way that really defines cold. I still had not cried. I felt like an observer. The car took it’s familiar path to the church. Me, mom, dad and Tom. It was quiet except for my mom and dad weeping. Silent tears fell down Tom’s face. To this day, Tom’s tears are silent. When I look at him now, his deep emotions are there but at a place he keeps to himself.

As we passed the familiar open field where there was a frontage trail that I had logged hundreds, perhaps, thousands of miles on my bike. On the right side of the street there was a church that was not Catholic. It was oddly shaped, in an off center angular, too modern way. I don’t remember the denomination. If it’s not Catholic, it doesn’t matter. Or so we were taught. I asked Sister Bernadette, my second grade teacher, “What happens to the other people at that church when they die?” She replied, from under her big black and white habit, rosary beads swinging from around her hip, in a very matter of fact way, “They go to hell.” I remember being so happy that I was in a church that was going to heaven. When I saw those “other people” going into those “other churches” I felt sorry for them. They seemed oblivious to their fate. Their future was hell for sure. And they didn’t know it. “Phew” I would think as I wiped the back of my hand on my forehead, “That was a close one. Being born Catholic and all.”

It was at that moment in the car, I thought about my brother Mike not coming home ever again. It was that moment, in the semi silent car, driving by the bad church, on our way to the one and only church that God invented, that it began to materialize for me. Mike was not going to ever annoy, towel flick, whack me upside the head, tease me, or help me ever again. I realized I would never hear Mike laugh again. Not ever. It was over. He was not coming back. As we rounded the corner to the familiar church driveway, I began to cry.

That was 44 years ago right now. Mike died January 17th at 7:15 am. I was up this morning, having a cup of tea, thinking about that morning. I was remembering a sweet young boy who was on the cusp of becoming a man when he left us. I wonder about him and I struggle to remember moments that I can hang onto. My siblings were older and I think their memories are more intact. But I wonder, today, more than any other date on the calendar, what would it have been like if Mike hadn’t died? Who would he be today? We would be different. I would be different. Maybe it made me more insightful, more compassionate. I hope so. I know it created a fear that still exists. At age ten, when your world is suddenly ripped from one end to the other and the loneliness sets in without ceasing, it’s a rough card life has dealt. I hope, and my prayer is, that I can be there for other children that have experienced a death in childhood.

Some sense must come from this. Some good can emerge. Love prevails. Forgiveness creates opportunities for compassion and it is possible to praise and love, no matter what. Life is a gift. Every day is a miracle to be savored. I will remember that, especially today.