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 4th 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.
