For every mountain there is a valley,
Below the hill a brooklet flows,
After each cloud there is a sun break,
For every thorn there is a rose.
After the dark there comes a dawning,
And heavy snows will melt away.
After raindrops comes the sunlight,
After night God sends the day.
After heartbreak comes the stillness,
After tears there comes a smile,
After sorrow there is healing, and
sweet peace comes, after while.
By: Mamie Ozburn Odum

A few weeks ago someone gave me an interesting article on suffering, and the first part of it was on the meaning of the word – “suffering”. I’m interested in these meanings; they are teachings in themselves.
The writer of this article pointed out that the word “suffering” is used to express many things. The second part “fer”, is from the Latin word “ferre,” meaning “to bear.” And the first part, “suf” is from sub, meaning “under.” So there’s a feeling in the word “to be under,” “to bear under,” “to totally be
under” – “to be supporting something from underneath.”

So (remembering the definition of the word “suffer”) until we bow down and bear the suffering of life, not
opposing it, but absorbing it and being it – we cannot see what our life is. This by no means implies passivity or non-action, but action from a state of complete acceptance. Even “acceptance” is not quite accurate – it’s simply being the suffering. It isn’t a matter of protecting ourselves, or accepting something else. Complete openness, complete vulnerability is (surprisingly enough) the only satisfactory way of living our life.

Our practice throughout our lifetime is just this: At any given time we have a rigid viewpoint or stance about life; it includes some things, it excludes others. We may stick with it for a long time, but if we are sincerely practicing our practice itself will shake up that viewpoint; we can’t maintain it. As we begin to question our viewpoint we may feel struggle, upset, as we try to come to terms with this new insight into our life; and for a long time we may deny it and struggle against it. That’s part of practice. Finally we become willing to experience our suffering instead of fighting it. When we do so our standpoint, our vision of life, abruptly shifts. Then once again, with our new viewpoint, we go along for a while – until the cycle begins anew. Once again the unease comes up. And we have to struggle, to go through it again. Each time we do this – each time we go into the suffering and let it be – our vision of life enlarges. It’s like climbing a mountain. At each point that we ascend we see more; and that becomes broader with each cycle of climbing, of struggle. And the more we see, the more expansive our vision, the more we know what to do, what action to take.

Charlotte Joko Beck, from “Everyday Zen: Love and Work”

The Hardest Lesson -- by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

The sole purpose of life is to grow. The ultimate lesson is learning how to love and be loved unconditionally. There are millions of people on Earth who are starving. There are millions who are homeless. There are millions who have AIDS.

There are millions who have been abused. There are millions of people who struggle with disabilities. Everyday someone new cries out for understanding and compassion. Listen to the sound. Hear the call as if it was beautiful music. I can assure you that the greatest rewards in your whole life will come from opening your heart to those in need. The greatest blessings always come from helping.

I truly believe that my truth is a universal one -- above all religions, economics, race and colour -- shared by the common experience of life. All people come from the same source and return to the same source. We must all learn to love and be loved unconditionally. All the hardships that come to you in life, all the tribulations and nightmares, all the things you see as punishments from God,
are in reality like gifts.

They are an opportunity to grow, which is the sole purpose of life. It is very important that you do only what you love to do. You may be poor, you may go hungry, you may live in a shabby place, but you will totally live. And at the end of your days, you will bless your life because you have done what you came here to do. The hardest lesson to learn is unconditional love.

Dying is nothing to fear. It can be the most wonderful experience of your life. It all depends on how you have lived. (these were the last words she published; she's a world renowned doctor, psychiatrist and thanatologist who spent her whole life working with the dying, children, and AIDS patients; she is also credited with bringing the hospice movement to the U.S.)

When You Don't Choose Love You Choose Fear
by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross & David Kessler

If we could literally reach into you and remove all your fears – every one of them – how different would your life be? Think about it. If nothing stopped you from following your dreams, your life would probably be very different. This is what the dying learn. Dying makes our worst fears come forward to be faced directly. It helps us see the different life that is possible, and in that vision, takes the rest of our fears away.

Unfortunately, by the time the dear is gone most of us are too sick or too old to do those things we would have done before, had we not been afraid. Thus, one lesson becomes clear: we must transcend our fears while we can still do those things we dream of.

To transcend fear though, we must move somewhere else emotionally; we must move into love. Happiness, anxiety, joy, resentment -- we have many words for the many emotions we experience in our lifetimes. But deep down, at our cores, there are only two emotions: love and fear. All positive emotions come from love, all negative emotions from fear. From love flows happiness, contentment, peace, and joy. From fear comes anger, hate, anxiety and guilt. It's true that there are only two primary emotions, love and fear. But it's more accurate to say that there is only love or fear, for we cannot feel these two emotions together, at exactly the same time. They're opposites. If we're in fear, we are not in a place of love. When we're in a place of love, we cannot be in a place of fear. Can you think of a time when
you've been in both love and fear? It's impossible. We have to make a decision to be in one place or the other. There is no neutrality in this. If you don't actively choose love, you will find yourself in a place of either fear or one of its component feelings. Every moment offers the choice to choose one or the other. And we must continually make these choices, especially in difficult circumstances when our commitment to love, instead of fear, is challenged. Having chosen love, doesn't mean you will never fear again. In fact it means that many of your fears will come up to finally be healed. This is an ongoing process. Remember that you will become fearful after you've chosen love, just as we become hungry after we eat. We must continually choose love in order to nourish our souls and drive away fear,
just as we eat to nourish our bodies and drive away hunger. This Before words – there was
movement –
A primitive rhythm
of earth and water. Even now,
as we honour our children
walking –
grief has it’s own
voice.
From the darkest core
of our being
our bodies are singing
that ancient song
of love!

Notes Left Behind' Inspired by 5-Year-Old

Young Girl Left Notes for Her Family to Find as She Died of Cancer
After 5-year-old Elena Desserich was diagnosed with an inoperable kind of cancer, she managed to spread a message of hope and healing.

Elena knew that every coming day would be a gift, not to be wasted, so she created a to-do list of sorts -- swim with dolphins, drive a car and more. When her cancer progressed and she could no longer speak, she turned to drawing and painting, her
kindergarten passions, to communicate. The talented artist fulfilled her lifelong dream when one of her drawings was hung next to her favourite painter, Pablo Picasso, at the Cincinnati Art Museum. The painting titled "I Love You" captured her giving spirit."The picture is made for everybody else, and so she called it, 'I Love You.' Very simple but it's Elena," her dad, Keith Desserich, said.

Elena, who died in August 2007, also left behind "The Kindergarten Survival Guide" for her younger sister Grace. She gave her dad a last dance. "We had our dance and that will always be the last and probably the best memory I'll ever have with her was being able to have that dance," Keith Desserich said. "There was lots of things that she wanted to do that last day, and I think she knew. We lost her two days later."

During her nine-month battle with cancer, Elena was planning an even greater gift for her family. She was hiding notes around the house, hundreds of them tucked in every corner to be discovered after she was gone."We were moving some boxes around one day and in between some of the books a note fell out," her mother, Brooke Desserich, said. "Each time I would read one of those notes it was like a little hug from her." Throughout the ordeal, the Wyoming parents kept an online journal to update family members on Elena's progress. They were surprised to learn that thousands of people around the country were reading it for daily inspiration.

"Everybody was reading the journal and going, 'This taught me to be a better parent. It taught me to spend time with my children, it taught me to value being a mom and dad,'" Keith Desserich said. Her parents have now compiled the daily journals in a book titled "Notes Left Behind" and created a foundation to raise money to find a cure for paediatric brain cancer -- all of it inspired by the simple notes a
little girl left behind.

INSPIRATION

Grief is Like a River
By Cinthia G. Kelley

My grief is like a river,
I have to let it flow,
but I myself determine
just where the banks will go.

Some days the current takes me
in waves of guilt and pain,
but there are always quiet pools
where I can rest again.

I crash on rocks of anger;
my faith seems faint in
but there are other swimmers
who know that what I need

Are loving hands to hold me
when the waters are too swift,
and someone kind to listen
when I just seem to drift.

Grief's river is a process
of relinquishing the past.
By swimming in hope's channe
I'll reach the shore at last

When You Don't Choose Love You Choose Fear
by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross & David Kessler

If we could literally reach into you and remove all your fears – every one of
them – how different would your life be? Think about it. If nothing stopped you
from following your dreams, your life would probably be very different. This is
what the dying learn. Dying makes our worst fears come forward to be faced
directly. It helps us see the different life that is possible, and in that vision, takes
the rest of our fears away.

Unfortunately, by the time the dear is gone most of us are too sick or too old to
do those things we would have done before, had we not been afraid. Thus, one
lesson becomes clear: we must transcend our fears while we can still do those
things we dream of.

To transcend fear though, we must move somewhere else emotionally; we must
move into love.

Happiness, anxiety, joy, resentment -- we have many words for the many
emotions we experience in our lifetimes. But deep down, at our cores, there are
only two emotions: love and fear. All positive emotions come from love, all
negative emotions from fear. From love flows happiness, contentment, peace,
and joy. From fear comes anger, hate, anxiety and guilt.

It's true that there are only two primary emotions, love and fear. But it's more accurate to say that there is only love or fear, for we cannot feel these two emotions together, at exactly the same time. They're opposites. If we're in fear, we are not in a place of love. When we're in a place of love, we cannot be in a place of fear. Can you think of a time when
you've been in both love and fear? It's impossible.

We have to make a decision to be in one place or the other. There is no neutrality in this. If you don't actively choose love, you will find yourself in a place of either fear or one of its component feelings. Every moment offers the choice to choose one or the other. And we must continually make these choices, especially in difficult circumstances when
our commitment to love, instead of fear, is challenged.

Having chosen love, doesn't mean you will never fear again. In fact it means that many of your fears will come up to finally be healed. This is an ongoing process. Remember that you will become fearful after you've chosen love, just as we become hungry after we eat. We must continually choose love in order to nourish our souls and drive away fear,
just as we eat to nourish our bodies and drive away hunger.

To Walk Unmasked
--by Sir John Wilson

To have tried on every mask and eventually to have confidence to walk unmasked.
Having experienced many places to appreciate, in its infinite variety, one's own place.

To achieve for one's dependents and oneself, an adequacy but to recognize its transitoriness and to hold possession lightly. Having explored the potential of temperament and mind to be able to maximize that potential and to harmonize its power into a way of equanimity.

From various experience and study, to crystallize principles of conduct and judgement without losing the curiosity of the seeker nor the zest for enlightenment. Despite failure to retain hope and the capacity for new enchantment. To fear neither life nor death and, whilst seeking mitigation of suffering, to accept the inevitability of loss. To revere beauty and art without being obsessed by them and to recognize a supremacy of the art of human understanding.

To feel the inter-relationship of all living things with compassion for all humanity.

Having explored love to have found with one person, in humour and grace, the limit of understanding and fidelity; yet to recognize without fear the aloneness of one's individual being and to respect that aloneness in others. To despise no manifestation of love.
To see the compassionate face and active force of God in every religion, and having chosen one way, to approach holy ground there -- in the uncertain light of inadequate understanding -- to see the majesty of all.

BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO BE

It has taken me a lot of time to write this letter, losing a child is one of the hardest things
that any parent or person can go through and most of all losing your only child is even harder. She and I had such a close relationship, I really miss her so very much my Angel my gift from God my very special child, there were over 700 hundred people at her funeral. It was just so amazing to see that a young girl touched so many peoples’ lives at such a young age of 15 years. It was going to be her 16th birthday that December 2007. We were arranging a party for her. Everyday I get up and face yet another day without her. God gives me strength to get up and carry on with my life the best I can. I got to a stage where I had to make a choice in my life of what am I going to do without Angelique. She is my everything and filled my days with joy that kept me going all day – busy with dancing, hocky, singing, school projects, choir, drama classes and so on. What a full life that was lived it to the fullest. I have no regrets of what more I should have or could have done. I told her “You only have now these moments this time. You can’t have it over again. Use it to the best that you can.” Do think that is why I am coping with my everyday life?
After her passing on I went back to work to try and keep my mind busy. It was not the easiest thing to do after having counselling for months. Afterwards I decided to change jobs and move away and start a new life for myself. It was not easy but the best I could do for myself. Her friends and I have a very close and special bond but they don’t see me everyday as I’m too much of a reminder of Angelique when we see each other. Today I look back at the two years she’s been away. The material things don’t help me. I keep her memories close to my heart and that keeps me going. A special person told me “You have two choices – to sit in the corner or get up and carry on with your life.” Angelique would have wanted me to carry on with life. She did not like down and unhappy people. Angelique is a very happy bubbly positive child and always smiling. I picture her face and that big smile and wow that
picks me up everyday. I’m told don’t think about what you can’t have with her but what you had. So many people never even had that.
It’s taken me nearly two years to put this into words. I have always spoken about how I’m feeling, doing and coping with so many people. I believe that has also helped me. So many people just don’t know what to say to you afterwards. They don’t have the words. My advice for those people is, don’t avoid people that have lost a loved one. You don’t have to say much but just give a smile, a hug or just say I’m thinking of you. This is a long letter I know but do believe in my heart that this will help other grieving parents deal with the loss of a child. There are no books on being a parent but believe me there is nothing that can prepare you for the loss of a child and the pain that is just so intense. May you all be blessed and know that you are not alone in this there are so many that are going through the same thing as us. Thanks to The Compasionate Friends for always calling me to see how I’m
doing and for the great work you do in making us feel that we are not alone. [Priscilla Mom of Angelique]

The Dark Side of the Sacred
--by Miriam Greenspan

Emotions live in the body. It is not enough simply to talk about them, to be a talking head. We need to focus our attention on emotions where they live. This willingness to be present allows the emotion to begin to shift of its own accord. An alchemy starts to happen — a process of transmutation from something hard and leaden to something precious and powerful, like gold.

This is a chaotic, nonlinear process, but I think it requires three basic skills: attending to, befriending,
and surrendering to emotions in the body. Paying attention to or attending to our emotions is not the
same as endless navel gazing and second-guessing ourselves. It is mindfulness of the body, an ability to listen to the body’s emotional language without judgment or suppression.

Befriending follows from focusing our attention and takes it a step further: it involves building our
tolerance for distressing emotions. When I was giving birth to my first child, my midwife said something that has stood me in good stead ever since: “When you feel the contraction coming and you want to back away from it, move toward it instead.” The feeling in the body that we want to run away from — that’s precisely what we need to stay with. A simple way to do this is to locate the emotion in the body and breathe through it, without trying to change or end it.

The third skill, surrendering, is the spiritual part of this process. Surrendering to suffering is usually the
last thing we want to do, but surrender is what brings the unexpected gifts of wisdom, compassion, and courage. Surrendering is about saying yes when we want to say no — the yes of acceptance. This is what really allows the alchemy to happen. We don’t “let go” of emotions; we let go of ego, and the emotions then let go themselves. This is “emotional flow.” When we let the dark emotions flow, something unexpected and unpredictable often occurs. Consciously experienced, the energy of these emotions flows toward healing and harmony. I’ve found that unimpeded grief transforms itself into heightened gratitude; that consciously experiencing fear expands our ability to feel joy; and that being mindful of despair — really entering into the dark night of the soul with the light of awareness — renews and deepens our faith.

My dad is a survivor too.

which is no surprise to me.
He's always been like a lighthouse
that helps you cross a stormy sea.
But, I walk with my dad each day
to lift him when he's down.
I wipe the tears he hides from others.
He cries when no one's around.
I watch him sit up late at night
with my picture in his hand.
He cries as he tries to grieve alone,
and wishes he could understand.
My dad is like a tower of strength.
He's the greatest of them all!
But there are times when he needs to cry.
Please be there when he falls.
Hold his hand or pat his shoulder.
And tell him it's okay.
Be his strength when he's sad
Help him mourn in his own way.
Now, as I watch over my precious dad
from the Heavens up above.
I'm so proud that he's a survivor.
And, I can still feel his love~!
~Kaye Des'Ormeaux

Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is bliss, taste it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfil it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it.

Mother Teresa
Catholic Nun, Missionary
Nobel Peace Prize Recipient

SURVIVING YOUR CHILD’S SUICIDE

The suicide of a child of any age presents unique circumstances that intensify
and prolong the mourning of parents and family members. Suicide is a reaction to overwhelming feelings of loneliness, worthlessness, helplessness, hopelessness, and depression. It usually occurs when a person’s pain exceeds his or her resources and ability to cope. Suicide is the fourth leading cause of death among 10–14 year-olds, the third leading cause among 15–24 year olds, and the second leading cause among 25–34 year-olds. While mental illness plays a role in many
suicides, not everyone who dies by suicide is mentally ill. Many families ensure the frustration caused by the child requiring years of hospitalizations and medications. Other families encounter only brief periods of conflict or worry, while some experience none at all. Sometimes there are warning signs of the person’s intentions. However, clues may be so disguised that even a trained professional or counsellor may not recognize them. Occasionally there are no discernible signs, and the child’s suicide becomes a catastrophic decision that can never be understood or resolved.
One change now occurring is in the language of suicide. The terms “died by suicide,”, “died from suicide,” and “died of suicide” are being adopted rather than the harsh “committed suicide,” the language of an earlier era that carries a stigma of criminality so often offensive to families whose children have taken their own lives.
After Suicide
Denial and feelings of shock, guilt, anger, and depression are often a normal part of grief reactions, but are especially heightened when a child has died by suicide. Though difficult to accept, it is not unusual to experience feelings of relief if the relationship with the child was stressful or destructive to the family unit. The suicide of one’s child raises painful questions, doubts, and fears. The knowledge that your love was not enough to save your child and the fear that others will judge you to be an unfit parent may raise powerful feelings of failure. Realize that as a parent you gave your child what makes us human – the positives and the negatives – and what your child did with that information was primarily your child’s decision. It isn’t uncommon for newly bereaved parents to express thoughts of suicide, regardless of how their child has died. Remember that suicide is not inherited. Be patient with yourself and your family, and seek professional help and family counselling if necessary. The stigma often associated with suicide is the result of cultural and religious interpretation of an earlier day. You will find it difficult to progress in your bereavement unless you confront the word suicide, difficult as it
may be. Keeping the cause of death a secret will deprive you of the joy of speaking about your child and may isolate you from family and friends who want to support you. Rather than focusing on the stigma surrounding suicide, concentrate on your own healing and survival.
Anger
You may feel anger. It may be directed at your child, those you believed failed to help your child, God, those who try to help you or just the world in general. You may be angry with yourself because you were unable to save your child. It’s okay to express anger, a common emotion when a child has died by suicide. Sometimes healing cannot begin until this anger is confronted and expressed. However, a healthy expression of anger does not include hurting yourself or others.

Guilt
Feelings of guilt following a child’s suicide are normal – for parents and family, friends, classmates, and even coworkers. “If only” is a phrase you may find yourself repeating frequently. You may need to feel guilty for a while until you begin to understand that you are not ultimately responsible for the decisions and actions of another human being, including your child. Sometimes you need to go through a feeling to get beyond it. Believe in yourself. You are human – accept your limitations.
Questioning
Some parents feel a need to ask “why?” Often, of course, there are no clear answers, which often proves highly frustrating for parents and other family members. After some time you may reach a point where you begin to realize that there are some questions about the death of your child that will never be answered.
Depression
Lack of energy, sleep problems, inability to concentrate, not wanting to talk with others, and the feeling there is nothing to live for are all normal reactions in bereavement. Situational depression, as opposed to clinical depression, should eventually wear off. You can fight this type of depression with moderate physical activity, plenty of rest, and a good diet. Allow family and friends to take care of you. You don’t have to be strong. Maintain contact with persons you value. Talking with others who have been through a similar situation may help you to cope. You may even learn from them that it
is okay to laugh and smile, even though this seems impossible now. If the depression does not appear to lessen over time, you may want to talk with a qualified professional who can determine how best to help you.
Disillusionment
Often parents find themselves in a spiritual crisis and question their beliefs or feel betrayed by God. Religious concerns about the hereafter also surface. “Why did God let this happen?” is a question we can no more answer than all other questions about imperfections in this world. Talking about spiritual and philosophical questions with other parents who have experienced a suicide may be helpful. For those with concerns of a spiritual nature, do try to find a gentle, nonjudgmental member of your faith and open yourself to that person.
Coping Constructively
• As a family, talk about the death with one another; discuss your loss and your pain. Talk about the good times you remember, as well as those times that were not so good. All family members will be grieving in their own manner – don’t criticize because of these differences. Remember that it is better to express feelings than to internalize them and that crying is healthy and therapeutic.
• You may find it helpful to write out your feelings or to write a letter to your dead child, expressing all the things you were not able to say before the death. For many, this is a good way to say good-bye.
• Allow friends to help. When they ask what they can do for you, don’t be afraid to tell them of your needs and what will help you. It will also help them.
• Consider becoming involved with a self-help bereavement group such as The Compassionate Friends. Through sharing with others who have walked the same path, you may gain some understanding of your reactions and learn ways to cope. Seek professional help and family counselling if necessary.
• Give yourself time, time, and more time. It takes months, even years, to open your heart and mind to healing. Choose to survive and then be patient with yourself. In time, your grief will soften as you begin to heal, and you will feel like investing in life again. [©2007 The Compassionate Friends USA]

If you think you are going insane                                                         That’s Normal
If all you do is cry                                                                                That’s Normal
If you have trouble with minor decisions                                             That’s Normal
If you have feelings or rage, denial, and depression                          That’s Normal
If you find yourself enjoying a funny moment                                      That’s Normal
If your friends dwindle away and you feel you have the plague          That’s Normal
If you can remember your child and smile                                         That’s Healing

If you find your mirrors have become windows and You are able to reach out to other bereaved parents                      That’s Growing
[Edith Fraser Excerpts from The Normal Family]     

When we have passed the tests we were sent to earth to learn, We are allowed to graduate. We are allowed to shed our body, which imprisons our soul, The way a cocoon enclosed the future butterfly,
And when the time is right, we can let go of it, Then we will be free of pain, free of tears and free of worries, Free as a beautiful butterfly returning home to GOD – Which is a place where we are never alone, Where we continue to grow and to sing and to dance, Where we are with those we loved, And where we are surrounded with more love than we can ever imagine. [Elizabeth Kubler-Ross]

There are two days in every week about which we should not worry;  two days which should be kept free from fear and apprehension.

One of these days is YESTERDAY with its mistakes and cares, its faults and blunders, its aches and pains.  YESTERDAY has passed forever beyond our control.

All the money in the world cannot bring back YESTERDAY.  We cannot undo a single act we performed;  we cannot erase a single world we said.  YESTERDAY is gone.

The other day we should not worry about is TOMORROW with its possible adversities, its burdens, its large promise and poor performance.  TOMORROW is also beyond our immediate control.

TOMORROW’S sun will rise, either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds – but it will rise. 
Until it does, we have no stake in TOMORROW, for it is yet unborn.

This leaves only one day – TODAY.  Any man can fight the battles of just one day.  It is only when you add burdens of those two awful eternities – YESTERDAY and TOMORROW – that we break down.

It is not the experience of TODAY  that drives men mad – it is remorse or bitterness for something which happened YESTERDAY and the dread of what TOMORROW may bring.

AIDS – THE UNSPOKEN DEATH
Your child is dead.
They say, “What Happened?”
You answer “accident, suicide, cancer, murder,” but could you say “AIDS”?
Some are taken in an instant, but others of us watch them die a little each day. AIDS, the word that stands out on our television screen and in our newspapers; AIDS, a word that labels its victims. I love my son when he was 31. I watched him go from a vibrant, young successful man to a man so confused and weak he seemed to age before my eyes. This was not a segment of 20/20 or 60 Minutes, this was my son dying,
asking “Mom can you let me go?” AIDS victims should not be labeled, nor should this disease carry any stigma or shame. My grief over Brad’s death, still so very painful, would eat at me like a cancer if I could not be honest about his death. For me, that
acknowledgement was the first step of a long flight of steps in the acceptance of his death. I can’t talk enough about my Brad, and since his death in June of 1988 I have written a book and ten poems about him. It is therapy for me; it keeps him alive to me. I miss him more each day. Another mother, not wanting to hide from the reality of AIDS that claimed her Don’s life, has written and published a book called “Climbing Toward The Light”. It is available at the bookstores. That is a very fitting title. I watched
Brad raise his hand upward as if to reach for the light. If I could be a light for another parent who has had my experience, I would be – for I am just another mother who
lost her son to AIDS.

[By Donna Sullivan – In memory of Brad – TCF Atlanta GA]

A Sandpiper

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sand
castle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea. “Hello”, she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. “I’m
building”, she said. “I see that. What is it?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know, I just like the feel of the sand”. That sounds good I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper
glided by. “That’s a Joy”, the child said. “It’s a what?” “It’s a Joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy”. The bird went gliding down the beach. “Good-bye
joy”, I muttered to myself, “hello pain”, and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed completely out of balance … “What’s your name?” She wouldn’t give us.
“Robert”, I answered. “I’m Robert Peterson”. “Mine’s Wendy … I’m six”.
“Hi Wendy”. She giggled. “You’re funny”, she said.

In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. “Come again, Mr. P”, she called.
“We’ll have another happy day”. The days and weeks that followed belong to others: a
group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. “I need a Sandpiper”, I said
to myself. The ever-changing balm of the sea shore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten
the child and was startled when she appeared. “Hello Mr P”, she said “Do you want to play?” “What did you have in mind?” I asked, with a twinge of
annoyance. “I don’t know, you say”. “How about charades?” I asked sarcastically. The tinkling laughter burst forth again. “I don’t know what that is”.
“Then let’s just walk”. Looking at her I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. “Where do you live?” asked. “Over there”. She pointed toward a row of
summer cottages. Strange, I thought, in winter. “Where do you go to
school?” I don’t go to school. Mommy says we’re on vacation”.
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling
surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed. Three weeks later I rushed to my beach in a state of panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought
I saw her mother on the porch and I felt like demanding she keep the child at home. “Look, if you don’t mind”, I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, “I’d rather
be alone today”. She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. “Why?” she asked. I turned to her and shouted, “Because my mother died!” and thought, my God, why
was I saying this to a little child? “Oh”, she said quietly, “then this is a bad day”.
“Yes”, I said, “and yesterday and the day before and oh, go away!”
“Did it hurt?” she inquired. “Did what hurt?” I was exasperated with her, with myself.
“When she died?” “Of course it hurt!!!” I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped
up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she
wasn’t there. Feeling guilty, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with
honey coloured hair opened the door. “Hello”, I said “I’m Robert Peterson, I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was”. “Oh yes Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. “I’m afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please accept my apologies”. “Not at all – she’s a delightful child”, I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it. “Where is she?” “Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson, she had leukemia. Maybe she didn’t tell you”. Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breath caught. “She loved this beach: so when she asked to come, we
couldn’t say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly”. Her voice faltered. “She left
something for you … if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look”.
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope, with MR. P printed in bold, childish
letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues – a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed. A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy’s mother in my arms. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry”, I muttered over and over, and we wept together. Your precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words – one for each year of her life – that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the colour of sand who taught me the gift of love. The above is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living life and each other. Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas, can make us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a monetary setback or crisis. This holiday season, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and take a moment, even if it is only ten seconds, and stop and smell the roses. [C.T 4th Quarter 2000]

PREGNANCY AND INFANT LOSS

In our society we avoid talking about death. The death of a baby is even
more hidden because it so violates our expectations. A difficult challenge for many of us is society’s refusal to acknowledge that the loss of an unborn or newly born child is the loss of a unique individual. The fact that our babies were in the womb or in our arms for such a little while adds to the pain and isolation of losing a child. However or whenever it occurs, a baby’s death is a profound loss, and one of the most painful and traumatic experiences a parent will confront in a lifetime. Our attachment can begin before conception. When we lose a child, our hopes and dreams for the child have already become a part of our life. The loss of a child, regardless of gestational age, is a loss of part of our future. Memories, so important for the bereaved, allow us to experience a more gradual good-bye. When a child dies before or shortly after birth, we have precious few memories. Our child is gone and we have very little evidence that he or she ever really existed. This abrupt hello-good-bye relationship makes grieving very complex and painful. Unfortunately, many friends and relatives do not recognize the depth of the loss of an unborn or newly born child. Acquaintances may never have seen the baby and find it difficult to imagine our grief over a child we have never seen or perhaps held only briefly. Because so few people actually knew our child, our grief may be
even more isolating. Although nothing can take away the pain, it may be helpful to know what others have experienced or found comforting as they struggled to deal with the intense grief that followed the death of their child. As we travel this path, it may be helpful to seek out those who are supportive in helping us cope with the loss of our babies. May we reach out and comfort one another on this journey. [TCF: Verudugo Hills Chapter]

ACTORS - The world is our stage, we are the actors,
every one of us, who have lost our children. We play so many
parts in public,
Nobody can tell what goes on under the painted smile.
In private the paint cracks, the tears fall. Another day dawns
– put on your make-up and painted smile.
No one sees beneath the façade.
After a while does anybody care?
Yes, I’m sure they do, but are too afraid to really ask,
“Are you all right?” How to answer would take forever.
There is no time to really say, so we say we’re OK.
The stage lights sine again,
The actor recites the same lines.
[Pamela Buckley from TCF - UK]

It's My Choice - TO BE A SURVIVOR OR BE A VICTIM
I can choose:
TO seek out people and resources who will listen and care when I need support.
OR decide from life and isolate myself from sources of support.
TO search for meaningful things to give my life a sense of purpose.
OR decide I have no hope or purpose in life and that I have nothing to live for.
TO realize that loss is only one of the many factors of my life.
OR see myself only as a bereaved parent primarily, and allow my having experienced the death to blacken and disrupt all aspects of my life.
TO communicate with family and friends when I need information and help.
OR wait for others to discover what I need, get angry, and pity myself when they don’t.
TO accept what is gone, or not within my control, and take action on what I CAN do
OR constantly pity myself over what has changed, and what I CAN’T do.
TO try to understand how my family feels – that they hurt too.
OR feel that absolutely no one can understand me and what I am going through.
TO look for ways to FIGHT BACK against negative feelings.
OR bottle up fears and horrors that are unexpressed, and let them have a lot of power over me. TO accept my grief as a necessary process in my recovery from loss.
OR be ashamed of my grief and pretend all is well, to protect the discomfort of others.
TO be angry at the circumstances of the death and seek comfort and strength from God. OR blame God for my circumstances and become angry, bitter and alienated from Him.
[Adapted from “Positive Patterns of Survival"]

We, the members of Compassionate Friends have known
the tragedy which death brings. We’ve lived the hurts and the despair, and so with hands outstretched in love, we welcome you to join us, and we promise you that we will lend a listening ear.

THE BUTTERFLY

A man found a cocoon of a butterfly. One day a small opening appeared. He sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole. Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could, and it could go no further. So the man decided to help the butterfly. He took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small, shrivelled wings. The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time. Neither happened! In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shrivelled wings. It never was able to fly. What the man, in his kindness and haste, did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening were God's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon. Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our lives. If God allowed us to go through our lives without any obstacles, it would cripple us. We would not be as strong as what we could have been. We could never fly!

'SON-SHINE ON MY SHOULDERS' By Tammi Woolever

I was married at 19 years of age, and gave birth to my only child, my son Brandon at the age of 20 1/2. I am blessed. He is healthy, and perfect. Seven and one half years later my husband and I divorced, but continue to raise our son; I had the privilege of my son living with me. We did everything together i.e. sports, school, his musical instruments, singing, vacations, buying our first house, kids-in-college while I attended night college, business, cars, motorcycles, etc...Then one day Brandon decided to move in with his Dad 7 hours away from me. It hurt, and I grieved. I adjusted. Four years later at Brandon's age of 19 1/2 I received a telephone call from his Dad explaining Brandon was out of danger, he'd had an unexplainable but serious car wreck; doctors couldn't believe he was alive, and 7 hours and two hospitals later, I arrived to his room, to care for him. He lived. He changed. He said he died that night, and saw Angels, and the Angels told him 'no' and sent him back to earth. He said 'all the pain in his body came back from his injuries, and he didn't want to come back... "t is peaceful there Mom." He climbed out of his seatbelt, out of the car window, upside down, bleeding and broken, but ALIVE. I had the privilege to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas 2000 with my son, and his (my) bonus siblings and my husband. I also spent Mother's Day with him. He gave me 1 dozen red roses with a Snoopy card which reads "you're the only one I have Mom and I love you, Brandon". We went to dinner and Brandon started telling me about this party where 'all the guys' were going to ride motorcycles on private property. My brother and I tried to talk Brandon out of going to the party; "but Mom - the party isn't for two weeks...don't worry, I know how to ride, remember we built and rode motorcycles together. I'll be fine." As we parted, I gave my son a soft kiss on the his left cheek and hugged him goodbye. Then.......on Memorial Day 2001 Brandon died suddenly, tragically in a motorcycle crash at 10:44 p.m., just ten minutes after starting his ride, on a brand new crotch rocket motorcycle which he did not own. You know, young guys at a party showing off their 'rides', but what Brandon did not know was that this particular motorcycle had been ridden during that early evening by others, hours before Brandon arrived at the party; this ride was doomed! I do ask, why did he ride this particular motorcycle, and why did this crash happen, when Brandon had just finished his first ride (the one he was excited about two weeks before) successfully, without incident 30 minutes before this ride? Without a doubt my son's last day of life was spent with his (my parents) grandparents, his friends, and his Dad. Brandon saw people that day he had not seen in a month. At his funeral his friends all asked 'what was Brandon thinking' and 'what happened'? They said they remembered the elementary and junior high school years when I was around; and then high school. Twenty paw bearers and 350-400 attendees and 125 flower arrangements proves 'my son' was loved, and had made an impact on life. 'In loving memory of a good friend' his friends say. Godspeed to those who knew and loved Brandon, for he loved everyone of you as part of his extended family.

THEY ASK WHAT IT IS LIKE BY SCOTT MASTLEY

After Chris' death I shared an apartment with a friend. On Chris' birthday my roommate asked me how I was doing. I said that the day was tolerable, that I was doing OK. He said that he didn't want to remind me of it by bringing it up. I told him I was thankful that he had asked about my day. I needed a friend to care. No one besides my parents was talking to me about Chris. When I asked my roommate if our friends ever said anything about Chris' death or about my family, he said, "They ask what it's like to live with you." I guess that they were curious, as I was about the boy's father who had died while I was in high school. They were also cautious. At first I was upset that my friends wouldn't talk to me openly about my grief or about Chris. I was angry with them for not recognizing something that had devoured my life. I was surprised that they had asked my roommate about living with me. He had responded that there are times when I am quiet but that I don't bring him down or act more strangely than normal. After calming down, I was glad to know that other people were thinking of Chris and thinking of my grief, even if they weren't talking to me about it. At least I knew that I was not alone in missing him. I think they were afraid of opening a wound, and that is why they did not approach me.
What they did not realize is that the wound is wide open every day. I learn to live with it. Chris's absence is as present as the air I breathe. I think about him and the life we shared every day. I think about the example he set for me and the standards he set for himself. I think about his love for his family. There is no reminding, no re-opening. There is acknowledgement of grief and loss and feeling. In asking a simple question, "How is your day going?" friends can recognize the feelings as being present. It is a wonderful feeling to have a friend who cares enough to overcome the common fear of expression to show concern. Some people are afraid that if I cry in response to something they said that they made me sad. They think they caused my tears. Even though I should have known better, I felt this way about my mother. I thought that she was fragile, and I would choose my words carefully because I did not want to make her cry. It has taken me a long time to realize that the crying is not a direct response to things people say. The crying is a symptom, a visual cue, sometimes uncontrollable, that there are strong feelings present, feelings that are not staying inside any longer. Those strong feelings may be connected to a joyful memory, a funny story, or a little fear associated with the fact that we are now living in a new world. This world makes no apologies. When I cry in a conversation, it is because of the same reasons that I cry in a movie or while reading a novel; it is cathartic. I am simply letting myself FEEL. This is a huge step for me and one that has made all of the difference. It is pivotal. Before Chris died, I rarely cried. I knew men who could cry, and I believed in the therapeutic value of crying, but I couldn't make it happen. Even if I needed to cry and wanted to cry, even if I locked myself in my room and mooned over every reason I had for crying, I didn't cry. The only time I misted up was in movies, when I was caught up in the lives of characters. I used to go to certain movies for that reason alone. I needed to cry, and welling up a little was as close as I could get. With Chris gone, I have shed worlds of tears. At first I cried because I wanted my brother back, because it wasn't fair, because I felt cheated, because I couldn't imagine continuing to live my life without him. But now the reason I cry is not because I am sad or happy. It may sound weird but I cry simply because I am feeling life, feeling the true moments in life which define us, recognizing the past and the future and letting it all flow over me, recognizing the existence of more than I know. Several friends pulled me aside about a year after Chris's death. They apologized for avoiding the topic and acting like nothing had happened. They mentioned their cautiousness about dealing with something new and something so sensitive. They said they wanted to talk about it but didn't know what to say. They wondered what it was like for me. This is what it's like to live with me. I am thinking of all these things. I am pinpointing memories and calling them up. I am feeling sad about what was and could have been. I am crying when I am alone and sometimes asking for more time to be alone. I am doing strange things like wearing an old shirt with holes in it because it belonged to Chris. I am keeping many of the feelings to myself, even though I know I should air them. I think I am sparing the people who love me by not burdening them with my grief. I know better, but sometimes I still want to be self-contained. I am learning to live with the grief daily, and I am finding more moments of happiness as time passes. The world is full of individuals pattering through their lives in meaningful ways and trying to leave something behind. I am affected by my loss, but it does not finish me. I may be detained or detoured, but I will continue to move and progress in some fashion. I will achieve life.

MY LITTLE ANGEL By Dawn R. Osley

Mommy, Mommy, Can I feel?" inquired my three year old daughter as she placed her tiny hand on my protruding abdomen. Lori was anxiously awaiting the birth of her baby sister. She would poke her tummy out in front of her squealing, "Mommy, come quick, my baby is kicking too," as she made her belly rise and fall as if she too were pregnant. There was so much excitement in the air over the anticipated birth of my second child. Old man winter was teasing us with the first fluttering of snow as November approached. The summer rush was slowing and I welcomed the pleasant evenings at home nestled in front of a roaring fire. I could envision holding my new baby lovingly in my arms as I nursed her. It was the perfect time to have a child, a time to sit back over the holidays and enjoy precious moments together. As the time of birth quickly approached, my doctor ordered an ultrasound to verify my due date. As I lay in the x-ray room I could feel the cold steel of the examining table against my body. I quickly forgot about my discomfort as I watched my little angel's heart beating so strong and steady on the monitor. Additional x-rays were ordered and extra personnel entered the room to assist with the tests. As technicians moved the heavy machines into position, they made small talk by asking how many other children I had and what kind of pregnancy this had been. Finally, with the exam completed, I welcomed the opportunity to leave that cold, hard table. It seemed like hours before I was informed that I was to meet my doctor in his office to discuss the test results. My husband waited for me in the car while I spoke with the doctor, expecting to be told that everything was fine and I could check into the hospital for delivery. I became unexpectedly numb as the doctor began to explain the results to me. He was saying that my baby could not survive. She was afflicted with a rare and extremely serious
abnormality, a birth defect known as anencephaly. Anencephaly meant that she would be born without the main part of her brain. Her head ended where her eyebrows were since the bones of her skull had collapsed. She was unable to see, hear or even nurse. The doctor went on to explain that she would be a "monster" or a "freak", with no chance for survival. I was totally devastated. What had I done to deserve this? Was I responsible for her condition? I had taken such care to refrain from anything during my pregnancy that could harm my baby. Maybe I hadn't been careful enough. How was I going to explain to Lori that her baby sister was going to be an angel? Could she understand that she would never get to play games or cuddle with the sister she longed for? There were so many questions without answers. Amy Lynn entered this world five hours later. The doctor who delivered her placed her with her tummy down on a cold metal table. As the nurses rushed to cover her, the doctor firmly stated, "No! Leave "IT" alone, I said, LEAVE IT ALONE!" How could he be so cruel? The harshness of his words reminded me of that cold steel table I had laid upon earlier that day. I could see her from the delivery table. Despite the visible deformities, in my eyes she was perfect. She was beautiful and so strong, as she used her little arms to push her chest up off that dreadful table. Coal black hair brushed the nape of her neck. She was my precious little angel and I loved her so much. Immediately after the doctor left the nurses scooped her up in their arms and gently placed a little knit cap on her head to cover the imperfections. When they brought her to my room, I could hear her whimper, much as a small puppy will do. When I held her close, she became quiet and calm as she nestled close to my heart. She helped me accept her death by showing me the peace within her. There are no words that can accurately describe that feeling. It was as if I were holding heaven in my arms.

Perhaps that was her way of letting me know that she would be all right and I needn't worry about her. Amy died only nineteen short hours after birth on Veterans Day, l982. She still lives on in my heart and memory. Many are the times I have felt her presence with me. Two years later, my empty arms were filled with the birth of my third child, my son, David. He can't replace Amy, but he has helped to fill that emptiness she left within me. Amy taught me to be strong. Through her peace I have learned not to fear death. Throughout the years my children and I are frequently reminded of her absence. On one beautiful summer day, as I listened, Lori brought tears to my eyes as she spoke to her little brother. She said, "David, look up there in the sky, can you see that great big puffy white cloud? That's our sister, Amy's pillow, she's lying there in heaven with all the other little angels, watching over us."Hope you enjoyed the writing. It comes from the heart and still brings tears to my eyes. These little ones are such precious gifts and the pain goes ever so deep when we must return one to the maker. Even after all of these years, I think of her often. Each time the kids do something new I wonder how different things would have been if I still had her with us. Then I remind myself that her death was all part of God's plan and I could never find another better to care for her. In her few short hours on earth she was able to touch, and change the lives of many. That of course is another story. New friends and support were made available to me just prior to her birth. These people were in a prayer meeting, praying for me and my child as I was giving birth. None of them knew the events unfolding at that time. One of those new friends was on duty in delivery when Amy was born and baptized her at birth. This young woman had lost her own child a couple years prior and never had the chance to hold him before he died.

Another nurse in delivery was dealing with the pain of still another miscarriage and another had just lost her last opportunity to have children due to a second tube pregnancy. These were some of the people there to support me at that time and these were also the people who loved my daughter so much during her stay with us. She actually received more attention then all the other babies in the nursery. All things do happen for a reason and Amy did indeed fulfil a purpose in her short life. In Loving Memory of Amy Lynn Wildenberg

How to be happy - practical steps you can take now

You are depressed and happiness seems impossible but you couldn't be more wrong!. As long as your depression is not due to a chemical imbalance (which is often not the case) these steps will help you feel happier by breaking your negative thought and the hold it has over you. Steps to being happier: Gratitude: Think of your life right now. What good things are there to be thankful for? Start listing them on a piece of paper or just go over them in your head. The fact that you can find many positive things in your life no matter how depressed you may feel is comforting and will change your mood. Pause in the Moment: If you stop for one moment and forget the future and the past and concentrate on now, look around and ask yourself what is everything like now, you will see that there are no problems or worries in the present. Bring yourself into this present and forget everything else at least for as long as you can. What if...? What if you get that job you want? What if you make a new friend? What if everything goes well? What if and then something positive is mind changing! Instead of you always thinking negatively, you will begin to expect something positive. Change can be good...At least.. No matter how bad things appear you can always find a positive. Try adding at least to the end of your sentences when you here yourself begin to complain. I am fed up with my job but at least the hours are flexible. He talks too much but at least he is honest. This also will help you to think more positively. Depression makes everything black and this technique can help bring in a little light. Stop saying I can't - realize that there are few things you can't do mostly what you are saying is that you don't want to do something. Examine why this is so - is it fear? Star correcting your statements and also those you tell yourself. you will be more happy as a result. Decide to be happier - sounds too easy but yes you can decide to be happy or unhappy now! Decide to change what you can and accept what you can't and decide to be happy and more positive. You will weaken the grip that depression has over you. Start imagining things improving - what you can see as possible, is possible. If you dream something you can make it real. The only thing stopping you is your thinking and your fear. As soon as you think things can improve and you have the power to change your mood will be lighter and happiness much closer.

DEPRESSION AFTER LOSS OF A CHILD by Cindy Dix, RN.

Feelings of depression and despair after the loss of a loved one, especially a child are normal but very confusing for the person experiencing them, as well as those around them. For the parent who lost a child after a long battle with an illness, it is normal to feel that they could have or should have done more, tried yet a different doctor, not have tried that experimental medication, or perhaps should have tried it. For the parent losing a child to a sudden tragic accident, the feelings of guilt range from "I should have stopped it,? ?I should have driven,? ?I should have........ ? These guilty feelings in both situations are normal. We are the protectors and caretakers of our children, and when things go wrong we blame ourselves. If other parties are involved in our child's death, (a doctor's possible negligence, a negligent child care worker, or negligent driver) it puts a different twist on our feelings, leaving us angry, but with a focus. If our child's death was due to their own poor judgment, there is no ONE person on whom to place the blame and the guilt abounds. On the Loss of Child boards we have talked numerous times about our feelings of depression and despair after the death of our children. Society places a huge burden on our backs for these feelings, believing we should snap out of it... life goes on... we have other children, or perhaps we could have another baby. I have talked to parents about their difficulty in finding a compassionate and well informed counsellor to help deal with the particularly painful feeling of losing a child. One topic that constantly surfaces is our feelings of depression, and our fear of being labelled as crazy for these feelings, therefore, too often, many parents especially the fathers go without treatment due to the stereotypes society places on those seeking help. Many parents cannot focus on daily living activities, and have a hard time even opening the mail, bills can be left unpaid due to the parents lack of energy to write checks or go to the post office. Family members often are in different stages of grief at any given time and often there is family rife that can be harmful to the marriage and family as a whole. If the deceased child died from illness the surviving child has probably been placed on the back burner, so to speak, while the parents attended to the bedside of the sick child. If the deceased child died in an accident, the parents now seek to protect the remaining child often placing impossible restrictions on their activity. The siblings themselves often go through survivor's guilt, don't know how they can live up to the idolized status of their deceased brother or sister. They are here and living, but feel particularly unnoticed. They may act out or begin to take on the personality of the deceased sibling. Grief is real, there is no way of avoiding it for us, it consumes our very existence. Grief mimics depression with symptoms which include eating and intestinal disorders, weight loss, and weight gain, headaches, hyper stimulation from certain sounds such as telephones ringing and sirens. Sleep disorders, nightmares and occasional night terrors, panic and anxiety in crowds. Many parents will initially entertain thoughts of suicide, these are usually fleeting thoughts but if they persist MUST be managed medically. Many parents who lose their child to sudden accidental deaths experience post traumatic stress similar to that experienced by Veterans of war. This can include "pop-up" visions of the accident even if the parent didn't witness the accident itself, reliving the moment they had to identity their child's body, or the moment they were told of the death. All these experiences are symptoms of situational depression. Treatment must be provided by a competent therapist. Don't be afraid to shop around, if a particular therapist isn't helpful, move on to another. Don't be afraid to "interview" the therapist, ask questions about:

1. Experience and accreditation in grief counselling.

2. Their point of view on spirituality (this can be particularly important for some, my first counsellor told me in no uncertain terms that he did not believe in God, and would not let my conversation go that route, I quickly changed counsellors)

3. Does this counsellor have prescription writing privileges in the event an antidepressant is needed? It can be difficult to swing back and forth between the MD and the counsellor for refills etc.

4. is the counsellor informed about literature that could be of benefit to your needs? I hope this article is useful.

It comes from my heart, with my own experiences since the accidental death of my 17 year old son and with a bit of knowledge from my experience as a former Hospice Nurse

FINDING HOPE AFTER THE DEATH OF A CHILD

I am still in shock at the death of my daughter, the 45-year-old mother of twins. The shock of her death in a car crash will be with me forever. Fortunately, I am blessed to have twin grandchildren and my new mission in life is caring for them. My husband and I share this mission. I know my grandchildren and they know me. They know I love them, will care for them, and keep my promises. Though they are living with their father my mind is filled with parenting thoughts about them. Do you have enough lunch money. Have your bus fees been paid? What clothes do you need? Somehow, while I am dealing with questions, legal procedures and financial ones, I must find hope. It is not easy. Every day I look for hope, for as a health writer, I know its spark can keep me going. Where is my hope? MY DAUGHTER WAS AN ORGAN DONOR. After consulting with our grandchildren, my husband and I signed an agreement with Life Source to donate our daughter's organs. The Life Source representative called the next day. "Your daughter saved three lives," she said, "and because of her another will see." Knowing my daughter helped others gives me hope. FRIENDS HAVE SHOWERED US WITH KINDNESS. Because my husband and I are active in the community we have received cards from friends, people we barely know, and strangers. Some of the comments on the cards make us cry, but we are still comforted by them. The kindness of others gives me hope. MEMORIALS IN MY DAUGHTER'S NAME GIVE ME HOPE. At the end of our daughter's obituary we suggested memorials to Mayo Clinic. The memorials we received added up to a substantial donation to Mayo Clinic. Helping Mayo Clinic to carry out its mission of medical practice, education and research gives me hope. MY DAUGHTER IMPRINTED HER VALUES ON HER CHILDREN. The twins started thinking about their mother's values the moment she died. "Even when Mom disciplined us she was never angry," my grandson said. "Mommy always tried to make people smile," my granddaughter said. The twins know their mother wanted them to go to college and we will make this dream come true -- a mission that gives us hope. THE SIGNS OF SPRING LIFT MY SPIRITS. The piles of snow around our house are melting and I am starting to see green grass. Next to the house, the birch trees show signs of budding. I saw my first robin yesterday. She (or he) sat on a tree near the house and sang for several minutes. Spring gives me hope and I am looking forward to it. These hopeful signs are helping to heal my grief. I am also trying to make something good from grief and writing articles is a way to do this. Grief is a common bond that joins people together and makes us human.

Copyright 2007 by Harriet Hodgson

ONE HEART BEATS FOR TWO FAMILIES

By Carol Mulligan/The Sudbury Star :Wednesday, April 20, 2005 - 11:00
Local News -

Bill Anger still finds it difficult to reconcile the fact that the heart beating in his chest isn’t his own. All he can do is thank Ryan Vlaad and his family for his life. On July 20, 2002, the 55-year-old London, Ont., RCMP officer was dying of heart and liver failure. That day, Ryan Vlaad, 26, of Espanola, sustained a blow to the back of the head in a random act of violence outside a London hotel. A disease called amyloidosis, which affects one in eight million people, was killing Anger, leaving him with only three months to live unless an organ donor could be found. Ryan Vlaad became that donor, and a day doesn’t go by that Anger doesn’t wake up thinking, ―I’m alive because someone gave me the gift of life.

Anger calls it his miracle — and miracles weren’t something the burly cop used to believe in. But he has had to rethink a lot of things in the last two and a half years and he is convinced some things are just meant to be. If they weren’t, Anger would never have met Ryan’s parents, Diane and Bill Vlaad of Espanola, and come to share a bond with them that no one else could comprehend. ―Ours is one of a kind,‖ says Anger about the relationship in an interview at the Vlaads’ home this week. ―I don’t think it will ever happen again.‖ Anger was guest speaker at an event organized by the Vlaads in Espanola on Monday night to mark National Organ and Tissue Donor Awareness Week. Provincial legislation prohibits anyone from knowingly revealing the identify of an organ donor, and it’s virtually unheard of that a donor’s family and an organ recipient should meet. The random blow that felled Ryan Vlaad sent him to London hospital about 1 a.m. that July morning — an hour before Anger was told a potential donor had been found. Diane and Bill Vlaad were visiting Bill’s parents in Timmins when they received a phone call that their youngest son was being kept alive on a respirator. A couple of hours later, doctors performed the double-organ transplant — the first ever done in London and only the eighth or ninth one performed in Canada. A month after Ryan’s death and Anger’s transplant, Anger’s sister sent a donation to the Vlaad family in their son’s memory, Anger told a crowd of about 75 people. Diane phoned Anger’s sister to ask how she knew Ryan, and Anger said his sister thought, ―Uh oh. It wasn’t until Anger’s father later sent a donation, on the same stationery, that the Vlaads began to suspect there might be a connection with their son. Diane called the elder Anger, and spoke with Bill’s mother, who said she would have her son call her. Anger describes that first conversation as a fishing expedition. But the evidence mounted to the point the families were left with no doubt that Ryan had been the donor who had saved Anger’s life. Five months after Ryan died, the families met. The couple travelled to London with a collage of photographs of their son, who was four days away from earning the commercial pilot’s licence he had been working on in London when he was killed. After two hours of tears, Anger noticed Diane was fidgeting as she sat beside him. He asked her what was wrong and finally she asked: ―Can I touch ... feel his heartbeat? Diane, a nurse at Espanola General Hospital, grabbed his wrist to take his pulse until Anger took her hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart. At the meeting, tears flowed and sniffles were stifled by audience members, many of whom knew Ryan, as Anger related the families’ story, and urged them to sign organ donation cards. ―Either you’re waiting for a transplant, or you may need one, or you may know someone who needs one, he said. ―If you ever want to do something right ...Back at the Vlaads’ after the meeting, Bill and Diane Vlaad and Bill Anger talked about their unusual relationship, and how they understand it might not work for everyone. The man who received their son’s organs is aware he is carrying precious cargo, and cares for himself with that in mind. Still, Bill Vlaad worries about something happening to Anger. Ryan ―still lives on in Bill Anger. If anything happens, not only will we lose a good friend, we’ll lose Ryan twice. Anger has no intention of doing anything to hurt the family’s trust or his own health. He’s single father to 16-year-old Brandi, who’s been through a lot in her young life, and he’s got two families counting on him now. The parallels between the families’ lives are astounding. Ryan was buried on Brandi’s 13th birthday. Both families once lived in Prince George, B.C. Both Anger and Ryan were pilots. As Anger laid in bed recovering after his transplant, he read the story of the young Espanola man who had been killed and who was a flyer like himself. He says he kept imagining two planes flying, then becoming one, soaring high in the sky. Living Tribute In a poem he composed a year after Ryan’s death, Anger wrote: We are as close as two people could be I feel your heart beat strong within me. Together we will be for all time One heart to live, two souls entwined. Every joy I have I will share with you Because now we live as one not two. So keep flying high with God up.

Coping With Grief

Just as people feel grief in many different ways, they handle it differently, too. Some people reach out for support from others and find comfort in good memories. Others become very busy to take their minds off the loss. Some people become depressed and withdraw from their peers or go out of the way to avoid the places or situations that remind them of the person who has died. For some people, it can help to talk about the loss with others. Some do this naturally and easily with friends and family, while others talk to a professional therapist. Some people may not feel like talking about it much at all because it's hard to find the words to express such deep and personal emotion or they wonder whether talking will make them feel the hurt more. This is fine, as long you find other ways to deal with your pain. People sometimes deal with their sorrow by engaging in dangerous or self-destructive activities. Doing things like drinking, drugs, or cutting yourself to escape from the reality of a loss may seem to numb the pain, but the feeling is only temporary. This isn't really dealing with the pain, only masking it, which makes all those feelings build up inside
and only prolongs the grief. If your pain just seems to get worse, or if you feel like hurting yourself or have suicidal thoughts, tell someone you trust about how you feel.

One October day a tiny, purple-faced baby girl arrived into the world. She came one month earlier than expected, so her daddy frantically put together baby furniture at home while her mother scribbled girl names on scraps of paper in her hospital room. The baby girl slept, for she knew all this did not matter. She slept, only opening her swollen eyes to peek at the strange world around her. And when she awoke hungry, she cried a dainty cry. The day her parents brought her home, they named her Hannah Morgan. They placed her in a little white crib beside their bed, and they stared at her as she slept. "When will she do something?" her father asked. Her parents fumbled through baths, messy diapers, night-time feedings, and out-of-tune lullabies. The baby girl soon fell into a schedule of eating, sleeping, and studying the faces of her parents who now asked in amazement, "What did we do before we had her?" The weeks passed quickly, and Hannah grew chubby and fair and beautiful. She smiled big smiles, gazed into her grandmothers' eyes, and touched visitors with a peacefulness that was like no other baby's. Everybody who met her, loved her. But her paediatrician was worried. Hannah did not kick and move like other babies, and she worked hard to breathe. The neurologist's words, "shortened life span," soon drowned out the Christmas carols in her parents' heads. A sad family brought Hannah home after a sterile Christmas spent in the Paediatric Intensive Care Unit. With heavy hearts, they asked God one question — "Why?" but only silence was returned. Over the next months, the baby calmly studied the doctors as they poked at her tongue and watched her strong tummy expand with every breath. She cried only when they drew her blood, and her once-uncoordinated parents quickly comforted her. Time passed, filled with visits from grandparents and many friends and relatives who loved this peaceful baby girl. Hannah spent mornings rocking as Mommy sang her all the songs from The Sound of Music. She spent evenings in Daddy's lap, contentedly watching prime-time TV as he massaged her legs and feet. In the afternoons, grandmothers often appeared like magic, shaking bright rattles and talking with melodic voices as they stroked her soft little head. Like angels, gentle hospice nurses descended with their stethoscopes and serenity. A chaplain cradled the baby and prayed. Molly Dog guarded Hannah's bed and helped clean her tiny fingers and toes. The baby girl took walks and wagon rides on crisp winter days; and before long, spring had come, and she had seen all the colours of the leaves, By this time, Hannah had grown weak. The steady pumping of an oxygen machine marked time. There were pain medicines, tube feedings, and quiet family talks. The tired baby could no longer smile. New visitors brought food and touched her soft hair. Many stared and sighed and asked God "Why?" but only silence was returned. Soon Hannah began to sleep as deeply and as peacefully as when she was a newborn. She slept for many hours, and the tears of her family soaked into her bright cotton blanket. One day, she did not awaken. In their quiet home, her parents asked God "Why?" At the cemetery, many people who loved Hannah asked God "Why?" All around town, people reading the obituary of a baby they'd never met asked God "Why?" Again and again, only silence was returned. In Heaven, the once-quiet baby girl kicked and squealed with delight. She chewed her toys, tore pages from books and fidgeted as frazzled angels changed her diapers. She tugged on her great-grandmother 's earrings, and with strong hands she explored her great-grandfather's face. She pulled herself up on Jesus' knees, and soon she learned to walk. Her big family in Heaven continued the love that her small family on Earth had begun. From
Heaven, God heard many grieving people. All the time, through tears and anger, they asked, "Why?" God cried, too, for He'd once lost a son. Being human, even the Son had asked, "Why?" It seemed to many people that God never answered this question. Yet in the silence — over weeks, years, even decades the answers came. To each person the answer was unique: for some, the answer made them more tolerant; for others, it reversed what they thought was important; and for others, it gave them a peace they had never known. Even in their sorrow, Hannah's parents knew that the gift God had given them was powerful beyond words, beyond imagination, beyond human understanding. And so it was that the baby girl who lacked the strength to lift a feather, had the power to change so many.

Bereavement Magazine January/February 1998; 8133 Telegraph Rd; Colorado Springs, CO 80920;

What to Expect

It may feel like it might be impossible to recover after losing someone you love. But grief does get gradually better and become less intense as time goes by. To help get through the pain, it can help to know some of the things you might expect during the grieving process. The first few days after someone dies can be intense, with people expressing strong emotions, perhaps crying, comforting each other, and gathering to express their support and condolences to the ones most affected by the loss. It is common to feel as if you are "going crazy" and feel extremes of anxiety, panic, sadness, and helplessness. Some people describe feeling "unreal," as if they're looking at the world from a faraway place. Others feel moody, irritable, and resentful. Family and friends often participate in rituals that may be part of their religious, cultural, community, or family traditions, such as memorial services, wakes, or funerals. These activities can help people get through the first days after a death and honour the person who died. People might spend time together talking and sharing memories about their loved one. This may continue for days or weeks following the loss as friends and family bring food, send cards, or stop by to visit. Many times, people show their emotions during this time. But sometimes a person can be so shocked or overwhelmed by the death that he or she doesn't show any
emotion right away — even though the loss is very hard. And it's not uncommon to see people smiling and talking with others at a funeral, as if something sad had not happened. But being among other mourners can be a comfort, reminding us that some things will stay the same. Sometimes, when the rituals associated with grieving end, people might feel like they should be "over it" because everything seems to have gone back to normal. When those who are grieving first go back to their normal activities, it might be hard to put their hearts into everyday things. Many people go back to doing regular things after a few days or a week. But although they may not talk about their loss as much, the grieving process continues. It's natural to continue to have feelings and questions for a while after someone dies. It's also natural to begin to feel somewhat better. A lot depends on how your loss affects your life. It's OK to feel grief for days, weeks, or even longer, depending on how close you were to the person who died. No matter how you choose to grieve, there's no one right way to do it. The grieving process is a gradual one that lasts longer for some people than others. There may be times when you worry that you'll never enjoy life the same way again, but this is a natural reaction after a loss.

Will I Ever Get Over This?
Well-meaning friends and family might tell a grieving person they need to "move on" after a loss. Unfortunately, that type of advice can sometimes make people hesitate to talk about their loss, or make people think they're grieving wrong or too long, or that they're not normal. It can help to remember that the grieving process is very personal and individual — there's no right or wrong way to grieve. We all take our own time to heal. It's important for grieving people to not drop out of life, though. If you don't like the idea of moving on, maybe the idea of "keeping on" seems like a better fit. Sometimes it helps to remind yourself to just keep on doing the best you can for now. If you feel sad, let yourself have your feelings and try not to run away from your emotions. But also keep on doing things you normally would such as being with friends, caring for your pet going to work or working out. Going forward and healing from grief doesn't mean forgetting about the person you lost. Getting back to enjoying your life doesn't mean you no longermiss the person. And how long it takes until you start to feel better isn't a measure of how much you loved the person. With time, the loving support of family and friends, and your own positive actions, you can find ways to cope with even the deepest loss. When I think of the horror movie "The Ring," I remember what one of my friends said, which explained why she was so afraid of the movie: "It doesn't choose those who are young or old, or sick or healthy, it just chooses. Randomly." This is how I think of cancer. It has no predetermined plan. It does not matter if you are old or young. I had the perfect life. It was a bubble that could not be pierced by unhappiness. No one died, no one was sick; we were all happy and loving life. Then I discovered my son had cancer. No matter how much I told myself he could live, that he might not die, somehow I still felt as if it was a death sentence. He was so young, only 6. He fought so hard. Whenever I feel my own life taking a turn for the worse, as if things will never get better, I remember how many years he lived fighting such a scary and difficult disease. When he died, he died with a huge party going on around him, with all his friends and adult family. I honestly don't know how I coped. I never cried alone. I had the compassion of my friends and the support of my family.

Reviewed by: Steven Dowshen, MD
Date reviewed: March 2006