myjourneysinsight

MY CONTINUING CALM RECOVERY

Posted on March 1, 2010 by Judy

They look so innocent in this picture! How dare they add to my workload!

“My continuing calm recovery”

I decided that a “continuing calm recovery” was a much better way to phrase what I consider the opposite of having a nervous breakdown. I am amazed at the difference!

We have two cats. One is named the “the one that throws up all the time,” and the other one is named, “the good one.”

Now it was my turn to feed them. I wonder why I am bothering to microwave one teaspoon of cat-food in a dish for 4 seconds. Does a kitty care if it is cold?

I can hear the parrot in my oldest son’s room starting to wake up. We own a Sun Conure parrot, and at night it’s in a “sleep cage.” We adopted this parrot when it flew into our lives two years ago. I’ll write more about this annoying creature on another post.

I can share definitely share that this bird is a hell of a lot of work; it is as demanding as any of my children! However, kidding aside, I have relieved myself of a lot of this bird’s care, due to Connie’s encouragement. When the bird wakes up, it wakes up my oldest son. And it has become his job! Wow, am I really making inroads!

It is time to organize my weekly vitamins. I am having flashbacks of my mother and father when they lived with me. It took them at least two hours to sort out all their medications for the week.

My big question is, “Is that Ginkgo really helping my memory all that much?”

My tennis friends will say no, because I have been messing up on the scores big-time for a while now. I used to be the “reliable” one, that knew who was serving, etc. I feel useless about that, lately.

But before I despair too much about that, just picture four, middle-aged women arguing about what the score is, and who made which point. And then we all agree! None of us can remember! The problem only comes when one of the players can’t admit to this frailty of middle age.

Unfortunately, I could not continue my “blog typing” until I placed my ritual morning phone call to my father. My father has been very upset lately that I am “rushing” him off the phone.

I was able to get off the phone a little quicker than usual. My dad started whining that I wasn’t giving him enough time. I reminded him that I still have to call my mother (that line has been working for me, lately). He let me go.

I am trying to stop myself from feeling guilty about not spending more time with my parents. Feeling guilty is definitely not helpful, so I have to stop that! I have used up my allotment for the next ten years.

But seriously, if my mom gets sick, my writing career will be over.

This morning, I received a call from my father. My father and my mother are my responsibility if anything happens to them. I keep their morale up, especially since my mom’s illness. They will have been married 60 years soon.

Having elderly parents creates so many ironies with role reversal.

My father had a car accident and totaled his car on the way to see my mom her first day in the hospital. I tried not to panic when I received his call, and drove to go rescue him. It was not much different than having him as one of my teenaged children. Recently when my son had an accident I had to do the same thing.

My dad has not driven since the accident for two months. He has been very, very depressed. He is scheduled for a driving test soon to determine if his license will be renewed. I have been encouraging him to try driving again. He loved to come over to tutor my oldest son, but I really wanted him to have independence.

I have mentioned to my dad that it would be helpful if he would go to see my mom. She is only five minutes away from where he is. He is in an assisted living facility, and my mom is in a nursing facility. They are not together because a room has not been available yet at the same location has my father.

I did try to arrange for a volunteer to drive my father to see my mother, but he refused. My dad has less and less energy; I’m sure a lot of that is due to his depression. I’ve tried to drive my dad to see my mom, but he says it’s too far for him to walk to her room.

So when my dad called, and said matter-a-factly that he had gone to see my mom – well, I felt just like a mom whose child had taken his first steps! Wow! I let him know that it was probably the “most helpful” thing he has done for me in a long time.

“Will He Be Called Killer?”

I could write a whole essay on our family and pet disasters. In the past, on separate occasions we had two dogs that I had to give away because I was definitely going to have that nervous breakdown. I found both of them homes, before someone put me in a home.

Even the white cat threw up less!

You can see where I’m going. I am not a good judge of dogs. Last week, my husband brought home a dog and all of my children were quite excited. Michael waited patientyly to hear what I would say as far as adopting it. Before I opened my mouth, Michael said, “It’s mom’s decision since all the work will fall on her.” I loved hearing him say it like that. He really didn’t expect me to say yes.

This was a dog that Michael said is so small that instead of taking it for walks, it would need to be carried. I always had thought about getting a dog because it would encourage my children to walk. My children consider exercise as opening the refrigerator; they are almost too lazy even for that.

I also remembered Rosa. She hates extra work, and she hates animals. It is my house though. I will find a way to swing Rosa in my direction. However, how could I possibly handle more noise and mess? The mess is hopeless because of all the damage the cats have already inflicted.

Now the noise is something else. On the other hand, since our bird already compromises my hearing, would I really notice the dog yapping? Our bird makes a sound that is indescribable to anyone that doesn’t know anything about Conures.

People will see this beautiful, tropical creature and before the words come out about how beautiful it is – they are stopped dead in their tracks by “that sound.”

Here is my description: Just imagine fingernails on a chalkboard with the volume turned up to over a hundred decibels. Quickly they cover their ears and run for the hills. I will have hearing aids prematurely, I’m sure.

Tiki is a beautiful bird, but I’m deaf from his screeches!

I am told that this dog has not made a sound. Well that’s it then, I was sold! Wow, am I ever a pushover!

Now I began my process of “extraction.” “In order for me to even slightly consider this animal,” I said, “I need to know that I’ll have absolutely NOTHING to do with it.”

Michael said, “Well, of course I’m at work so . . .”

And I said, “But on your days off you can take it to the vet. Right?”

He reassured me that he would do his part. I did agree that if this animal were dying, I would take it to a vet before Mike’s day off. I know they both believed me about that.

Our whole family went through a lot when our first real pet died. It was only a kitten, and it had liver failure. It had lived with us six months when it slowly died. That was quite difficult for me. We fed it food with a syringe for a whole month. Sadly, that was familiar since I used to feed Jason with a syringe.

One of my children agreed to put out food and water, and be the “responsible.”

Michael said, “Let’s go get him then. Come on, it’s right down the street at a neighbor’s house.

I said, “I don’t need to see it. I’m not involved. You go do your thing.”

Just as I was enjoying how exciting this all was, I remembered something else. If they went to Petco it could turn into another $500, just like the last dog. Remember, I’m the one that gets the bills. I have given up worrying about finances because it has been so horrible.

Michael carried the dog into our house. It was a Teacup Chihuahua, very small, and white. He placed its trembling body into my arms. I’ve held this creature for only two minutes this entire day. It felt like a new baby was put into my arms. I could get used to this. I’ll wait until no one is home to have my turn.

Well, I guess the good will outweigh the bad. This is just another adventure in my life.

I am open to something new again.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tagged "sandwich generation", Aging Parents, chihuahua, conure, Humor pets, Ordinary Life, parenting, parrot, Pets | 1 Comment

COMPASSION AND FRIENDSHIP

Posted on February 28, 2010 by Judy

Portrait of Susan that I gave her as a gift

I became friends with Susan, due to her compassion for me after Jason’s funeral. She was very moved by my speech and contacted me after that. I share my writing with her on printed pages because she cannot use a computer. She suffers from severe, migraine headaches.

Recently she sent me a very special letter. I asked her to share about how we met and her experience of attending Jason’s funeral. Below is her letter:

I have been a friend of Judy’s for the past seventeen years. She is one of the most special people I am lucky enough to know- kind, compassionate, giving to others, understanding and empathetic, in addition to her gifted abilities in art, music, and writing.

I met Judy in a most unusual way brought together by the tragedy of her son’s death. I attended Jason’s funeral 17 years ago when Jason was 5. At the time, I was a virtual stranger to Judy. We had never met. It was true that both of our children were in the same kindergarten class.

They were not playmates outside of school, and I had never met Judy personally whenever I picked up my daughter from the class. One day, my daughter came home from school and told me that a little boy in the class was slated to have heart surgery in a few days.

The last day before Jason left the class for the operation, it was a special day for the students. I remember when I picked up my daughter up from school, I asked her which boy Jason was, and she pointed out this adorable freckle-faced little boy. I remember looking into his sweet innocent face and feeling so sad for him not knowing what lay ahead of him.

After I heard the devastating news in the next few days about Jason’s tragic passing, I felt completely shocked and horrified. How could a little helpless child die? It was senseless and incomprehensible to me. I did not know the family of this little boy, but I felt compelled to attend the funeral and represent our kindergarten class. As I walked into the funeral chapel, there was a huge blown up picture of Jason. Of all the funerals I had ever attended, this one was the most excruciating to be present at.

People in the audience could not even talk they were so despondent. I remember sitting there alone shocked that I did not see any of the other mothers from our class. Apparently they felt that losing a child was just too painful to contemplate so they stayed away. I remember before the service began turning around and asking a lady behind me if she knew how long Jason had been ill. She said she was too upset to talk.

During the service, the most memorable event for me was Judy’s recorded voice giving the eulogy. She spoke so eloquently and with such grace and composure that I began sobbing along with many others. Her love for her son was so pronounced, and she spoke articulately. I remember thinking what an outstanding person this woman must be.

I decided I must write to her and send her a condolence card to express how taken I was with her eulogy. The fact that a young mother could compose herself enough to write such a thoughtful and coherent speech at such a shocking occurrence as the death of her young child was mind boggling to me.

I also remember how Judy had the heart surgeon speak at the funeral which convinced me even further how extremely caring a person she was to not hold the doctor responsible for the unsuccessful outcome of Jason’s surgery.

A few days after the funeral, the mothers from our class were asked to volunteer to make dinner for Judy’s family during this tragic time. Along with another mother from our class, I delivered a meal to Judy’s home. It was at this time that I first met Judy. Her warmth and gratitude at receiving the meal was evident as was her courage at such a devastating time.

She wrote me the most beautiful thank you note, which I have kept all these years. In it she wrote:

“Dear Susan:

I don’t know where to begin to thank you. I have the card you sent me in a very special place because it touched me to tears every time I read it. You helped so much even bringing me that book for Jeffrey and with food. Most of all, I am so touched by your sensitivity. You are truly a special woman and what a way to make an acquaintance. Out of this horrible vacuum of Jason’s death, I see so many wonderful things. Your compassion is part of that, and I will never forget your caring.

With love, Judy”

That letter was written in October of 1992 and shortly after my mother became terminally ill with lymphoma. She died six months later. I was extremely close with my mother and would never have coped without Judy’s constant support. She would always call to say the most caring comforting words that would help me through my grief.

To this day, she is always the first person I call when I am facing difficult times. She helped me during a period of time when I developed excruciating chronic migraines that kept me isolated and housebound. While other friends stopped calling since I could not go out to socialize, Judy became a devoted friend calling me every few days to make sure I was all right.

She even found a hairdresser to come to my house to dye my hair when I was too ill to get to a beauty parlor. She has always been there for me emotionally and for this I am very grateful.

With much love, Susan

The card I received from someone I didn’t know at the time (Susan)

Tagged Aging Parents, child's death, compassionate friends, death, death of a child, Friendship, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", grief bereavement "Loss of a Child" friendship, GRIEF RELATED, inspiration, loss, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness | Leave a comment

I OPENED THE BOX “I FOUND TEARS INSIDE”

Posted on February 28, 2010 by Judy

JASON MARK UNGER 5/28/87 – 10/6/92

As I typed, my throat was very tight. How could I have not felt the anguish?

I knew that looking inside the dusty box I had kept of Jason’s things for eighteen years was going to be difficult. However, I also knew that the worst part of my grief was a long time ago. Still, there was no way around the anguish that the box represented.

As I write this, I am describing the present. I have not yet gone back to my memories of his birth, tragic life, and death. My story is certainly not unique, because every bereaved parent has one. All that is left of our child is the story of their life and death, and we are the ones that hold onto that.

Sadly, it took at least ten years before the “opera” of Jason’s death stopped. I describe the opera as, “The last moments before the curtain dropped.” That means day after day for years, I relived the last two days of my son’s life, over and over again. It was truly the only way that something unbelievable was eventually accepted.

I noticed the box had become disorganized over time; there were a few, more recent cards lying on top. These were “anniversary of the heart” cards. An anniversary of the heart is the birthday and/or death day for their loved one who has died. For someone grieving, whether it is a child or not, these days carry intense sadness, emptiness, and anticipation. The anticipation can begin sometimes a week or more in advance. And of course, often there is depression that follows after it is over.

My stack of “anniversary of the heart” cards were from my “partners in grief” at Compassionate Friends. Every single one of these notes said exactly what I needed to hear.

I saw there was a card from Lori, who recently shared that I was with her when she took a pregnancy test that was positive shortly after her son died. It was at that moment that I decided to try to have my fourth child. Her card thanked me for influencing her to have another child so soon after her son died.

Believe it or not, I still receive cards for Jason’s anniversaries of the heart from my sister-in-law, Jo. It is beyond thoughtfulness that she does this, since I don’t even discuss these days with anyone, not even my husband.

There was a yellowed, funeral announcement.

I noticed that my funeral speech was there. This was prior to computers, so it was handwritten. It was only recently that I remembered how I gave the speech to a tape recorder the day before the funeral. How could I have possibly spoken on that day?

I wonder whether I will type it up for the blog. But I could do that later. I was told it was a very moving speech, and because of it I made a good friend.

I just remembered that I have one friend named Susan who also calls me on those difficult days. She reached out to meet me six months after the funeral, because she was intrigued by my speech.

Grandma Shirley and Jason.

My mother recognized Jason’s death day only as the “Jewish” one or Yartzeit. She always reminded me to light a candle. That actually gave me two, death days to mourn. Although she doesn’t recognize it, his death on October 6th is very real to me.

My mother was very upset that the surgery was scheduled the day before the Jewish High Holiday, Yom Kippur. I felt there was no other choice. Every year as those holidays approach, I feel tremendous sadness and grief to this day.

Inside the box were many of my mother’s cards. Here was one:

Dearest Little Jason, our beautiful grandson,

If I knew your address in heaven, I would send it there, but since I don’t I’ll send it to the one who has you deep in her heart and soul. We all miss you so much on this your birthday.

Love, Grandma and Grandpa

On the card above, there were drawings on it made my Jason.

I opened up a folder and it was filled with children’s drawings. It was from his preschool classmates. The envelope had a note stapled to it that said, “Dear Jason, We hope you can come back to school soon. We will miss you. We made these pictures for you.”

Before his surgery, I remembered a kind mom from his class had presented me with a plastic desk and coloring set for him to use while in the hospital.

I remember that desk. It was personalized with his name on it. The desk that would never see a crayon. There were no words for the torment of seeing it on that worst day of my life when I came back from the hospital without my child. I had held my dead child for the last time, and would never see him again. But there was that desk with his name on it!

I quickly put it outside in the trash!

Another envelope was filled with donation cards. I remain in awe of how many people made donations. I panicked as the thought came to me. Had I sent thank you notes? Normally, I always did that, but when my child died I was incapable of functioning normally.

For certain, I was extremely grateful to my Aunt Lillian and Uncle David. They gave me money to help with the funeral expenses, as well as a generous donation Jason’s preschool at the NVJCC (North Valley Jewish Community Center). It allowed for Jeffrey to continue there on a full scholarship.

I was amazed at a how a “meal rotation” was created by the NVJCC. Every night, someone would come to our home with a different, casserole dish. I received so much compassion! And there it was, a list of all the meal arrangements, with names, phone numbers, and meal descriptions. The lady that did all this for our family has since died.

Only three months after Jason died, this woman put me in touch with another family who had lost a six-year-old daughter to the flu. We both had “subsequent” children who were only one day apart in age. We stayed friends for many years, however as my challenges grew I drifted away.

I reached in and pulled out something that choked me up. It was something he had made: “A Book About Me – Jason U., June 1992”

His name was scrawled next to his picture. It was dated March 18, 1992. His weight was listed at 35 lbs, and he was 3 ft. 4 in. height. Jason was very small, because he could never eat. There was a tracing of his foot and hand. Looking at It, I was able to believe he actually existed. I remembered looking at bushes and trees, and always thinking, “They lived longer than my son.”

When I saw his picture again, it was strange. That was because I had looked at his pictures for more years than I had looked at him.

Our good friends, Janis and Yoram.

There was a clipping from my friend, Janis. She and I have remained close throughout the years. Many friends who had children the same age as Jason felt understandably uncomfortable, but not Janis and her husband, Yoram. Janis had sent me a clipping created by her son, David, as a class assignment. It was entitled, “My Hero.”

“My hero is somebody that used to be my best friend. His name was Jason. He wasn’t born healthy. When he was born his heart had been reversed. He almost died when he was born. He is my hero because he lived for five years with a smile always on his face. As you can see there are many reasons why he is my hero.”

My Hero – By David

Jason & David

There was a black and white drawing of a lion. My artist/friend, Emilie, made it for me to use on his gravestone. Jason’s favorite song was, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” and we played it at his funeral. For years, I carried the picture of Jason’s gravestone in my purse. It helped me face reality daily when I looked at it.

Aha! I found a list that said, “Thank You For Your Donation.” So I did send them. That’s good, because it’s a little late now.

Now I have found an envelope from my mother-in-law, Ruth, for whom I have not yet mourned. She wasn’t up to coming over for many months before she passed away in November. Sometimes I have imagined she’s still ill and will be coming over again soon.

Ruth kept some special items of Jason’s in a “Where’s Waldo?” lunch box he had treasured. Inside it was a pair of his Bart Simpson underwear, sticky pacifier, and a pair of Chuck E Cheese sunglasses (Jason loved Chuck E. Cheese). Each item I mentioned was cried over more than I want to remember.

There were lots and lots of pictures and cards. Most of the cards were ones that I gave to her before he died. I pasted his face on many cards – this was of course, before Photoshop!

There was one card with the envelope addressed to: “Jason Unger, Up Above the Clouds So High, The Universe and Beyond.”

On the outside was a picture of a teddy bear looking sadly at a dark sky with one bright star. She marked the bear as “Granny Ru” and the star had an arrow that said “Jason.” Inside the card was printed “How I wonder how you are.” It was dated on May 28th, 1996, so that was on his birthday four years after he died. The inside of the card read:

Dearest Jason,

I love you and miss you so very much. I wish you were here right now so I could say Happy Birthday! In my heart, my head, and my memories, you were, you are, and always will be my beloved grandson whom I worship and adore. I wish I could hear you singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. How I wonder how you are.” Granny Ru loves you forever.

As I read that card, it gave me a moment of pause to grieve for my dear mother-in-law.

I felt in my heart that perhaps she was with Jason again. I know that with bereavement, some people either have a lot of faith to guide them or none at all. I wish I could say I found faith, but I was and still am very unsure about god. I have looked to my children and to my own heart to survive.

Granny Ru, Jason, & baby Jeffrey

There is truly no category reserved for bereaved grandparents.

They are welcome at Compassionate Friends. Grandparents have the burden of losing their beloved grandchild while at the same time mourning the sadness they cannot alleviate in their own child. It is a double burden. My father would cry with his car parked in the driveway for ten minutes before he could come inside my home; this went on for many years.

I am moving on from my mother-in-law’s effects. I still have not reached the large envelope of sympathy cards. I know there are some very, special cards there. I will save that for another time of writing.

I have started to fatigue now from all these painful memories. I wonder what the purpose of all this is for me. I have missed Jason for such a long time! I used to worry so much about forgetting him. But it was precisely the loss of the sharp memories that has made life bearable again!

Rosa came in and to see what I was doing. Her eyes were squinting with tears. She told me that the dinner table was incredible tonight. She said she hadn’t seen me this happy in such a long time. Laughter at our dinner table was completely new; usually there was abundant arguing, insulting, and fighting. My mood was different now.

I asked Rosa to remind me how she knew that Jason had died. She was in Mexico at that time. She told me she felt the moment when he died. That was something I had also experienced. He was at the hospital recovering from his surgery, and I drove home to get a few hours of sleep.

However, I was unable to sleep. Suddenly, I was overcome by total “dread.” It was like a cold chill ran through me, and seconds later the phone rang. He was already dead, but I wasn’t told that.

The nurse on the phone said, “Your son is not doing well; can you please come to the hospital?” At that moment, I didn’t remember how to tie my shoes or drive a car. In a bathrobe and slippers, I picked up my parents while in a total panic.

Rosa told me how thankful she was that I had sent money to Mexico to help her to come back to the United States. I did not remember doing that at all, however, it was a wise thing that I did!

Lastly, I opened an envelope was filled with his artwork.

I remembered there were two pieces of his artwork that were significant. It felt like the Twilight Zone again for me. I had treasured those items, but had forgotten about them after so many Zombie years. I decided to scan and share them.

Jason was not able to write his name too well or make drawings that were clear. He was a very, very articulate child and he loved music very much. He was often breathless when he spoke, and would turn blue when he danced and sang.

I found the meaningful pictures he had drawn. One was an angel. What really stood out to me was that it had a red heart on it, and the heart had several black marks. My interpretation was that he knew his heart was not healthy and this was a “self-portrait.”

The other picture was a crude drawing with a story that he dictated. Here was what he wrote:

“Once upon a time there was a person that lived along the lane and walked and walked and got tired and he smelled some lollipops. He went back on his bench and ate a couple of pops and he walked along the lane again and ran home.”

Somewhere in this tale, there were metaphors for me about his life.

Now I felt tears, they were falling somewhere inside where it has been dry for a very, long time. I had managed to finally get them to come out. “Up and out” was where I needed to go, and that time had come.

Once Upon a Time – by Jason

Jason the Angel

Posted in Grief Stories | Tagged compassionate friends, death, death of a child, Friendship, grandparent bereavement, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED | Leave a comment

UP AND OUT!

Posted on February 27, 2010 by Judy

The Morpho Butterfly – metamorphosis in my life?

I am finding out what it means to be a writer. Sometimes, I have been concerned that something could be wrong with me. Since I am trying to incorporate positive thinking into every phase of my life, I don’t really want to go there. However, since I’ve seen so many psychiatrists for my children, I am no stranger to the symptoms for many disorders.

Mania does come to mind. One of the most frequent questions the psychiatrist always asks is, “How are you sleeping?” Right now, I am not sleeping well; I don’t know if that’s a bad thing, because I don’t feel tired. I have more energy than I’ve ever had in a very long time.

My mother-in-law died recently, and I realize that I have not yet begun to mourn her absence. I’m sure I will as time goes on. When I was suffering so much with Jason, she described the “mania” she experienced in her life with me. She told me, “You feel like you are invincible, and you are bursting with creativity that has you feeling like you are unstoppable.”

Unfortunately, at that time I was not creative; I was on autopilot. I was searching constantly for answers to help my son. I was certainly not invincible. She described the depression part to me during the deep bereavement, when we were all unable to focus on anything, such as going to the movies. We (her, Michael, and myself) would just sit in the theatre with blank faces, thinking only of our grief.

But as I remember her words, I think I am truly suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That isn’t necessarily negative, because addressing my trauma by sharing so much has left me happier and healthier than I’ve felt in a long time.

My hypnotherapist, Connie, always uses the phrase Up and Out. That means that it is so much better to gets things out, rather than let them fester. I had no idea that I had so much inside of me!

This morning is already so much better than only a few short months ago. It was difficult to wake up and face going to see my mother in the hospital. I had difficulty sleeping then, too, but it wasn’t fun like this.

When I started doing all this writing, I sent many emails out to my friends from all walks of life. I received an amazing reply from Riva, who had truly suffered alongside of me in my grief.

Although this might not be a time for humor, I have to add that Michael used to call her “Grieva and Bereava.” But then, since he was not open to talking about his grief, that is understandable!

On Feb 2, 2010, Riva wrote:

Dear Judy,

I have wanted to get to the computer all day to answer the heartfelt emails you have been sending. Obviously you are going through tremendous pain these days. It is palpable, even through the electronics that are now the mainstay of our daily lives. Trying to convey these feelings on the telephone would be impossible…without losing your voice and or your mind.

Firstly, let me say that I am so sorry to hear that your Mom is still so ill. She was and is for you, a rock. Please wish her, for us, a speedier recovery in the weeks to come.

I am finding as I move forward in this life, that for some of us, there is little refuge from the tests in life. Many of us cannot meet those challenges…you are not counted among those numbers. The problem is for those who rise up to meet the most difficult tests, each time there is a little more damage to contend with (in the future). Still, people with your kind of strength move ahead and accomplish amazing fetes.

The fact that you are so strong does not mean that you cannot have meltdowns! In fact, they serve to teach us new lessons…lessons that don’t get noticed when we are so busy…and coping.

Grief delayed is grief denied. And then posttraumatic stress sets in wherever it can (whenever we take a breath and let it). It sounds like you are smack in the middle of a PTSS. Fortunately, you are doing all the right things (as usual) to alleviate the pressure. Therapy and most importantly, reaching out.

I remember how you and I reached out to each other in those early days after Jason and Debby left the world…as we knew it? Our breakfasts at the Pancake House fed us the sustenance of friendship. Who else could have known what we felt?

Please know that I am and always will be here for you. Just ask.

Let’s get together for one of those “pancake breakfasts”.

Sending love, Riva

While going through bereavement, we not only mourn our own child, but we also mourn the children of our friends and partners in grief. I know all those children so well, as they know mine. I may not remember a parent’s name, but I always remember their child’s name.

Part of how I survived my pain was to know I was not alone. For a short time, I was the leader of a chapter of Compassionate Friends. It was quite difficult answering phone calls from newly bereaved parents. But I have always believed in “giving back,” because someone was there to take my phone call long ago.

I know I don’t mention my husband that much, but especially with grief men and women are quite different in regards to how they grieve. And so it was that after the trauma of having a sick child for five years, I began my grief journey alone. My husband was not open to talking about his feelings, and both of us were fairly “shell shocked” from our son’s illness and his death. Although we were more “prepared” than those parents or anyone that “suddenly” loses someone they love that was healthy, nothing can ever truly prepare you for grief.

When I begin to write more about my bereavement experience, I will be opening the door to my heart, and describing a place that you will never be able to go unless you have experienced that kind of loss. That’s why the Compassionate Friends Organization exists. We are all there for a reason; with loss we are forever changed!

I am very proud to have had my marriage survive that painful, grief journey, but one of the reasons was because we have always allowed for a great deal of separateness. Normally separateness is not a good thing, but in my case it has allowed me to take care of myself. Also, I really needed to do things my own way, ever since Jason was born.

After Jason was born, getting up so early every day to go to work and provide for his family despite his own stress and sadness was the way that my husband showed his love. He has been grieving for years, and will never speak about it.

I am writing this before dawn in my chilly art studio, and the rain is pattering outside on the pavement. I can’t believe the clarity of my memories, especially since I am soon to summon up memories from over twenty years ago.

I used to think I would have to “search” for material to write about. Well there is no shortage of that for me, because the things that I am writing about have either happened or are happening to me.

It may be very sad for people to soon read about how it felt for me to lose my child.