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

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

Honour for TCF Founder

The Founder of TCF, The Rev. Simon Stephens, has been awarded an OBE.  In 1988 Simon was listed in the New Year’s Honours, having been nominated for an award by the Royal Navy for dedicated service as a Chaplain.

It was whilst he was Chaplain at the Coventry and Warwickshire Hospital in 1969, that he brought together two newly bereaved couples.  He witnessed the therapeutic value of the resulting friendship, based on the mutual understanding of their heartbreak and sorrow, and The Compassionate Friends was formed.

From 1976 to 1980 he held te post of Vicar at St. Stephen’s Canley, and went on to become a Royal Navy Chaplain. His 17 year service with the Navy ended with his retirement last year.  Simon is now in charge of the Church of England chaplaincy in Menorca.

Nearly thirty years later The Compassionate Friends has spread throughout the world and is now represented in more than twenty countries. 

Lifted from TCF News, Bristol – Summer 1998

How to survive ...the loss of a love

Healing is not the smooth process many people assume.  It is more a lightning bolt, full of ups and downs, leaps and backslides.

Everyone knows what loss feels like …. Or do they?

Along with the obvious feelings of pain, depression and sadness, there are other reactions to loss that are not so obvious, such as:

·         Feeling helpless, fearful, empty, despairing, pessimistic, irritable, angry, guilty and restless
·         Experiencing a loss of concentration, hope, motivation and energy
·         Changes in appetite, sleep patterns and sexual drive
·         A tendency to be more fatigued, error prone and slower in speech and movement

Any, or all of these, are to be experienced during and after the experience of a loss.  It’s part of the body’s healing process.  Bear with these changed;  don’t fight them.  It’s okay.  You might want to follow a few of the suggestions given, remaining aware that your mind and body are already involved in the healing process.

Following a loss there are three recognisable stages of recovery:

·         The first is shock / denial
·         The next is anger / depression.
·         Finally, understanding / acceptance.

Expect to be in shock … It’s good to be aware of these phases of recovery and to know that each is both necessary and natural.  At the end of this progression are the rewards – the pleasure of freedom, the joys of growth and the sense of mastery derived from having dealt with a loss in a ‘right and proper way’.

Accept the loss.  You can expect to be in shock for a while. This emotional numbness may be frightening.  You may struggle both to believe and to disbelieve that this could have happened to you.  But it has happened.  It is read.

Accept it … You are strong enough … you will survive … you’re hurting.  To feel pain after a loss is normal, proof that you are alive, a sign that you are able to respond to life’s experiences.

Loss is part of life – of being alive – of being human.  Everyone experiences loss.  Your self-esteem may have suffered a jolt, and your thoughts may be full of guilt, worry, condemnation and self-deprecation.  These thoughts are just symptoms of the stress you are going through.  There is no need to have negative thoughts about yourself.  You will get better.  There’s no doubt about that.  It is the nature of the healing process to have a beginning, a middle and an end.  Keep in mind at the beginning that there is an end.  It’s not far off.  You will heal.  Nature is on your side, and nature is a powerful ally.

The healing process takes time.  The greater the loss, the more time it will take to heal.  You require time to heal.  Give yourself the luxury.  The process of healing and growth is not the smooth progression many people assume.  It’s more a lightning bolt, full of ups and downs, progressions ad regressions, dramatic leaps and depressing backslides.  Realise this ad know that the healing process is underway.  Expect your judgement to be clouded these days, therefore keep decision-making to a minimum.  Postpone major decisions if at all possible.  Friends and family can make many minor decisions for you.  Invite them to do so.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help.  It’s a human (and courageous) thing to do.  Surround yourself with things that are alive. Don’t isolate yourself from life.

Reaffirm your beliefs.  They may include religious beliefs or philosophical concepts in which you put stock.  Use any body of knowledge which you find comforting, re-explore it, lean on it, grow from it, enjoy it.  You may be having suicidal thoughts.  They may not be as eloquent as Shakespeare's “To be, or not to be”, but they may arise.  Keep it a question.  It’s not really an answer.

Do your mourning now.  Don’t postpone or deny, or cover, or run away from your pain.  Bear with that pain.  If you do not allow the hurt to heal completely, you find emotional over-sensitivity the result.  You might flinch at every new encounter.  Expect a positive outcome. Anticipate it.  Plan for it.  It will come. Bear with the sadness and the pain when it comes, but don’t dwell on it.  Accept it but don’t invite it.  Pain is an acceptable guest, but not a welcome long-term visitor.  It’s okay to feel depressed.  Pretending to have more energy or enthusiasm or happiness than you actually have is not productive.

Tomorrow  will  come  -  It’s okay to be low-key for a while.  Crying has its own special purpose.  It is cleansing, a marvellous release.  It’s okay to feel angry.  Everyone gets anry at the loss of a loved one  -  everyone.  It will go away as the hurt heals

Nutrition  -now is not the time to alter your eating habits drastically or go on a crash diet.  Good nutrition tends to speed the healing process.  Increase the amount of protein you eat.  Meat, fish, poultry, milk, eggs, nuts, seeds, soya beans and whole grains are high protein foods.  Remember in these days of stress and recovery, that you are vulnerable.  Guard your physical health – get rest – don’t over-extend – eat well – get moderate exercise.

Under-indulge in addictive activities.  Beware of anything you may be or may become addicted to.  Under-indulging in the escape mechanisms of society is in order.  Bear with the pain, don’t run away from it.  Alcohol may numb the pain momentarily but is is a depressant and the eventual effect will be greater depression.  Drugs (marijuana, uppers, downers, all the recreation chemicals) interfere with the natural healing process and should be avoided.  A series of momentary ‘high’ is a poor trade off for a deepening depression.  If your doctor prescribes medication, a sedative or tranquilliser for example, by all means take it.  In that case the medication is part of your recovery programme.

Heal  at  your  own  pace  -  Although some people may demand it, don’t feel guilty if you fail immediately to ‘understand’ why the loss happened, or instantly ‘accept’ the loss gracefully.  As you continue to heal you will find:

·         Your thinking sharper

·         Your judgement more reliable

·         Your concentration improved

·         Your view of the world less self-preoccupied

·         Your feelings more alive

·         You’ll feel stronger and more independent

You’ve learnt that:

·         You can survive

·         Pain eventually lessens

·         Healing does occur

You've dealt with an experience of loss and have grown from it.  But don’t settle for just surviving and healing.  Let growth continue.

Start anew -Be open to new people, places, ideas experiences.  Visit new places.  Now’s the time to develop new interests but don’ forget about the old interests and activities you’ve let lapse.  In choosing new and old interests, be sure to intersperse those activities which require people and those which you do best alone.  You can now be comfortably alone with yourself again … In addition to moving outward into the world, explore ad enjoy your personal world of solitude.  Enjoying yourself alone is a necessary prerequisite for genuinely enjoying others.  Having weathered a crisis, expect to discover:

·         A stronger you

·         A different you

·         A more evolved you

Enjoy your freedom.  You’re in control now.  Make the most of the ability to choose where, what, how, when, who.You are bringing order into your world again.You can choose the world you want to have around you.

From How to Survive the Loss of a Love by Melba Colgrove, Ph.D   Harold Bloomfield, MD and Peter McWilliam

Sunlight casts long shadows at the eve of the day and nightfall hides the world around from view.

But treasured, precious memory keeps our loved ones bright as day

Remembrance brings solace all life through

July Newsletter

My dear Friends,

I am sitting in the sun on a beautiful winter day, absorbing the warmth I need to see me through the next cold spell.  Here on the Highveld we do enjoy lovely sunny days, even though the temperature drops to freezing or below at night.  The bricks, too, absorb the sunshine and hold that warmth through a cold day or two.  It is only when the cold spell goes on that that cold penetrates our homes and our very bones.

I know I am always drawing analogies from Nature – but is it not true? That dreadful misery of early grief chills us to the marrow of our bones, and it takes a long time to thaw out.  And yet, if we allow ourselves to look for the sunshine and the warmth, we will thaw out.  One of the warming experiences is that of the friendship, understanding and sharing of our Compassionate Friends.  Through them, too, we begin to feel free to dip into our memories and to be warmed again.  For our memories are not only of the end, but of all the days of the lives of our beloved children.  So the ice-block which our hearts had become, can melt, working through our systems and out in our tears.

                       

‘Time cannot steal the treasures that we carry in our hearts,

Nor ever dim the shining thoughts our cherished past imparts.

For memories of the one we’ve loved will cast a gentle glow

To grace our days and light our paths wherever we may go’

  - This from an unknown author, found in a Parkhome, South Australia – TCF Newsletter, Dec ‘96/Jan ‘97

In the midst of sadness and misery, we can find small comforts, small joys, if we so wish.  We need to do this to carry us through the bad times.  There is a song which says, ‘Open up your hearts and let the sun shine in’.  Hope will blossom again, just as Spring bursts forth from the seemingly dead trees, and you will live again.

This is my wish for all of you who are seemingly mired in the depths of winter.

With love,

Betty Wainer – TCF – Johannesburg

Gratefully lifted from the July 1998 Jhb Newsletter