August Newsletter

My dear Friends,

Coming to meetings for the first time can be traumatic.  It means that you as a bereaved parent, have made a beginning to your own healing.  It means that you have acknowledged the dreadful fact of your child’s death, and that you've realised there can be help on your journey of grief.  You have taken the first step.  You find you can remain silent if it is too difficult to speak, but as you listen to the rest of the group, it seems as if you are among others who are experiencing similar feelings to yours;  who have the same ‘crazy’ thoughts going through their minds.  Maybe it’s not true that you've gone mad!  Maybe, in the midst of abnormality, this is normal.  You begin to understand the amazement and awe that they appear relatively ‘normal’.  They talk and even laugh like ordinary people!  Is it possible that they, too, have lost children?

Tears are allowed, accepted and even encouraged!  What a relief to let it all out, to be able to weep without concerned friends and family trying to ‘shoosh’ you, and telling you to put it all behind you;  to be able to say freely what you think and what you feel;  even to express guilt and to show anger.  Yes, here you can be yourself.  You decide you’ll come back again.  You even begin to relate to the pain of those around you.

Even so, we need to remember a few ground rules.  Although each one of us needs time to speak, we must remember to respect each member’s right to speak, and to listen to them, too.  This is what sharing is  -  listening, respecting, not judging.  Confidentiality is of the utmost importance.  Among us are people of different faiths and backgrounds, different upbringings and indoctrination's.   It is not for us to judge;  our prejudices must lie dormant.  Each person has to bear their own pain, and for each one that pain is dominant.  It is not for us to belittle any one else’s pain or feelings or thoughts.  We can all learn from each other.  We realise that each one responds to pain in his or her own unique way.

As the months pass, the graph of our own pain goes up and down.  Gradually we note, or we would if we kept a record, that there are more ups than downs, and that the ups last for longer periods of time.  Hope begins to flower again and we can begin to look forward to tomorrow.  We have endured so far.  We will go on living.

With love,

Eve

Gratefully lifted from the August 1998 TCF Johannesburg Newsletter

A wife who loses a husband is called a widow

A husband who loses a wife is called a widower

A child who loses his parents is called an orphan

But in Yiddish they say there is no word for a Parent who has lost a child

That is how awful the loss is

Reflections Vol 17-1, 1998