I
live in the same city as the Rev. John Claypool, who lost his daughter
and wrote about it in a classic entitled Tracks of a Fellow Struggler.
He told me once that I am the "most alone" person he has ever met.
He was referring to the fact that I was divorced when Stephanie died, as
I still am, and completely out of communication with her father, as I still
am, plus the fact that I have no siblings or other children. Up until
last year, when I lost both of them, I had my parents~my father in his
nineties and my mother in her eighties~ who were frail and not able to
do much more than be there. Now that I have lost both of them, I
realize that "being there," along with prayer, is about all anyone, whether
spouse, friend, stanger, or relative, can really do. It is a simple
and basic thing, and yet having a loving person "be there" truly is the
most, the best, and a very necessary lifeline for the bereaved one.
I am now only
sitting back and looking at all my losses ~ with nothing left to lose but
freedom ~ as the song goes. It's not true, we know that ~ in the
face of unbelievable tragedies and losses, we still want to hear the bird's
song and to smell the fresh breeze. One of God's gifts to us is our
will to survive.
How have I
survived alone? I am not able to answer with certainty, but I suspect
that I have done it in the same ways that other bereaved parents have managed
it. We do what we have to do, and we all know that is neither simple
nor easy. As far as being single bereaved parents, the down side
is obvious. There is no one in the middle of the night to offer soothing
words or comforting touches, to silently hold me during those dreadful
shuddering moments when I feel I will suffocate from hopelessness and pain
of remembering. No one is around for joint decision-making.
You don't call friends for any of this. That would be pushing the
boundaries of friendship and we, or I, need to hang onto the friends I
have left. The upside ~ an odd phrase given what we all know about
losing a child (that the worst imaginable event in life has occurred and
that there is now inside of one a never-ending ache) ~ is that I grieve
alone and with absolute abandon, without concern that my moaning, screaming,
or withdrawal will upset my spouse. I do not have to force myself
to be on guard with words or actions. I am not on a different grieving
track from my spouse, therefore I am not dealing with resentment or misunderstanding
from another or having to feel guilty for my own grieving state or for
not comforting him. When decisions are necessary, there are no differences
or friction. The only tension, anger, or moodiness is with myself.
For four and
a half years after Stephanie's death I was in continuous grief counseling.
I was tremendously lucky to be with Linda, whose work was concentrated
in the area of homicide victim assistance. She went with me to every
hearing, or else went in my place, and sat with my hand in hers throughout
the trial. I needed one-on-one counseling on a twice-weekly basis
for about a year, then weekly basis, and at the end of cousneling I was
seeing her once a month. I honestly believe I could not have made
it without her help. The sense of knowing that I would only have
to make it a few days alone before I could once again talk it out
and cry it out with this trained person spelled survival during those early
days, weeks, months, and years. I can never give back what she gave,
but I can try to pass on some of what I learned from her, at the same time
remembering that what is necessary for survival is different for each one
of us.
Following a
session I would often stick on my refrigerator meaningful lines or phrases
generated in the sessions. The longest-lasting piece, written in
longhand by me on a yellow legal pad in 1993, is still there in the left-hand
corner, magnetized to my new refrigerator as it was the old one I owned
when she was killed. "It happened, You cannot change it. It's
over." It is vital that I be reminded of these thoughts each day
because my mind goes back there to her last moments, her last throughts,
her last feelings and I cannot bear it until I remember that it is over
and she is not still experiencing terro and torment. As Linda reminded
me so often, we have to go back and do whatever has helped us in the past
when we find ourselves slipping back into darkness.
Recently I
paid a visit to the same monastery where I spent the first two Christmases
following my loss. I thought I had moved to a different place in
my grief journey, but I found myself in need of something this year.
After searching within, I realized what I needed was a trip back there.
It turned out to be the right thing. I might not go again or, on
the other hand, I might find the need reappearing. This situation
about the monastery ties in with another truth Linda stated a lost ~ that
is, listen to yourself, pay attention to how something feels and trust
yourself and your instincts. I have found that this works for me
about all the time. If it doesn't feel right I avoid it, if possible.
A laundry list
of what helps me looks something like this:
Music
~ A soothing balm from God
Exercise ~
I was running when she died (she was very proud that I had taken it up
in my fifties), and something inside me said that I must keep on, that
I would not survive if I quit running. I found that when I ran I
felt just a bit "lighter," the only time I had any reprise form the massive
weight of grief I carried. Now I walk more than run and use weights
for strengthening, but the psychology of it had not changed.
Friends ~ Four
or five have hung in with me, and we all know about the other who fell
by the wayside because they could not handle our grief.
Helping Others
~ I do this from sidelines instead of one to one.
Taking Care
Of Myself Emotionally ~ These kinds of strokes remind me I care about me.
It is essential, because my child, my parents and others wish that I have
some surcease from sorrow ~ even, if possible some joy.
Gift To Myself
~ I gave myself a sapphire ring, Stephanie's birthstone, on Mother's Day
and Italian botts for Christmas.
Say No ~ Whenever
events and situations are not good for me or exactly what I want.
God ~ He is
last because He is above all and everything, even in those times when I
have felt that I was hanging on by a fragile thread. He was there,
is there, and will not leave. And I believe that He grieves with
me, and I believe that my child is with Him.
