Tag Archives: death

SAYING NO

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32. SAY NO

  • Especially soon after your child’s death, you may lack the energy as well as the desire to participate in activities you used to find pleasurable.
  • Realize that you can’t keep saying no forever. There will always be that first wedding, christening, birthday party, etc. Don’t miss out on life’s most joyful celebrations. If you attend something and find it overwhelming, it’s OK to excuse yourself and leave early. (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES; Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD; 2005)

Ugh. It’ll be 12 years this year and I still say no sometimes. I find large social gatherings difficult, anxiety provoking even. I just don’t have the same capacity to socialize as I used to.

Funerals were especially difficult for a very long time. I realize now that was likely because I was in denial about my son’s death. I mean, funerals are no fun any time, but I was always able to support folks. I can do that again now.

When my niece got married, shortly after his death, she acknowledged Joseph in her ceremony. I just now sent her a text thanking her for that.

I missed the weddings of my cousin’s kids. One because I was staying with a friend who was dying. The other, my godchild, because it was on Joseph’s birthday. His birthday and death day are two days I still can’t allow for any kind of celebration…except about him. Maybe not quite celebration…but definitely remembrance.

(featured image found in Google search…attributed to english.eagetutor.com)

SAINT CECILIA PRAY FOR US

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27. KNOW THAT YOU ARE LOVED

  • Love gives our lives meaning. To heal, you must learn to love fully again.
  • Think about the people who care about you and the ways in which your life matters.

CARPE DIEM:

Spend some time today with someone who loves you. Focus on this person and what she is saying. Tell her how much you love her too.

It is difficult for me to believe that I am loved. It’s Lent and I have been working with the Hallow app to meditate and try to grow closer, again, to God. I am doing the Pray40: The Return Challenge. We are reading The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky and focusing on its similarity to the parable of the Prodigal son, with some reference to Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son, which I am also reading a little at a time. God’s Love.

On the Hallow App today, there was an interview with Patricia Heaton, the actress from Everybody Loves Raymond and Malcolm in the Middle. She is, apparently, a devout Catholic. She went on a mission trip as a young adult; and, when she came back, prayed for discernment about becoming a missionary. She asked God to put an end to her auditions if that was what she was meant to do. She then ended up with long-time roles AND has raised money for missions around the world.

So…I spent some time in meditation this morning. My question was, “What do you want from me? I’m sorry to put it this way, but, what do you want from me?” No immediate answer. Heaton and the interviewer prayed in a chapel at a convent for St. Cecilia, where her sister is a nun. I don’t know much about St. Cecilia, except for the fact that she was musical. I prayed along, but got turned off at the mention of her as “virgin”. What is it with Catholics and the preoccupation with virgins? The interviewer mentioned her “husband”…so, she remained a virgin while married??? I have to look into this.

So…I remembered that St. Cecilia was one of my mother’s favorites. Then I remembered her confirmation name was Cecilia. Joseph’s godmother’s name was also Cecelia, spelled differently.

Anyway, this evening I am having dinner with my Survivors of Suicide friend group. We all love each other in a very special way. That’ll be good.

https://www.axiawomen.org/wow/st-cecilia-featured-saint

I HAVE NO ILLUSIONS THAT HE WAS PERFECT

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26. TREASURE YOUR CONCEPT OF WHO YOUR CHILD WAS

  • Your child was smart, funny, handsome, sweet. Despite his flaws, you loved him unconditionally.
  • Allow yourself to cling to those things you loved best about your child. Over time, you may find that discussing all aspects of his character and personality–good and bad–with others who knew him will help you work through conflicting thoughts and feelings.

CARPE DIEM:

Gather special photos of the child who died and place them in a small photo album–one you can keep in your purse or in your desk drawer. Try to select photos that capture well your child’s personality, character and passions.

Yes, Joseph was smart, funny, handsome and sweet. He got away with more than his siblings did. He was the youngest, and I’d already been through plenty of nonsense with all of them, including him. I was tired. He was also 22, and there were no more younger siblings after him. So…he got away with a lot. He was the only child who got away with having a sexual partner in his room. The others weren’t even allowed to have a partner IN their rooms. I have this recollection of his saying he was an asshole for doing that. I’m not sure if someone told me that, one of his siblings called him that, or he said it to me in one of my “day(s) in the spirit” (a program I bought through James Van Praagh, a medium) with him.

I have no illusions of his being perfect. He struggled from the time he was very young, emotionally. He had difficulty with social anxiety, and, of course, depression. I recall sitting in church one day during a meeting for his First Holy Communion. The Director of Religious Education, a friend and neighbor, was choosing kids to participate in the May Crowning of the statue of Mary. Joseph’s name was drawn to carry the pillow with the crown. He SCREAMED uncontrollably, and I took him outside. Apparently, the idea of carrying the crown terrified him. So…he didn’t do it.

Another time, he was a shepherd in the Christmas Eve Nativity at Mass. He made it partway around the church, and, when he saw me, stepped out of the procession and sat down with me.

I am having trouble thinking of any real misbehavior on his part…except for having sex with his girlfriend under my roof, which had never been allowed for any of his other siblings. Of course, we had never discussed it; and, I hadn’t disallowed it by any spoken rule. His siblings would never even have considered it.

I recently ordered a bunch of photo prints of him that I had saved in Google Photos, so I will be making that album. 

REMEMBERING

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24. TELL THE STORY, OVER AND OVER AGAIN IF YOU FEEL THE NEED

  • The “story” relates the circumstances surrounding the death of the child, reviewing the relationship you had with the child, describing the aspects of the personality of the child who died, and sharing memories, good and bad. (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES; Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD; 2005)

Funny, just today I was remembering a night Joseph, his sister, and I had gone out to dinner at a place called Steak and Ale. It may have been Christmas Eve. We had been served our dinners and the waiter was serving our drinks. Maybe he was new at his job, because he took a glass from the inside of the tray and as he lay it down on the table, the tray tipped forward, a soda glass fell, and the liquid poured right into Joseph’s dish. His sister and I held our breath. Joseph very calmly said, “I was eating that.” His steak had been perfectly prepared. The waiter apologized, removed the dish and brought him another. I don’t remember if it was cooked as well as the first. My daughter and I have talked about this incident. She recalls holding her breath in anticipation of his reaction.

Joseph could be intense. At that age, though, I don’t think he had the strong reactions he did when he was younger. I used to describe him, as a young child, as wearing his nerves on the outside of his body. When he was happy, he would jump up and down flapping his arms. When he was upset, he would wail uncontrollably.

I remember taking him for blood work. We had to hold him down in the chair, while he screamed, “Why are you trying to rip my arm off?!”

Once, while in line at a cash register in J C Penney, maybe I grabbed his arm a little too tightly, or he thought so anyway. He yelled, “Why do you hurt me every day?!”

Another time, we were at the pediatrician’s office. After checking out at the front desk, I turned around and Joseph was gone! I panicked, looking around frantically. I found him outside, kneeling on all fours in the snow by our minivan, leaning down, eating the snow. He was fine. He must have walked out the door as someone else came in or left. Nobody noticed???!!!

My older daughter once told me that a teacher, who Joseph later had for second grade, loved to watch him waddle down the hallway like a penguin, and hoped he would one day be in her class. (My daughter, eleven years his senior, was friends with this teacher’s daughters.) She really got him, this teacher. He would quickly finish his work; and, she would get him to help others who were having difficulty with the classroom’s computers. One night we attended a science fair at the school. The teacher was manning a table with tangrams. She saw us coming and said, “Joseph can do this!” with a smile. When I ran into one of her daughters at a town event in a park recently, I told her to tell her mom how much I appreciated how she was with him. (I have probably done this multiple times over the years. I still think of her fondly.)

SAYING HIS NAME

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23. USE THE NAME OF YOUR CHILD

  • When you’re talking about the death or about your life in general, don’t avoid using the name of the child who has died. Sometimes others are afraid to use the name in your presence out of fear that it is painful to you. If you use the name, others will know that they can use it too. 

CARPE DIEM: Flip through a baby name book at a local bookstore or library and look up the name of your child. Reflect on the name’s meaning as it relates to the unique person you loved. (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES; Alan D. Wolfelt PhD; 2005)

I would like to begin here by saying that I still love Joseph, in response to the “unique person you loved” prompt above. My love for him is ever present. It did not die with him.

I don’t hesitate to use his name; and, I am ever grateful to hear others say it. It is a pleasure to know that they, too, remember him.

I don’t need to go to a bookstore to look up the meaning of his name. I can, “Ask the Google,” as we say in my family:

The name Joseph has its origins in Hebrew and holds significant meaning. Derived from the Hebrew name Yosef, it translates to God will Increase. This name has deep roots in biblical history, prominent in the narrative of the Old Testament. Joseph, son of Jacob and Rachel, was a central figure whose life and virtues are vividly recounted in the Book of Genesis. (accessed at https://www.ancestry.com/first-name-meaning/Joeseph)

The only surprise is that the name translates from the Hebrew to “God will increase”. God certainly did increase. Joseph was the fourth of our children. When I was pregnant with him, I woke from a dream one day and said, “How about Joseph Francis?” I had previously been considering James Andrew, the name of my great grandfather from Scotland. His father didn’t like the idea, having an uncle “Jimmy” of whom he wasn’t particularly fond.

I was thinking of Joseph, for the dreamer of the Old Testament, mentioned above as the son of Jacob and Rachel, and also for the earthly father of Jesus. I always called him Joseph, not Joe or Joey. When he was little, his father called him Josie, which was picked up by some in the family for a while. Josie reminded me of the Clint Eastwood character, The Outlaw Josie Wales, although his dad pronounced it with a softer “s” sound. My grandkids called him Uncle Joe. His friends called him Joe. He called himself Joe on his FaceBook page. One of his sisters called him Broseph. She still does when she posts about him.

FAMILY IS COMPLICATED

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22. COMMUNICATE OPENLY WITH YOUR FAMILY

  • Your partner and your surviving children are hurting, too–each in their own unique ways. Nobody can (or should try to) take away the hurt, but talking about all your thoughts and feelings since the death helps everybody feel supported and understood. 
  • Is yours an “open family system,” in which members openly talk about the death, the person who died and their grief? Or is yours a “closed family system,” in which members pretty much keep their thoughts and feelings to themselves and don’t feel safe mourning among their own family? (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES; Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD; 2005)

Hmmm…I thought we were an “open family system.” We mentioned Joseph’s name all the time. But we talked about him, mostly, in the present tense. Like he was still alive and with us. We still talk about our experiences of feeling him near, making himself known to us. 

The day after I found him, I went to my youngest daughter’s apartment, after she called me. She already knew about Joseph’s death having gotten the news, I assume, from one of her siblings. She hadn’t returned my call to find out why I’d left her a message the night before. She took my hands, when I entered her apartment, looked me in the eyes and said, “It’s not your fault; and, you’re going to need a lot of therapy.” I felt such relief, hearing her say those words. I was sure everyone in the family would blame me. My ex-husband, my children’s father, even came to the apartment and was supportive of me in his own grief.

Years later, when I told her what her sister had said. “the last time you told someone they were homeless, they killed themselves,” she kind of nodded and shrugged. So maybe she does blame me. We don’t talk about it. We don’t talk about how we feel in our grief. She and I, and her daughter, took a trip out West for Joseph’s 30th birthday. The night of his birthday, we were all tired, having spent the day sightseeing…that was the day we kayaked the Colorado River. I guess we’d all said we were tired and I suggested maybe we not go out. She snapped at me and said my granddaughter still needed to eat. At dinner, there was mostly silence. Several times I tried to bring up Joseph and talk about him. We would be interrupted by the wait staff, or something, and the conversation never got off the ground. She may have been doing things on her phone. I just remember feeling alone, although we were all together. I got the impression she was angry with me and maybe would have preferred I wasn’t there. I was in a lot of pain that night, having been in the kayak alone, she and my granddaughter sharing one. Paddling against the current was difficult. I slept on a sofa bed, while they shared the bedroom. It was terribly uncomfortable. I ended up closing it and sleeping on the sofa instead. I struggled to sleep, and thought about changing my flight to go home the next day. But…morning came. I think we talked a bit, and I stuck it out. It was, all in all, a beautiful trip. We saw the Grand Canyon, Joshua Tree and Zion National Parks. But it was terribly bittersweet.

She volunteers with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) and shares openly about her experience in posts, as their Social Media Ambassador, so I do see how see manages her grief. But, again, we don’t talk about it. And, I am only now getting to experience my own grief and mourning…almost twelve years later. Our relationship is improving.

I don’t have a partner. My renewed relationship after Joseph’s death survived almost three more years, but we didn’t talk about our grief either. I remember watching the film, “The Passion,” and afterward kneeling down on the living room carpet where Joseph’s body had lain and crying, maybe screaming, identifying with Mary, having lost her Son. My partner left the room. I suppose he didn’t know what to do with me. I don’t think I ever even considered he might be experiencing any grief over Joseph’s loss. He’s married now. 

My relationship with my eldest daughter is improving. We communicate via email, although we live in the same town; however, the emails are more frequent and conversational.

My other son, well, he still isn’t speaking with me. It’s been almost 11 years. So…could it be related to Joseph’s death? I saw him at my mother’s wake and funeral. I said, “Hello, Son;” and he looked like a deer in the headlights. So, I walked away. He stood in for a picture with me, his younger sister, and my granddaughter that his girlfriend took. My eldest daughter didn’t come to either the wake or funeral.

It’s a complicated family. Aren’t most?

THE QUESTION

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21. PREPARE TO ANSWER “THE QUESTION”

  • “How many children do you have?” What was once an everyday, friendly question is now a loaded gun. (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES; Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD; 2005)

I remember, shortly after Joseph died, sitting in my therapist’s office, crying, and asking him – when someone asks me how many children do you have, what do I say? I remember him looking at me with the care and compassion he always held. I don’t remember his response.

Now, almost 12 years later, I just reply as though he were still alive. I have four children. If they ask boys? Girls? I answer, two boys and two girls. If they prod further, depending on who they are, why they’re asking, and the context of the conversation, my answers vary. I’ve had people ask what my children do for a living. That’s complicated even with my living children, because not all of them talk to me. But, I have learned that families are, in general, complicated. 

Yes, some underlying anxiety upon being asked the question still remains. I remember being at some sort of function and talking to someone who had asked about children. The conversation went further and I told them about Joseph’s death. When someone else asked the question, she answered, for me, that I had 3 children. I suppose she thought she was being helpful, but I found it offensive.

BEING HERE NOW

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16. BE AWARE THAT YOUR GRIEF AFFECTS YOUR BODY, HEART, SOCIAL SELF AND SPIRIT.

  • Grief is physically demanding. The body responds to the stress of the encounter and the immune system can weaken. You may be more susceptible to illness and physical discomforts. Grieving parents often describe their grief as a pain in the chest or a physical ache. You will probably also feel sluggish or highly fatigued. Some people call this the “lethargy of grief”.
  • The emotional toll of grief is complex and painful. Mourners often feel many different feelings, and those feelings can shift and blur over time. 
  • Bereavement naturally results in social discomfort. Friends and family often withdraw from mourners, leaving us isolated and unsupported. Mourners often feel out of place in a setting they once felt a part of.
  • Mourners often ask, “Why go on living?” “Will my life have meaning now?” “Where is God in this?” Spiritual questions such as these are natural and necessary but also draining. 
  • All four facets of yourself are under attack. You may feel weak and powerless, especially in the early weeks and months. Only over time will you gain the strength to fight back.

CARPE DIEM: 

If you’ve felt physically affected by your grief, see a doctor this week. Sometimes it’s comforting to receive a clean bill of health. (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, 2005)

Usually, I just pick a snippet from the page, but today, all of it grabs my attention. It all rings true for me. It’s a snowy day here in the northeastern US. I’m enjoying being in my nice warm home, with a blanket on my lap, and a cup of tea. My kids would laugh about “my nice warm home”. I keep it at 65 when I’m up and 60 when I’m out or in bed.

Grief certainly is physically demanding. It’s a full-body experience. As my rent heart mends back together, I can finally feel the grief and externalize it into mourning. I could always talk about Joseph’s death, but a part of me still didn’t believe it. I remember at the burial site, standing at the foot of his casket. I didn’t sit with the rest of the mourners. I stood opposite the Deacon, who prayed the final prayers at the head of the casket. We looked into each other’s eyes. “May perpetual light shine upon him…And may his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.” It was all so unreal.

My friend from Maine had driven me to the funeral home where I met my ex-husband, his wife, and our daughters, to make the “final arrangements”. Just as we were leaving to go there, a Deacon from my church and his wife came to the house. I told Deacon Steve and his wife, Lois, that I had called the rectory the night it happened. His response was, “Where was your community?” If only I had called them directly…The priest I spoke with only told me that the funeral home would call them to make arrangements. 

The funeral director was a lovely man, who had also lost a child. Her portrait hangs in the entryway. I was okay while we sat at the desk in his office…or as okay as I could be. I don’t know that I said anything. When we were led into the showroom to choose a casket, I couldn’t enter the room. I backed out and went outside to be with my friend. I don’t remember if I went back in. It was that sense of unreality. That rending between what was and what I accepted. Again, I say that it is only recently that I believe he is really dead…through the process of working through this book and having been to Dr. Wolfelt’s presentation.

I am always in pain, in most of my body. I have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, which was basically a rule-out of other diseases. I know, and I teach, that we carry our traumas in our bodies. This is the heaviest of the traumas I have experienced. The burden is made greater by my guilt and all the “what ifs” and “if onlys”. I have participated in various grief groups, in-person and virtually. They have all been helpful in one way or another. The suicide survivor groups have probably been the most helpful and I have made friends through them. No one else understands the depth of this particular loss. We see each other socially as well.

Social situations are very difficult for me. I prefer one-on-one get-togethers. Anxiety and a sense of just not fitting in anymore interferes with going to parties, celebrations, and group events, except for with the survivors, who feel the same way and give comfort to each other as a result of this understanding.

Day to day living can seem pointless at times. Heavy. But I have learned to Be Here Now, again, as Baba Dam Rass would say. There is a sacredness in each moment, each breath.

TODAY IS NOT THE DAY

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15. CRY

  • Tears are a natural cleansing and healing mechanism. It’s OK to cry. In fact, it’s good to cry when you feel like it. What’s more, tears are a form of mourning. They are sacred! 

CARPE DIEM:  If you feel like it, have a good cry today. Find a safe place to embrace your pain and cry as long and as hard as you want to.  (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, 2005)

I don’t feel like it today. I’m okay. I’m a little tired. Just enjoying being in the house on this cold, damp, dreary day. Doing laundry and a little cleaning. Mostly reading. Some meditating. I’m aware that my heart is healing. It’s only taken eleven plus years. 

The night I found my son, I don’t know if I cried. I remember screaming. My heart, my soul, my very self, split in two. It is only now that I feel some mending happening. I’m coming back to myself, acknowledging that my son is indeed dead and gone. My son. The child I raised. The boy who felt things so strongly. I described him as wearing his nerves, as a child, on the outside of his body. My beautiful boy.

Wednesday was the first anniversary of the death of my mother. Not by suicide, like my son. I do believe she gave up though. She was 87 and a half. She’d survived all the members of her family, except for some in-laws, as well as the loss of her best friend. The last loss, the final straw, was her younger sister. Until the last few days, she continued to be active in her assisted living community. Then she was having difficulty breathing, her pulse-ox was very low, but she wouldn’t keep the oxygen on. 

When my sister called to say she was gone, I was shocked. We’d just gotten her on to hospice services because she was refusing to go to the hospital and she needed more care than the facility could provide for her. I told her it didn’t mean she was going to die, that some people graduate from hospice. (I’d worked as a hospice social worker.) Apparently, she decided otherwise.

I had a Mass celebrated for her yesterday at my parish church. Before Mass, I thought about telling the priest the correct pronunciation of her name, but he was running late and I decided not to interrupt him as he got ready. He mispronounced it. Many people do. Obviously not an English major. A vowel followed by double consonants carries the short sound, no? He said it with the long sound. 

I reposted her eulogy, photos, and stories. I felt guilty when I saw my sister posted, “we miss you”. I don’t miss her. Not really. She wasn’t the easiest person to be around. All my life her anxiety took first priority. I remember, even as a child, trying to manage her anxiety. Once, she left the window by the stove open after she hung out some laundry (NY apartment living). The curtain blew into the flame and caught fire. The flame blew across the window shade and it dropped. I called her, in a monotone, “Mo-om, the curtains are on fire.”  I was maybe 10 years old.

I visited her grave yesterday. Afterward, I went to my sister’s. We went out to lunch and then spent time together at her apartment. I got to see my niece too. It was a lovely visit. We are really just getting to know each other. Enjoy each other. 

We agreed that, growing up, we were just a bunch of people living in the same house. Mom was a switchboard operator when I was young, later a receptionist. She operated that way in life as well. She talked about each of us, her four kids, to each of us. In a way, it kept us separate. I remember, having started communicating directly with my sister. Mom told me something about her; and, when I said I already knew, she was surprised…like how dare I already know that. So…looking back, I think it was intentional. Sad to say.

I always knew anxiety was an issue for her. She started taking Valium, Mother’s Little Helper, in the “60s and continued through old age. Later she had Xanax. She didn’t drink a lot, but she’d hobble to the liquor store down the block from her Senior apartment. She spent some time in 12 Step meetings, Al-Anon Adult Children, and talked about getting the best therapy for $1 (donation).

Everybody loved her. Well, there were a few that told my poor sister she was a saint for dealing with her. She had the major care-taking duties. 

On the anniversary, my daughter, granddaughter and I went out to an Irish pub for dinner. Mom loved all things Irish. We would sometimes take her out to an Irish pub, where she would order a quesadilla. I’m not kidding. 

Now she’s with my son. I hope they’re enjoying each other’s company. 

COMPASSION FOR MY CHILDREN

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7. BE COMPASSIONATE WITH YOUR SURVIVING CHILDREN

  • Grieving siblings are often “forgotten mourners”. This means that their parents and family as well as friends and society tend to overlook their ongoing grief or attempt to soothe it away.

CARPE DIEM: 

Hold a family meeting and talk to your children about their feelings since the death. Even if the death wasn’t recent, you may uncover lingering resentments, fears and regrets. Expressing these feelings may help bring your family closer together. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENTS’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Sadly, it was a long time before I could look around and see how Joseph’s death affected my children. My youngest daughter is actively involved with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (https://afsp.org/). She is on the Board in our state and is their Social Media Ambassador, with a team of volunteers. She is very open, publicly, about how her brother’s death affected her. On the anniversary of his death, for the past few years, she, her daughter, and I have been going to the beach to watch the sun rise. Afterward, we go to breakfast. One year we threw flowers into the ocean. Another, shells marked with the names of others’ lost loved ones, from an Out of the Darkness Walk (https://afspwalks.donordrive.com/OOTDWalks). We talk about Joseph a lot, but I can’t say that we talk about our feelings. Our relationship has had its ups and downs. She was able to share with me some of the resentments she had toward me that had nothing to do with Joseph. I was able to apologize. Our relationship has gotten better. There is still room for improvement.

My eldest daughter has her own mental health struggles and carries a lot of resentment toward me. We have not had a conversation about it. She has levelled some pretty nasty words toward me. In the hospital emergency room last year, she told me to leave the room when the screener asked her if she would be admitted voluntarily. She then asked her husband to have me come back in and said to me, “My mother is fucking up my life again.” When she came home and I tried to explain to her how, by having the hospital staff give her the contract I drew up for her return to my home, my intention was to tell them she was homeless if she would not agree. Before I could finish my explanation, which was that the hospital would then have to find her an appropriate supportive place to stay, she looked me dead in the eye and said, with venom, “The last time you told someone they were homeless, they killed themselves. Is that what you want?”

When I later recounted this experience to her sister, she looked at me, shrugged and nodded. I remember her saying, “Well, yeah”, but that may just have been my impression from the nod and the shrug.

My other son, well, he has not spoken to me in ten years. Our last conversation was on Mother’s Day 2015, the year after Joseph’s death. I was having a tough day. I had not heard from any of my children, so when he called, I was crying. Trying to hide that fact from him, when he said, “Happy Mother’s Day…ok, gotta go”…or something like that, I said, “Okay”. He sounded surprised; and, we did hang up. If I remember correctly, I then went to the cemetery, where I found my younger daughter and granddaughter. I walked to the grave, crying, and my daughter hugged me. (I could be confusing this day with another…) 

I saw my son sometime after that at my granddaughter’s First Holy Communion. I may have put my hand on his shoulder as I passed him in the pew on my way to receive communion myself. At the end of the Mass, he was gone. The family went out to eat, but I went home. It was just too difficult.

My mother passed away in January, and I saw him at the wake and funeral. I met his girlfriend for the first time and gave her a hug. I said, “Hello, Son” to him. He looked like a deer in the headlights, eyes shifting back and forth. I just walked away, giving him space. I saw him again the next day, at the funeral. I gave him an icon I bought for him in Fatima, Portugal, and had blessed by the Archbishop for the Military. Again, I walked away. We did not sit together at the repast, but he stood with my younger daughter, granddaughter and me for a photo his girlfriend took. She sent me a copy. I am grateful.

So…sitting down for a family meeting with my children for a discussion of our feelings about Joseph’s death, or about anything, is out of the question for now. Maybe someday.