Tag Archives: love

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.

I WILL SEE YOU AGAIN

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20. MOVE TOWARD YOUR GRIEF, NOT AWAY FROM IT 

  • Our society teaches us that emotional pain is to be avoided, not embraced, yet it is only in moving toward our grief that we can be healed.
  • Of course, it’s also necessary to dose yourself with your grief. Sometimes you will need to distract yourself from the pain. But in general, you should feel that you’re moving toward your grief – toward an understanding and acceptance of it. (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES; Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD; 2005)

I stopped by the cemetery over the Christmas holidays. Someone had left a little decorated Christmas tree. It was windblown. I straightened it up and smiled. I assume it was left by his dad, or maybe his sister. Someone had also hung a panda ornament from the grave stone. Joseph loved pandas.

I am consciously moving toward my grief, finally. For so long, the trauma of finding him dead, and my guilt as a result, were in the way. I remember that he lived. I am taking time to allow good memories to arise and feel joy in having known him. Yes, he struggled, and I worried about him, but there was so much joy in having had him in my life.

We travelled to Washington, DC, he, his sister and I, to see the baby pandas at the National Zoo when they were kids. I still have the stuffed animals I bought for him there. Recently, my daughter bought supplies for an event at my granddaughter’s high school, and, inexplicably, a toy panda was in the packaging. He finds ways to show us he’s around.

I will be watching something on TV and a memory of him rises up, sometimes, sadly, it’s a scene of someone dying by suicide having used the method he chose. I allow myself the sadness and the tears in remembering. Sitting with them, just with the sadness, not the guilt. Guilt is such a cruel emotion. It can be useful, sure, but sometimes it just wields its blade to cut and hurt. I tell clients, just say, “Hello, Guilt, I see you,” and let it pass. I know how hard that is to do. I will work on giving myself the same grace.

I miss you, Joseph. I wish you would have stayed. Maybe you would have a family now. I would love to see you with your own kids. I think you would have made a wonderful dad. I love you, Son. I will see you again.

EMPTYING

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19. FIND WAYS TO UNDERSTAND AND COME TO THE LIMITS OF YOUR GUILT

  • Talk about any lingering feelings of guilt, regret and remorse. Don’t nurse them and continue to punish yourself for them. Instead, give them voice and see how their power over you diminishes.
  • I would be remiss if I did not point out that some parents are in fact partly or wholly responsible for their child’s death, whether it was intentional or accidental. These parents often benefit from professional help in dealing with their overwhelming guilt. (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES; Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD; 2005)

UGH! What a mixed bag of feelings this brings up. These are only two of the bullet points that appear on the page I read today.

I chuckled when I saw the title. I’d just listened to, and meditated on, the recording for today in the Hallow app’s PRAY40 challenge, a Lenten practice. We were asked to reflect on “What ‘junk’ do you need to remove from your heart this Lent?” My immediate reaction was GUILT! Then I decided to meditate for 20 minutes and see what arose. I saw a black darkness, then the Gollum I mentioned in yesterday’s post. I decided that I need to remove from my heart that image of myself as not good enough, bad, evil – to see myself as God sees me.

So, I was tickled to see “FIND WAYS TO UNDERSTAND AND COME TO THE LIMITS OF YOUR GUILT” at the top of the page. I was reassured by most of the author’s bullet points, especially the first one, noted above, where it says not to nurse feelings of guilt. I thought, great, I can do this, I can unpack the heaviness I carry around with me, cut myself a break.

Then I read the second one noted above…some parents ARE partly or wholly responsible for their child’s death. THAT was like a smack in the face…“You’re not getting out of this THAT easily!!!” 

I didn’t kill Joseph. He killed himself. BUT, he did it after I told him that he could no longer live in my house. I should note here, that he had made several other attempts that were not reactions to anything I said or did. And I know that not everyone will kill themselves because their mom kicks them out of the house.

I participated in an on-line suicide loss group run by David Kessler, another renowned grief loss professional. I got on live with him, one-to-one, and told him my son’s death was my fault and why. He assured me that there were likely other parents who lost a child and blamed themselves for NOT using tough love. So…none of us can help but blame ourselves.

So…IS it partly my fault? I don’t know. I do know that I worked hard at being a parent. I STUDIED to be a parent. I read books, I took courses, I talked to professionals, educators, and friends. I reached out for help wherever I could find it. 

I told him, when he moved back in with me, no alcohol, no drugs. And while I was away, he went out and got his drug of choice and used it. I found the packaging; and, I told him he’d broken our agreement. I told him my heart was broken. 

A part of me believes that he stayed as long as he did for my sake. (Although he had made previous attempts, he either reached out to someone or someone found him in time to save his life.) I think, when I said my heart was broken, it gave him permission to leave.

Another one of my children, not too long ago, after being hospitalized for a psychotic episode, said to me, “The LAST time you told someone they were homeless, they killed themselves. Is that what you want?” I had created a contract for her to return to my home. She didn’t sign it, but I told her that by returning to my home, she had, in fact, agreed to it. I tried to explain to her that I wanted her to be aware of what she needed to do in order to continue living with me, or she would be homeless, and the hospital would have to find her a place to stay. I didn’t get past the word “homeless” before she spat out that comment. She and I had been down this road before and she had lived in a group home for a while. She is back to living on her own and is working again.

So, my guilt over my son’s death is compounded by dealing with ongoing mental illness in my other children…or not dealing with it, because they won’t talk to me. In any case, the worry, and the guilt, remain.

MULTITUDE OF FEELINGS?

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17. EXPECT TO HAVE A MULTITUDE OF FEELINGS

  • Grieving parents don’t just feel sad. They often feel numb, angry, guilty, afraid, regretful, confused, even relieved (in cases of chronic or terminal illness, for example). Sometimes these feelings follow each other within a short period of time or they may occur simultaneously. I often say that grief is not experienced as a single note but as a chord.

CARPE DIEM:

Which grief feeling has surprised you most? Make a point

of talking about this feeling with someone today.

(HEALING A PARENTS’S GRIEVING HEART:

100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES;

Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD; 2005)

I suppose the feeling I first felt, upon discovering my deceased son, was horror. I don’t know that I could identify feelings after that, at least not immediately. I was split open. I screamed and screamed. No one heard me.

His body was already cold and stiff, and yet, once I reached the 911 operator – it took several attempts – I obeyed her directions. I cut him down and I performed CPR, listening to the air whistling through his clenched teeth, although I knew it was pointless.

Once the officers arrived, I obeyed their direction. I went into the next room, the dining room, and sat in a chair. I suppose I was hyperventilating. An officer stood over me and kept saying, “Calm down. Calm down.” I looked him in the eye, saying nothing, but thinking, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” And yes, like the memes say…never in the history of someone saying “Calm down” has anyone calmed down.

At some point, I went upstairs, and picked the lock to my bedroom to get in. I had locked it so that my son couldn’t open it and get his medication to overdose. He had made a number of attempts before. Of course, I had locked him out of the house as well, but he managed to get back in and found another method.

I sat on my meditation pillow, on the floor, and began praying the Chaplet of the Divine Mercy, a Catholic prayer practice encouraged for the dead and dying. Another officer came upstairs and asked if there was anyone he could  call for me, to get me out of the house. I said no. I wasn’t leaving the house until my son’s body was removed.

At some point, I made some calls. I called each of my other children, as well as my ex-husband. My eldest asked how he did it and hung up when I told her. My number two child was more supportive. He even called back to check on me. Number three didn’t answer, so I left a message to call me back. My ex didn’t answer. I also left a message for a call back. I called a neighbor for support, no answer there either. Left a message. This was late at night. I’d worked the second shift at a psychiatric children’s home. 

I called my parish church and reached the associate, who assured me that the funeral home would be in touch with them to make arrangements. No offer of support or a visit.

I finally ended up calling my ex-partner, who was at work as a police dispatcher over an hour away. He left work and came to be with me, arriving before all the to-do was over. He took me to his apartment and remained with me throughout the ordeal and years after.

I cried non-stop for a long time, throughout the wake and funeral. 

What was I feeling? I was nothing BUT feeling. Horror, sadness, grief, guilt. And, at some point, relief. The fear of losing him was gone, because he was gone. He had a chronic and, ultimately, terminal illness, bipolar depression.

The guilt was the overarching feeling for many years. This year it will be twelve years. It is finally ebbing, somewhat, so that I am able to mourn. I came across a post on one of the survivors of suicide pages I follow on FaceBook. It said, “I would have saved you if I could.” And that gave me a tremendous sense of peace. Yes, Joseph, I would have saved you if I could. I did not want you to die.

FIRST NEED OF MOURNING

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8. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #1: Acknowledge the reality of the death.

  • Your child has died. This is probably the most difficult reality in the world to accept. Yet gently, slowly and patiently you must embrace this reality, bit by bit, day by day. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Eleven years later and there is still a part of me that does not acknowledge that Joseph, my son, is dead. Even though I found him. Even though I…as instructed by the 911 operator I finally reached after multiple attempts…cut down his cold stiff body and futilely administered CPR. A part of me still does not believe he is dead. 

A shift occurred inside of me at that moment. When I walked through the front door and saw him, I screamed and screamed. I dropped whatever I was holding. I went looking for my home phone, pacing around. Some part of me knew that when I called 911 it needed to be from my landline, so they knew where the call was coming from. I dialed and got no answer, twice. The third time someone finally answered. 

That shift? This is not Joseph. That shell? No, that was not Joseph. That whistling sound coming through his locked teeth as I administered compressions? That was not coming from my boy. My boy was gone. His spirit had flown away and this empty shell was not him.

My boy. Yes, he was 22 years old, but he will always be my boy. My boy. My brilliant, beautiful, stinky boy. My boy, who gave the best, tightest hugs. My boy, with a delightful sense of humor. Once, when he came home from a day at a partial care program, he asked me how I would describe him in one word. I immediately said, “Delightful”. He said, “Really?” How did he not know? How did he not know how much I delighted in his being? How did I not communicate that to him? 

We did not talk much. He had returned to my home after living with his sister, rehab stays, including out of state, and hospitalizations. He had been discharged from a residential program because he was not attending school as required. They dropped him off at a Dunkin Donuts until the shelter he was scheduled to go to opened. He spent the night in the shelter, awake, due to his ongoing anxiety issues, which was why he was not making it to school. He showed up at my door the next night, smelling like alcohol. I had been asleep. Of course, I let him in. He lay down on top of the covers next to me. I tossed a throw blanket over him. A year went by. He spent most of his time in his room on his computer, which he built himself. As I said, he was brilliant.

We went out to eat one night that last week. Again, neither of us said much. Looking back, he seemed subdued, but so was I. 

Then I found he was using DXM again; and, I told him he could no longer stay. Well, he did not stay. DAMMIT! 

He is gone. My beautiful, delightful, stinky boy. Buried in the cold ground.

It was him. 

BE COMPASSIONATE WITH OTHERS

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6. BE COMPASSIONATE WITH YOUR SPOUSE

  • Someone else is grieving this death as deeply as you are. Unless you are widowed or a single parent, the child’s other parent is also mired in grief. Be as compassionate and nonjudgmental as you can be about your partner’s reactions to the death. Give each other permission to mourn differently. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

I was tempted to skip this activity as I do not have a spouse, nor did I have one at the time of my son’s death; but, there are things I can explore here. The night my son died, I called his father and his siblings. I left messages for his dad and one sister to call me back. I reached one sister, who asked how he died and hung up when I told her. I reached his brother, who called me back a couple of times to check on me. I called a neighbor, looking for some kind of support, someplace to go, and left a message there too. I called my parish priest, who told me the funeral home would get in touch with them to make arrangements…no offer to come to my home, which was what I was hoping for, I guess. I was unable to ask for it. Granted it was midnight, but still…I called my dearest friend, Elizabeth, who lived in Maine, and she said she would head down in the morning. Finally, I reached out to my ex-boyfriend, John, who was at his job as a police dispatcher, an hour away. He dropped everything and came to the house. The police asked if I wanted them to get me when he arrived, so I could leave. I did not want to leave until Joseph’s body was gone. Elizabeth called back and said she was on her way. She could not sleep.

Once all the police activity was over and the body removed, John took me to his apartment, where I spent the night. I did not think I would ever be able to return to my house. The next morning, my younger daughter called me. She had gotten the news from her siblings, I guess. John and I went to her apartment. I was expecting my kids, my ex-husband and all of his family, especially his mother, to blame me. After all, I blamed myself. When we arrived at my daughter’s apartment, she took me by the hands, looked me in the eyes and said, “It’s not your fault; and, you’re going to need a lot of therapy.” My ex-husband came over and he was gracious to me as well. I felt some relief. 

Finally, I was ready to go home. When John and I arrived at the house, Elizabeth was waiting in the driveway. That is the way our friendship was. (Side note:  Once we met in Massachusetts; she drove from Maine, I from New Jersey. She pulled into the hotel drive right behind me.) She stayed for a few days, while we got through the arrangements. My sister came and stayed with me for a few days after that. John stuck by me throughout; and, we rekindled our relationship for a time. I crashed and burned almost three years later for a period of about nine months (gestational correlation?). Our relationship did not survive. He and I did not talk about grief. I do not really know how he was impacted. When I would have periods of wailing, weeping and moaning, it made him uncomfortable. I remember once, after watching “The Passion” and identifying with Mary’s loss of her Son, kneeling on the floor on the spot where I had laid Joseph’s body, wailing. He left the room. That is not to say that there were not times that he did, indeed, comfort me. Sadly, I was completely oblivious to how Joseph’s loss affected him.

I was in shock, traumatized. I think I am finally coming out of the shock, more than eleven years later, which is why I am willing to do this work now.