October Newsletter

My dear Friends,

As Spring transitions into Summer, once again we are encouraged by the warmth of the sun to open our frozen hearts to the possibilities of hope.

There is an ancient fable about an argument between the sun and the wind.  They had often quarreled about who was the most powerful.  Finally, the sun persuaded the wind to a challenge.

illustration by ~anaffonseca

“There is a man walking on the road with a cloak about his shoulders,” the sun offered.  “Whichever of us can first cause him to remove his cloak will be proven the most powerful.”

The arrogant wind rose to the occasion. “I, of course, am stronger than you, so I will easily remove the man’s cloak.”

As the wind began to blow, the man clutched his garment around his shoulders.  Then the wind blew more fiercely and the man drew his cloak ever more tightly around himself.  At last, the angry wind attacked the poor man till he was nearly blown off the road, but the man resisted by doggedly protecting himself even more firmly with his guardian cloak.

Finally, in disgust, the wind admitted his failure, but he mockingly challenged the sun (whom he believed to be impotent and weak) to produce any results, either.

Gradually and ever-so gently, the sun began to shine down on the man as he trod along the path.

Soon, the warm rays of the sun began to invade his bones, and in a short time, the man released his tight grip on the cloak.  In just a few minutes, the cloak was open, welcoming the sun’s gentle and gracious presence.  Finally, the man removed the cloak completely and spread it on the grass next to the path, as he lay down to rest and bask in the pleasant warmth.

Light and warmth and gentleness will always vanquish ferocity and aggression if only we have the patience and tenacity to hang on!

Grief has been our fierce wind, but the gentle, pleasant sun rays can warm and comfort the most resistant heart.

Look now at the flowers, the grass, the blueness of the sky, the white, fluffy clouds and see HOPE. Smell the freshness of new life and be reminded that nothing is really lost – only changed for awhile.  Warmth and chill may often trade places in the dance of life, but HOPE will always call the steps.

For those whose pain is fresh and raw, it’s hard to imagine there will ever be a better time, but the testimony of veteran grievers can be an encouragement.  Like the hard and frozen ground of winter, suffering softens with the gentle rain and sunshine of spring – not necessarily on the time-line of the actual seasons, but with gradual healing.

Those who have crawled through the broken glass of grief bear witness to the truth that the excruciating journey is eventually through as the shards diminish and even disappear.  We are left with our scars, but the initial pain no longer has power over our lives.

The ‘summer’ of grief can become a mellowing and growing time if we allow hope to prevail in our hearts.  Our experience teaches us to widen our horizons, and we learn to let compassion billow around us like chiffon in a gentle breeze.

It is in summer that we see the results of our late-winter and early spring planting and investing of emotional efforts.

Grief is hard work, but when we have attended to the tasks it requires, ‘summer-grief’ can give us a time of rest and renewal.  Like the seasons, we know that our pain may come around again and again, but each time we are encouraged by experience that has proven we need never give up.  Often, a new perspective lies right around the next rainbow.

Continually we learn, we grow, our souls are weathered and we become stronger and more resilient as we forever follow on the trails of hope.    

By Andrea Gambill, Colorado Spring, Colorado (Bereavement Magazine May / June 1994)

October Gathering

Our monthly meeting will be on Tuesday 1 October 2013 at 19h30 – 20h00 at Caritas, West Street, Newton Park.  Dawn, Rod and myself (Eve) will share the ‘Highlights’ each of us experienced at the National Gathering. The usual tea/coffee/juice will be served before and after the meeting.

Annual Candle Lighting Ceremony

PLEASE   DIARISE  . . . . . . . . . .

Our  Annual  Candle Lighting  Ceremony  will be held on Tuesday 3 December, at St. Hugh’s Church, West Street, Newton Park (Up the road from Caritas) starting 19h30 – 21h00 (including tea/coffee)

Maureen Lamb, who heads the Smiley Kids Haven will be our Guest Speaker.

The Theme: “Our Child/Children Remembered during a busy Festive Season”

In lieu of a present we would have bought for our Child/Children and in honour of them, we are requesting that each family donate and bring with them to the Ceremony, White “T” Shirts, age group: 3-4; 4-5 and 5-6 years towards the children Maureen cares for.

A program, as well as candles will be provided, however, we will also be grateful if each family would  donate R20 towards this evening to cover our costs.

This is a very special time as we bring a photograph of our beloved child/children (for those who would like to), place it on a table provided in the front of the Church, near the Sanctuary and light a candle in cherished memory of them.

We are holding this Ceremony in a Church Building because of the sacredness of our remembering.  The evening will be inter-denominational, exactly what The Compassionate Friends Support Group believes in.

We are requesting ALL bereaved parents, siblings, grandparents and their relatives as well as their friends to JOIN US.

RECOVERY - THE ULTIMATE GOAL OF EVERY BEREAVED PARENT

By Margaret Gerner, MSW TCF St. Louis, MO Chapter 1987

When we are in the deepest throes of our grief, the thought of recovery, feeling better,  joy or of even being comfortable, is completely alien to us.  We don’t believe we will ever again experience any of these states.  We are so bogged down in misery that we are certain we will feel like this for the rest of our lives.  And because parental grief is so intense and lasts so long, the belief that we will be miserable for the rest of our lives is reinforced.  Then add to that the fact that recovery from our grief is so imperceptibly slow, we are made absolutely certain that we will never feel good again.

Well, contrary to what you believe, I can tell you that you will not always feel as you do now; that you can look forward to being able to think and talk about your child without pain.  Granted there will always be a sense of regret that he or she is not with you, but you will be able to live a comfortable life with the reality that your child is not alive.  That reality will be very much a part of your life but will not be deeply painful.  It is true that recovery from the death of a child is an extremely long, painful and psychologically complicated process, but it can be accomplished.  Hopefully, it is the ultimate goal of every parent in TCF.

How long it will take for us to reach a point where we can be comfortable is impossible to predict.  Some parents arrive at that point sooner than others.  I think much of it has to do with how effectively we have faced and worked through our grief.  Because I did not grieve in a healthy way for many years after Arthur was killed, I had to begin to grieve properly six years later.  Therefore, it took over ten years to reach a point where I felt no pain at the thought that Arthur was dead.  My daughter, who had the knowledge and support of TCF, has reached a comfortable point in a much shorter time.  There is a wide variation in our grief experience.

I know that what I have said is hard to believe.  For that reason, I suggest that you accept this with blind faith for the time being.  Then when the pain becomes more devastating than usual, I think of what I have said.  Think of it as a rope hanging ‘out there’ for you to grab onto.  Think of it as a rope of hope.  Recovery IS at the end of this terrible journey.  Ant that means you can have your child in your life, in a special way, and  without  pain.

Focus, December 1992 Newsletter

When  our  special  sadness

 Comes   to   call,

When   we   remember

More   than  we   can  bear.      

When   courage   falters  -

Shadows   everywhere:

Then   let   us   reach

And   touch   and   share,

We  who are  friends.

Wanganui  Newsletter,  June  1995

GRIEVING AS A CHILD

My brother Brent was my best friend.  I was aged nine, and the youngest of four.  He was 13 and the third child born.  On a cold day in June, after school, I was at home when my mother heard an ambulance going up the road.  I didn’t know why, but my mother was really worried and rang one of her friends and said, “an ambulance has gone up the road and Brent’s not home yet.”  The person said it would be nothing and not to worry.

Five minutes later the phone rang.  It was my mother’s friend.  He said he would pick her up, it was an emergency.  I didn’t know what had happened so I just cried because I could tell Mum was grieving.  My other two brothers and I had to tell my parents’ friends the bad news.

Over the next few days I became really independent.  I had to get to school, make my own lunch and make tea for everybody because there was no one else who could do this for me.

For the next few months my parents and I didn’t talk to each other about my brother even though I needed to.  I started to get angry, frustrated and got into fights with my parents, but I found out later that that was a way of releasing my grief.  Just after Brent died I became very reluctant to go back into the bedroom he and I had shared, so soon after I moved rooms.

It was hard at school during the first month after Brent’s death.  My work suffered, but worse, other students wouldn’t let me play in their games, or talk to me, because they didn’t know what to say.  Sometimes at school even now I feel like crying, but I hold back my tears so I don’t get mocked.  But why should I hold my tears back?  Crying is just another good way, I find, to release my grief.

Later on, my parents didn't really find it so hard to talk to me about Brent, and we would sometimes talk for a long time.

I found that after my brother died my parents became a little over-protective.  Even now I still can’t do some of the things I could do before.  But they only did that because they feared for my life as well.

Looking back I wish I hadn't got into any fights with Brent, and wished that he was dead.  Sometimes, I only see the times I did something bad to him, or called him names.

I am a Christian still, but find it hard to go to church every Sunday as I am still angry with God for letting him die.  I've only just started to forgive God, but I will never forget.

Brent dying was very sad, but it made me open my eyes to reality.  There are so many people dying nowadays and their brothers and sisters could go through this same experience.  I hope this can be a guide to help them through their grieving period.

Written by Scott at the age of 13 (we think).  His brother Brent died at the age of 13 on 18 June 1990 after being hit by a car.

by Scott Williams, TCF Victoria, Australia

Lifted with Love from the TCF Victoria, Australia Newsletter, June 1995

THE MYTH OF "PERFECT PARENTHOOD"

The feeling of worthlessness is strong in many bereaved parents.  I believe that the myth of Perfect Parenthood that is deeply set in us is one of the main causes.  We expect that we will raise perfect children, provide them with the very best we can afford, and most of all, see that they are safe and secure in their lives.  Then when the unspeakable happens and our child dies, we feel we have failed totally and completely.

We did not see the unhappiness in our child in time to prevent his suicide.  We did not spot the symptoms of her illness in time to prevent her death.  We let her take the car instead of driving her ourselves.  We were enjoying ourselves somewhere else when he was run down by a careless driver.  It’s our fault.  We failed to be a perfect parent.

It sounds ridiculous, but unconsciously, below our awareness, lies the idea that if we had been doing our job as “Good Parents”, we could have prevented our child’s death.

Not one of us has ever said, “I expect to be the perfect parent,” but on all sides of us, it is implied that we should be.  The television and advertising media are big contributors to this myth.  The “Father Knows Best” type of TV program convinces us that we should be perfect parents.  The parents in the TV shows always see that their child is depressed and know the right words to talk him out of it.  The TV mother always discovers the illness in time for the doctors to cure him.  The TV child has been taught to drive carefully, and if he does get into an accident, he comes out of it with fixable injuries.

Advertising tells us the right things to use to raise perfect children.  If they were not perfect, it tells us the right things to use to make them that way.  It even tells us what insurance to buy that will help us pay for that perfection.  We ourselves expect to do a better job of rearing our children than our parents did.  All around us, other parents seem to be doing a better job with their children than we are.

We are bombarded from all sides by the idea that we should be perfect parents.  Even before our child died, many of us felt inadequate as parents at times, but when our child died, we saw ourselves as total failures.  Our unconscious minds told us we were not perfect parents, so therefore our child was dead.  We failed.  We were worthless.

How unfortunate this is.  As human beings we cannot be perfect parents.  We need to realize that we did the best we could have done for our child with the emotional, intellectual and material tools we had.  Our child’s death no matter what he dies from, was not caused by our failure as parents.

We need to be aware that this myth of Perfect Parenthood is actively at work in our subconscious minds and feeds our feelings of worthlessness.  The pain of the loss of our child is devastating enough – we don’t need to beat ourselves down even further by allowing this myth to consume us  

Margaret Gerner, TCF – St.Louis, MO Lifted from the Norman TCF NL March ‘95

My Hands Still Remember You …….

Pam and Carl Fisher in memory of Amber

The first time I touched you, I remember reaching awkwardly into the incubator and touching your arm shyly with one finger.  You were my first and I was not sure how to respond.  After that one brief exchange, they whisked you off to another hospital equipped to handle your special needs.

Bringing you home two months later, carrying you into a room that waited patiently (unlike your parents).  We were so excited.

Lathering your hair and brushing the curling ends tirelessly, when we were through with bath time.  You always wanted more.

Wiping the drool from your tiny mouth and chin;  waiting for that first tooth.

The coldness of metal hospital cribs under my arms, as I leaned on them during your many stays.  A cold cage for such a warm child.

Dressing you in pretty clothes, so Daddy could lavish you with compliments and hold his smiling girl proudly.  He was always so impressed.

Standing behind your wheelchair during our outings and bending over and cupping you under the chin and planting kisses on your pudgy cheeks.  You raised your arms to be loved by us.

Pressing my fingers on your chest, in counts of five, trying to bring back your heartbeat, while Daddy tried to breathe life into your still warm body.

Rocking you in my arms when they handed you to me, after the battle was lost.  Daddy went home and brought back some clothes for you to wear because you were now cold, and we still needed to protect you from getting sick, even though we knew you would never be sick again.

Arranging the toys we had selected to surround you, in your new bed of white satin.

Kneeling down and stroking your angelic features, memorizing every curve of the face and form I can never forget.

                                                My hands remember you  -  still

                                                                                                            

Caring Concepts, Winter ‘91

OUR   FOREVER   BABY

Adapted from it’s American counterpart, TCF SA has produced a loving and meaningful memory book for parents who experience the tragedy of pregnancy loss, stillbirth or neonatal death.  If you would like one for yourself, or know someone who would find it comforting, you can order from Eve, TCF PE  The cost is R20 each whilst stocks last.

September Newsletter

My dear Friends,

Our lives are made up of many beginnings.  New Year regularly gives us the chance to begin again.  Our birthdays are also such a beginning, as is the birth of each of our children.  Sadly, when a child dies, that too is a new beginning.  There are other important dates by which we number our years, such as the date of a wedding anniversary.

Spring is the beginning of Nature’s year, and after the hibernation of Winter, we can see new life budding all around us.  To some, this new life is a reminder of the young life of their beloved child cut off in its bud, but if you can, look at it differently.  Isn’t it reassuring, even to sore hearts, to be reminded that nothing ever dies?  The end of each season, each plant, is the beginning of new cycle.  The end of each day might bring night and darkness, but that also means that a new day is beginning elsewhere, and the certain knowledge that the darkest night gives way to dawn.

Can we not then accept that the death of our children in this world is only their birthday to another world which is now beyond our understanding?  Do you know the story of the twins in the womb discussing what comes after their lives in this secure environment have ended?  One wants to move on to find the answer to this mystery, whilst the other is afraid and would like to remain where it knows it is safe and warm … But … “There is a time to be born, and a time to die …” (Ecclesiastes.)

We know to our cost that the time to die can be, as far as our perceptions are concerned, totally untimely.  However, we do not know, and cannot comprehend the reasons, and must continue to search for the answers, and our consolation.

September brings another new beginning to our Jewish friends with the new religious year.  Rosh Hashannah is also our opportunity for us to begin anew.  During Elul, the last month of the old year we need to rid ourselves of past transgressions against our fellow-man, by seeking their forgiveness, and also by forgiving any who might have hurt or harmed us.  By so doing, we can renew our souls, and go forward with a clear heart and mind to seek at-one-ment with our God.  My hopes and wishes for all of us is that we will be able to do so, and so make a good beginning for a better year for ourselves and our loved ones.

I wish you all a Shana Tova!

With love,

Betty Wainer

Gratefully lifted from the September 1995 TCF Johannesburg Newsletter