Indeed, the man had something that could well serve as a guide for those of you who have dead children and are seeking to return to the world of the living. Yes, re-entering that world is a battle, one that is all the more difficult because you are entering it battered and limping. But that does not mean you cannot make it. You just have to understand it will not be easy.

One mother, whose son died when the roof of an abandoned building collapsed on him, said that each time she accepts a tennis invitation is as hard as the first time. But because she has a genuine desire to cope not only for herself but for her family she still accepts those invitations. "Tennis was an important part of my life before the accident. Each time I go it's like proving to myself that sometime the pain will ease up. One day I really will be able to go about my life without its taking such effort. Such energy."

There was a period after Brett died that Janet floated and just went through the mechanical motions of cooking and cleaning and holding simple conversations. It was a time of numbness. Conversely, it was a time when the pain was so intense it was actually physical. Janet recalls feeling as if she had undergone the amputation of a leg or arm. It was then that she experienced her greatest fear as a survivor. Horrified and froze, she used to think "What if it would always be like this? What if the pain never stopped?" The thought of endless days spent in a quicksand of grief pulling her farther and farther down from any semblance of normalcy frequently panicked her. Eventually though, after a few months, both the panic and physical pain subsided and she felt reassured she would survive. It was only then she decided she actually wanted to.

Functioning even at the simplest level is not easy after a child dies. In fact, it is a very frightening time. Suddenly, everyday things begin to loom large because your senses actually feel distorted.

One mother said it was a shock when she realized garbage men were still picking up trash even though her son was dead. Because they have been stopped short, bereaved parents come to feel the whole world has come to a standstill during that initial period just after the child's death. It is shocking to discover that this is not the case at all. The world has gone on. Life has gone on.

For the bereaved parent, functioning is somewhat like jumping aboard an already moving bus. You are out of breath, somewhat disheveled, but in motion nonetheless.

The first rule in tryng to function is not to bite off more than you can chew. Start small. Begin with essential everyday tasks. Work, cook, shop, pay your bills. Those things must be done. Make sure you complete your projects. It is very easy to become distracted when grieving. Then, gradually, add a few chores that can be ~ and have been ~ put off. Balance your checkbook, file all those office letters you have let pile up, clean out that ridiculously overstuffed closet. When you are comfortable at that level, take the next step and slowly begin to avail yourself of life's small niceties. Apply a new eye shadow, change a hairstyle, or set the dinner table with flowers. For a man, simple things like bringing home a bottle of wine to share at dinner, buying a frivolous golf hat or sports shirt, or painting the front door are easy to accomplish. Decide on a particular "nicety" the day before. When the new day comes, make certain you follow through even though you cry as you go to the store for that something new. Insist to yourself you must do this thing. Repeat this formula enough times and you will come to realize that doing some little thing above and beyond the business of actual existence is the beginning of living.

It may come as a surprise that once you have taken the first step, others follow. Of course, there will be times you falter and seem to go backward. But, as time goes on, the setbacks become smaller and fewer while the momentum of living propels you forward. Remember, this does not all come about overnight. You will not awaken one morning miraculously filled with a joy of life. You will not leave your sadness behind; to be told you could is neither realistic nor truthful. But, instead, your sadness will no longer pull you down. You will now carry it with you, inside you. Remember this: you will carry it. It will not carry you!

Another step that is essential is to regroup and strengthen the remaining family unit ~ and this is critical. It is not enough to all be at home and acting like the living dead. Nor is it enough to take the other way out by constantly running and rarely remaining at home with your memories. Memories have a way of catching up with you anyhow. As in many other avenues of life, there is a middle ground between sitting home always and never being there. Reaching that point and achieving that balance ~ and how much of each is an individual family thing ~ is very important. Try different at-home and away patterns. Experiment until you find the combination that is right for you.

Devote at least a small portion of every evening to your children, their schoolwork, their problems. Do the same for your mate. Don't begin with long doses of either, because if you do you will feel the frustration of knowing your attention span is minimal. Gradually, you will discover an increase in that attention span and in the amount of time during which you can give active attention to your family.

A very difficult area of functioning is coming to grips with the knowledge that there is absolutely no way of getting around holidays and vacations. Thanksgiving and Christmas and birthdays will come despite your best efforts to avoid them. And they are horrendous times for many years. Their pain cannot be minimized. But they still must be faced.

One family, trying to avoid Thanksgiving ~ which was the dead child's birthday as well ~ decided that family gatherings were no longer for them. They would travel or simply ignore the festivities. One day the mother came upon her ten-year-old daughter crying and asked what was wrong. "She was sobbing," reported the mother. "All the children in school had told of their plans and made table decorations for the holiday and Samatha felt completely removed from her classmates. She cried that she was not only deprived of her brother who was dead, but she couldn't even have Thanksgiving dinner and a turkey!" "I listened to her and held her in my arms and cried. What she was saying made sense. After all, we still had three living children. They also mattered. That night I talked to my husband and we decided that, no matter how bleak and empty it would be, we would have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner." The mother said the family sat around the table, very quietly at first. The father said grace and thanked the Lord for a bountiful meal. When he was through, their ten-year-old said she had something to add.

"I want to thank Mommy and Daddy for making this very special dinner for our family. And most of all I want to thank you God for having let us have my brother Eric for six years." The mother who will never forget what her daughter said told me there was not a dry eye at the table for a few minutes. But gradually, as the meal progressed, they made an effort to discuss why the holiday was celebrated. From there, the parents told of amusing experiences at Thanksgiving dinners in their younger years. The mother said she planned to tell the stories to lighten the atmosphere just as carefully as she planned her menu. By the time the meal was over the parents discovered what had been built up in their minds as unsurvivable had just become just another turning point.

There will be many such turning points as you work your way forward. You have already survived what you were certain you could not live through ~ the death of your child. Turning points, plateaus, are merely steps in coping and nothing more. As you go through each holiday, each season, each happy or sad occasion, you will gain strength from having passed beyond yet another painful event.

Though resuming daily routines is vital, some psychiatric personnel believe that a drastic change in certain areas can be of great benefit not only to an individual but to a married couple. One psychologist who often counsels bereaved parents claims a prime method of keeping the marriage intact is change, change, and more change. "Since your family has undergone this indefensible event, it is ridiculous to pretend there was no impact and that things will go on as before. That is why change is so critical," he said. "Alter the seating arrangement at the dinner table for instance. There can be no benefit to eating your meals looking at the empty spot your dead child once occupied." Using the word "recreativity," he counsels couples to take up hobbies together because that will strengthen the marriage. That something, he insists, must be innovative, something they had never done before as a unit.

One professional couple is taking up upholstery. Another couple is involved in extensive travel, a novelty to this pair who rarely left the city.

Important as a unit project is, there appears to be a great need to create something individually after a child dies. Members of a bereaved parents who call themselves "First Sunday" have discussed their personal methods of functioning. In general, most men and women, even those who have done nothing of the sort before, turn to some creative endeavor to help ease their grief. Whether it is an art or a project such as carpentry, bereaved parents seem to feel a need to make something, to bring something to life.

In coping with life's problems, there is very little that should be able to frighten a bereaved parent when it comes to functioning or achieving as a business person, social service volunteer, artist, or whatever holds your interest. You may even want to take a stab at returning to school. Remember, we are different from other people. For most of us, the worst is behind us. It is not something we still have to face. To my own satisfaction I think that I have now defined fear. Fear is waiting for a doctor to tell you whether your child will live or die. That is a truth that all bereaved parents can profit from if they learn it and learn it well. You can achieve. You can accomplish. You can do!

One psychologist said that as important as he believes recreativity to be, it is equally urgent not to make changes in some areas. It is important, for instance, to stay local and not make quick decisions about moving out of town. After all, in most cases, your supportive people are where you now live. He said it is also important to "confront" holidays ~ but to rearrange the table and the previous order in which things were done.

One family, instead of opening Christmas presents in the morning, now opens them the night before, as an example. And in one family's home, they now have a Hannukah party that includes all the cousins instead of merely limiting it to their immediate family.

Probably more when a child dies than in any other situation, a positive example of people functioning can have great impact.

Frequently organizations where bereaved parents come to air their grief and listen to methods others have employed in coping can have immeasurable value.

One woman, an older widow, attended such a meeting. She gravitated to another woman, a laughing woman who during the coffee hour entertained those around her with a tale of being surveyed about a new brand of bandage. She told how she had promised to wear the new product for three days and nights. She said her neighbors roared when they saw her knees with one bandage clearly marked "Brand X" and the other "Brand Y." The widow observed with amazement this woman who was about the same age as herself. She, too, had been approached for this survey and had refused to take part "because her heart wasn't in it." The other woman explained that she forced herself to participate in things, and wouldn't it be a good idea for everyone? The widow nodded. She saw the contrast between herself and the other woman. Both were older. Both had dead children, yet one of them laughed and took part in some of life's silliness.

It was evident to everyone in the little group that a new approach had been introduced to the widow.

There are also parents who pick up the pieces by commemorative works. One Western family established a scholarship fund so other youngsters could receive a college education even though their own daughter never lived to graduate. Another family, very wealthy, donated a major gymnasium in memory of their boy who died young. One family established a hospital memorial fund. Television personality Art Linkletter, whose daughter committed suicide while apparently under the influence of an hallucinogenic drug, actively supported legislation to liberalize California's marijuana penalties up until his death. He had campaigned for drug-abuse education since 1969 when his daughter Diane, twenty, jumped to her death. Carroll O'Connor has actively campaigned to stop drug abuse.

These people, on their own social and economic planes, felt the need to undertake some project of importance to offset even a small way the tragedy of their children's deaths. There are many parents of lesser means who commemorate their dead children. What seems to be universal among all of us who have dead children is a need to do something meaningful with our energies.

One method some bereaved parents have found helpful, especially those with little money, is to become involved with children who are motherless and fatherless. While I would never suggest adopting a child with the hope of replacing a dead son or daughter, certainly the idea of befriending such a youngster and visiting with him makes a lot of sense. NO ONE CAN REPLACE YOUR CHILD THAT DIED. I belive that no one should seek replacements because every human being, regardless of age ~ and this means the young babies who die of crib death too ~ is his own unique personality and no one can become somebody else.

But by visiting orphanages and homes for retarded children, bereaved parents can bring a measure of comfort to lonely youngsters and, by doing so, some of their own loneliness is lessened, their perspective lengthened.

There are still other parents who, instead of donating memorials to their dead children, live as such memorials.

One woman, whose son died at the age of five of leukemia, makes it a point to write letters to people she hears about whose children have died recently. Her notes are not sloppy and tearful. Instead, they are intended to tell parents that they will survive the tragedy. She did. She has been thanked long afterward by people with whom she corresponded.

Jenny' mom, Lyn, fights for the rights of the handicapped, those that cannot speak for themselves. It was brought to her attention that after a trip to Ann Arbor University Hospital in Michigan that some people didn't think that their retarded child needs feed as much as a normal child, and thus these children were slowly being starved to death. Lyn did some investigation and found out that many people felt that way...so she asked the Nutritionalist from Ann Arbor to come and speak to a group of people to make them aware of what the needs are of these children. Many of these children have since had tubes put in their stomaches to be fed that way...but at least they are no longer starving. Lyn says, "until people realize that these children are human just like the rest of us, I will continue to fight for their rights." Lyn is perhaps more fortunate than many bereaved parents. She at least has determined what direction will most benefit not only herself but others. As in most difficult things in life, we must each find our own way at our own level in order to function in a positive manner.

When Lyn began to accept the premise that functioning despite her sadness was like hiking with a heavy backpack that could not be removed, she underwent a marked change in attitude. She decided she wanted to cope, to function, to walk through the forest, even though she was burdened with a great weight.

Mere survival, mere existence, is no longer enough for her and should not be for you.

Anyone can exist. But you have endured more pain than just anyone. You have undergone the ultimate tragedy. You owe yourself more than a shuffling-along existence. You owe yourself some surefooted living.